AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!
Edited 3/31/18
Berserk
Chapter Fourteen
{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}
Natsu inhales sharply as he awakens, his body going stiff as finds himself in an unfamiliar place. Frantic eyes dark around what little he can see of the room, a door, articles of clothing scattered across the floor, haphazard and significantly less that he thinks it should be. He tries to swallow, confusing sweeping through him, but his mouth and throat are bone dry. Squeezing his eyes shut, Natsu tries to remember what happened last night, where he is and how he got here. His mind is foggy, slow as he drifts between worlds like a ghost.
It comes back to him quickly enough once the last tendrils of unconsciousness release him from their grasp. The fight. The blood. Becoming a monster—murderer. That's what he is. Maybe that's what he's always been. The kind of beast His Majesty has always wanted. He's a—Natsu shakes the thoughts away, relaxing just the slightest as clarity comes back to him, the haze of sleep slipping away from his mind.
Jorah. He's in Jorah. He made it. They both did.
His shoulders go rigid, muscles tensing when he realizes he can't feel Lucy's presence against his back, her warmth along the length of his spine, her breath against his shoulder blades. He was dimly aware of her constant presence throughout the night, always there when he was lying awake, drifting in and out with the pull of the moon. Natsu holds his breath, body impossibly still as he listens, hoping she's only rolled away from him in the night. He doesn't look, afraid of what he might find; afraid of what he might not find.
But there's no heat coming from behind him, no soft sounds of sleep. Natsu knows that she murmurs in her sleep, especially in the early mornings, awake but not entirely. He doesn't need to look to know she isn't there. It's something he can feel deep in his bones. Most of his short life he's been alone, and loneliness is something engraved in him. Natsu knows when he's utterly alone.
Lucy is gone. She has been for some time now. Her scent is faint in the musty air, twinges of stardust tickling at his nose when he inhales a certain way. This is the third time her scent has been so faint to him, the first when he was sent to follow her—to kill her, the second only the night before.
For the longest time he was afraid he wouldn't be able to find her at all. She made so many twists and turns through the town, wandering and walking in circles. Waiting. He would have searched all night to find her if he needed to. He made a promise to her. He intends to keep it. No matter how long it takes him, he intends to keep it, if she'll let him.
He's beginning to notice a pattern, one that he doesn't particularly like. She keeps disappearing on him, leaving him hours behind her, stumbling to catch up. He doesn't like the faint tickle of her scent in his nose, gone before he can lock onto it. It makes him uneasy, realizing she's gone. He doesn't like being able to tell how long or which direction she's gone. It can be helpful, yes, but he thinks it would be better not knowing.
For a moment, a horrible thought comes to mind, but he banishes it from his mind before it can fester into something worse. He killed a man last night, now she's gone. Natsu's teeth grind together harshly, his hands curling into shaking fists. He knows they aren't related. He knows they aren't, but it doesn't stop the stinging in his chest, it doesn't stop him from folding in on himself.
Natsu sits up slowly, glancing around the room once more, slower this time. He didn't get much of a look at the room last night, too confused, too tired, too lost. It's cramped he notices, only about twice the size of his former cell, which isn't saying much, all things considered. His cell was meant for containment, nothing more. It was claustrophobic, damp, but, oh, did it echo. Natsu could hear everything in that cell. Every scream from his brothers.
Perhaps the Berserk he fought last night screamed once too, before they broke him.
This room is larger, though still small by most comparisons. The bed takes up most of the room. Unsurprising, given this is no permanent residence. Jorah was always meant for simply passing through. At least, it used to be. Not for the last ten years. Perhaps even longer than that. It's hard for him to tell how the world has changed when he's spent most of his life in a cell.
Lucy's jacket is on the floor, a pair of knives resting on top. That makes him relax, though not by much. It means she'll be coming back, but it also means she only has one with her. It shouldn't be a problem, not for Lucy, but he doesn't trust this town. She can handle herself perfectly well, something he knows from experience, but there's something strange about this place. Too many soldiers. Too much tension in the air. And something else he can't quite place, the air smells sour, sickly, like rotting fruit and the devil's eggs.
Something is going to happen here soon, he can feel it.
Natsu stands slowly, legs quaking beneath him. He leans heavily against the side of the bed, one hand flat against the wall, the other cradled against his aching chest, bruised ribs pulling painfully as he moves. Fingers prod at the bandage looped around his torso, smoothing creases and searching for tender spots along his rib cage. A whine builds in his throat as the pads of his fingers slide along a fracture, but he swallows it down, gritting his teeth.
He pulls back and his fingers come away stained red.
Hissing, Natsu wipes away the blood on his pants, as if ignoring the cuts will make them go away. But they don't. They stay, lines cutting across his skin, crisscrossing, sure to grow silver with age just as everything else does.
Natsu glances down at the bite mark on his arm, lips curving back in a snarl when he sees it peeking through a bandage. It's something he'll have to watch for an infection, an open wound like that. It won't be fun to watch for. And it won't close easily. He can tell already, judging by the way it seems to have pulled in the night, not even trying to scab and heal itself. He'd much prefer scarring to an open wound like this. Blood is easier to track. Once a Berserk catches the scent of it, it sticks, heavy on the tongue to the point where they can practically taste it.
He wets his lips, tracing a finger around the deep mark and attempting to ignore the overwhelming scent of his own blood, a sickness churning in his gut. It's too thick, too heavy in the air and in his throat. Choking him. Suffocating him.
It'll need stitches, he knows. The one on his chest as well. He doesn't know if his hands are steady enough to do them himself. Probably not. He's never had steady hands. Strong hands, yes. Soft hands, once upon a time, years ago. But never steady hands. He never knows what to do with them when they aren't shaking.
Natsu finds himself by the window, peering out onto the streets below, watching as strangers mill throughout the city. Soldiers, mostly. Branded with gold. His lips pull back over his teeth, but Natsu makes no sound as he stares. They're just men, nothing more. There are no Berserks in Jorah, he would have sensed if there were. Men he can handle, at least for a short while.
He just doesn't understand why there are so many.
Behind him, the door creeks open, sound high-pitch, a squeal. His shoulders tense briefly, but he forces himself to relax, searching for Lucy's stardust essence, ignoring the other scents in the room.
He doesn't find it, only the last remains of this morning still clinging to his nose.
Natsu stiffens again, a low growl building in his throat, rumbling with a warning. "Lucy?" he murmurs, her name heavy on his tongue, wanting to be sure it isn't her before snapping. There's so much blood in the air. He needs to be sure. Natsu is done making rash mistakes.
A laugh sounds behind him, but it isn't airy like Lucy's, not soft or light, a lilt to the sound. It's harsh, gruff, something that speaks of the bitterness that comes with age. There's something callous as the mountains in that laugh. Not cruel, exactly, but stern. "No," an unfamiliar voice tells him, chuckling as they step further into the room, the door screeching as it shuts behind them, "just me."
Natsu whirls around, growling, teeth bared in a fearsome snarl, but the stranger holds up a placating hand, making him pause, startled. A middle aged woman peers up at him, over a foot shorter than Natsu, but her expression twice as fierce. She blinks, green eyes softening as she takes in his weary frame, his chest already heavy, tightening with pain.
The woman clucks her tongue, frowning as she glances at the bandages wound around his torso, white cloth spotted with red. She takes a half step closer and Natsu snarls again, a warning more than a threat. She stills once more, and Natsu's eyes take her in with rapid glances, gaze snapping from one place to the next.
No weapons. Nothing.
He doesn't like it.
She snorts then, eyes rolling as she places her hands on her hips, the skirt of her dress swishing across the ground, almost impatient. "Relax, Berserker," she tuts, expression almost friendly. Almost, but not quite. He doesn't like that either. "I'm not 'ere to hurt you," she says it like a promise, but there's a darkness in her gaze, something unsure that speaks of pain that comes from looking at him.
He wonders how many of his brothers have ravaged this city under the King's command, how many innocent people have been slaughtered in border raids.
Natsu snorts at the promise, wanting to laugh, but the sound sticks in his throat, unwilling to tumble free. "Like you could," he growls back, more untrusting than unfriendly. She shouldn't be able to tell who—what he is with a single look. Not when he has no armor, no collar, no violence in his eyes.
The old woman quirks a brow, then grins back at him. Her smile is all teeth, and he notices that her right canine is made from sapphire. The gem glints in the light and Natsu sucks in a sharp breath. Only Mithrien's use precious gems to replace teeth. The frost mines are a major export of the country, though he knows that imperfect pieces are sold for little to nothing. He straightens his back, suddenly curious.
"You think yer invincible?" the woman laughs, head tossed back. Her eyes glint in amusement, lips twitching. She raises another brow at him, giving him a onceover and snorting, clearly unimpressed. "You look half-dead already," she informs him, shaking with silent laughter.
He swallows down the lump in his throat, tongue heavy and dry. "Mostly alive," he corrects her, voice cracking as he speaks. Natsu wets his lips, shifting awkwardly as he realizes there's no threat. She could have killed him if she really wanted to. Most wouldn't wait for him to look them in the eyes first.
Her eyes twinkle. "Mostly," she repeats, almost teasing him.
For a long moment the two of them just stare, the woman calculating, gauging his reactions, Natsu confused, cautious. He doesn't move from the window, ready to toss himself backwards if he needs to, ready to find Lucy quickly and bolt before they're both turned in as traitors to the crown, him more so than her, but the Centari king does not discriminate.
Natsu doubts he would enjoy a double execution.
His gaze drifts to Lucy's knives, to her jacket lying crumpled on the ground. For the first time this morning, fear spikes in his gut. His gaze snaps between Lucy's things and the old woman, nerves flaring as a sick thought crawls its way through him.
Perhaps they've already been turned in.
The woman seems to sense his thoughts, her eyes softening just the slightest as she sees his gaze flicker with panic. "Your girl is fine," the woman tells him gently, voice soothing. She doesn't laugh this time. "She just went out for a bit, should be back soon." Her words don't comfort him, and she sighs when Natsu eyes her wearily. "I think she figured you'd sleep longer," she muses when he remains silent, crossing her arms over her chest, head tilting to one side curiously. "You look like you need it."
Natsu doesn't speak. He can barely breathe.
This time, the woman huffs. "Relax," she hisses at him, eyes narrowing, though not unkindly. "Yer making me nervous," she murmurs, pursing her lips.
Sensing that he isn't about to respond, the woman shrugs, conceding to his silence. If the situation were different, perhaps he would thank her for the information, but he's had enough surprises lately, he isn't about to take chances just because the old woman appears to be friendly. He knows better than that.
"Next time, don't come in through the window," she chastises him, turning swiftly on her heel. She takes several steps, only pausing to look into the large bowl beside the bed. She glances at it, nose wrinkling as she sees what must be a bloody mess, and lifts it without a word. "Someone could have seen you," she huffs, shouldering the bowl with a grimace, water droplets sloshing down the sides. "This place is crawlin' with soldiers."
She makes it two steps towards the door before Natsu calls after her, "You gonna turn us in?" His heart crawls into his throat a moment later, trepidation pulling at his chest. She could if she wanted to. As a citizen of Pergrande it's her duty to. The King would reward her kindly. Anyone else in Jorah would turn them in without a second thought. Or perhaps they would have simply killed him in his sleep, save His Majesty the trouble.
The woman pauses, glancing over her shoulder at him, surprise clear in her gaze. For a long moment she simply stares, blinking at him slowly. Her mouth drops open just the slightest bit, but no words come out. Then, she laughs, surprising him. "Now, why would I want to do that?" she asks, not waiting for an answer.
Her eyes twinkle, and she sends him a wink before disappearing out the door, kicking the wood shut behind her.
Natsu stares at the door for several moments, confused and oddly relieved, unsure what to think.
Another hour passes, perhaps less. Natsu pays little attention to the time, too busy pacing the floor, angry, confused, annoyed. He tried to leave earlier, to follow Lucy's scent, but the old woman—Peg he learned, her name is Peg—had simply shoved him back into the room, griping about how he would get himself killed walking around as a "bloody fucking bastard," as Peg put it.
Jorah doesn't take kindly to strangers, even less so to ones that seem like trouble. Natsu doesn't think he's much of a troublemaker, at least, not on purpose, but Peg was adamant about him staying in the inn until Lucy returned.
"There are too many soldiers," she told him, swatting at him with a broom.
Natsu snorts, even more reason for him to go, if anyone were to ask him. Soldiers mean bad news, especially if they come in large quantities. The King doesn't send soldiers this far out unless he's looking for something.
He thinks he knows what that something may be.
Grumbling to himself, Natsu settles against the bed, lowering himself gently. He grimaces, a twinge of pain lacing his ribs, but he ignores it. It's going to be a long day, he knows. It hurts to move, to breathe, to think. He hasn't hurt this badly in a long time, not since his first matches in the kill rings. He hadn't been prepared for the slaughter then, all the blood and violence, the screaming crowds and their sick smiles. He hadn't been prepared at all.
He broke ribs then, too, during his first match. Three of them, all on the right side. It nearly killed him, but he won the match. When they told him that, he laughed in their faces, spitting up blood and bile.
There are no winners, he told them, snarling and smiling all at once. Only death and more death. Natsu almost wishes he had died that day. Maybe part of him did. He certainly lost a piece of himself, something he can never get back, no matter how hard he fights for it.
"There are no winners," Natsu murmurs, staring down at his hands: clean, but not. He traces a scar with his eyes, sighing to himself.
Downstairs, a door is thrown open violently, and Natsu lurches to his feet as he hears it bang against a wall. His hands curl into fists, but he waits, listening as best he can through the floor. There's no screams, no shouts, only a quite word that he can't hear. He figures if it was something Peg couldn't handle, she would call him down, regardless of his half-deadness. A bloody mess or not, Natsu figures his worth a dozen soldiers now that his life isn't being frozen away in a damp cell.
The stairs creak as someone walks upstairs, careful and quiet, but loud enough for him to hear. Natsu relaxes, heaving a sigh as he realizes it's only one of the other patrons. Natsu shakes his head, hands dropping back to his sides as he turns away, ready to begin pacing once more.
Again, he thinks of the window, but his ribs ache and he doubts he could scale down without being noticed by the soldiers, it wouldn't be nearly as easy as the night before, when the men were drunk and stupid, oblivious to anything that wasn't more alcohol or a pretty face.
There's a sudden click, a shuffling outside the door, and then a soft squeal as the door is nudged open. He whirls around, head snapping up rapidly as something tickles his nose.
Stardust.
Lucy blinks back at him, expression soft but nervous as she stares at him. He cocks his head to one side, inhaling sharply as he looks her over, checking to make sure she's okay. To his watchful gaze she seems fine, nothing out of place, though she looks odd without her ever-present jacket and long gloves. Though, he must look similarly strange.
He had never thought much about his armor, the red fabric constantly tied around his hips to signal him out as a Berserk. He feels oddly naked without them, but perhaps that isn't a bad thing.
His gaze lingers on the bandage curled around her arm, his lips twisting into a frown as he notices how far down it stretches. She told it wasn't anything to worry about, a scratch, but her arm is covered in white from shoulder to elbow, her upper arm bound tightly. Something inky bleeds through the cloth, faint, but dark enough for his attention to be drawn towards her.
Lucy clears her throat suddenly and his eyes snap back to her face. Natsu relaxes when he sees her, tension he hadn't noticed before leaving his shoulders, his back, his jaw. She smiles at him, dropping her bag to the floor with a muffled thump. Her own eyes search him, lingering on his chest, his arm, the bruises blooming along his jaw. He meets her gaze, holding it, and Lucy's lips part silently, the words sticking in her throat.
Wetting his lips, Natsu takes a hesitant step forward, more relieved than he would ever admit aloud. "I woke up and you were gone," he murmurs, damning himself soon after when her eyes widen slightly.
Lucy takes another step forward, lips drawn into a gentle smile, expression almost sad. It's the last thing he wants. Before he can continue, Lucy takes another step, moving so she's barely a foot away from him. "I figured you'd sleep longer," she replies just as softly. She reaches out slowly, fingertips just barely grazing his jaw. "You weren't doing so well last night." Her lips twist into a frown, something unfamiliar in her gaze, and Natsu's heart seizes.
She called him her friend.
He hadn't meant to worry her, not as badly as he did. He could see it on her face when he squeezed through the window, he could practically smell it in the room, something sour beneath the stars. She thought he wouldn't come back. He almost didn't come back. "I thought—" He cuts himself off, teeth clacking sharply as he shuts his mouth.
A part of him thought she wouldn't come back either.
Her eyes narrow, mouth twisting into a frown that shouldn't be there. She looks worried again, about him, and his stomach twists unpleasantly. "Thought what?" she asks, edging closer. Her hand on his cheek becomes firmer, surprising him, and Natsu takes a half-step back, his calves bumping against the edge of the bed.
She moves to pull back, but he catches her fingers in his, squeezing gently as their hands drop between them. "It's nothing, Lucy," he whispers, managing a smile for her. It pulls at his split lip and he can taste blood on the tip of his tongue, but he still smiles. She relaxes when he does, though her eyes continue to search his. "I promise," he tells her, softer than before, and she nods, slow, almost hesitant.
A soft sigh leaves her nose, and she pulls back. Natsu releases her, watches as she steps away from him. Lucy doesn't go far, just enough to scoop up her bag once more. Natsu's eyes narrow, but he says nothing as dips her hand inside, riffling for only a moment before pulling back, this time with thread, a needle clutched between her fingers and her eyes expectant.
He understands immediately, and drops onto the bed with a resigned sigh. Her expression turns apologetic, and she murmurs an apology before sliding in closer, her knee pressed to his thigh as she leans over him, untying the bandage on his arm with gentle fingers. She tosses it aside, hushing him when he makes a low sound, her thumb prodding the open wound.
Lucy glances at the bowl of water, clean and fresh thanks to Peg, and makes quick work of dabbing the blood from his skin, wiping it away as gently as she can.
The first stitch is the worst, the needle cold as it slips through his skin, weaving in and back out, but he holds still for her, giving her a reassuring noise when she stills, glancing up at him to make sure he's okay. The second is better. By the third he thinks he can ignore it. It's annoying and stings, but it isn't the worst he's dealt with.
Lucy's thumb rubs circles against his skin as she works, hands soft and steady against him. Natsu's breath hitches when the needle is pulled through, but he otherwise doesn't react.
It's silent for a several minutes, Lucy working slowly, carefully, pausing between each pass of the needle. Her fingers ghost across each new stitch, to make sure it stays or to reassure him he doesn't know, but it helps, grounding him, holding him steady. Every fifth stitch she wipes new blood from his arm, careful not to press too hard.
"How did you find me last night?" she asks suddenly. Natsu's head snaps down, green eyes tracing the curve of her jaw curiously for a moment, but she doesn't look at him. His gaze slips down to his arm and her fingers on his skin. The needle hangs limp against his bicep as she reaches for the bowl.
He waits until she's ringing out the cloth to answer, letting the silence hang between them. "You smell like the stars," he murmurs as she leans over him once more. Lucy peeks up at him, gaze amused as she dabs at the blood on his arm. She shakes her head, smiling in a way that makes him think she doesn't believe him. "I'm being serious," he tells her, lips quirking into a crooked grin.
Lucy places the rag aside. "I'm sure you are," she teases, sending him another quick look. She squeezes his arm, gently but firm and Natsu grits his teeth as she presses the needle into his skin, breath catching in his throat.
He exhales through his teeth. "Do you know what we call you?" he asks, the conversation making it easier to ignore the metal in his arm. Lucy's finger ghosts across the new stitch, her amber eyes flicking up to meet his, beseeching and confused. "Faeborne," he clarifies with a whisper, careful to keep his voice low enough for only her to hear, should anyone be listening.
Peg may know what he is, but he won't let her find out about Lucy, not when he knows what could happen to her.
"I can't say that I do." She hums, drawing nonsensical shapes along his arm.
He swallows, wetting his lips as leans in closer, shifting for a better angle. "Velsigna av strakaz," he murmurs, voice gruff as he breathes the words against her ear. Lucy shivers against him, hands going still. The fingers drawing shapes on his skin sudden clench down, twitching against him. She inhales sharply. Natsu stares at her bare shoulder silently. "Blessed by stars."
He hears her swallow, watches her throat bob. After a moment, the tension leaves her body and she exhales. Lucy pulls the needle through his skin without warning and he hisses, jerking slightly. An apologetic hand squeezes his arm. "And what do they call you?" she asks him, something teasing in her tone.
Natsu snorts, lips curving up almost bitterly. "Mostly they call us monsters," he tells her. The joke falls flat. Lucy jerks back, eyes locking with his. There's a flash of something there that he wishes he hadn't seen, guilt churning his stomach. Natsu sighs through his nose, the smile slipping from his lips. "Velsigna av branna," he tells her, his free hand reaching around slowly, the flat of his palm brushing against the side of her leg. "Blessed by fire."
Lucy is silent for a long moment, her eyes searching his. She abandons the mark on his upper arm, hands coming up to cup his face, almost hesitant. "Do you think you're a monster?" she breathes, voice quivering. Her fingers are cool against him as she tilts his face up so that he's forced to meet her eyes.
His smile is bitter, almost sarcastic. "Do you think I'm not?"
AN: So, I'm not sure if there's going to be smut in this, but if there IS Lucy is definitely going to have a kink for Natsu talking to her in the Berserk language. Like… that's 100% going to be her turn on. Just saying.
This chapter was a bitch, like holy crap! Sorry for not updating last week, it was… a crazy weekend.
Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you thought!
Glossary of World-building terms (all created by me, though may be influenced by other languages):
Velsigna av Branna: Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.
Velsigna av Strakaz: From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.