AN: Edited 3/10/18. Most changes are in the beginning section of this chapter. Apologies for any spelling/grammatical errors. I went out drinking Friday night and haven't been feeling great today. I blame the tequila. Brief almost-assault mention here. Just a heads up.

Berserk

Chapter Five

{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}

Lucy's feet slap wetly across the ground as she winds through the people crowding the streets, keeping herself pressed close to the outer edges of the streets. She doesn't dare to glance over her shoulder, to check for anyone following her. It would only seem suspicious, and if there's anything she's learned, it's not to look like she's being watched.

The crowded streets help, swallowing her in a sea of red and gold, Lucy easily disappearing in the multitude of bodies surrounding her. The market is finally open for business now that the sun has risen to a decent position in the sky, barely peaking out from between the storm clouds gathering above Ðüskell. It's a bad omen. Makarov always warned her about storm clouds when she's on the job. Nothing good comes from storms like that.

They're warnings from the Gods. The world's balance upset in some way. Nearly ten years ago it rained for two weeks after the slaughters the occurred in Fiore, as if the Old Gods were crying out for the loss of life, the injustice of it all.

She wonders what injustice is going to occur now.

A part of her wants to stop winding through the bodies surrounding her, to stop and turn back to Cobra's shop, wait for him there or see if he's already returned, but she knows she can't. It would draw too much attention to Cobra and Angel at the White Rose. They'll be looking for her, the guards saw her face, as did the King, and the first place he'll go to look for her is the White Rose. They'll tear the place apart looking for her, but Angel has dealt with far worse. And besides that, the woman has plenty of Pergrande's guards on her side, paid with crowns or women.

Lucy can only hope the woman can forge papers from Sin in such a short amount of time. Cobra would have headed to Angel first, to warn her that men would be coming, but they won't find Lucy's there. She'll be long gone by then. The King should only just now be coming too, though he'll be disoriented for some time. She'll be out of Ðüskell by then, and any guards that follow her will think she's headed south towards Sin, not West to Fiore.

They'll be going in the wrong direction.

She tries not to think about the alternative. That the King will remember the spell she whispered to give the crushed jasmine in her palm the breath of magic it needed, a sleep spell weaved into the petals before his eyes. If he remembers the magic then he'll know what she is. And if he knows it means he'll send his dogs after her. Guards she can handle. She knows how to disarm a man, knows where to strike to bring them to their knees. She can persuade men, charm them with a smile.

Lucy doesn't know how to fight a Berserker. She doesn't know how to defeat something that can't feel pain.

Her borrowed dress swishes around her legs as she walks, sheer fabric gaining her a few looks, but she hadn't dared to stop to change. Once she leaves the capital she can exchange the dress for her normal clothes, but for now she just needs to keep walking, her bag tossed over her shoulder, her things shoved inside. The cold is a bitter one so early in the morning, her breath cloudy in the air, but her hands are shaking too badly for her to find her spare clothes, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Fear nips at her heels as she continues through the crowd, her fingers twitching for her knives, but she'd left all but one hidden in the woods outside of Ðüskell, not wanting to have them all on her, should she be caught. Her magicked bag may be hard to spill secrets from, but she hadn't wanted to risk it.

The King has Berserkers. She doesn't know what other tricks he might have.

She should have killed him then, saved herself trouble later, but it wouldn't have been right. Thievery is one thing, assassination is another thing entirely. She couldn't kill him in good conscience, not when they go after Cobra and Angel as well. They would be complacent in murder, and they would be hanged for it. A public execution.

Besides, an assassination would be something she'd have to discuss with the Triumvirate, with Makarov. They've discussed it in passing before, whispers of it reaching her ears. It's something they would have to plan carefully, the Fae Council needing to instill a new ruler before the other royal families of Pergrande began to fight for control of the throne.

It would all be a bloody mess. One that they aren't ready for.

Lucy slinks her hands back into her pockets, drawing her coat tighter around herself as she continues to slink around the city, keeping tight to the shadows. It took her far longer than expected to make her way out of the castle. Too long, in fact.

Her lips twist into a frown and she pushes herself to move faster, the magic beneath her skin thrumming nervously along with the beating of her heart. She needs to get to the woods and the weapons she left hidden. She won't make it far without them. All she has now is one knife and her magic, and she'd prefer to keep the latter a secret if she can help it. It wouldn't due to brand herself a witch as well as a thief.

Hissing through her teeth, Lucy turns a corner, relieved to find herself nearing the Western gate. She squints ahead, relaxing only slightly when she notices only one guard is on duty. It makes things easier, but not tremendously so. She still has no weapons and she doubts he'll be one to let her pass without trouble. The younger ones never do. They all think their uniforms give them the power to do as they please. More than that, she's still dressed as a girl from the White Rose, her dress branding her a prostitute.

She'd be more surprised if she didn't receive any trouble leaving.

Lucy slouches as she nears the gate, attempting to appear smaller than she is and hoping he'll let her pass unscathed if he thinks she's nothing more than a drifter or a beggar. Being invisible is hard enough on a normal day, even more so when she knows little of the country's people and their customs. And especially with the way she's dressed.

Deft fingers slip into her pocket, feeling for the amulet tucked away against the fur lining. As the gem brushes her fingers, a wave of power floods through her, warming her bones. Lucy sighs softly, wetting her lips as she pulls her hand back, dropping it back to her side.

She will make it out of this city, even if she has to resort to desperate measures.

The guard doesn't look up as she nears, too engrossed with scrubbing a speck of dust from the toe of his boot. He isn't nearly as decorated as the other soldiers Lucy has seen in the city: no gold armor or jeweled swords. His armor is mostly thick leather, dark in color and lined with wool. Only his shoulders are covered in golden armor, polished and gleaming in the morning light.

A sentry, Lucy thinks, probably new, sent to guard the gates just to get him out of the way. Her amber eyes turn critical as her lips pull into a snarl. Clearly, this man has become a soldier for the power behind it, rather than good intentions. Lucy has never seen a soldier concerned with a little dust on his boot—not even Laxus when he was part of Fiore's corps. And Laxus is one of the most prim soldiers she's ever met.

He almost doesn't notice her as she passes. Almost.

Before Lucy can slip through the open gate, a hand shoots out and grabs her by the upper arm, fingers digging into her bare skin just above the lacy edge of her dark gloves. She stops short of leaving, allowing his grip to tighten without a word or glance. Lucy keeps her head ducked low, refusing to meet his gaze even as she feels his ayes burning into her back.

The soldier gives a low, appreciative whistle as he looks at her, and Lucy's hands clench into fists, her nails digging into the fabric covering her palms. She can practically feel the way his gaze slides down her body and it takes every ounce of her will not to turn around and rip her nails across his eyes.

She doesn't do this, of course. Mostly because it would only draw more attention to the two of them, but also because she promised Romeo she would stay out of trouble. And attacking a royal guard would only attract trouble she doesn't need. This soldier isn't worth breaking a promise to her younger brother, and it isn't worth her life either. Just because he has no honor doesn't mean Lucy has to abandon hers. She's already stooped lower than she would have liked in the last several hours, she doesn't need to blind a man as well.

The man tightens his grip, sliding in closer to her until she can feel his breath against her cheek. The hood is pulled back from her head, allowing her hair to tumble around her face in great waves. With his free hand, the man tugs at one of the small braids in her hair, twirling it around a finger. Lucy has to bite her tongue to keep from snarling, her entire body going rigid beneath his hands. The soldier either doesn't notice Lucy's distress or doesn't care. She would be money on the latter.

"Where you goin', Darlin'?" the man asks in Përn, the native tongue of Pergrande. His accent is thick, from farther east, and her ears aren't trained to hear through the garbled slang. She can only make out a few words, but she understands the gist. There's a drawl to his words, unlike what she's heard previously. Përn is a strict tongue, sharp and formal in nature. She's never heard anyone speak like this man, his tongue loose in a way that sounds lazy, uncaring. It's odd, if nothing else, and only serves to assure her that this man has no manners.

Përn is a proper tongue, rough sounding but also elegant in a way she doesn't quite understand. It used to be a proud tongue.

No high ranking soldier would ever speak so informally least of all to a stranger and a foreigner.

Lucy attempts to pull out of his grasp, but he only holds her tighter, fingers tugging harshly at her hair.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy pauses to consider the correct word, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Leaving," she finally spits, giving him a sharp look from the corner of her eye. He barely regards her, far more concerned with letting his eyes roam her figure, the sheer dress doing little to hide her curves from him. She takes a half step away from him, and the hand in her hair drops back to his side, his other hand slowly sliding from her shoulder down to her wrist, grip not at all loosening.

"Is that so?" Amusement creeps into his voice and Lucy bristles, her lips curving back over her teeth. She doesn't react besides this, hoping that he'll let go on his own so that she can avoid any more unnecessary attention. "Well, you know there's a fee for leaving," he tells her. There isn't one. She knows there isn't. She made sure to ask when she entered the city. Not wanting to get caught and risk losing her life.

Lucy finally meets his gaze, resisting a shudder as she sees the predatory glint in his light blue eyes.

She holds his gaze, straightening her back. "I have no money," she lies smoothly, shrugging as his eyes darken. His lips curve into a wicked smile, sharp as a knife.

He jerks her into his arms before she can pull away, one arm slipping around her back and the other going directly to her thigh, fingers down the outside of her leg until he meets leather and then soft cotton. "I never said it would cost you gold," he murmurs lowly, ducking down so that his breath puffs against her jaw.

A word she doesn't recognize slips from his mouth, perhaps an endearing term, a pet name, but it sours with the way he leers at her.

Lips press against the side of her throat, teeth grazing her skin, and Lucy glances sideways to see if anyone is near enough to see them. The streets are bare, however, everyone at the markets, and the sentry has pulled her into the shadow of the gate, hiding the two of them from sight. Frustration bubbles beneath her skin, but she waits, allowing him to trail his lips along her jaw for a moment.

"And what," she hisses sharply, the foreign words sounding strange to her own ears, "would it cost me?" she asks him, tilting her head to the slide just the slightest. Lucy waits for a response, but he doesn't speak, just grins against her skin and pulls her further into the shadows.

When the hand on her back slips beneath her jacket to caress the bare skin of her back Lucy decides she's had enough.

Before she can say anything else, the sentry breathes two words against her ear. "Your flesh." His thumb brushes against the bare skin of her spin, a low sound leaving his throat as he turns the two of them quickly. Lucy gasps as her back is slammed against the metal gate and a firm hand snakes over her ribs. His other hand trails down her thigh over her dress.

Lucy slips a hand down between them, covering his palm with her own and squeezing. He leans in closer and groans against her throat when Lucy drags his hand higher along her leg, allowing his thumb to brush along the curve of her hip.

When she snaps his fingers satisfaction crawls into her throat.

The sentry lets out a strangled scream and Lucy jerks her head forward, her teeth digging into the side of his throat so deeply that she breaks the skin. Something wet and metallic slides over her tongue and Lucy reels back. The guard is still screaming when she throws her knee up, between his legs. He falls heavily to his knees and Lucy considers pulling out her knife, but ultimately decides to drive her other knee against his face instead. There's a satisfying crunch and then blood spurts from his nose. He tumbles backwards, unconscious, and Lucy doesn't stay to watch him hit the ground.

She slips between the crack in the gate, leaving the guard behind her without a second thought. Lucy shuts the gate behind her, her shoulders only relaxing when the doors click shut loudly, the sound echoing through the silence—rattling her bones. The amulet in her pocket suddenly feels all too heavy as it slaps against her thigh with every step she takes.

The rhythmic pattern is almost soothing—almost, but it's drowned by the rapid beating of her heart, her pulse throbbing in her ears until she can barely hear herself thinking.

Lucy is running before she can stop herself. Bile rises high in her throat, but she swallows it down, knowing better than to get sick somewhere just outside the city. She can't be caught now. She needs to get to the woods before anyone notices the sentry she knocked unconscious. Without a doubt, they'll guess he was trying to stop someone from leaving. Most guards wouldn't bother with anyone coming in, not until they've already caused trouble.

She should have just gone out the North gate where she came in. She knew for a fact that Ganta, the kind guard she had meet three days earlier, would be on duty. It would have taken her a little longer to leave and find her weapons, but she wouldn't have been held up at the gate like that.

Shaking her head rapidly, Lucy focuses on running. It's not important anymore. What happened happened and there's nothing she can do about that. All that matters now is that she doesn't get caught, everything else can be forgotten. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, but snaps them open when she nearly trips in a foxhole, her ankle pulling harshly as she catches herself on her hands. Lucy hisses through clenched teeth, angry at herself for not paying attention, and just keeps running, uncaring of the way her ankle throbs slightly with every step she takes.

If she doesn't start focusing she's going to get herself killed or worse.

Time passes quickly, and Lucy is surprised to find herself amongst the trees mere minutes later. The thicket is shaded when she slips into the brush, and a rabbit startles, leaping out of the tall grass and disappearing somewhere to Lucy's left. It's not until she's dragging her things out of the bushes that Lucy realizes her hands are shaking, digging into the straps of her bag so tightly she's afraid she might holes in the leather.

She loosens her grip, sucking in a deep, shaky breath as she attempts to calm her nerves. It takes a moment, but her hands fall still, her grip growing slack. She shrugs her bag from her back, the familiar weight disappearing as she drops it to the ground. Lucy waits for her heart to stop racing before reaching for her things hidden beneath the bushes.

She changes quickly, dropping her jacket to the forest floor and fumbling with the dress she's wearing, carefully removing the decorative collar from her neck and letting the sheer fabric pool at her feet. Her clothes from the day before are pulled onto her frame easily, a sense of familiar ease washing over her as she pulls her shorts up her legs.

Lucy shrugs on her coat once more, shoving the dress into her bag without much thought. It could come in handy again. She scoops up her back, throwing it on over her jacket, and begins to grab for her weapons.

Her quiver comes first,attaching to one of the loops in her belt. Then the bow, slung around her back with the string cutting across her chest. Her knives come last, and she names them as she slips them into the holders on her thighs—silly names: Rose and Kell, Echo and Kali. Romeo wanted to name them when he was younger. Laxus thought it was a silly thing to do, but Lucy humored him, allowing her younger brother to name each of them with great care.

Rose for the one with the rose quarts blade—the one it took Lucy months to save up for. Kell for the one she bought off a merchant in Crocus, KL carved into the hilt, though the letters hold no meaning to Lucy. Echo, for the one whose twin was lost during a border skirmish with men from Bosco—slave traders. And the black blade with the wicked curve and delicate hilt was named Kali.

She rarely calls them by these names, and she doubts that Romeo and Laxus even remember them, but Lucy never could forget. The names always come back to her when she finds herself unable to breathe. They make her think of her brothers—remind her that she needs to get back to them.

Lucy slips back out of the brush, and turns West, thinking about the trip home. It took her nearly three weeks to get to Pergrande from Fiore, and only because she managed to catch a ride with a family traveling from Bosco to Bellum. Assuming all goes well, it should take Lucy nearly twice that to get home, though she doubts she has that sort of time. She could look for another ride, but she doesn't trust the people of Pergrande, certainly not this close to the capital.

Steeling herself, Lucy takes a deep breath, listening to the sounds of the forest around her: the birds and small deer native to Pergrande, a small creek bubbling somewhere off to her right, the distant cry of a bird of prey.

And she runs.

Two days pass and Lucy doesn't stop even as her legs begin to ache and her lungs scream in pain with every breath she takes. She can't stop—she can't. If she didn't make it this far only to be caught now. She didn't come all the way to Pergrande and steal from the royal family only to be hunted down in the woods. She won't allow herself to quit so easily.

Someone is bound to come after her, so she can't stop running. She might not be rested for a fight, but if anyone tries to stop her, they won't take her easily, that's one promise she can make. And the promise of a Fae is blood bound, even if it is to herself.

Raw determination courses through her veins, magic humming beneath her skin, and Lucy forces herself to move faster, ignoring the pain that comes with every step she takes. Her ankle hurts the most, more damaged from her earlier fall than she had thought. Though, constantly running on it certainly hasn't helped. Her lungs burn as well, fire in her veins. Lucy ignores the pain, focusing only on the dull thud of the stone in her pocket as it slaps against her leg and the weight of her bag against her back.

Romeo's grin comes to mind and Lucy can't help but smile, yearning to be home with her family again. She was only home briefly after getting Cobra's viper eggs. There wasn't time to rest before she needed to leave for their meeting. The eggs typically hatch within a month of being laid, and she didn't have the time to waste, already running late.

She was lucky they didn't hatch before she found Cobra. Even as hatchlings the vipers are dangerous, their venom strong enough to kill a dozen men with one bite. Lucy isn't trained to handle them.

Lucy knows she doesn't have much time to get home. The viper fangs will lose potency within three months time, and though she hopes it won't take her months to get home, she isn't expecting an easy return.

There's a snapping sound to Lucy's left and she stops short, legs nearly buckling as she comes to a stop. It takes Lucy a long moment to realize how quiet the forest is—no birds, no wolves, no squirrels chattering in the trees—everything is silent. Her skin prickles as she listens to the quiet, her breathing suddenly loud in the forest.

This is the place where the trees sing, some mystical place where they whisper back and forth—the spirits of slaughtered Fae residing amongst the bark. Lucy takes a deep breath, concentrating on every little sound the forest makes, listening for anything over the wild beating of her heart.

The forest's words seem to blur together, to soft for Lucy to make them out. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, willing herself to hear them.

Watch out.

Lucy's eyes snap open, her breath catching in her throat. Shaking her head slowly, she squeezes her eyes shut once more, listening for the whispers once more. She can hear them, but they're too garbled to make out the words—but the tone—the tone is clear, low and warning; desperate.

She hears him before she sees him.

Eyes still squeezed shut, Lucy hears the soft crunch of a leaf beneath a boot not five paces to her right—the soft slide of worn leather against the grass as someone lunges.

Lucy doesn't hesitate. Her eyes flicker open, head snapping to the side just in time to see a man barreling towards her. Golden armor glints in the morning light and Lucy reacts. She spins on her heel, right arm reaching blindly behind her, fingers wrapping around the lower arm or her bow. When the man is directly in front of her, Lucy jerks her arm forward. The bowstring cuts across her chest and threatens to snap as it's pulled tight around her, but she hardly notices.

The sturdy end of the bow knocks against the underside of his jaw and he stumbles back a step, momentarily thrown off guard. Lucy doesn't let him regain his senses. She drops down low, sweeping his legs out from under him without missing a beat, and he crashes to the ground with a snarl.

Lucy turns and runs, but doesn't make it far before a hand wraps around her ankle and drags her to the dirt. She yelps as her back hits the forest floor, the breath knocked from her lungs. Her head hits the ground roughly, a sharp, stabbing pain racing through her temple. She hisses, eyes squeezing shut as a sob bubbles in her throat. She swallows it down, determined not to start crying in the middle of a fight.

A weight settles on top of her, warm and solid—practically crackling with heat—but before Lucy can open her eyes a pair of lips are pressed to her shoulder. She freezes suddenly, breath catching in her throat as she goes rigid. Despite willing herself to open her eyes and find out what's happening, Lucy finds herself unable to move, paralyzed by fear and something else she's can't quite comprehend. Exhaustion pulls at her, making her limbs feel weak and bones heavy.

For a long moment, nothing happens. The man's lips stay pressed against her skin, his warm breath tickling her neck every time he exhales. Hands settle on the ground on either side of her waist, caging her in, and heat prickles her skin where he hovers over her, energy crackling around him. Then, he opens his mouth, chapped lips scrape against her skin and Lucy's fingers begin to crawl towards the holster on her thigh. Her fingertips brush along the skin of his wrist, barely ghosting against him, and he pauses—almost hesitating.

Her fingers brush against Kell—sweet Kell—and then his lips curve back over his teeth as he bites down on her shoulder. This time, Lucy does scream, a sob tearing from her throat as his canines sink into her shoulder—tearing through skin and muscle until she's sure she can feel him in her bones.

Lucy swings blindly with her knife, aiming for his side, but only catching him along the inside of his arm. He reels back nonetheless, and Lucy kicks him in the chest before scrambling backwards against the wet grass, putting as much space between the two of them as she can.

Confused green eyes lock with hers—something like hurt flickering in his gaze before it's swallowed by something mindless and blank. Lucy's eyes narrow in confusion as his features smooth out, no trace of emotion anywhere to be found. She finds her eyes wandering then, which isn't a smart thing to do, but she can barely keep her eyes open at this point. Blood drips down the inside of his arm, a shallow line drawn across his bicep. Ruby and gold swallow her vision and she becomes increasingly aware of how little covers him.

Something gold glints around his throat and Lucy's eyes lock on a gleaming red gem, something dark pulsing through the air between them.

Lucy meets his blank eyes once more, cold realization filling her veins. "Berserker," she chokes out, grip tightening on Kell as she reaches for Kali as well. Her quiver is empty, arrows scattered across the ground.

He growls when he hears her speak, his lips curving back threateningly, though his expression stays blank.

That's when he lunges once more.

AN: Be sure to leave a review and let me know what you thought of the changes here.