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 Eleven
{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}
Lucy wrinkles her nose as she glances at the row of vials in the back of Makarov's shop, glass glinting in the light spilling through the windows. She drags a finger along the curved edge of one jar, the red liquid inside sloshing slightly as she causes the vial to turn in place. Absently, she counts them, twenty jars in all lining the far wall, each one carefully crafted by the glassblower across the street. Makarov has them special made, trading potions and weapons for the delicate vials, each stamped with the Dreyar family sigil pressed into the bottom.
Slowly, she pulls her fingers away from the glass, frowning to herself as she glances down the row, searching for the jar of Night Whisper Makarov needs. The tonic is a powerful one, meant to alter dreams, giving answers to questions people may have, revealing their destiny or simply the truth. It's hard to come by, Makarov making the tonic rarely, though he keeps a small amount locked away inside his shop at home. He hasn't used it, not in the three years since he locked it away, and she can't help but wonder what he's saving it for.
As she drags her fingers across the smooth curve of another jar, Lucy purses her lips. She's never used Night Whisper herself, afraid of what the potion could reveal to her while she sleeps. Too many questions wrack her mind, with too few answers to be found.
Briefly, she remembers the odd dream she had while dying in Bosco, how her nightmare warped into something that chills her to the bone when she thinks about it: the stadium and the people screaming, the blood. There was so much blood. And Natsu's hand curling around her neck.
Her skin crawls at the thought, but she shakes her head, dismissing it. She nearly forgot about the nightmare. She wanted to. It was an odd dream and nothing else, and she was never willing to let it fester like some open wound. It was nothing more than dark magic twisting her thoughts and playing with every one of her fears, playing mind games in a way only Fae magic can.
Lucy takes a deep breath as she turns back to the row of bottles on the shelf, wetting her lips as she searches for the dark, midnight blue of the Night Whisper. Makarov keeps it in the back row, with the more expensive bottles. The more dangerous ones.
It used to be that they were kept far from the reach of little hands. Laxus, Lucy, and Romeo were always getting into things they shouldn't. Makarov always kept things out of their reach, though it never stopped them from trying.
Lucy searches the bottles for the dark mixture, fumbling to remember where Makarov always keeps it. She used to work in this shop nearly every day, but she can barely remember where everything is now. Despite her time away, she never thought it was long enough for her to forget such a simple thing.
A glint of blue flickers in the corner of her eye, and Lucy grins as she snatches the elixir off the shelf, the jar heavy and familiar in her hands. She settles back onto her heels slowly, cradling the glass mixture in her palms. Makarov wouldn't be happy if she ruined most his supply. Night Whisper is hard to make, the ingredients scattered throughout Fiore and the surrounding kingdoms. More than that, it's taxing to create, more magic than usual poured into the mixture.
The last time Makarov made it, he was in bed for two weeks with a fever, his magic drained.
Lucy promised herself she wouldn't let him make anymore. Few people seek Night Whisper anymore, and those who do never find the answers they want. It's more of a curse than anything, and the fact that they have a customer specifically coming for the potion is a curious thing.
What answers could be so important that someone would thousands of jewel to obtain them? She doubts she would want to know.
Shaking the thoughts away, Lucy pulls the bottle close to her chest, fingers tracing the sigil pressed into the glass absentmindedly. She turns away from the row of potions, her skin crawling when she thinks of the more unsavory ones, ones that can peel a person's skin from their bones or rip their spirits from their chests.
Lucy leaves the back room slowly, dawdling as there's no reason to hurry. The shop has been near empty all morning, with the few people stopping in mostly coming to say hello, rather than peruse the shop. It's always been like that in the fall, most people tending to their crops or their own stores. Furs are what everyone looks for at this time of year, Makarov's magic shop forgotten until spring. Though it's always disappointing to see the shop grow vacant, it aligns well with the Fae markets in Hargeon, Makarov having enough time to stock whatever he plans to sell for the long month.
As she slips through the door and into the front of the shop, Lucy is unsurprised to find it empty. Makarov is where she left him, bend over a table with a spellbook open before him, muttering to himself as he looks over ingredients. He glances up at the front door every few seconds, looking for the customer coming for Night Whisper.
Lucy pads over to him quietly, not wanting to disturb him. She places the vial beside him, Makarov glancing up at her as she pulls her hand away. "Here you are," she murmurs, taking a step back, intent to take stock of what they have in the back, someone needing to do so before they leave for Hargeon. Laxus is woefully useless with numbers and Romeo tends to become easily distracted while counting, losing his place easily. Makarov simply won't have the time to take stock, and Lucy decides it's better to start now than later.
She turns on her heel to leave, but pauses when she sees the confusion in her grandfather's eyes. "Lucy," he begins softly, sending her a quizzical look, "this is not the elixir I asked for." He taps the side of the vial with a finger, expression slipping into something like amusement as he stares at her.
Lucy merely frowns back, brow furrowing as she glances at the dark colored potion. "You wanted Night Whisper," she says, a tinge of confusion slipping into her voice. Lucy turns back to him, not seeing an issue with the potion. Did he want her to measure out enough for the customer as well?
She goes to voice her question, but he shakes his head, holding the jar into the light for her to better see. "I did," he tells her simply, a flicker of concern swimming in his gaze. Lucy's brow furrows, and in the light the liquid appears more black than blue, more murky and thick than Night Whisper should be. Her eyes go wide when she realizes her mistake. "This, however, is—"
"Black Death," she finishes for him, groaning at her own stupidity. Her stomach twists sickly as she realizes what could have happened had she been here alone. Black Death is a potion they very rarely sell, the name as it implies. Had she given it to a customer instead of Night Whisper they would have died terribly in their sleep, vomiting black blood as their insides began to rot. It's a terrible thing, one Lucy wouldn't wish on anyone, and Makarov won't sell it to just anyone. They've only sold it three times in all of their years in Magnolia, twice on official business from the Royal army of Fiore and once to a Faeborne in Bosco.
They never sell Black Death without a good reason, and even then it isn't something they relish in.
"I grabbed the wrong one," Lucy whispers, a horrified edge creeping into her voice as she winces. A shiver wracks her form as she thinks about it. Lucy has no qualms with killing when it seems necessary, but she's never taken pride in doing so and it's always been with the purpose of saving herself or saving others. She wouldn't be able to stomach accidentally murdering a customer because of her own forgetfulness.
Makarov, however, doesn't seem nearly as concerned, an odd amusement in his gaze. "Aye," he agrees with her simply, placing the jar back on the table, keeping it a good distance from his work. "Wouldn't want to give this to someone would we?" He chuckles, but there's no humor to it.
"I'm sorry," she groans, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm just—I'm trying to get used to things again." It's a weak excuse, she knows. A mistake like this isn't something trifle, it has consequences. The last time she made mistakes like this she was no older than nine. She should know better than this.
Makarov stands slowly, his chair creaking as the old wood shifts beneath his weight. He reaches for her with one wrinkled hand, beckoning her a step closer. His touch is familiar when his fingers curl around her shoulder, giving her a brief squeeze. He lingers there, waiting until she meets his eyes to speak. "You know this, Lucy," he tells her softly, a small frown marring his expression. "Nothing here has changed." It sounds like a promise when he says it, but Lucy shakes her head.
"Everything's changed," she argues quietly. At least for her things have. Lucy raises one hand to cover his on her shoulder, sending him a sad smile when he looks at her with concern. "It's been almost three weeks since I've been back," Lucy reminds him. Things should be easier now, but she still feels out of place, almost off balance.
He stares at her, giving one slow blink and seeming to look right through her. "It has," he muses, voice a low rumble. He says nothing else, waiting for her to continue as his gaze burns against hers, almost shrewd as he observes her.
Lucy sighs heavily, glancing down at the bottle of Black Death resting on Makarov's table, a dark spot against the scrolls unraveled across the surface. "I feel like I should remember all of this," she admits, biting her lower lip. This shop used to be everything to her. She would spend more time here than anywhere else, and yet it's like she's never stepped foot inside these walls.
He gives her shoulder another slow squeeze before guiding her forward into a hug. His thin arms curl around her frame, almost cradling her, and his beard scratches at her skin, but she clings to him in return, finding comfort in his embrace just as she always has. He hasn't changed at all since she first left. "You were gone for some time, Lucy," he murmurs against her ear. "This is your first time back in the shop for months." He thumb rubs circles between her shoulders and her fingers knot in the fabric of his vest.
"That's no excuse. I used to know this place inside and out." She practically grew up in this shop. It's just another home to her.
He pats her back, squeezing her tight once more. "It'll come back to you in time," he promises, no hint of a lie in his words. He's always thought the best of people, believing in them no matter what. He always tells them that it's once someone stops believing in themselves that they lose the ability to achieve anything.
"How can you be so sure?" she asks as he pulls away from her, Makarov taking a step back and resting his palm against the table behind him. His fingers find the Black Death, and he cradles the potion close to himself, tracing the glass rim with a wrinkled finger.
Makarov sends her a slow smile, his eyes wrinkling around the edges and his teeth barely visible. "It'll have too," he tells her, smile twisting into something almost impish. "That or Laxus will have to start working the counter," he jokes, "and we both know how that would turn out."
It startles her into a laugh, Lucy shaking her head as she pictures Laxus working in the shop everyday surly and off putting to customers. "We wouldn't have any customers left." She smiles back at Makarov, mood lightened by the quip.
"You'd be surprised," Makarov tells her, shaking his head with a low chuckle. "He draws in plenty of young women." He winks at her, expression sly, and she's met with the image of Laxus coercing women into the shop, always charming in his own way.
"And young men, I presume," she teases, only half-serious. Makarov sends her a look that makes her think she's right, but she says nothing else as he pushes away from the table, taking a slow step towards the backroom.
Lucy turns away from him, heading towards a wall lined with more common potions. She eyes each one, counting them slowly and wondering how many Makarov intends to bring to Hargeon with them. There are more than usual, the small bottles filled with every color of liquid imaginable, dozens of potions that she recognizes. Usually they don't keep this many in stock. It isn't good for business to keep this many potions laying about, it makes them seem easy to make and cheap to buy.
"Lucy Dear," Makarov calls out to her, pausing at the threshold of the backroom. She glances over her shoulder at him, head tilting to the side curiously as mischief flickers in his eyes. "Perhaps you should go home for the rest of the day," he tells her, smiling to let her know it's only a joke, "you may poison the costumers."
She rolls her eyes, light-hearted. "It was one mistake," she calls back to him, huffing as she turns her back to him once more, hearing him chuckle behind her.
"That's all it takes!" he tells her, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. She glances at him once more, more amused than she thinks she should be. He doesn't give her time to reply as he slips into the back to retrieve the correct potion, their customer set to arrive anytime now. She was told he would be here before noon, the man coming from the Veronica territory of Northern Fiore, quite some distance from Magnolia.
She hasn't a clue why anyone would come so far for a single potion, but she'd be a fool to turn away a customer because of it.
Lucy takes stock of what they have for several minutes, counting the potions carefully before moving on to the other items they keep on them, precious gems they've traded for and the few enchanted weapons Makarov makes every year for the markets. With all they have now, Lucy doesn't doubt that it'll be a good year for them, either in trade or in profit. There's always a demand for Makarov's potions and people will pay good money for him to cast spells for them. She takes pride in knowing she's the granddaughter of one of the best Spellweavers in the Ishgar Peninsula.
The shop bell chimes as the door is pushed open, and Lucy immediately turns, a greeting on her tongue, but she goes still when she sees who it is. Blue eyes peer at her, long white hair falling into a familiar face "Mira!" She turns on her heel before she even realizes it, practically tripping over herself in her rush to greet her friend.
"Lucy!" Mira meets her halfway, wrapping her in a hug that steals Lucy's breath. Mira practically squeals against her ear, lifting Lucy off the ground for only a moment before setting her down once more. "I thought it was you. Oh, it's good to see you again! I heard you were back but—"
She laughs, wheezing when Mira squeezes a bit too tight. "I didn't see you at Romeo's party," she says, pulling away from Mira. Lucy grins at her, elated to see the other woman. The last time she saw Mira was to weeks before she left, the Strauss family gone to visit an aunt in Clover Town.
"I was in Hargeon with Lisanna," Mira explains, smiling apologetically. "We thought we would be back in time, but business is business. We couldn't just leave." She shrugs, blue eyes wide as she looks over Lucy. It's been months since they last saw each other, but Mira still seems the same as ever, good-natured and bubbly.
Lucy waves off the explanation, not needing one. "Selling charms at the markets?" she asks. While not Faeborne themselves, the Strauss family has created luck charms for as long as Lucy can remember, the family claiming to be blessed by the Luck God Ffiel. Selling the luck charms has been a tradition of theirs for years, starting back before their parents were killed in a Berserk raid that destroyed Magnolia for many years.
Lucy shudders at the memory, buries it before it can come to the front of her mind, not wanting to remember that night.
Mira winks at her, smile coy as she bats her eyelashes. "Well, they may not be quite as mystical as yours, but they do sell well." Lucy laughs along with Mira, but nods in agreement. The Strauss charms are pretty things, and Lucy has received several as gifts over the years, a dozen of them hanging above the window in her room, each one dear to her.
Mira's blue eyes seem to sparkle as she smirks at Lucy, who groans, knowing Mira has something on her mind. "So," she starts casually, picking at her fingernails. Lucy rolls her eyes, smiling fondly as she turns to count the shop's stock of Encan crystals, rare in the way they shine light even in the darkest of nights. It took Lucy days to find them and even longer to crack them open to find the gems inside. "I heard you brought a man home with you."
Lucy nearly drops one of the stones, but catches herself quickly, not wanting to give Mira that kind of power over her. "And where did you hear that?" she asks, eyeing Mira, who grins and rocks on her heels, long skirt swirling around her ankles.
"A little bluebird told me," she replies, grinning wide. Bixlow then. He has eyes everywhere in Magnolia, being almost as big a gossip as Mira. He's a good friend of Laxus, the two of them serving in the same division during their time with the royal army a few years back.
Lucy snorts, rolling her eyes at the information. Bixlow is a gossip, but he also tends to bend things out of proportion. She's been fed information by him before, and it was all so far from the truth that it did her no good. "And what did the bluebird say?"
The smile Mira sends her is chilling.
They talk for several more minutes, Mira asking about her trip after Lucy waves off her questions about the shirtless man Bixlow saw crawling through her bedroom window. It was taxing for Lucy to get Mira to drop the line of questioning, however a well-timed jab about Bixlow doing the same to Lisanna, Mira's younger sister, once quiets her quickly. Lucy lies about why she left, telling Mira she was off to find a precious stone for Makarov, which isn't entirely untrue. While she feels bad for the lie, Lucy can't tell the truth. It would lead to too many questions.
Mira leaves some time later, mentioning groceries and Elfman needing a new pair of gauntlets, his old ones bent beyond repair, though she promises to stop by again when she has time.
As she slips out the door, her shoulder knocks against that of someone entering the shop. Mira's apology is muffled and the man she bumped into doesn't appear to hear her as he slips into the shop. Lucy stares at the man, brow furrowing as he slinks into the store, swathed in black, a cloak pulled low over his face. He doesn't pay her any mind as he heads for the back counter, nor does he bother to look at the potions on display or the other items littering the store.
Frowning, she takes a step forward, mouth opened slightly to call out to him. A hand curls around her elbow, stopping her, and she glances down to see Makarov standing there, his mouth set into a grim line and the Night Whisper cradled in his other hand.
"Leave this to me, Lucy Dear," he whispers, patting her arm before slipping around her and heading to the front. Their exchange is quick, The man handing over a pouch filled with jewels before Makarov hands him the elixir. No words are exchanged, and the silence creeps through the room like the cold, slow and biting.
The man leaves as quietly as he came.
Lucy sits behind the front counter, polishing a knife as she glances out the front window, squinting through the glass to see if anyone is on the streets. They had few customers after Mira and the stranger left, a dozen shoppers coming in for potions, though none were as odd as the man who came for the Night Whisper. With the day coming to an end, it's only a matter of time before Makarov decides they can leave. On busy days they could be here until well after sunset, but with such a slow day there would be no need.
She glances at Makarov, still bent low over his desk, muttering to himself as he looks over potion instructions. "Jellal said something interesting the other day," she says suddenly, breaking the silence that settled around them after the last customer left. She wets her lips, recounting the spar she had with Jellal. She hasn't mentioned what he said to anyone else, not yet, but if anyone should know, it's Makarov.
"Did he?" Makarov glances at her over his shoulder briefly before turning back to his scrolls. "I wasn't aware you and Jellal were speaking." There's a tightness in his voice that's unfamiliar, almost strained, and her eyes narrow at the barbed statement.
She swallows. "We never stopped." Not on purpose, anyway. He was busy and so was she.
Makarov shuffles a few pages, searching for something, but Lucy doesn't ask. "Well, you didn't leave on the best of terms," he notes, not unkindly, but Lucy still blanches at the statement.
"I didn't come back on them either," she mumbles back, hoping she doesn't sound as bitter as she feels. Coming home wasn't what she expected it to be. She didn't think anyone would be especially welcoming towards Natsu, but she never thought Laxus would completely shut her out the way he did.
Makarov sighs, setting a scroll before turning to face her, the Encan crystals on the wall casting strange shadows on his face. "They'll come around," he promises, not for the first time.
She snorts. "You keep saying that." Lucy sends him a wry smile,
"Because it's true." He smiles briefly before going back to his work. "Laxus, well, he's Laxus," Makarov explains, "he has every right to be angry."
"I know he does" Lucy says, softer than before. She doesn't blame him for being angry. After what happened to their family, she could never blame him for distrusting Natsu at first, or for his anger about it. She knows it isn't coming from a malicious part of him, only a place of deep rooted fear and anger from what happened years ago. "And I was angry too," Lucy continues after a stretch of silence, "but if he would just give Natsu a chance maybe…"
"He will," Makarov promises, glancing at her once more. "Give it time." She nods though he can't see it, and in the faint light she sees a hint of a smile on his lips. "Now what did Jellal say?"
"You want to start a war. You want to prevent a war. Get in the Royal Family's good graces."
Her lips press into a thin line. It was what Jellal didn't say that has her concerned. He's always been tight-lipped, keeping secrets more often than not, and she has no idea what to make of what he told her. Jellal rarely makes sense when he speaks, talking in riddles. It's an annoying habit of his, to say nothing else. "Did you know that Vigali left the Rangers?" she asks him instead.
He snorts, amused as he laughs to himself. "I know everything, Lucy Dear," he says simply. She isn't surprised. Makarov and Vigali were always on good terms. It was their friendship that first introduced Lucy to the Rangers years ago.
"And you didn't tell me?" There's no heat to the question, only genuine curiosity. She wouldn't think he would keep something like that from her.
"You never wanted to be a Ranger," he reminds her.
She glances at him, pausing as she wipes down a blade. "That doesn't mean it isn't something I should know," she tells him, slightly miffed at his reasoning. She doesn't like things being kept from her, not from him.
"Isn't it?" he asks. "You wanted no part in their affairs and I wasn't going to drag you into them. Besides, you only just came home. You had enough to worry about. Especially with Laxus opening his mouth about the rebellion."
Lucy shakes her head, pursing her lips. "I've dealt with Laxus and his big mouth my entire life," she reminds him, squinting down at the knife in her hands, the jeweled hilt finely crafted. It's likely to sell for a nice price at the markets, especially if it's enchanted for someone. "You could have told me."
"Would it have made a difference if I did?"
Lucy stays silent for a long time, musing over what he's said. He isn't wrong, exactly, but she still wishes he would have said something before Jellal did, maybe then she could make some sense out of what he meant. Jellal was more cryptic than usual the other day, and that never means anything good.
Placing the blade on the counter, Lucy leans forward until her elbows are on the wooden surface, her eyes on Makarov's back. "Did you know that the son of the King's Hand is now Captain of the Eastern Scouts?" she asks slowly.
Makarov stills, his back to Lucy, expression unreadable. "That," he muses after a long moment, his fingers curling into fists atop his desk, "I did not know."
AN: Annnnnd we're caught up! A brand new chapter should be up either this Saturday or next week Saturday! Thanks for your patience!