AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!

Edited 4/7/18. Minor errors corrected.

Berserk

Chapter Fifteen

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

Natsu sighs through his nose, gaze locked on the door. Waiting and watching. For what, he isn't entirely sure. Something. Anything. He knows that something is coming, he doesn't know what, but he can feel it in the back of his mind like a plague, he can feel it in his bones. Something's about to happen in Jorah. Something terrible and violent. He just hopes he didn't bring it with him when he ran.

A shadow moves across the door, light flooding in through the uncovered window behind him. It's early. Earlier than he'd like to be awake, but he hasn't been sleeping well for the last three days. It's his chest, he thinks, it makes it hard to breathe. He hadn't noticed the first night, too exhausted to care about much of anything other than finding his friend. Nothing else mattered to him right then. It wasn't until the next night that he realized how terribly his ribs ached, how his lungs seemed to rattle as he breathed, how sleeping put pressure on sore areas and kept him awake at all hours.

Their third night in Jorah, Natsu took to pacing the room. Then the halls. And finally the streets below, winding his way through the town, practically a ghost. Walking felt better than sleeping on bruised ribs, but only so much. That night, Natsu walked and walked and walked until he could barely feel his feet beneath him, cold and bare against the cobbled streets. He'd mapped half the city by the time morning came, and when the sun began to rise he slipped back into the room through the window, mindful of watching eyes that time.

Lucy hadn't been nearly as impressed.

Against his back, Lucy shifts, sighing in her sleep as she curls up between his shoulder blades, breath warm against his skin, contrasting with the otherwise chilly air. She murmurs something he doesn't catch, cold toes brushing against his calf. Natsu's nose wrinkles at the chilled touch, but he doesn't shift away. He can feel her heartbeat against his bare back, can feel it travel through his own chest, his own heart echoing hers by only a moment, steady beneath his rib cage.

Arching his back, Natsu rolls his shoulders slowly, then stretches his arms, being careful not to wake the sleeping woman beside him. The movement pulls at the stitching on his arm, and his eyes snap to the neat marks along his skin. He grimaces as he sees it, twin crescent shapes, nearly touching at the ends where the other Berserk's filed teeth latched on and ripped at the muscle. The closed wound throbs, but Natsu hardly notices, much more enthralled with the twin curves of neat stitches left uncovered to breathe during the night.

Lucy did a good job, he notes, lips quirking fondly at the edges, better than he could have done. He's never had much practice with a needle and thread. Not for lack of want, of course, but he's never been in a place that allowed them. In the rings, in the King's army, wounds were left to fester and heal on their own, only treated if deep enough, but then only with scraps of cloth of the occasional ointment.

Natsu has only had stitches one other time, and that was for the silver reminder on his throat.

Sometimes he wishes they had just let him bleed out in the sand.

Lucy shifts behind him once more, as if she can hear his thoughts, and Natsu's lips twist upwards at the edges, pulling into the faintest of smiles. She was stern that afternoon when she fixed his arm, absolutely fierce, but not unkind. It was an odd moment, for such a little thing like Lucy to reprimand him the way she had. She was gentle, of course, but her words were firm, leaving no room for an argument.

"Do you think I'm not?" he asked her, lips twisted into a bitter, angry smile. He hadn't meant to snap at her, but he was finding it harder and harder to keep his control. Something about the running, the fighting, it was playing games with his head, pulling at his last restraints until all of the bitterness and years of rage began to build up in his chest, threatening to spill over and rip straight through him.

Lucy's fingers squeezed his arm, grip firm but gentle as she anchored herself to him, nails pricking at his skin. Her hand had dropped from his face as the words tumbled from his lips, though her other rests firm against his cheek. She blinked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted just the slightest bit. Something flashed in her gaze, but it was gone before he could make out what it was. Anger, maybe. Sadness. Or perhaps something stronger than that, something that would rattle his bones.

A shaky breath reached his ears, but for a moment he wasn't sure if it was hers or his or maybe it was both. Her thumb stroked along his cheek, her lips twisted into a sad line as she stared back at him, eyes heavy with melancholy. He leaned into her touch and her absentminded fingers drew a path along his jaw, soothing him with light brushes of her fingers.

He was forced to meet her eyes as she tilted his head up, Natsu coming willingly.

She smiled when he looked at her, only for a moment and then it was gone. Her expression became fierce then, a light flickering in her eyes, making them appear brighter than usual. A sudden wind ruffled his hair, a Summer breeze and nothing more, almost a tickle. Her agitation was clear in the air, in the way it moved and seemed to curl its way around the both of them. The scent of stardust grew thicker in the air, almost suffocating as it burned at his lungs.

"I know you're not," she told him, fingers squeezing at his upper arm, just enough so he felt it. He held her gaze then, and knew that it was an argument he could never win.

Cold toes bump against his calf once more, deliberate this time, and Natsu knows that she's awake. She probably has been for some time now, but thought he was still asleep. His lips quirk slightly, the ghost of a smile on his mouth, but he doesn't dwell on the thoughts for long. There are more important things to worry about. Most notably how long they've been here.

They've spent four nights in Jorah, and this will be Lucy's fifth day in the city. People have seen her, and by extension him, drifting through the streets. They've gained attention from the locals, if only a little, and he knows that isn't good. It'll be harder for them to slip away now. People know their faces, could recognize them if they needed to. It doesn't sit well with him.

"We shouldn't be spending so much time here," he murmurs to Lucy, keeping his voice low in case she is still asleep. He hasn't brought it up to her yet, how long they've been in one place, but they've spent far too long in this cursed city already. They should slip into the mountain pass when they get the chance.

The last time they lingered too long in one location they were practically ambushed, and he's in no condition for another fight so soon. Lucy, he knows, could handle herself fairly well against a Berserk, he's felt it himself how well she can fight. However, Lucy's fighting abilities aren't what he's worried about. It's the Berserks. He doubts they'll be so lucky as to run into only one Berserk again.

The King will have sent more after them, and if they know they're hiding in Jorah—

The sheets rustle as Lucy sits up, the blankets slipping down to pool in her lap, leaving his back cold as she shifts away from him. Natsu grumbles at the sudden chill, but otherwise doesn't react. "Nothing's come after us," she murmurs, voice thick with sleep. She shuffles on the mattress and a moment later he feels her leg press along the length of his spine.

Natsu hums in agreement, but locks his jaw regardless. He stares at the door, muscles tensing as he hears someone coming up the stairs. The stranger passes their room without pause, but he doesn't relax. "Nothing yet," he grumbles back, wetting his lips. Lucy's thigh presses harder against him, perhaps in annoyance, but he ignores it. "We should have left after the first night."

They should have, but they didn't. If they had left already they could have been out of the mountains by now, perhaps out of Pergrande entirely. They wouldn't have to worry as much then. The King wouldn't dare send his Berserks into Mithriel, not at the risk of starting a war. They should have left when they had the chance.

Lucy hums, though he can't be sure whether it's in agreement or not. "You needed rest," she reminds him, twisting around to place a hand on his side, the pads of her fingers soft as they slide along his ribs, her touch slow and gentle as she feels for cracks and breaks. "I know your chest still hurts." It comes out as a whisper, as if it's a secret to be kept close.

It very well may be.

Natsu merely snorts, shaking his head as best he can as Lucy continues to peruse his skin in search of damage. "My chest is fine," he growls, rough and throaty, though not unkind. Lucy ignores him and he huffs, pride more wounded than anything else. Her fingers press roughly against a rib and he yelps, surprised more so than hurt, but not for long. A dull throb comes from his bruised ribs, not nearly as bad as before, but enough to steal his breath for several moments.

Lucy clucks her tongue at him, unimpressed. "Liar," she calls him, but her fingers ghost along the same rib she pressed against, gentle this time, an apology of sorts. "Two more days, all right?" He's about to protest, but she lies the flat of her palm against his side, stilling him. "Just give yourself two more days."

He swallows down an immediate objection, lips pressing into a thin line as he mulls over their options, what little they have. His tongue swipes over his lips, wetting them, and for a long moment he merely listens to the sound of her breathing behind him, waiting for his response.

Finally, he sighs, shoulders relaxing under her touch. "What if we don't have two days?" he asks her, rolling onto his back slightly to look at her. Lucy's eyes meet his immediately, expression tired and grim, but more determined than he's ever seen before. She smiles at him, but it's tight, and he realizes she's just as nervous about staying here as he is.

"Than we'll figure something out," is all she says, hand sliding to his shoulder and giving him a short, sharp squeeze before releasing him entirely. She slips from the bed quietly, steps light against the wooden floor as walks around the bed and heads towards her bag, crouching to rummage through the sack, looking for something he can't begin to guess. There's simply too much in that bag for him to remember, though he always seems to find what he needs.

It's magicked, he knows, perhaps blessed by the Fae, he can never be quite sure. There are several means of obtaining low level magic. Blessings from Gods and other creatures are only one of them. There used to be higher levels of magic throughout the human population of Ishgar, but several of the ancient secrets have been lost with time.

According to legend, the Berserks were once able to summon their internal flames, pulling them through their skin and harnessing them in battle, a fiery hot rage that became tangible.

Igneel once claimed that he could do it, pull his fire into his fists, but Natsu never saw it. He simply figured that Igneel was making up stories, attempting to entertain him and some of the younger Berserks, give them something to smile about for once. It worked too, Natsu believed it for a time, but stories are just stories. Perhaps they could once summon fire, but not anymore. Those flames have been locked away beneath their skin, left to boil in their blood and in their bones, until rage, white hot and murderous, spills to the surface in mindless fury.

Natsu watches Lucy as she slips her boots onto her feet, humming to herself as she fiddles with the laces, looping and pulling them into a complicated twist.

"I don't like it here," he tells her, sighing through his nose. And he doesn't. The city smells like iron, the air thick and metallic, strong enough to choke him. It also smells like northern ice, more soothing than iron, but still enough to twist his stomach unpleasantly. He hasn't seen ice for years—real ice. Not the frost that nipped at his skin in the cellblock or the thin sheets that would harden the puddles on the floor.

Real ice is something magical, something he yearns to see once again.

Mostly though, he doesn't like the crowds in Jorah, the soldiers and the feeling of being watched. He hasn't been around so many people since his days in Fiore. Though the people of Jorah aren't jeering and calling for blood, he can't help but feel their eyes on him when he walks through the streets, vigilant and accusing.

They don't know what he is. If they did he would already be dead or worse. The only physical difference between them and the Berserks are the teeth. Natsu's canines are sharper, longer, but even that can be hard to notice. It's the armor that gives them away, the runes painted on their chests and the collars wrapped around their throats.

Lucy glances up from her task as she hears him speak, eyes sad as she looks at him, hearing his comment. Immediately, he knows that she had already guessed his feelings for the city. He made them abundantly clear before they even reached the city. "I know," she whispers, biting at her lower lip and turning away from him. "I know, but we can't risk you getting an infection." Her gaze locks on the stitched wound on his arm, worry creeping across her expression, but it only leaves him confused.

The wound is clean and closed. It should be fine.

Again, he thinks that something isn't right. One Berserk should not have been all that the King sent after them. By all logic, the King had two ideas of what happened in the woods when he realized Natsu wasn't coming back. Either Lucy killed him or he joined her. In either case, His Majesty wouldn't have dared to send just one Berserk after them. Likely not even a pair. Three at the least. But they were only attacked by one—

Natsu lurches upwards, inhaling sharply. The sudden motion pulls at his injured ribs, angering them greatly. "Valcanov," he swears viciously, both at the pain and the realization of what might be happening. A snarl tears from his throat and he sees Lucy still, her body tensing as lunges to his feet.

Lucy is quiet for a long moment as he stands in the center of the room, growling at nothing and acting stranger than usual. "My, you're in a bad mood this morning," she murmurs. Natsu can feel her eyes on his back, curious but also nervous.

He quiets himself, not wanting to scare her. "Something's not right," he growls, twisting around to look at her. Her eyes narrow, confused, and he swallows down a snarl building in his chest. "There should have been more than one," he tells her, taking several large steps forward until he's hovering over her, gaze darting around the room rapidly.

Her hands still against her bag, understanding immediately. "Do you think there's more?" she asks him, a nervous lilt to her voice.

"I think we're being played with," he snarls, fingers twitching at his sides as anger burns at his skin. No one leaves Jorah, not easily. That's common knowledge in Pergrande, even to the King's beasts. "I think they have us right where they want us" he tells Lucy. Trapped like rats with no where to go.

She inhales sharply, head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think they've cornered us here." She says his thoughts aloud, and it does nothing to calm his nerves, only makes them worse.

Their only way between the mountains is through the West gate, any other would send them right into the Jernnas.

Natsu wets his lips, glancing down at Lucy, eyes hard. "Personally, I'd take my chances in the mountains," he tells her, low and soft. She stares up at him, silently asking what he wants to do. He considers demanding they leave, not wanting to waste extra time in this city, but her words from earlier make him pause. She's right, he knows. "We'll give it two more days," he tells her, pursing his lips, "but that's it."

She gives him a sharp nod, then stands suddenly, so close that her head nearly knocks against his chin. "Come on," she demands, holding out her hands for him to take. Natsu frowns, slipping his palms into hers and letting her pull him forward. He stumbles as he attempts to slip on his boots and a shirt all at once.

"Where are we going?" he asks her, rolling his eyes at the amused sound that spills from her as he slips again. Lucy yanks the shirt down over his head with ease, annoying him, but he stays quiet.

Her hands come back to his wrists, squeezing gently and pulling him forward once more, towards the door. "A walk."

They've been walking around for hours, from near dawn until the sun has dipped low in the sky, the sunset bleeding red and violet across the horizon. Lucy's walk turned into something much longer than either expected. Something short turned into weaving through the streets and shops in the city, searching for much needed supplies to get them through the harsh northern part of Mithriel. Food will be harder to come by in the blistering cold, and they were lucky enough to find a butcher willing to trade dried rabbit meat for a dozen small fire stones that were embedded in Natsu's armor. The stones themselves too small to be worth much unless used for jewelry, but the butcher was generous, offering twice as much meat as the stones were worth.

They must have looked desperate to the woman in the shop, she gave them a gentle, sad little smile as they left, wishing them well on their trip.

Natsu never did like pity, but he swallowed his anger down, knowing his pride wasn't worth more than their lives.

As the night begins to blacken the sky, Natsu guides Lucy into an alley, a hand against her back as she squeezes in close to his side, gaze darting around in search of passersby.

Lucy is in the middle of telling him a story about her brother's when Natsu hears the snap of a branch beneath a boot, the smell iron and sweat clinging to his nose, so thick he can almost taste it. Soldiers. And coming towards them. There's an agitation in the air, something buzzing around them that makes Natsu nervous.

Without thinking, Natsu twists and presses Lucy to the nearest wall, her surprised yelp swallowed by his shirt as he cages her against the stone walls of a pub. Her fingers twist into his shirt, nails biting into his skin, and Natsu's arms come up to swallow her, hiding her between his body and the wall. They disappear into the shadow of the building almost immediately, a pile of wooden barrels enough to shield them from anyone coming from the direction they were originally headed.

Lucy gasps against his throat, breath warm against his collarbone. "Natsu," she murmurs, a quiver in her voice, "what are you—" He cuts her off with a desperate hush, leaning in closer as the footsteps grow louder. Lucy hears them as well, her heart beating faster and her lips pressing against his skin to muffle any sounds she might make.

Natsu bites his tongue as well, unsure as to why he's reacted so violently. By all means, they could have continued forward. They wouldn't have been stopped, not when there's another hour before the town's curfew. They've walked passed the soldiers several times today, and none of them have spared the pair a glance other than to peek at Lucy when she isn't looking.

His stomach twists into knots, and Natsu doesn't remove himself from Lucy or the wall. She doesn't question him again, trusting him enough to wait.

A pair of soldiers appear, almost out of sight as they pause in the middle of the alley, only a few feet away from where Natsu has Lucy pressed against the wall. He can only just see them if he peeks around the barrels, but instead of staring he turns away, leaning further into Lucy and tilting his head to rest his cheek against her hair.

If they're caught, the guards may not accuse them of listening in.

Lucy seems to think the same, her arms winding around his back and her lips pressing against the side of his throat, breath warm against the scar on his neck.

"Tomorrow?" a soldier suddenly asks, Natsu's nerves prickling when he hears the new voice. It's quiet, barely loud enough for him to make out over the sounds of the pub before him. A good spot for talking, he can admit, but not good enough. "Are you sure?"

There's a sigh, then a shuffling sound, and Natsu squeezes his eyes shut as the voices come closer. "Yes, I'm sure," a second soldier replies, this one younger than the first, voice more lilting, not as beaten down and harsh.

A growl builds in Natsu's throat, rumbling in his chest, but Lucy's fingers rake against his side, quieting him.

The first soldier makes a snarling sound, clearly unimpressed with the affirmation from his companion. "But that's so soon," he murmurs. A scuffing sound reaches Natsu's ears, and the older guard spits something in a tongue Natsu is unfamiliar with, cursing something under his breath.

Lucy releases a shaky breath against his neck, his skin prickling as her warmth contrasts with the night's chill. Her heartbeat is loud beneath her bones, the sound echoing through his ears as he tries to listen to the guards, who have settled against the other side of the wall of barrels, figuring themselves a better spot to remain hidden, much like Natsu and Lucy.

Natsu wonders if they can hear her heart from where they stand.

There's a heavy stretch of silence between the men, but Natsu knows they haven't left. Lucy's stardust scent curls through his nose, familiar and sweet, but he can't will himself to relax.

"If we wait any longer the King will send—"

The older soldier cuts off the first, something malicious and bitter in his tone. "I know what the King will do, Jerret!" he spits at the younger man, who Natsu thinks must recoil, given the sudden shuffling sound. The elder guard spits, a thick, wet sound, and Natsu wrinkles his nose. "Better than you ever could," he finishes lowly.

The younger soldier, Jerret, sighs. The barrels creak as a weight is pressed against them, and Natsu allows a low rumble to slip from between his lips, too low for the men to hear, but enough for Lucy to pinch his hip beneath his shirt.

"Rowan," Jerret murmurs, a sad lilt to his voice, a sigh.

Rowan makes a pleading sound somewhere deep in his throat, desperation seeping through his words. "If we strike tomorrow, people will die," he tells Jerret, voice barely a whisper. Natsu has to strain to hear it.

Lucy twists against him, shifting to hear better. Natsu tries to pull back from her, giving her more room to move, but she merely holds him in place with a hand pressed low against his spine.

"If we wait," Jerret counters, a low hiss to his words, something urgent creeping into his tone, as if he's grown tired of the conversation, "people will still die." It comes out as a snap and the air between the soldiers remains heavy for several long tense moments.

Rowan doesn't relent. "We could evacuate," he suggests. "Or we could—"

Jerret cuts him off, frustration evident in the growl that stains his words. "We can't," he spits, "Bard says—"

Lucy gasps against his throat, growing very still against him. Natsu's eyes snap open, his head tilting to peer down at her, but he can't see her eyes. Her nails prick at his skin, but he can't ask in fear of them being caught. Instead, he raises a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin absentmindedly as the guard's bicker.

"I don't care what Bard says," Rowan snarls.

A scoff comes from Jerret. "You should," he spits back. "He's the reason this is possible in the first place."

Natsu isn't sure what "this" is, but he's certain that he doesn't want to find out. Lucy leans into his hand, as if in agreement, but doesn't make a sound.

"We can't win this," Rowan argues, voice lower than before. Something defeated creeps into his tone, a sigh spilling from his lips. "There's so many of them," he murmurs, a quiver in his voice.

"Aye," Jerret agrees, softer than before. He sighs as well, a breathy sound that Natsu barely registers. "More than us." He pauses, mulling over his words, and Natsu can hear a wet crackle as the man wets his lips. "But we have something they don't," Jerret tells Rowan, seriousness creeping into his words.

Rowan snorts, unamused. He laughs suddenly, rough and bellowing, so loud that it makes Natsu's muscles tense, surprised. "What?" he scoffs, mirth in his voice, but it's sarcastic, bitter. "Bravery? Hope?" He laughs again. "What do we have, Jerret?"

"Anger." Rowan stops laughing at the other man's reply. Silence creeps upon them, and the dark alley feels utterly empty for several drawn-out moments. Lucy inhales deeply, her fingers curling through his shirt, and Natsu swallows, palms shaking against the wall before him. "That's something He can't take from us," Jerret says proudly.

Rowan isn't as convinced. "His beasts have anger, too," is all he says. Natsu flinches, recoiling into himself as the soldiers murmur something he can't hear before leaving the way they came.

Natsu releases a shaky breath as they disappear, his tense arms falling slack against his sides. He steps away from Lucy, who unwinds herself from him, her eyes blown wide as she stares up at him. Natsu can only stare back, unable to process what he's just heard.

A storm is coming.

AN: Edited 4/7/18