AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!

Berserk

Arc Two: Chapter Four

{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}

Lucy's hair turns to gold in the morning light, soft and entrancing, and he finds himself winding his fingers through the tangled strands. She sighs in her sleep, pressing into his touch, and he smiles for a moment before his expression hardens. Now, as she sleeps, Natsu can see the dark circles under her eyes, the faintest hint of tension in the crease of her brow, small signs of her exhaustion. She fell asleep almost immediately last night, curling into his side and winding herself around him tight, afraid he's disappear again.

Wincing, Natsu brushes her hair away from her face, letting his knuckles linger on her cheek. She shifts, murmuring something as she stirs, and Natsu pulls his hand back, not wanting to wake her. She settles after a moment, body heaving with a sigh as she tucks her face against her pillow.

He watches her for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her with greedy eyes before finally tearing himself away. Natsu shakes his head, his lips twisting into a grin when her fingers twitch, hand searching for him on the mattress, but unable to find the source of heat radiating from beside her. Eventually, she stops searching, hand going limp against the bed, her body rising with her deep breathes.

The mark on her arm is nearly worn away, a skeleton of what it was after going days without being redrawn. Lucy could have done it on her own, the paint left in her bag, but his heart swells at the idea of her waiting for him to come back, wanting him to paint it on her himself. Or perhaps she was simply waiting for it to fade, not wanting the reminder of him on her skin.

Running off was rash of him, especially after what she said, but he could barely breathe, standing there with her staring at him, his mind clouded with too many thoughts something inside him just waiting to snap. His burst of rage earlier hadn't quelled the monster inside him, still clawing to get out. Natsu was terrified he might hurt her if he stayed there, say something he didn't mean or have his fury rise to an uncontrollable level.

There's a point they can't come back from, the Berserks, a point where the bloodlust and anger takes over everything, their urge to protect outweighed by an intense need to destroy. That's what the collars bring out in them, their minds going blank as they fly into a frenzy. They can't feel anything then, not broken bones, not weariness, only rage. The collars enhanced that state in them, dragging it to the surface and making them the bloodthirsty monsters the world wanted them to be.

He didn't know what to do in that moment but run, needing to get away from her before he did something awful. Lucy always had a way of calming his nerves, suppressing the beast, but in that moment she was one of the things making him lose his mind, Natsu still confused with everything that happened in such a short time. He would rather be dead than hurt her again, and all he could think to do was run and not look back, knowing if he saw those honey eyes he wouldn't be able to look away, pinned under her gaze.

He doesn't regret running, only hurting her in the process.

Gently, he uncurls himself from where he rests beside her, fingers itching to reach for her one more, but he stops himself before he can fall back into place next to her. He wonders if it's answer enough for her, if she knows what that symbol on her arm, worn as it is, means to him—if she knows what she means to him. He doesn't know how to put that into words, how much she matters. He never expected to care this much, he was simply repaying the debt he owed, blood for blood, but that changed before he could realize something was shifting.

He thinks it was back in Jorah, when she waited for him—cried for him. She called him a friend, and that meant more to him than anything. Somehow she found her way into his veins, curling through every part of him. The violence he's faced, being forced into a cage for the better part of his life, it hasn't made him forget how to care, how to love. Igneel taught him to hold onto that, to never lose that part of himself.

And he doesn't intend to. He won't let the world make a monster of him.

Natsu sends her one last lingering look before slipping from the bed, carful not to disturb her as the mattress shifts beneath his weight. Lucy stirs slightly, but doesn't wake, and he smiles down at her, letting his fingers brush against hers before turning away, bare feet padding across the floor as he heads for the door. It creaks as he pushes it open, though not nearly loud enough to wake Lucy. She isn't nearly as light a sleeper as him, rising with the moon and stars but never the sun.

He's heard stories of the Fae dancing in the moonlight, their magic enhanced their spirits high. Igneel used to tell him they were creatures of the night where Berserks basked in the sunlight. And Magi said something similar once, after telling him about her husband, sharing old Fae stories with him as well as those of Berserks. She told him how different they were, Faeborne and Berserks, but how they always seemed to find each other.

One of the stairs groans beneath his weight, and Natsu hesitates before taking the final steps, wary of waking anyone else. Nothing in the house stirs, everyone either still asleep or going about their business as usual. They seem like a busy family, if Lucy is anything to go by. From what he saw of her family they seemed like early risers. Her cousin, Laxus, looked like he's spent time in forges, and Igneel once told him the best time for metalwork is in the mornings, before the heat sets in.

Natsu wanders through the unfamiliar rooms in the lower floor, gathering that the bedrooms are all higher up. He'll have to ask Lucy about them later, but for now he's content to walk through the stone building on his own, taking in everything with slow curiosity, drinking in the makings of a home he hasn't been in for years.

It's a bit like Magi's home back in Narja, though a bit larger and cluttered, though impeccably clean. Natsu passes a row of glass bottles lining a shelf, all made from clear glass but the shapes or varying sizes and shapes. A multitude of colorful liquids sloshing inside as he traces a careful fingertip down the side of one. He frowns, head cocking to the side, and wonders if Lucy's grandfather made them.

Lucy mentioned him being a spellweaver once or twice, casually mentioning the potions and tonics he makes, selling them in town. Natsu wonders how well they work and what they might do, how different it is from Lucy's magic. There's something alive about the way her magic rolls from her, twisting and curling and reacting to her mood, lucid. Weaving spells seem strange in comparison, more practiced but less passionate.

He hadn't thought to ask Magi about her magic, too concerned for Lucy to bother with Fae magic, not when it caused them both so much pain. That dark magic wove itself through his mind so tightly he can't be sure it will ever truly be gone, and it nearly killed Lucy. He should have asked more about her magic, figuring her a Spellweaver herself. He recalls the jars in her workshop, pastes and tonics and other things he didn't recognize.

Natsu's hand curls around a jar filled with a pale blue liquid, and where he touches the glass the bottle begins to warm, the contents becoming darker suddenly. He watches, fascinated, as it changes to a deep violet in color, the liquid warping near his fingertips in odd flourishes, like flowers blooming beneath his touch.

There's a soft tap of feet moving across the floor, so quiet Natsu nearly misses it, if not for the irregular click of a cane striking the ground with each step. It's a sound he's come to know well. Back when he was young, stuck in the cages in Crocus, there was a night guard with a cane, older and kinder than the rest, but no less of a coward than any other guard. He would hobble from one end of the ring to the other, making a large sweep as he circled the cages.

Natsu used to fall asleep to that tapping, flinching every time it came closer.

He doesn't react as Makarov comes up behind him, pretending to keep his attention on the bottles as the old man pauses in the threshold of the room, watching as Natsu continues to fiddle with the delicate bottle, cradling it in his palm.

"I'd be careful with that if I were you," Makarov warns him suddenly, something mischievous in his tone that eases the tension in Natsu's shoulders. He glances back at the man, seeing Makarov's eyes sparkle with humor as he quirks a brow. Natsu rolls the bottle in his fingers, watching the violet blooms chase his touch.

Eventually he turns back to Makarov, curious. "What does it do?" he questions, watching the magic within swirl, violet changing to a deep red the longer he holds it. His frown deepens as the colors continue to flicker, the liquid no longer resembling the shade it was when he picked it up. The glass grows hot to the touch, searing his skin, and Natsu nearly drops it.

He's never been burned before; the Berserks rarely feel heat.

"Love potion," Makarov tells him, hobbling further into the room. "Very nasty when handled poorly." His look is pointed as he stares at the bottle and then Natsu, almost chastising, and Natsu can't help the wolfish grin that spreads across his face. There's something friendly about the older man, something kind, and Natsu dully notes that it's the same thing he felt around Lucy and Magi, their magic warm and inviting.

"Do I want to ask?" Natsu jokes, placing the bottle back where he found it, noting the color turning dark, near black. As soon as he releases it, the red begins to fade, shades of purple disappearing entirely until it returns to a pale blue.

The twinkle in Makarov's eyes dares Natsu to ask what the potion could do, but Natsu knows better than to play with chance like this, knowing how dangerous magic can be when laced with ill intent.

His fingers come up to trace the scar on his neck, absentminded as he traces the pale, raised skin. Makarov follows the motion with his eyes, expression growing tight, though Natsu doesn't notice, lost in his thoughts.

"I told her you'd be back," Makarov says instead, crossing the room until he's a step behind Natsu, surveying the assortment of bottles lining the shelves. Natsu stiffens at his words, hand falling back to his side and clenching into a tight fist. Makarov either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care, not reacting as he continues to talk. "She didn't believe me, was afraid you'd disappear for good. But I know best!" He grins up at Natsu, giving a sly wink.

Natsu rips his gaze away from Makarov, recalling Lucy's words from the night before. It hurts, her lack of faith in him coming back to her, but he can't blame her for that. He promised he'd stay with her and only days later he ran off on her. He could hear the desperation in her voice when she called out to him as he walked away, his name broken on her lips. "I wouldn't blame her for thinking that. I shouldn't have ran," he says, more to himself than Makarov.

He wishes there was a better option, but he wasn't willing to risk hurting her.

"Maybe," Makarov muses, foot tapping rhythmically. "But you did," he reminds Natsu, staring up at him with a serious expression. His golden eyes reveal nothing as they lock with Natsu's, and he can't help but fidget under his scrutiny, Natsu feeling small under the weight of his gaze. "And now here you are," he finishes simply, shrugging, no scathing edge to his words like Natsu would expect.

"I didn't mean to upset her," he promises, releasing a heavy breath.

Makarov's tapping misses a beat. "No one ever does," he murmurs back, expression growing tired as his eyes flit between the bottles, observing the multitude of colors. "Don't make a habit of it," he warns Natsu, eyes crackling with something dangerous as they find Natsu's.

Natsu opens his mouth to respond, to promise that he won't, but the words won't come out, Natsu not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he merely nods, hoping Makarov can see the resolution in his gaze. He won't disappear on her like that again, not so long as he can help it. Hurting her is the last thing he wants to do.

"It's a lot to take in isn't it?" Makarov asks him, cane clacking against the ground as he walks away from Natsu, heading towards an open window in the front of the house, a breeze floating through. He reaches outside, plucking a pale, near silver flower from a vine and twisting it between his fingers. "It must be very different from what you're used to."

Though the words aren't cruel, Natsu's lip curls back over his teeth, his body going tense.

"Yeah," he replies simply, eyes on Makarov's back. "I wasn't expecting all of this." A war, so many people watching him like he's a monster, like he'll snap. He doesn't like it. Even after over a decade nothing in Fiore has changed, they're still afraid of the Berserks, with their fangs and brutal fists. He'd forgotten with Lucy. She accepted him easily, albeit warily at first. "I haven't been back to Fiore in years," Natsu tells Makarov, a bitter smile pulling at his lips, expression cold. "Though I can't say a lot has changed."

It comes out more bitter than he means it to, but Natsu finds he doesn't care. If they want to judge him for existing, that's their choice.

Makarov doesn't seem to mind his sharp tone, sending him an apologetic smile that makes Natsu pause. "You'll have to forgive Laxus," Makarov tells him, sighing softly. "He's brash and protective, but he means well." Makarov sighs, gaze shifting to the left. The dull clang of metal on metal tells Natsu someone's working in the forge outside, the ring of metal rhythmic and practiced, soothing in some way.

Igneel worked in a forge, long before he was taken by the Fiore rings. He wore the burns with honor, showing them to Natsu when he was upset, still a child in the rings and terrified. Each mark had a story, and Igneel could remember them all. The first burn scar Igneel ever showed him was a small, discolored patch on the side of his hand, his first burn, caused by unpracticed and too eager hands.

"I don't blame him," Natsu assures. For all of Laxus' hatred, he has reason to be afraid. They all do. The Berserks are used for slaughter, the King sending them out to enforce his rules. "You've lost many to the Berserks, haven't you?" Lucy never told him, but he could see the ghosts in their eyes when they looked at him. And Laxus' list..

Disgust floods through him, and Natsu shakes his head, feeling sick as he thinks about the Faeborne being slaughtered and stripped of their magic.

Makarov is quiet for some time, so long that Natsu begins to think he won't respond, lost in bad memories. "We've lost many to Pergrande," he says finally.

To Pergrande, not the Berserks. Natsu stares at his back, wondering if Makarov means it or if he's simply trying to placate him. He doesn't ask, unsure if he'd like the answer.

Silence surrounds them, the dull sounds of the forge slipping into nothing as they stand in they stand in the room. Natsu's gaze slips around the room, noting the shelf full of books lining one of the walls, the wood overflowing with old tomes and spellbooks. They're carefully kept, clean and stacked nicely, more ordered than the rest of the room.

"She said you attacked her," Makarov says suddenly. There's no accusation in his eyes or in his words, it's merely a fact, but Natsu flinches regardless, his throats growing tight as a phantom hand curls around him. Makarov stares, watching the shift in Natsu's emotions, his expression growing stony. He takes another step forward, cane clicking across the floor.

Natsu swallows, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before snapping back up to lock with Makarov's. "I… yeah, I did," he admits, turning around. He won't make excuses for what happened. Not now. He hurt Lucy, regardless of the magic thrumming through him, it was still his hands and his mouth that did that to her.

Makarov nods, accepting his answer easily. "Be honest with me," he murmurs, heaving a sigh. "How bad was it?" Natsu frowns, confused, and Makarov gives a bitter smile. "She doesn't like to make us worry, but there was something in her eyes…" he trails off softly.

Bile rises in Natsu's throat, Natsu knowing that look in her eyes. It was there every time she told him she was okay, every time she lied and pretended nothing was wrong, shoving off the hurt because she wasn't able to tell him what happened. Magic turned to venom in her blood, twisting her mind and draining the life from her. And somehow she just kept smiling.

"Bad," Natsu says simply, heart squeezing as he says it, voice thick with emotion. He swallows it back. Makarov deserves to know what could have happened to her, even if Natsu is loath to tell him. "It almost killed her." Makarov flinches, but Natsu doesn't stop. His stomach twists sickly, and he takes a deep breath. At his sides, his fingers tremble, and Natsu clenches them into tight fists. "I didn't think she'd wake up for a while…" he words drift into nothing, Natsu lost in thought for a moment. "She collapsed once, in Narja," he continues, wetting his lips. "I didn't know what was wrong but… her veins were black. The magic was poisoning her slowly and I hadn't even noticed."

A low growl tears from his throat, Natsu's anger spilling through the cracks in his resolve to stay calm. Blood prickles at his skin as his nails dig into his palms, but Natsu doesn't feel it, lost to his anger. It's the smell that snaps him out of it: bitter and metallic and it reminds him of the phantom taste of Lucy's blood in his mouth.

"She doesn't blame you," Makarov tells him simply, and Natsu sneers. He knows that well enough. Lucy's told him so, Magi as well. But words don't stop the rage boiling in his gut or remove the bitter taste in his mouth every time he sees the small scars on her arm. They're soft beneath his lips, but no matter how pretty they look against her skin, small and silver like stars, Natsu won't ever forget the way her arm looked with the black fae magic coursing through her, killing her.

A grinding sound fills the room, Natsu gritting his teeth and trying not to snarl. Makarov turns around, staring at him, and Natsu forces himself to respond through a clenched jaw. "I know." Guilt eats away at his insides despite the reassurance in Makarov's gaze. Lucy hasn't blamed him once for what he did, constantly reminding him that it was the collar. The magic. But it was him. No matter what anyone says, it was still him.

Understanding crosses Makarov's face, eyes pensive and his mouth twisting into a frown. "But you blame yourself." A fact, not a question. There's no denying the culpability that plagues him.

Natsu barks out a bitter laugh. "Wouldn't you?" he spits, snarling at Makarov as heat spikes in his blood. "I nearly killed her," he reminds the other man, "twice." They keep telling him not to blame himself, but he can't do that. He won't. Passing the blame to someone or something else doesn't excuse his hands around her throat. Collar or not, Natsu has killed people before.

"But you didn't," he reasons, taking a step forward. The wooden cane clicks across the floor, echoing through his bones. Natsu flinches with each clack, catching his lip between his teeth. "And that's more than some can say." Makarov's smile is gentle, comforting, and Natsu's reply turns to ash in his mouth, his throat closing.

When Natsu doesn't reply, Makarov sighs, turning away and heading back out of the room. Natsu doesn't watch, eyes drifting back to the love potion on the shelf, a cold blue staring back at him. A throat clears from his right, and Natsu glances up to see Makarov watching him, his brow raised impatiently and his foot tapping against the floor. He jerks his chin, beckoning Natsu to follow, and with a frown he does, hardly making a sound as he trails after behind the man.

Makarov leads him to the back of the house and a small door decorated with a chain or iron pieces, all tied together on a cord. They jingle as Makarov unlocks the door, clanking together roughly, and something about them sends a chill along Natsu's spine. They're enchanted. Possibly dangerously so, and Natsu is careful not to touch them as Makarov leads him into a dark room, Natsu stooping to avoid the low doorway, the height better fit for a child than a grown man.

Looking at Makarov, he can see why.

They step in to what must be Makarov's workshop, a large desk situated in the center of the room and a chaotic assortment of books and sheets of parchment scattered around the room, some covered in sketches, others scribbled writing that Natsu can't make out. More bottles lay haphazardly throughout the room, on floors and the desk and spilling from shelves, some full but most empty.

A flash of gold catches his attention, and Natsu's eyes snap up to lock on a familiar metal collar on the center of the desk. He stiffens when he sees it, a low sound ripping from his throat as his gaze slides to Makarov: a warning. The other man simply waves him off, gesturing for him to come closer as he settles onto a stool beside the desk.

Natsu follows cautiously, unsure what to make of the situation. He doesn't know Makarov besides what Lucy has told him, and that doesn't mean he trusts the man entirely. Lucy would never intentionally put him in harms way, but that doesn't mean her grandfather wouldn't.

"Fae magic is a very powerful thing," Makarov tells him as Natsu stands across from him, not taking the offered stool sitting off to one side. Gold eyes lock with his and Natsu softens slightly, noting not for the first time that the color holds some power over him, one that Natsu doesn't understand.

Natsu snorts, lip curling slightly. "So I've been told," he replies dryly, gaining a look from Makarov in return, a cross between amusement and annoyance.

The man continues as if he hadn't spoken, ignoring Natsu's blatant jab. "It can be twisted and used to do terrible things," Makarov tells him, expression sobering as he sighs. "As I'm sure you know," he mumbles, tacking it on at the end. Natsu winces, absentmindedly rubbing at his throat as he stares down at the collar sitting innocently on the desk, looking almost delicate among the clutter on Makarov's desk.

It looks deceiving sitting there, non-threatening, though Natsu knows better what it can really do. How much it can hurt.

Tongue thick in his mouth, Natsu swallows, ignoring the dryness of his mouth and throat. "How is it corrupted?" he asks suddenly, lips pressing into a thin line when he glances at Makarov. Some strange part of him needs to know how it works. He's never cared about the magic before. Knowing it hurt was enough, but he's grown curious since meeting Lucy.

Makarov sighs, as if he was expecting the question, but doesn't quite know how to answer. Natsu doesn't blame him for that. Magic has never made much sense to him. "It's hard to tell," Makarov tells him after a moment, reaching out to prod the collar with a curious finger. "Some say when a Faeborne's blood is spilled it turns their magic sour," he mumbles. "Others say the Centari line keeps a Fae in their court," Makarov's expression curls into something dark, murderous, "twisting the blessings placed on objects and turning them to curses."

Briefly, he wonders if the Fae have their own word for blood traitors.

"And what do you believe?" Natsu asks instead, not wanting to press the issue. The idea alone rocks Natsu to his core. The very idea that one Faeborne may be participating in the slaughter of their kin makes Natsu sick. He'll never understand how someone could live with themselves after such atrocities.

Makarov drags a finger across the ruby embedded in the collar, tapping it experimentally. "I believe in the blade of Mamora," he tells Natsu simply. His eyes snap up, a brow raised curiously. "Do you know of it?" Makarov asks, the slightest hint of an accusation in his words. Natsu isn't sure if he means in passing or something else, but decides he'd rather not know.

He wets his lips, holding Makarov's stern gaze with his own cold expression. "Lucy mentioned it once," he replies, fingers drumming against his thigh. "She said it drains the magic of Fae at the cost of their life." Natsu spit the words like they're poison on his tongue, not liking the way they taste, like sour grapes.

"That is the gist, yes," Makarov says, groping for a quill and inkwell. His gaze jumps from Natsu to the collar laying between them, lips pursed, and he begins to scribble something unreadable.

Natsu watches him work in silence, but something nags at him about Makarov's response. "But there's something else?" he whispers, drawing the man's attention. His eyes crinkle at the edges, but this time no amusement flickers across his face, only something grim. He doesn't speak, but his expression is answer enough. "Tell me," Natsu demands gently, leaning forward, hands splayed on the desk.

Makarov blinks at him slowly. "I believe the blade was made by the Berserks, a tribute to one of the Old Gods." Natsu nods, understanding. A blade of ice and diamond would make a fine gift for a God. "Though it was then cursed by a Fae to taint the magic that it steals, twisting it into something vile." He shakes his head, rubbing at his temple. "There are likely more objects like this as well."

That catches his attention. Natsu's head snaps up in Makarov's direction, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Lucy's necklace?" he asks, wary of the answer. He knows the gem around her throat holds some magic, but not how much. She's had the thing around her neck for days now, and though it doesn't feel malicious like the collars did, Natsu wouldn't dare bet on it.

Makarov glances at him. "No, no. That does something else entirely." He shakes his head, shrugging slightly as he stares down at the collar on the table, fingers hovering over it so not to touch the smooth metal. "The knowledge has been lost to us through time, but it is not something dangerous. He glances up. "To her or to you."

Natsu nods in understanding, the movement jerky as he swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he can respond there's a knock at the door behind him, the wood groaning as it's forced open, hinges squealing. Heavy footsteps pound against the floor, someone swearing under their breath. "Hey, Gramps," a familiar voice begins, Natsu stiffening when he realizes who it is, head snapping around, "I was wondering—"

Laxus cuts off suddenly when he sees Natsu, jaw clenching so tightly Natsu can hear his teeth grind together. His fingers curl into tight fists, hands trembling as his eyes narrow dangerously, and Laxus sneers at him, electricity flickering along his skin immediately, a threat. A growl bubbles in Natsu's throat, but he chokes it back, instead showing his teeth, sharp canines flashing in warning.

An unnatural rage ignites his bones as he stares at the other man, Natsu's blood roaring in his ears, his body aching for a fight. Every fight he's had recently has been cut off too quickly, it hasn't been enough. The bloodlust is itching at his skin, begging to be let out.

Makarov sighs, so low Natsu almost doesn't hear him. "Laxus, how are you this morning?" There's something strained in his tone, but the words are foggy, dulled by the pounding of his heart. Natsu doesn't peel his eyes away from Laxus, his vision beginning to blur at the edges, everything growing dark.

"What is he doing here?" Laxus snarls, gold eyes sparking with lightning. Electricity jolts from his fingers as he glares at Natsu. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Their voices grow distant. Natsu is dimly aware of Makarov telling Laxus to calm down, not to pick a fight. Something moves behind Natsu, but he doesn't notice, gaze locked on Laxus, sizing him up. He isn't as strong as a Berserk, and he doesn't seem as fast as Lucy. It would be an easy fight. Easy.

"I want to know why the fuck you think you can just come back here." Laxus takes a step towards him, voice rising, though the words are lost to Natsu, a red haze clouding his vision. Laxus sneers something foul, a word Natsu has heard more than a dozen times in his life. It makes his skin crawl and he doesn't think.

Natsu lunges.

AN: Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.