AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!
EDITED 4/15/18 Minor changes throughout.
Berserk
Chapter Eighteen
{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}
Natsu's shoulder bumps against hers when he slides down beside her, armor making a low grinding sound as it scrapes against the rock behind them. She doesn't look at him, just keeps staring across from where they sit, gaze locked on the solid rock before them. The wind howls as it whips by, ruffling Lucy's hair. It catches on her lips, but she barely notices, expression blank as she stares and stares, heedless of the biting cold that's surrounded them sometime during the night.
The fire flickers, beginning to burn low, and beside her, Natsu sighs. He glances sideways at her, expression softening as he sees her lost expression. He slides in a bit closer, until his thigh is pressed tight against hers and he has to slip an arm around her shoulders to hold himself steady beside her. She doesn't acknowledge him, and Natsu whines lowly when she shivers, freezing and not knowing it.
He tucks her close against his side, the length of her torso pressed tight against his, his palm rubbing up and down her arm, friction helping to heat her chilled skin. Suddenly, she shivers against him, inhaling sharply and finally seeming to take notice of the cold. Lucy curls in on herself, bringing her knees close to her chest, free arm wrapping around them loosely. Her hands tremble violently, fingers shaking so badly he's afraid they might just break off, one by one.
She surprises him by turning to face him slightly, angling herself towards him before dropping her head to rest against his collarbone. He hisses through his teeth, her ear so cold it burns as if presses to his warm skin. Natsu snarls at the cold, wishing he could chase it away from her, but it persists, creeping closer, heedless of Natsu's warning.
Her breath is hot against his collarbone, exhales fanning across his skin. Natsu doesn't react, simply continues to rub her arm, chasing away the cold. The ice and cold doesn't concern him, it's never affected him like it does others, and he forgot that Lucy isn't made with ice in her veins—that she's not invincible.
But then, neither is he.
The fire flickers again, pale light dancing around the narrow space they've tucked themselves into, the wind whipping a path straight between the mountains which previously protected them. Shadows crawl across the walls, winding closer and wriggling like desert snakes, fast and venomous, maw wide and fangs outstretched, going for the throat.
Natsu glares at them, sighing when he remembers he can't do anything when faced with a shadow—a phantom. They slip straight through his fingers, gone before he can grasp them.
He casts a glance around the open space, squinting passed the mountains when he sees the first light of the sunrise peeking through the pass they've been walking down for ages. Natsu squints, trying to gauge the time as best he can, despite the mountains blocking his view of the sun. He'd guess it's early, no sooner than six, possibly earlier than that. He's never been good with the time. It's never mattered much to him, and where he came from there were times where the nights would outlive the days, everything swallowed in darkness during the winter months.
Already, he can see the sunrise bleeding red, the color mixing with gold to create something fiery. It's been like that since they left, the sky bleeding much like the people of Jorah. Spilled blood makes a red sun rise, that's what Igneel once told him. If that's the case, Natsu thinks much blood must have been spilled in Jorah, more than they saw that night.
"Lucy," he murmurs suddenly, glancing down to the silent woman curled against his side. She doesn't react for a long moment, and Natsu frowns as he giver her shoulder a gently squeeze. Jolting against him, Lucy's head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide and unfocused. She blinks rapidly, banishing her thoughts, and when her eyes lock with his they're much clearer, not as hazy and lifeless. "You okay?" he asks her softly, thumb ghosting her bare skin gently.
He's been worried about her, she's been quiet since they left the burning city, barely saying more than a few words at a time since they entered the mountains. He knows she's stressed, likely shocked by the carnage and the fighting, but he can't have her slipping away from him like this, not when they're so close to the border.
It's unfair to push her like this, he knows. She's been through a lot in only a few weeks, and that's never an easy thing.
Meeting his eyes, Lucy sends him a small, wobbly smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's a smile nonetheless, and he'll take what he can get. Lucy takes a shaky breath, hand coming up to cover the one on her shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze. "I'm fine, Natsu," she tells him, though the look in her eyes does nothing to convince him. "I promise." Her smile brightens just the slightest, eyes regaining some of the fire he's grown fond of seeing. "Don't worry about me," she says, giving his fingers another squeeze before dropping her hand back to her lap.
Natsu chuckles, the sound low and throaty. "Little late for that, Lucy," he teases, voice soft as he gazes down at her. Her mile widens just the slightest, but it's still a ghost of what it was several days earlier, smaller, not as bright around the edges. He squeezes her shoulder, ducking his chin to murmur in her ear, "Are you sure you're okay?"
She nods, gaze slipping from his slowly. Shifting, she turns to rest her temple against his collar, tucking herself close against his side to shield herself from the cold she's only just begun to notice. "Yeah," she whispers, sighing through her nose. Wetting her lips, she pauses for a moment, mulling over her thoughts before sharing them. "I've just been thinking," she tells him after a brief moment. He can feel her brow furrow against him.
"About what?" Natsu asks her, glancing down at the top of her head, his own eyes narrowing curiously. Interested in what's been on her mind, he may be, but really, he only wants to keep her talking. In some way, he's been missing the sound of her voice, having grown far too used to it in the roughly three weeks they've been together. Even in the beginning she was more talkative, and she was afraid of him then.
She sighs, watching as the fire flickers again, nearly blown out by a violent gust of mountain air. She doesn't answer right away, fingers coming up to tap against the side of her leg, lips pursed in deep thought. "What kind of king," she begins, pulling her head from his chest to peek up at him, "is so horrible his people would rather die than serve him?" She holds his gaze, pinning him with her amber eyes.
Natsu's breath catches in his throat and he wonders if she's talking about the people of Jorah or if she means him.
He forces himself to hold her gaze, finding her expression more wolf like the longer he stares. Not predatory, but there's a sharp intelligence there, as if she knows something he doesn't, and Natsu thinks that maybe she does. He wonders if that's some product of her Fae blood, diluted as it may be, he's heard stories about them, strange stories. The most common are about the Fae leading men to their deaths, enchanting them and leading them over cliffs or beneath crashing waves, the men desperate to drown. Less common, but just as unnerving, is the myth that they can read the minds of men. With one glance, they're said to look right through someone, knowing their secrets, their desires, their dreams.
He doubts it's true, at least, not entirely. If the Fae could read a person with one glance, he doubts they would have been hunted down to nothing. No, he doesn't think they can peel back the mind's layers and read thoughts, it sounds farfetched, even for the rules of their lands. However, he wonders if maybe they have the ability to examine someone on a more basic level, knowing their intentions with a mere glance.
Eyes narrowing, he studies Lucy, watching as her eyes trace his features, head cocked to one side in thought. Her gaze snaps back to his and she relaxes against him, shoulders losing some of their tension, though not much.
It's something he could believe, Faeborne having a strong ability to read others emotions and intentions. Lucy allowed him to accompany her easily, almost too much so. He's wondered about it, thought her to be too trusting for days, but somehow he knows she's not. He can see it in the way she carries herself, an iciness about her, visible in the blankness of her eyes and the tight pull of her smile when she's talking to someone knew. Jorah was were he first noticed it, she was polite to others, yes, but there was something clipped about her. She was always careful not to touch people while walking, and there was a stiffness to her shoulders, a clear warning for others to leave her be.
He hurt her, attacked her and could have killed her—almost did kill her, but she never once held that against him. She was weary, of course, but so was he. He wouldn't have blamed her if she'd shoved a blade between his ribs during the night, but she never did.
It's like she simply knew he wouldn't try to hurt her again. He'd said it, sure, but he knows that words are empty, at times.
Natsu thinks about what Lucy asked, about what kind of king would drive their citizens to civil war—to massacre. The answer feels heavy on his tongue, bitter. "A false king," he tells her, low growl building in his throat. He snorts, breath trailing away in a smoky hazy, barely visible in the light of the rising sun. "A tyrant."
Her gaze rips away from his, settling instead on the bleeding sunrise, her own expression hard and pensive, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flicker with something he doesn't catch, a hardness there and then gone again just as suddenly.
"A monster," she adds, fingers drumming against her knee. She says it with conviction, the word rolling from her tongue simply enough, like it's a fact.
His arm stiffens around her, Natsu inhaling sharply at the word he's heard directed at himself too many times to count. He can feel her eyes on his face, but he can't bring himself to look at her. The word strikes him somewhere between his ribs, a hot knife slicing through his skin and twisting. It's strange, he's never heard anyone all the Centari king a monster. He's thought it, several times, known it deep in his mind and in his heart, but no one else has ever said it.
Sighing, Natsu squeezes his eyes shut. "Yeah," he agrees, voice soft, "a monster."
They fall back into a more relaxed silence, the most comfortable it's been in the last four days. It's been slow going, making their way through the mountain pass. It's narrow, rocky, the trail unsteady, and Natsu knows that one wrong move could leave one or both of them careening down the side of the Jernnas to their deaths. Lucy has been leading him, a hand on his wrist when the path becomes more volatile, steadying him with a firm, but gentle hand.
Natsu is agile, yes, more so than most because of his Berserk blood, but Lucy puts even him to shame. She's fast, lighter on her feet, and the way she bounds across the rocks reminds him more of a wooly mountain goat than a young woman.
He told her as much, gaining the faintest look of amusement in return, much to his joy. She hasn't done much smiling in the last few days, too lost in her thoughts and the smell of smoke that followed them through the mountains, only disappearing when they neared Mithriel and the winds changed direction.
It still clings to them regardless, he can smell it in Lucy hair and on their blankets, not pleasantly like the smell of their fire. No, it's a more brutal smoke, tinged with decay, the scent of burning bodies.
It wouldn't be so strong, he knows, if they hadn't gone back to look.
He followed behind Lucy, the pair of them creeping back the way they came, edging closer and closer to the burning remains of the city they stayed in for nearly a week. Natsu kept behind her, allowing her to lead him back to the top of the hill overlooking the city. For a long moment, all they could see was smoke, thick in the air and so dark it blocked out the light of the rising sun.
Lucy coughed, waving away the smoke burning at her eyes, and squinted through the haze, peering down at the ruined city. Natsu hovered close behind her, placing a hand between her shoulder blades when she shook, wheezing when she breathed in the smoke and ash. Her nose wrinkled, but she leaned back into his touch, gasping when she caught sight of all that was left.
A large portion of the buildings were burned to the ground, reduced to nothing but thin wisps of smoke. The white tree in the center of the city was snapped in two, mangled branches cracked and broken, they could tell even from so far away. He looked to the Blue Moon, squinting to find the inn they were staying at, but couldn't find it in the rubble, not knowing the city well enough to find it from the hill. From what he could see, there was almost nothing left of Jorah, though the black gates still stood, tall and proud, but guarding nothing but the bones of a once fierce city.
Lucy's breath was shaky when she finally exhaled, hands trembling at her sides. She took a step away from the charred remains, back pressing against Natsu's chest as she shied away from the end of the small ledge they'd stopped upon. His hand slid from her back around to her front, curling across her collarbone to grasp the shoulder nearest to him, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
She murmured something under her breath, but Natsu didn't catch the words. Lucy gave a shaky sigh, leaning into his touch, and was so close that he could hear her swallow. "To the earth we return," she mumbled, one hand coming up to cover the one holding her to his chest, fingertips cool against the back of his hand.
Natsu swallowed the growing lump in his throat, squeezing her arm gently and resting his temple against the back of her head, eyes shutting as he avoided looking at Jorah. "And from the ashes we rise," he finished for her, sighing heavily. The old saying was one of Fiorian origin, an adage before battle, a way of reminding others that death was not the end. There would always be a new beginning, fire giving way to new life. He only knew it because of Igneel and a few of the other Berserks he was with in Crocus. They taught him little phrases from all over Ishgar. It was the only thing they could teach.
"Did we do the right thing?" Lucy asked him suddenly, her magic whipping her hair around her face and his, her emotions causing the swell of magic inside her to burst at the seams.. He opened his eyes, grip on her growing tight as he considered the question. Lucy squeezed his hand, prompting a response from him, nails prickling at his skin.
His gaze slid sideways, eyes locking on the curve of her jaw, unable to meet her own. "What?" he asked, not sure what she meant by the question. There were a lot of things they'd done wrong over the last thirty odd days. She'd have to be a bit more specific, if she wanted a solid answer from him. Besides, Natsu didn't think there were any right choices. They did what they had to, that was it.
She was quiet for a long moment, hand slipping down to grasp at his forearm, fingertips drumming against his skin as she stared into the smoke. Her magic stretched out, pushing away the dark clouds as they drifted closer surrounding them. His hair ruffles with the force, short strands blowing around, the brightly colored locks falling into his eyes before he used his free hand to shove them back.
"Running," she said after awhile, teeth pulling harshly at her bottom lip. "Should we have stayed to fight?" she asked, head tilting to the side curiously. There was no grief in her words, only curiosity, as if their presence could have done something. Perhaps it could have. There were Berserks, no doubt they tore many people apart. Natsu could have fought them, refused to let Bard send them away. "Or did we do the right thing? Running?" she murmured again, glancing over her shoulder to look at him.
He mulled it over, weighing the options in his mind. He felt bad for the people they knew. Peg had been kind to them. At the very least, she hadn't killed him, so that was something. The rest of the city? The soldiers? They wouldn't have saved him, not most of them. He was just another monster to them. No, he didn't care for Jorah, not the city and not its people, not when most of its inhabitants want people like him dead.
Why should he care that Jorah burned?
Natsu sighed against her hair, pulling her tighter against him. She came willingly, falling back against him, stunned by the ash and decay, not used to the violence like him. Good, he thought, a massacre wasn't something anyone should be used to. Natsu would never want her to be so indifferent to so much death and blood.
"Yeah," he answered after a long moment, breathing the word against her ear, ducking his chin to rest his temple against her hair. He sighed, shoulders heaving with the effort. He wanted to feel bad for saying it, but he had no love for Pergrande, not even for those fighting against the king.
Lucy shook her head, though Natsu didn't think she was disagreeing with him. At least, not entirely. He couldn't see her face, but he knew that if she was disagreeing—and vehemently so—she wouldn't hesitate to spite fire at him, to let him know she thought he was wrong. He admired her for that, how she made her thoughts known and wouldn't let him or anyone else ignore her thoughts. "We left Jorah to burn," she told him simply, not accusing, only stating a fact.
Natsu swallowed, nose wrinkling at the smell of smoke wafting toward them, the wind blowing Jorah's decay right for them. "Doesn't matter," he replied, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before releasing her, stepping back. He didn't do far, only drifting to the side a foot, moving to stand beside her, rather than behind.
Turning towards him, Lucy blinked slowly, expression devoid of anything that could heave given her away. In return, he eyed her wearily, wondering if he truly had said something wrong. Then, her gaze softened. She turned back to the city, wind whipping around her hair. "We could have done something." Lucy clucked her tongue, head tilting to one side. Something icy burned beneath her eyes, not altogether uncaring, but she seemed to have just as little love for Jorah—for Pergrande—as him.
No, it was the people there that made her expression half-twist into one of grief. Natsu hadn't known her for long, just enough to know she had more love in her little finger than most others did in their whole bodies. She'd carry everyone's grief inside her if she could, if only to make others happy.
She was some strange, fierce little ray of sunshine, and it made something warm twist in his chest when he thought about it. Some burning admiration that needed to make itself known.
"Doesn't matter," he repeated, turning to face her fully. Her magic reached out to him, blowing smoke away from his eyes, and Natsu sent her a small, stiff smile.
Lucy stared back at him for a long moment, fully allowing her sadness to take over, her entire face crumpling slightly as she glanced between him and the charred, mutilated bodies strewn across the ground below. "Do you really believe that?" she asked, softer than he'd ever heard her before.
He sighed, shrugging and reached out with one hand. He caught her by the elbow, gently turning her away from the destruction. She let him turn her, her back to Jorah, to Pergrande, and took a step forward when he gave her a nudge, a hand on her spine as he urged her forward. "It's what I'm going to tell myself," he murmured, leading her away.
She shivers against his side, almost violently as it wracks her body. His head snaps down to look at her, concern flickering in his jade eyes. "You okay?" he asks her, grip around her tightening. "Cold?" He's a poor judge of temperature, his own body heat masking most low temperatures unless he's been still for too long.
That's what it was like in the cells back in the capital. Normally, the ice wouldn't be so draining, but with nothing to do for hours and little eat the ice slowly started to eat away at them. He wasn't cold, per se, but the chill made him lethargic.
"I'm fine, Natsu," flashing him a quick smile before worming out of his grasp, stretching as she stands, joints popping as she twists around. She stares back the way they came, a pensive look on her face as he stands beside her, rolling his own stiff shoulders. "Do you think they won?" she asks him suddenly, head tilted to one side as she considers Jorah's odds.
Not everyone was dead from what they could tell, but he knows that's not what she's asking.
His eyes narrow in thought, but he isn't sure he has an answer for her. Instead, he simply sighs, sending her a quick look. She doesn't look away from him, gaze imploring, and Natsu wets his lips. He glances down the path, still seeing the faint wisps of smoke in the air.
Truthfully, he doesn't think any of them are winners. Even if the citizens and mutinying soldiers did win, it's not likely they'd be able to hold the city for long. It would be easy for Mithriel to send in soldiers and take back the city, but the ice lands are unorganized. There's only nomads and rogues this far East. Pergrande would be swifter in taking back the city.
On the other hand, open rebellion could spark along the edges of Pergrande because of this. Jorah might not be the only skirmish near the borders. Pergrande has been on the brink of war ever since the Centari line took control of the throne roughly one hundred years ago. There've been several uprisings in the past, but they were all put out quickly, snuffed like a flame.
With enough sparks the entire country might just burn.
"I think," he begins slowly, glancing over at her, "that good men and women died for what they believed in," Natsu says simply. It's only a matter of time before the Centari atrocities hit a breaking point, like glass put under too much pressure. Pergrande's political and economic structures are already fragile, the only reason all out rebellion hasn't occurred is because the King sends his Berserks to slaughter any who try. Like Jorah. "And I think now others will to."
Whether they succeed or not isn't something Natsu could be sure of.
An army of Berserks under the influence of twisted Fae magic are a force to be reckoned with. The odds are not good.
Lucy clenches her jaw, determination flickering in her eyes. There's something resolute there that he hasn't seen before, hope, but also a type of grim acceptance. "This is only the beginning," she murmurs. Natsu doesn't think she's talking to him.
They pack quickly. Between the pair of them, they don't have much. Their blankets are shoved into Lucy's magicked bag, and Natsu douses the fire with water from a shallow pond a few yards from where they made camp. By the time he turns around, Lucy is finished, waiting for him only a few feet from the border between Pergrande and Mithriel, looking at the ground where barren mountains become ice and snow.
The change is gradual, they've been seeing snow for miles and miles at this point, only a little at first, but with every step there seemed to be more. Now, the ground is covered in it. Not as much as it would be during the harsher, Winter months, but enough for them to feel the chill of it.
He glances at Lucy, coming up to stand at her should. She looks up at him, a brightness to her eyes that wasn't there before. She must be as excited to leave this country as he is, her magic going crazy around them, zephyrs chasing each other and ruffling their hair and clothes. One gust is strong enough to nearly rip the bag from Lucy's shoulder, but she catches it just in time, latching on before the wind can take it.
"Ready to go?" he asks, quirking a brow at her almost challengingly. She notices his expression, narrowing her eyes, but nods. Lucy's lips purse, eyes locked with his. Natsu grins, wide and happier than he's felt in a long time. His lips pull back, revealing sharp teeth, his canines flashing in the morning light. "You'll be leading from here," he reminds her. "I don't know where to go."
He's never been to Mithriel while awake. The farthest he's ever been on missions was to the outskirts of Jorah, not close enough to see the town, but just enough to know where it was.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes at the teasing lilt in his voice. He's challenging her directional skills, and Lucy knows it. Huffing, Lucy sends him a glare that's more friendly than anything else. "Don't worry," she tells him, voice dripping with something sarcastic. "I know how to get us home."
He stumbles slightly at the word "home". At how casually she says it. It's true, she's going home. And Natsu? Well, Natsu thinks he might finally find a home, somewhere in Fiore. He might even go back to Alvarez, if he can find a ship willing to take him.
"I know you do," he says, lips twisting into a smaller, softer smile.
Natsu goes to take that final step, leaving Pergrande for good, but Lucy's arm shoots out, fingers curling around his bicep before he can take more than a step. He blinks down at her curiously, but she isn't looking at him, too busy pulling her bag from her shoulder and fishing for something inside.
"I have something for you," she murmurs, grinning up at him when she finds it.
She pulls out a long, dark leather jacket, hood lined with rabbits fur. Lucy holds it out, waiting for him to take it, but Natsu merely frowns, confused.
His head cocks to the side, brow quirking. "I don't get cold," he reminds her. It's a nice offer, and he appreciates it, he does, but it's really not something he needs. She's better off keeping it for herself. She's bound to get colder than him.
Lucy huffs, narrowing her eyes at him. "Well you'll stand out like a sore thumb looking like that!" she tells him, free hand gesturing to his bare chest. He follows her gaze, blinking down at himself, realizing she's right. She sighs, voice lowering with something sad. "Besides," she murmurs, "people here don't take too kindly to Berserkers," she mumbles. Natsu flinches, wincing, but Lucy is right there, hand coming up to cup his cheek, gently urging him to look at her. "Hey," she says, "you aren't the problem." She gives him a gentle smile, gaze sad as she looks at him. "I just don't want you to get hurt."
Natsu snorts, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders. "They won't be able to hurt me," he mutters, scoffing. He's bluffing and they both know it, but it drags that brightness back into her eyes.
"Don't be arrogant," she snips at him, hand dropping back to her side. She tries to bite back a smile as she says it, but he can see the ghost of one pulling at her lips. Again, she holds out the jacket, and this time he takes it with a soft "thank you." Lucy shakes her head, holding out her hand to him as she takes a step towards the border. "Let's go."
AN: EDITED 4/15/18
I'm just making my way back through this. Such fun.