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Chapter Text

He’d never expected the war to turn out the way it did.

At the time Invel had held little reservation about throwing their empire into a war, His Majesty was a calm and sensible man, and Invel had trusted his judgement that annexing Fiore was the right course of action.

But, it turned out, that it didn’t matter how strong you were; nobody could defeat a guild whose primary weapon was the one magic itself – love. That very love and appreciation of life was the only reason there was still an empire at all. Fairy Tail had chosen to spare the lives of every enemy they’d encountered, much to the initial surprise of Alvarez’s Winter General.

By that logic, the drastic steps Invel had taken to ensure His Majesty’s safety should have been unnecessary. However, due to His Majesty’s rather…unsavoury reputation in Ishgar; Invel had been ill at ease with the idea of entrusting His Majesty’s safety to anyone other than his personally selected elite guards.

With Fairy Tail distracted by the arrival of Acnologia, Invel had made a beeline for their guildhall. Not to further the war; but just to see what was left. There, he had found His Majesty collapsed on the floor, injured, and in a loose embrace with his… former… Lover. Invel refused to commit to the past-tense language, as he had no certainty as to on what terms they had really parted, and it felt rude to make assumptions.

Despite knowing that His Majesty might not be pleased at further separation from his… estranged… wife, Invel had felt the need to intervene. And so, amidst the chaos of Acnologia’s attack, Invel had swooped in and removed His Majesty from the situation.

That was what had led the Winter General to his current situation. Managing the needs of a post-war empire, as his Chief of Staff role dictated; whilst also attending to concerns, personal and professional, associated with their presently-comatose leader.

His Majesty dying… was not a possibility Invel Yura had expected to be confronted with. The most prominent downside, Invel had concluded, to having an immortal as sovereign was that one’s nation learns to lean a little too heavily on them. His Majesty commanded great respect throughout the nation, and that deep respect had helped to bind together many different factions. However, such reliance on respect for a single man as the glue which bound their nation also came with great risk. Were His Majesty to pass away, Alvarez could, theoretically, begin to crumble.

And the man to whom the unenviable task of maintaining public morale and ensuring such an internal catastrophe did not come to pass was, of course; the ever-responsible Winter General and Chief of Staff – Invel Yura.

His colleagues, the Spriggan twelve, or what was left of it at least, should have been helping. But ‘should’ was unfortunately the operative word.

Upon returning to Alvarez, Rahkeid had vanished into the mountains and refused to speak with anyone. Dimaria resigned, Ajeel was supposed to be resting, Brandish went ‘to look for Rahkeid’ and was yet to come back, and Neinhart’s only proposal was to start another war - Invel had promptly given him quite a talking to. Then there was Jacob, who was presently engaged in talks with Fiore; August, who hadn’t gone to Rahkeid’s extremes to do so but was certainly keeping to himself; and, finally, Irene Belserion. Powerful, wise, significantly older than Invel, but also the only person in Vistarion who felt like cracking jokes at a time such as this.

“General Invel, working as usual” declared said woman, having had the audacity to stride into his office without so much as knocking.

“Considering the current state of our personnel, I would be inclined to posit that such dedication is the only reason this country is still standing” he replied, not looking up from the paperwork he was completing.

Irene uncrossed her legs and ceased propping up the door post, “We have heard from Brandish.”

“Oh?”

“She located Rahkeid. Apparently he is one of His Majesty’s creatures …and has refused to come back, unless His Majesty recovers, so that he may ‘pass away amidst the white clouds of the mountains’.”

Invel pushed his glasses back up his nose after they’d begun to slide from all the looking down he’d being doing, “And did Brandish speak of her own intentions?”

“To join Jacob in Fiore and assist with negotiations.” Another lost pair of helping hands for home affairs. “Though I cannot help but suspect she’s really interested in seeing Miss Heartfilia since they seem to have struck up a friendship.”

Invel set his stack of completed forms to one side and finally looked up towards his visitor, “Whilst we are on the topic of staff; I don’t suppose you can do anything about either of The Twelve who have taken to sulking inside the palace?”

“Neinhart won’t talk to me. I used an enchantment on him during the war and…in hindsight it has irreparably damaged relations” Another classic case of the ‘Scarlet Despair’ puts people off. “As for August…” Irene turned to gaze out of the window thoughtfully, “I wish I knew. He’s always been incredibly devoted to His Majesty; yet at what is unquestionably His Majesty’s most uncertain hour, August suddenly closes in on himself.” It was out of character for their overseeing general, that much was certain.

“We started twelve strong, yet our home affairs presence has effectively been whittled down to you and me.” With surprising casualness, Invel added, “I wish we’d never started the war.”

“Hindsight is a wonderful thing” she agreed, “We created dragon slayer magic to turn the tide of a battle hurtling towards despair…yet in doing so we also created Acnologia. Take it from me as someone who has lived one too many human lifetimes; but things are never as simple in reality as we hope for them to be.” Irene was many things, one of them was annoying at times, but when she turned serious she was also a valuable source of counsel. The remaining pair of Alvarez’s thinning ranks shared a look of acknowledgment before Irene turned away, “I’ll attempt to speak with August on your behalf” she declared and withdrew from the room.

At the end of another long day of paperwork and trying to prevent an internal, or international, catastrophe (either could easily emerge at any moment) Invel slowly approached the lone room at the end of a quiet corridor in the palace’s medical wing. He’d been in at least once every day since the end of the war. The belief that he was desperately paddling against the tide to keep Alvarez afloat for something, or rather, someone, was important for staying sane.

The door itself was unremarkable, as was the room beyond aside from some high-tech medical equipment and a scrawly ‘get well soon’ note tacked up on the wall, last week, by Irene. The only remarkable thing in there was the near unmoving figure of His Majesty. The man who had commanded the attention of an entire empire with ease looked far less regal in a hospital bed, covered in bandages, and hooked up to half a dozen machines monitoring this or that.

He perched on the edge of the bed, as one of the nurses had previously assured him was permissible when she grew tired of his endless pacing the floor. At first he sat in silence, which was unusual as he so often found himself apologising whenever he came into the room. For not keeping The Twelve better in line, for the precarious state of the empire in international politics; for not realising the war was a bad idea before it was too late, and for once again helping to separate His Majesty from his beloved Empress.

The worst part of visiting, was the ever-haunting feeling that this might be the final way he saw His Majesty. That one such evening Invel would leave the hospital room, not with His Majesty, but to organise his funeral. Invel had been vaguely aware of His Majesty’s desire to escape immortality, but even so, he’d never imagined that he could be the one facing the possibility of organising Alvarez’s first state funeral; nor implementing a process for succession into the laws of a nation that had kept a singular leader since its inception more than two centuries ago.

All that said, His Majesty had improved since his return to Vistarion. On first assessment, his coma score had been an abysmal 4/15; as of last week it had raised to 6/15. Marginal numerically, but two stages up under motor responses was no small development for a comatose patient. It didn’t guarantee anything, but it did mean he wasn’t at death’s door quite yet.

After half an hour in contemplative silence, the Winter General rose to his feet. In a rare show of personal sentiment, from a man who stuck even closer to the professionalism rule than the Emperor himself, Invel momentarily placed his hand atop the one on the blanket. He’d seen the assessments, read the prognosis, he knew that even if His Majesty woke up he would never ‘fully’ recover from his injuries. But even so he uttered, “Get well soon, Your Majesty.” And with that said, he left the room to attend to other matters.

Chapter Text

The point at which ‘nothing’ became ‘something’ was quite hard to determine. At first, even ‘something’ was muffled; like it was all taking place beyond a thick glass wall. The knowledge the ‘glass wall’ existed did not initially rouse any interest. But at some stage, urgency arrived.

With the urgency, came a desire to move, react, express opinion; what to, or on, he wasn’t sure. Just that there was something out there which required attention with some measure of urgency. He groaned at the ever-increasing din of people talking nearby. A noise which came to an immediate halt in response. He let his head flop to one side in hope of turning over, but wasn’t very successful. It was as if…someone had deleted the command to move. Impossible, for a human; though one might be able to do such a thing to an etherious-human hybrid like Natsu.

Natsu…? Was that the thing that was so urgent? Something to do with him? No…he didn’t think so.

All sense of contemplation left his mind as he became increasingly aware of an incessant beeping noise. “Ughhh- It’s too loud…” he grumbled sleepily.

Someone responded by dropping a canteen-style tray onto the tiled floor, which clanged; loudly. “Be quiet!” he complained, more to the noise itself than anyone in particular. He opened his eyes in an attempt to determine what in earthland had caused the noise, only to immediately close them again after being thoroughly dazzled by the sudden influx of light.

“So… Should I go and drag Rahkeid back from the mountains now?” came a male voice.

“Maybe whilst you’re at it you’ll find a way to persuade August out of the library” replied a female one.

August? Library? A…calendar? Oh, hold on, no. August. Spriggan Twelve. Alvarez. That made more sense. Having determined that whatever this conversation was about, he probably ought to participate rather than merely eavesdrop, he began the mental and physical endeavour of actually achieving that. With some effort, he managed to sit up; and belatedly realised he’d been lying down on a bed.

Opening his eyes proved no less blinding than last time, and rubbing the glare away proved ineffective. “Could someone please dim the lights?” he had no idea who someone was, but there was an immediate response in the form of the slight clang of someone drawing a curtain. At last, the blinding glare receded.

“Yes, go fetch Rahkeid. Considering the distance it will probably take until tomorrow to even reach him, and at least another day to persuade him back to Vistarion.” It was the same woman from earlier…he recognised her voice, but couldn’t quite place an identity.

But…if he was in Alvarez, and had just been asleep, why were there people nearby? Nobody was permitted inside his private chambers without express permission…? Finally, he lifted his gaze in the direction of the two remaining people. The one who had first proposed to fetch Rahkeid had left, presumably to do just that. It was as he saw, really saw, as opposed to being vaguely aware of, his surroundings for the first time that he realised why there were people. This was not his private chambers; but the hospital wing. Something had clearly happened. Something which should not happen to one who is immortal. Unless…he was no longer?

The two people were revealed to be Invel Yura and Irene Belserion. The former was sat on an uncomfortable looking chair in front of the window, with its now-drawn curtains, whilst the latter propped up the wall just beyond said window. He stared at them, and they merely stared back for several long seconds before the latter decided to speak, “I see you’ve at last decided to re-join the land of the living”

He almost replied that he didn’t recall trying to leave it, then remembered all the times he’d attempted to commit suicide (though usually not on Alvarez turf) and decided against saying such a thing. Especially in front of Irene; who was undoubtedly the one of The Twelve most likely to not only notice the inaccuracy but also bring it up.

“Right!” Irene declared, “Obligatory questions first. Name, age, and occupation; then count to ten.”

Perplexed, and still just confused enough to forget professionalism, Zeref replied, “…Why are you making this sound like a job interview? And how does counting to ten help anyone?!” Irene burst out laughing, and leant harder against the wall for support.

“That is not the proper way to conduct a PTA assessment!” Invel proceeded to complain. He rose to his feet, then spoke again, “Now then, let’s conduct the PTA properly. I will need you to answer two questions. Firstly, what is your name? And secondly, what day of the week is it?”

Completely disregarding the first question, Zeref proceeded to explain that the second question was highly flawed, “Somehow I get the impression that it is no longer the day of the week it was last time I checked; and by extension of that I have a one in seven chance of being able to correctly guess the current day of the week.”

Irene laughed harder, and Invel affixed her with a withering glare. The Winter General sighed, but relented, “Disregarding the PTA procedures; what are you aware of in regard to your current situation?”

Finally, Zeref realised that Invel had been trying to test his mental clarity; rather than playing a peculiar game of verbal charades. …not that his Chief of Staff was known for such casual endeavours. “This is the hospital wing in Vistarion. I remember being in Fiore…possibly associated with some form of conflict? The details are still fuzzy at the moment, but becoming clearer slowly, I think.”

“Good” came Invel’s concise reply, “You aren’t in for brain-related injuries so a positive response was always hoped for. However, in your …unique circumstances, one cannot be too careful.”

After another half hour of discussion, periodically interrupted by the Scarlet Despair’s attempts to send Invel spiralling into utter despond with her actions; their Emperor was at last brought up to speed on the present situation.

“Now that’s sorted, there are two earlier points I’d like to return to.” Zeref was feeling more like himself by the minute, and perhaps even more him than he’d felt in a very long time. With the curse gone, he could act as he wished without concern that thinking or feeling a certain way would have irreversible consequences. “You said earlier that August was in the library and refusing to come out. Why?”

Irene nearly slid onto the floor in surprise; none of them had realised quite how much of their discussion had reached his ears. Rather than answer, she proceeded to enquire what the first bit of conversation he’d overheard had been. “Uh…Someone, a man, possibly Ajeel? Asking about bringing Rahkeid back from the mountains?” Both of them nodded in agreement that those words had been said, and it had indeed been Ajeel who spoke them. “To answer your question about August…” Invel began “The simple answer is we do not know. He has been behaving strangely ever since the beginning of your coma; which essentially left all home policy as the responsibility of myself and Irene. Ajeel has been helping now that he has recovered from his own injuries.”

Rahkeid running away made sense; he was an etherious after all, and during the war had become aware that he could not outlive his creator. He’d most likely run away with intent to choose the place of his passing. August however, was a different question. August was entirely human, and whilst Zeref had personally decided to take him in, he was no more or less tied to him than anyone else in The Twelve whom he had helped.

August was a naturally calm and considered man, so Zeref could only assume there was some form of logical explanation. But clearly not one he could deduce without further information from the man himself.

“Let’s put that point aside for now.” He’d see to speaking with August personally a bit later. “Invel, you said that it is not a head injury. Then…what am I here for?” Invel’s earlier wording, though vague, did not give the impression he was simply there for ‘monitoring’.

“You…have an injury to your spinal cord. Regrettably, it seems it cannot be healed with magic.” He took the news in, silently beheld its implications, and eventually shrugged lightly. “I suppose I won’t be going anywhere any time soon, then.”

“Does it bother you, Your Majesty?” Irene asked uncertainly.

“Not particularly, no. I never wanted to be immortal; if this is the price of regaining my mortality then… so be it. Being unable to walk does not inhibit my ability to study magic, if the injury jeopardised that then I’m sure my reaction would be quite different.” As time passed he was becoming more aware of the effects of the injury; namely the fact that he could feel his feet existed but found it difficult to actually move them. It would be an adjustment, but he’d get there.

“What became of Mavis?” he said, with much emotion lurking beneath the otherwise simple question.

“She lives” Invel assured him, “However, she remains in Fiore as I could not bring her here as we did for you …without causing further international unrest.”

“Understood.” He was disappointed, but he understood nonetheless. Invel couldn’t, nor should have even considered, jeopardising the stability of the world for his Emperor’s romantic interests. This is why Invel had been appointed Chief of Staff; he was loyal, but also capable of seeing where Zeref’s personal interests diverged from those of the empire at large. “Does she know?”

“About your situation? No.” Invel answered, then Irene expanded, “We considered trying to contact her since she’s legally your next of kin. But in the end we were concerned any attempt by Alvarez to contact her, considering it was her magic you started the war over, might be seen as further aggression.” Both generals noticed the visible slumping of his shoulders at the unhappy news. Emotionally, he uttered, “Let’s not…dwell on that point then.”

After some further discussion on different matters, the two generals at last prepared to leave. “Before you go-” Invel was already halfway out the door, but diligently turned back. “Thank you, both, for worrying about me. I know that my recent actions have put you and Alvarez into quite the international quagmire… So your continued personal belief in me as a leader despite all that; means rather a lot.”

“If there’s anything one learns from being foolish enough to fight Fairy Tail, it’s that people matter even when they’ve done something stupid.” Irene answered, irreverent to the blatant ‘disrespect’ in her words. “Besides, we’re just as responsible when we willingly followed you into said stupid actions. There’s people in Fiore with every right not to forgive me, just as there are for you. I’ll be lucky if my own daughter ever speaks to me again.”

“True” he agreed. They had quite differing personalities, but he felt a level of solidarity with Irene that almost no one else could match. As a result of her dragonification, she had lived a similarly lengthy life as himself; and by extension understood feelings that more appropriately aged humans could not.

Invel exited with a polite nod, and Irene followed him out the door, calling the words, “Get some rest, or else!” as she pulled it closed behind her.

Chapter Text

The next day, Irene returned with news on The Twelve’s brooding General. “At this point I honestly don’t know whether news of your recovery made it better or worse”, she commented in reference to August's recent strange behaviour.

“That’s…reassuring” Zeref answered in uncertain sarcasm.

“Having been told of your recovery he ceased brooding and instead will not shut up about…” Irene’s tone changed as she attempted to impersonate the behaviour “…Why was His Majesty’s child not loved?!” after a short pause she concluded with, “Beyond that, I know nothing more.”

Zeref cycled through a number of potential explanations for August’s sudden change of demeanour, and concluded that only one was remotely plausible, despite the fact that even that made little sense, “So…he’s…worried about Rahkeid?” Though some might consider all the etherious to be his ‘children’, only Rahkeid (who was still notably not actually his child) openly behaved as though there was a parental relationship.

Irene gave him a look of scepticism, “That sounds quite ridiculous. You know as well as I do, perhaps even better than I do, that those two have never liked one another.” August’s seeming dislike of Rahkeid had always been a bit odd. August treated everyone fairly and evenly, except for Rahkeid.

It wasn’t because he was an etherious, as there had previously been a second of his creations among The Twelve, and August had not been obviously irritated by Bloodman. It could be Rahkeid’s tendency to obnoxious behaviour, but several other members of The Twelve were also known for being obnoxious, and again, they did not rouse the same irritation.

“I don’t suppose you, or anyone else for that matter, could persuade August to speak to me personally?”

“If you really want to be subjected to-” she resumed her impression, “Why was His Majesty’s child not loved?!” but this time with added gesticulations, “-on endless repeat, then feel free. I ran out of patience after five minutes in his company.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

It took a further three days for August to act; and when he finally did, it was at four o’clock in the morning - of course!

“…come in?” came the uncertain response of a man who had definitely been sleeping until someone in the hallway had the audacity to use the door as a drum. It took several further seconds to process that it was August, of all people, who had caused the disturbance.

There were many things he wished to say, most of which related to disturbing people at unearthly hours, but criticism would not help a man who had been brooding in the library for three weeks. Take a deep breath, and focus on what matters - namely, coaxing August out of the library permanently. Not really a conversation one wishes to have at four in the morning, but t’was ever thus, as they say.

“I hear you have been struggling with our…present situation” Zeref said, in an attempt to break the tension.

“It is not so much our situation, Your Majesty…as that there is something I have been unable to tell you for a very long time, and now that I have the opportunity…” August tailed off, as the subject weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“You don’t know what to say?” Zeref suggested. August said nothing, but the subtle lowering of his head was essentially an affirmation. “I’m no longer cursed, and as such not subject to bouts of volatile emotion. Whatever it is, let’s discuss it. The subject is clearly not something you can, or should, continue keeping to yourself.”

He’d spoken those words, expecting August to confess to… not following an order…or…something, not utter, “Your Majesty, you are my father.”

Zeref blinked, then answered, “Its fine. You are far from the first empire mage to see me in such a light. I’m not offended.”

“No, Your Majesty; you are my father.” August insisted.

To say that he was perplexed, did not accurately convey the sheer gravity of the situation. “Pardon?”

“You’re my-” August began to repeat, but Zeref cut in with clarification, “I heard what you said. I just… don’t understand what you mean. You insist that I ‘am your father’ yet dismissed my acceptance of being figuratively seen that way.”

“I did not mean it…figuratively.”

But then? ...how could he possibly? Zeref sighed, “August, I do not have any children. My Empress fell into a coma within twenty-four hours of the wedding, and I have scarcely been in her presence since. It is true that, as a child, you reminded me of her somewhat but-”

Uncharacteristically, August raised his voice, “That’s because I am her son as much as I am yours!”

“That’s ridicul-” he tried to refute, but August continued speaking, “My mother did not need Precht’s healing to survive! Her curse, her immortality, protected her regardless. But Precht sensed life in her body and thus attempted to revive her! That life…was mine.”

Well that was…unexpected? No, not ‘unexpected’ but more… unforeseeable? Inexplicable? Truly there was no word remotely strong enough to convey the sheer improbability of this situation. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not; both sound equally preposterous” Zeref eventually admitted as he attempted to make some, or even any, sense of what he’d been told.

August shouldn’t know the details of events following Mavis’ ‘death’ so clearly based on what he’d been told in Alvarez; yet he equally wasn’t old enough to have been around in Fiore at the time and remembered. August was, however, the right age to have been born the year following the wedding; so that part stacked up. Nothing else about his claimed genealogy seemed to make much sense, however.

There was no reason for August to lie, to make something so farfetched up and expect a 400 year old immortal genius of all people to simply believe it. Yet the idea that he and Mavis somehow had a child sounded equally stupid. All aided greatly by August’s decision to discuss this at four o’clock in the morning.

Emotionally, August volunteered, “I’ve wished to tell you all the time we’ve known one another; yet I realised that with the nature of your curse it would be better if I kept my silence.” August was not usually so openly emotional, nor was he a good actor. The notion he presented was preposterous and made very little sense, but apparently it was true.

“You must have been delivered by Precht? Correct?” August nodded. Zeref supposed it might have been possible for Precht’s attempts to ‘save Mavis’ life’ -that she couldn’t lose anyway- to have instead nurtured that of an unborn child… Depending on exact the sequence of events, and precisely when Mavis’ spirit regained a degree of self-awareness, perhaps she could indeed have been unware of it all.

After some further musings, one question stood out to him, “Then…but…why weren’t you raised in Fairy Tail? You’re their founder’s son after all, and if Precht delivered you he would have been in no doubt that Mavis was your mother.”

“I don’t know” the aged man answered honestly, “I can only assume he realised that you were most likely my father and…”

Continuing where August tailed off, Zeref uttered unhappily, “…didn’t want to be caught ‘raising the child of the feared Black Wizard’, I suppose.” So much for Precht’s ‘loyalty’ to Mavis. Then again, it was the same man who had, decades later, attacked the guild he had once been master of.

He sighed heavily as his mind continued the struggle to process all he’d been told. “You might have to leave this with me for a while. You’ve… turned my understanding of the world rather upside down.”

“…This isn’t an outright rejection?” August uttered, barely more than a whisper. He couldn’t quite believe that the conversation had ended in a positive manner.

“No, it isn’t. I just need time to come to terms with it all.” He leant back against the headboard and stared upwards at the square tiles of the ceiling. ‘Coming to terms with’ was certainly going to be quite the process.

August rose as if to leave, only to hesitate, then step forwards. At first, he panicked at the sudden feeling of being embraced. Long-engrained instincts to flee from all human contact would take time to un-learn. But… it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Just odd, and really awkward. Tentatively, and from the realisation that he needed to react in some way, Zeref placed one hand onto August’s shoulder.

Only in the moments that followed did he realise how much that tiny act of acceptance meant to a man who had spent so many years in touching distance of his father; yet had been forever unable to reach out.

Eventually, August let go. “Goodnight… Father” he said, having clearly hesitated to determine whether to address him formally or casually, and left the room without further ceremony.

Being alone again did not necessarily make it easy to sleep, however. Especially when one has had such a large bombshell dropped on their understanding of the world.

The second disturbance to Zeref’s morning came in the form of an unusually animated Invel Yura. Thankfully, however, at a much more reasonable hour than the first disturbance.

Invel merely gesticulated in disbelief for several seconds before at last explaining, “August…has come back to work! …and is in the cheeriest mood I have ever seen him. I could hear someone humming in the cabinet room, went in to see who it was, and there was August contently sorting some home affairs paperwork!” After a short pause to regain his composure, Invel enquired, “You did something, I assume, Your Majesty?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘did something’… and whether ‘get woken up at 4am and be told by your chief guard that he’s actually your biological son’ falls into said category.”

Invel was rather stumped, “Pardon?”

“That was what I said” Zeref replied, then attempted to explain the inexplicable as August had to him.

One paternity test later (Invel refused to have anything to do with the idea until there was conclusive evidence), and the news had thrown the palace into what could only be described as pandemonium.

Ajeel and Rahkeid had returned to the palace right as the news broke; and the latter responded to the development by immediately challenging August to a fight… which he thankfully declined. If those two had come to blows it would certainly have proved destructive.

After much complaining, most of which consisted of shouting at His Majesty (against Invel’s express instructions not to stress him!), Rahkeid was at last persuaded that August was not a threat.

Invel spent a great deal of his afternoon determinedly shooing people out of His Majesty’s hospital room when they continually outstayed their welcome. Apparently, in the face of the shocking news, many palace staff members saw fit to do away with all sense of procedure and simply do as they pleased. The worst offender, by far, was a certain blonde-haired etherious who seemed to lack any understanding that bothering someone endlessly does not enable them to rest and recover effectively.

Rahkeid’s presence was at last removed when Irene threatened to use her enchantments to turn him into stone if he didn’t leave. Not the best way to deal with the problem, certainly, but after listening to Rahkeid’s whining for several hours Invel was almost beyond caring. If the way His Majesty flopped onto the pillow when the troublesome etherious finally left was any indication, the feeling of exasperation was mutual.

When the circus act of ‘see how many times the same people can go in and out of a room in a single afternoon’ did not relent, Invel forcibly banned (by way of stationing an uncompromising nurse immediately outside) anyone from entering His Majesty’s room without an explicitly necessary reason for doing so. This firm rejection of the chaos proved very effective; and by sunset the emergency measure was no longer needed.

Honestly, it was quite incredible the amount of chaos which could be created by just two shields and half a dozen politicians. If that small group of people could cause all this almost by themselves…Invel dreaded to think of the insanity which would emerge when the news eventually reached the newspapers.

Chapter Text

The emotional impact of it all only registered with Zeref a few days later; when the constant sleepiness which had fogged over his first few days of awareness began to dissipate, and the endless rounds of people demanding answers and explanations about August ceased thanks to Invel’s intervention. Only then, with infinite time to himself in which to think things over, did what all this meant truly register.

Despite how frustratingly fleeting his time with Mavis had felt, they had somehow still fulfilled what they had both written off as impossible. They’d assumed their shared curse would have mercilessly taken the lives of any unborn children as it would any other.

But apparently, whether because it was impossible for the curse to take a life from within an immortal bearer… or because August’s life had not yet begun at the time of Zeref’s last grief-stricken death wave… somehow he had lived.

Having watched him grow up and mature into the wise commanding general he was today, Zeref had always been proud of the person August had become, but he felt even more so now. Because August wasn’t ‘just’ the Twelve’s leading general, but also the son Zeref had long assumed he’d never have.

August was living proof that his relationship with Mavis had not been the fleeting and intangible dream it had often felt like in the subsequent years, but a real event which would forever be part of their lives.

Briefly, he wondered what Mavis would think of all this when she eventually found out. She’d probably be happy; having certainly said to him more than once during their engagement that she wanted to be a mother one day. At least… so long as she hadn’t had second thoughts about being associated with him of all people now she was presumably mortal.

But with his increasing awareness of just what August’s existence truly meant, also came the crushing feeling of guilt - at being unable to truly be a parent to him until so very late in his life.

August himself was surprisingly unbothered by it. Apparently content to talk about the present and future rather than, as he’d so aptly put it yesterday ‘dwell on what we both know cannot be changed’.

August understood the curse. He had deliberately kept the knowledge of their relationship out of Zeref’s hands for that very reason. So, much as the enforced distance had surely hurt August, it was also something both of them wanted to quickly forget. Much time had already been lost, August was no ‘spring chicken’ and now it was best to focus on making the most of however long they still had.

Things remained a bit awkward between them, but having worked together for so many years it seemed that their relationship need not change as drastically as Zeref had initially… ‘feared’ was perhaps not the right word, but something about that anticipated dramatic shift had certainly felt unsettling. Not because he held reservations about August, but simply because it was different. So many things were different now, and those constantly expanding changes were… a lot to take in.

August stopped by more often than he probably would have prior to the revelation, and asked a few more personal questions. But otherwise, Zeref’s prior understanding of the dynamics of their relationship remained surprisingly intact.

August’s revelation had actually been a welcome distraction. It had given Zeref something to think about and focus on other than the largely boring environment he found himself in.

At first being stuck in his hospital room hadn’t been too bad as his time had been completely filled by a mixture of sleep, physio, and what few empire matters Invel allowed to reach him. But as things began to settle down, and he found himself able to stay awake for increasing periods without tiring; things became… monotonous.

Nowhere to go, nothing to see and nothing to do either, half the time. Invel refused to let him do any work, and didn’t appear much more inclined to letting him study. Which left him with many hours to stare blankly at the annoying squared ceiling, or the ever-increasing collection of ‘get well soon’ notes that had been tacked up on the far wall.

Invel regularly came in and out to discuss tests and treatment, or deal with official matters needing verbal confirmation. August visited at least once most days, though not always for very long; whilst Rahkeid would come three times in a single day then vanish for several. Goodness knows what went through his head.

Irene appeared periodically, and usually with more notes for the far wall, but notably less often than the rest. She and Ajeel had been tasked with resolving any and all home affairs situations outside the capital that required someone to go in person. As such, Zeref suspected she spent much of her time to-ing and fro-ing from the palace.

Jacob and Brandish were in Fiore; the former working on mending diplomatic relations, and the latter supposedly helping, but who knew whether she really was or not. Neinhart had ceased sulking inside the palace and instead made himself even less useful by vanishing into the wilderness; and thus far had ignored all of Invel’s persistent efforts to contact him.

Anyone other than the remnant of the ‘Twelve’ (now seven, discounting Neinhart the absent) had been banned, by Invel, from bothering him; so there ended his choices for mental stimulation. The physio exercises were important…although not particularly entertaining, and overall did very little to ease the feeling of boredom. He had been permitted a communication lacrima, but even that was a bit pointless when there was nobody interesting to call on it.

With nothing to do, it was all too easy for his thoughts to wander to places he’d really rather they didn’t. Thoughts which usually centred on his dear, beloved, but sadly many miles away, Empress. She, at least, would have provided some interesting conversation.

…would he ever see her again? The issue of contact from Alvarez being taken as aggression was unlikely to dissipate anytime soon; and that worried him.

Based on Invel’s account of their exit from Ishgar, Mavis could very well believe he had died. Which was problematic, because she could, theoretically, consider herself to therefore be free to go out with someone else. Nobody in Ishgar would flag it up as a problem because their marriage was not recognised over there. Not because there was anything invalid about it, but just on account of the largely unofficial way Mavis’ move to Alvarez happened.

Records aside, still no one in Ishgar seemed to have connected the not-so-subtle dots to realise she was the same person as Alvarez’s ‘missing’ Empress Consort, Anthousai.

These were not helpful thoughts. Dwelling on it only made anxiety set in. What was she doing? Who was she with? Was there a Fiorean man she now thought she fancied? Forbid the thought she decided it would be a good idea to remarry…and let some other man have things she’d promised would be his and his alone.

After the anxiety came guilt. Guilt, for having such thoughts of desiring to control her life and social connections. Guilt for having hurt her, and her country of birth, so badly he was politically prevented from contacting her in the first place.

“Arghh!” He groaned frustratedly having managed to think himself into another tangle over his feelings for Mavis.

If only he’d never started the war… If only they’d avoided consummating their marriage; then maybe his curse would have spared her the coma, and they’d be kissing in the palace gardens instead of residing on opposite sides of an ocean. No. Stop. Don’t ‘if only’ anything, you’ll only think yourself deeper in.

It still ached though; the unending pull of his wish for her company. The incessant urge to be beside the woman whose personality he had fallen so deeply in love with. But it wasn’t happening anytime soon, if ever again, and he should really stop falling back into the endless void of longing.

There was nothing he could do about it. And the politically vital radio silence was no one’s fault but his own. You reap what you sow, after all; and he’d certainly been the one who planted this mess. Surviving the last ninety-five years had been easy in comparison. He’d got by primarily on the understanding that Mavis was dead and there was nothing to be done about it. Knowing that she was alive, and curse-free; yet he could do nothing to reach her, was practically torture.

It was difficult to comfort oneself; and whilst August might understand, she was his mother after all, he really didn’t want to accidentally drag him into the despair as well. Everyone else was busy saving the empire he’d doomed by starting a war they couldn’t win, and definitely didn’t want or need to hear their Emperor’s love-sick whining for his absent Empress.

He was brought crashing back to reality by the feel of a hand on his shoulder. “You’re crying” uttered a surprised, and unusually quiet, Rahkeid. It was hard to tell who surprised who more; the Etherious who had acted on instinct and only belatedly realised he’d acted at all, or the man who’d scarcely noticed his presence.

Pull yourself together; Zeref firmly told himself, and brushed away the tears with the back of one hand. “I was just…having a moment. Don’t worry about it.” he said, by way of explanation. Rahkeid’s expression was not that of someone taking no for an answer. So, in an attempt to change the subject, Zeref questioned, “When did you get here? I… don’t remember you arriving…?”

“I was nearby and sensed you were distressed, so I snuck in” Rahkeid immediately answered. So much for changing the subject. With concern, Zeref questioned, “…You don’t also know what about, do you?”

Rahkeid firmly shook his head, “Of course not” he complained, almost offended at the notion he would have done such a thing. “You did not give me the ability to read your mind, Father. It is just that now you are able to feel more openly, I can sometimes sense a wisp of your mental state; but that’s all.”

He hadn’t realised his creations had such an ability; but then again, he’d been forced to run from his own emotions for longer than such creations had existed. The etherious were a direct result of the frustrations from being cursed, not the other way round.

Their relationship was certainly more awkward than usual after the news of August’s identity, but it seemed to be alright in the grand scheme of things. Rahkeid had very pointedly ignored Zeref for two days after Irene kicked him out, before wordlessly taking up a pattern of visits as inconsistent as his attendance at Spriggan Twelve meetings.

They hadn’t spoken about August after the initial ‘conversation’ – which had really just been Rahkeid yelling his annoyance at anyone who would listen – and whether this indicated acceptance, or was just a way of avoiding the topic, Zeref didn’t know. He wasn’t about to ask either, knowing all too well that bringing up would simply open a new can of worms.

Rahkeid took the extended silence which emerged between them as a cue to pull up a chair, and make clear his intent to stay until he deemed the matter of Zeref’s distress ‘resolved’. The change in palace dynamics, where his elite shields grew bolder by the day in refusing to take no for an answer, was peculiar; but perhaps not uncalled for. “How can I help?” the etherious insisted.

“Genuinely, I don’t think you can” he replied, “and the one person who would be able to cannot be contacted for diplomatic reasons.” It was a simple, logical explanation. One he hoped might end the discussion. Dwelling on his desire to see Mavis by discussing it with someone wasn’t the plan.

“Oh~ so this is about her”, Rahkeid uttered as he gradually put the pieces together. “In that case you’re quite right; I can’t solve it.”

“That was precisely my point from before!” Zeref complained in mild exasperation.

“However!” Ah yes, Rahkeid’s most prominent trait had always been persistence. “I don’t think you should silently stew on it either.” Zeref couldn’t argue that stewing on it wasn’t solving anything; but he remained unsure what Rahkeid envisioned he do about it instead. Discussing it only made him think about her more, and childishly whining about it to ‘let out the emotion’ wouldn’t be any better. If anything it would damage his already shaky reputation after leading the country into an entirely avoidable predicament.

“Brandish once told me she’d tried putting to paper some of the things she wished she had been able to tell her mother. You could try that, it’s at least more constructive than crying yourself to sleep over it.”

It was quite tempting to take offence at the accusation he was ‘crying himself to sleep over it’, but on the understanding that such an act would probably only turn this into an argument, he firmly squashed the idea. Instead, he noted a practicality issue Rahkeid had most likely been unaware of, “You’ll have to persuade Invel to let me have such seldom-seen objects as pen and paper for that.”

His Chief of Staff had thus far been entirely against letting him have writing capabilities due to the belief he would ‘overdo’ it with either work or study if he were given them. Although he routinely carried some of both in his requip space, he’d already been told off twice for summoning things from there.

“I’ll just assure him of what you’re using them for” Rahkeid insisted with a light shrug, “Since it isn’t work, he should approve.” Zeref suspected Rahkeid was underestimating Invel’s insistence, but he was quite happy to be proved wrong. If anyone was going to succeed in convincing the Winter General to change his mind, Rahkeid with both first-hand evidence of why it ‘would help His Majesty’, and his generally persistent nature, probably had the most chance.

“I’ll be going then” Rahkeid declared as he promptly rose from the chair, without putting it away, and made a bee line for the door.

“Please emphasise that I don’t intend to send them!” he called after him, before the slightly impulsive etherious managed to make everything ten times worse, “Otherwise he will definitely decline, and give me an undeserved lecture on why I can’t make contact!”

A hurried “Will do!” floated back through the doorway, as Rahkeid’s footsteps began to fade into the distance.

Invel was rather surprised, and not particularly enthused, to see His Majesty’s non-biological ‘son’ arrive in his office. “Is it important?” the Winter General asked sceptically. “Yes” Rahkeid replied with a firm nod of his head.

“Your important, or my important?” Invel continued to question disbelievingly. Rather than picking either option, “His Majesty’s important” was the answer given. Invel sighed and made a noise in signal for the etherious to continue. Only time would tell whether it was really important or just Rahkeid seeking an excuse.

“When I went to see him not long ago he was… quite upset about Her Majesty the Empress.” Invel was aware the subject was difficult, though he had yet to see anything which would class as obvious distress…then again maybe His Majesty had emotionally deteriorated only recently…

“I heard that putting one’s feelings into writing, albeit of course not to send…” Rahkeid continued, “…can help to process the emotions. So…I was looking for permission to take him some writing supplies.”

For once, they were agreed on the nature of important. “He does not intend to send any such correspondence?”

“He does not.” Rahkeid immediately agreed, “In fact, when I discussed the matter with him, he stressed that I make this very point absolutely clear to you.”

Invel nodded in approval, “In which case you may retrieve a pen and some paper from his chambers and deliver them to his hospital room. Now, if you don’t mind I’ll be returning to my paperwork” Rahkeid thanked him, and left the room without further ceremony.

Fifteen minutes later, he triumphantly flung open the door to his 'father’s' hospital room, “The good news is Invel approved!” he enthused, and dropped the implements onto the bedding, “…and the bad news is I may have disrupted your study’s organisation system in looking for the things.”

“You’re assuming it was organised properly to begin with” Zeref casually refuted. With a light shrug he added, “I was already expecting to have to sort it out; and I doubt your attempts to find things did anywhere near as much damage as decades of cursed whims.” He wasn’t naturally a disorganised person, and firmly believed that disorder only made for inefficient work; but with a curse as capricious as the one he’d been under… it had been hard to keep anything organised.

“Regardless” Rahkeid assured him, “I did try to put things back where I got them from.” After some further acknowledgements, Rahkeid left to resume… whatever he’d been doing before sensing his ‘father’s’ distress and sneaking in.

Zeref spent an indeterminate amount of time simply staring at the blank piece of paper before him; saying he was going to put his feelings into words was one thing, but actually doing it was something else entirely. There was so much, yet nothing at all, to say; and every word felt inadequate to really address the situation. He’d caused her so much pain and anguish, failed to uphold his promises in more ways than he could easily count; and no amount of saying sorry or being regretful could undo it. He knew she wasn’t actually going to read it; but even so…

Speaking of undoing things; that was how neo-eclipse came about in the first place, when guilt for past actions set in. Sorry was never enough for some people, and the fear that being remorseful wasn’t enough; to cancel out the many wrongs he’d been manipulated into committing under the curse, had haunted him for centuries.

That guilt had only been compounded by Mavis’ ‘death’, and his then-assumption that he’d survived their first night together only because she didn’t truly love him. That presumptuous idea had been proved wholly incorrect – but for the curse’s tampering with her thoughts in a vital moment – by her later, and vehemently expressed, desire for his company. One spoken in a way which would be hard to argue was ‘just friendship’ or ‘mere compassion’.

He’d ruminated on the contents of their entire last interaction, which had transpired on the dusty floor of the Fairy Tail guildhall, many times. But it was the emotional words she’d uttered, as the reality of executing her plan to ‘use the power of her own curse to end his life’ had set in, that always stood out most.

“But I don’t want you to die! I want us to stay together forever!” she’d passionately declared through tears; and he’d been unable to forget those words ever since. It had been rather foolish to believe she could possibly have gone along with everything without truly loving him. Marriage was not a thing people undertook lightly, after all.

But then again, considering the nature of the curse of contradiction… he was somewhat certain he could have been persuaded to believe it rained cats and dogs (a wholly preposterous notion to one who understood the world through a framework of facts and logic) if the untrustworthy mental ‘epiphanies’ of the curse had decreed it so.

Mavis’ words stuck in his mind both because they were evidence of how wrong he’d been, and explained why she had reacted so negatively to the idea of him resetting time to ‘return her life to her’; but also because it provided a wisp of hope. If he ever saw her again, relatively soon at least, which felt like a very big if with the present diplomatic situation, he had no reason to doubt that she would hold some lingering affection for him…even if she had started to move on emotionally by then.

The idea that she might move on, having eventually come to terms with his ‘death’, gave him mixed feelings. If the diplomatic situation didn’t improve, and it took many years for them to be reunited… he hated to imagine the prolonged pain and grief she would experience. So…in such a situation, maybe it would be best for her if she did manage to move on?

Yet, as soon as he’d thought it; he remembered that, were she hearing his thoughts, Mavis would absolutely have told him off for denying his own value and importance. She hadn’t determinedly uttered the words ‘together forever’, even despite all his recent atrocious actions, lightly. No, they’d been spoken with absolute conviction, and an utter determination to persevere in love even though it was difficult.

There was also the possessive side to his feelings; which burned with protectiveness and irritation at the idea that anyone else could ever get reciprocal romantic intent from her. She was his, as he was hers, and had promised she would be as long as they lived. Of course the issue of wedding vows being ‘until death do us part’, and her likely understanding that he was such remained.

Having been thoroughly distracted, he returned his gaze to the paper, which was still blank but for the words ‘Dearest Mavis’. …this was going to be a long afternoon.

After much contemplation, numerous crossed out sentences, and some tears, a never-to-be-sent letter finally formed on the sheet of paper. Having put so much effort into it, the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to read the heartfelt words expressing something of the depth of both love and regret which had filled his mind in recent days was…hard to accept.

But it was the way it had to be. As her husband, he was infinitely frustrated by the inability to make his feelings known to her; but as an emperor he simply couldn’t justify throwing Alvarez into even deeper trouble in order to contact her. The responsibilities of leadership were so often a double edged sword.

‘Dearest Mavis,

I am well aware that nothing can be said that undoes the damage wrought by my recent actions. But, if you are willing, I want to try and work through this together. You would have every reason to refuse and I couldn’t fault you for doing so …you firmly expressed a similar desire last time we were together, does that still stand?

Despite much consideration, I’m not sure what to address first. There’s a near-infinite number of things which could be said, and a very long list of those which should be said.

…perhaps I should start with myself? News of my personal situation is certainly less likely to have made it across the border than updates on Invel and Jacob’s impressive efforts to rebuild diplomacy between ourselves and Fiore. Things will be different now, partially of course because I’m no longer subject to cursed whims, but more so due to the injuries I sustained in the war. I can’t walk anymore, don’t know how you will feel about that, and somehow it feels far more grave to put it in writing to you than it has any time I’ve thought about it. My injury won’t improve significantly, as it’s caused by damage to the spinal cord and thus too severe for any form of healing magic.

It doesn’t bother me as much as you might expect, though the experience of being able to feel my limbs but not move them properly is rather odd. It probably helps that the things I’m most passionate about (academic research of magic, mostly) don’t rely on bipedal movement and are unaffected.

As of writing this, it has been just over a month since the end of the war. I spent the first three weeks asleep; it was presumably some sort of after effect from breaking the curse. Did you experience something similar? Or was it caused by the sheer length of my subjection to it?

I miss you constantly. The last ninety-five years were hard enough, but it feels even worse knowing you’re alive and well but we’re still not together. Were it not for the fraught diplomatic situation, know that I would be at your side as soon as I’m permitted out of the hospital room. …assuming you would want to see me. Who knows how soon that would be though, as Invel is very determined to ensure I do not ‘over exert myself’ – to the point that this is the first time I’ve been permitted pen and paper. Even then he only allowed it after Rahkeid (one of The Twelve) insisted that it would ‘benefit my mental wellbeing’.

I’m not sure what things are like in Fiore now the war is over, as Invel’s determination extends to only delivering information he deems important, so I’m a bit out of the loop on current affairs. I hope you’re alright, and that things will settle down again now that I’m not actively creating conflict the fighting is over.

Love you always.

Your husband,

Zeref Dragneel’

As he re-read the words he’d written, one thing in particular stood out. Namely, how the stiff and legalistic tone of the first few paragraphs had slowly softened into something more personal. She was his wife after all, and probably ought not to be spoken to like a foreign diplomatic acquaintance. …not that she would be reading the letter.

It was hard to tell whether putting pen to paper had made him feel better or not, as thinking the matter over had also dug up a lot of buried feelings. Whether it made any lasting difference or not, it had still been more constructive than thinking himself deeper and deeper into despair.

Chapter Text

About a week after the end of the war, she awoke with a start to a strangely alien, yet also familiar, room. She was real, had physicality once more, and was in the infirmary at the guildhall, were her first deductions. It didn’t sound like there was fighting outside, so she hoped the war was over. It definitely ought to be; she could feel the absence of the curse, which meant her plan had succeeded!

She enthusiastically turned to her right to share her excitement with the love of her life, only to realise she was in a single bed. Zeref wasn’t beside her.

In all honesty, she’d planned not to wake at all. Presumed that with the twisted nature of their shared curse, and the problematic infinite fountain of magic it had conjured, dying in one another’s arms and taking Fairy Heart to the grave was the best ending in the circumstances. As for the rare moments she’d dared to hope to live as a mortal after breaking the cruel curse which had afflicted them, she’d always imagined waking in the arms of, or at least beside, her beloved husband.

They’d come to blows in the war, but through it all she’d never been able to bring herself to hate or give up on him. Zeref’s mad dash for the power to reset time was a prime example of curse-fuelled mania, not of his own feelings. His indecisive behaviour, and unwillingness to inflict pain upon her, even when it would further his goals in the war, had been a clear indicator. Somewhere, beneath all the cursed madness, the gentle, reserved, and compassionate genius with whom she had fallen in love still survived.

Now the curse was gone, at least she hoped his was broken too, the part of his mind she loved, and which had forever been untouched by the madness, should be back in full control. Mavis sat up, sighing softly as she stretched her muscles. Hopefully Zeref was still around somewhere, and just not sharing a room with her.

Upon further reflection, she eventually supposed it made sense why he wasn’t there. At the time she had been too emotional, and too caught up in the moment, to think it through; but the story she’d told her guild about their history was probably what had brought this about.

She had been unwilling to discuss at length, or think too deeply about, a man she had at the time feared was lost to the curse forever. Back then, even thinking about events such as his gentlemanly proposal, much less the undeniable hope and happiness as he’d taken her hands and proudly declared his vows, had brought great pain. So she’d tried to avoid thinking such things, and certainly hadn’t discussed them publicly. Instead she had left her guild with the impression she’d perished from the curse’s power soon after their relationship began; quite possibly even from their very first kiss.

That most likely explained Zeref’s absence from her room. A man she had kissed once, as her guild likely believed, had no place being in bed with her. With knowledge of their complete history, the idea was of course far less scandalous. They were married after all, so there was nothing inappropriate about sharing a bed; indeed it was almost the opposite, and would be considered odd not to. But Fairy Tail wouldn’t know that, so it was a logical decision on their part.

If she’d explained their history properly, would things be different now? Might someone in her guild have decided to push two beds together and allowed them to wake in each other’s company at last?

They’d woken close by on many nights during the months spent travelling together, between the night of their first kiss and the fateful events of their wedding. But that had been different. There had always been effort to maintain an appropriate distance then, as they were both conscious of the fact that an unmarried couple travelling alone together was not an ideal situation.

She’d often got cold during those travels, not that it had mattered with an immortal and self-healing body, but the chill had made the idea of cuddling particularly tempting. They’d never indulged the wish though. Out of respect for each other, and in the knowledge that it would be all too easy to cease merely cuddling and stray further than was appropriate for the label ‘fiancée’.

It would be different if they travelled together now; they’d be free to cuddle as much as they wished, and she’d oft looked forwards to the slightly more comfortable nights of travel after the wedding. She sighed wistfully. If only they’d actually come to pass…

She couldn’t say one way or the other whether providing her guild with a complete explanation would have kept him at her side in these circumstances; but regardless, she certainly wished she’d had the sense not to gloss over so much of a relationship which was so deeply important to her.

It hadn’t helped that her death had resulted from something so intimate. The idea of having to explain that the act of consummation, of all things, was what eventually overpowered her curse; had not been one she looked forward to. That embarrassment had certainly added weight to the idea of skirting the topic of their marriage completely. Not to mention the potential outrage from her guild members at the idea that she’d even considered marrying, much less gladly done so, and proceeded to sleep with, the infamous ‘darkest wizard in history’.

No one had reacted to her abridged story badly because they’d probably assumed her romantic involvement with the man had been a momentary ‘teenage fling’. But in truth, it was neither.

Firstly, their romance had held strong despite a ninety-five year near-silence, and the strain of an all-out war between their factions. Secondly, at then-twenty-four, and having borne the responsibilities of Guildmaster for several years, she was far from a ‘naive teenager’ when they married. Of course, Zeref was still three centuries older than her, but in their circumstances? …did it really matter? Mavis certainly didn’t think so.

She momentarily closed her eyes, and focused in on the subtle thrum of magic in the air. She couldn’t sense Zeref’s amongst it, and his magic signature was pretty distinctive…as exemplified by the number of mages who could take a single glance at something he’d made and cry with derogatory intent ‘this has power reminiscent of Zeref!’.

The fact she couldn’t sense him didn’t mean he wasn’t there though; Mavis would be the first to admit that her ability to sense nearby magic was little more than average. She’d witnessed him sense others, if their signatures were distinctive, from several miles away. Truly incredible; and quite befitting of the magically adept man whose sheer skill and expertise had fascinated her as long as she’d known him.

If he was around, and the curse was indeed broken, she wasn’t much concerned for how he would react to her when she went to see him. As soon as she’d been alone with him after his defeat, he’d succumbed to his still-potent feelings for her. She found herself smiling slightly at the memory, he’d been so soft and loving towards her then…just like he always used to be.

Whatever the rest of the world believed, and regardless of how the curse twisted his behaviour, to the point that in clearer moments he saw himself as naught but a monstrosity; she’d been right about him from the start. He wasn’t a bad person, just a man who had become afflicted with something dreadful that had been beyond his control.

The door to her room opened with a soft click, and her musings ground to a halt as her gaze met that of Lucy Heartfilia. “First Master! You’re awake at last!” she exclaimed delightedly, and immediately approached the bed.

“How are you feeling?” she cheerily enquired, “Your physical wounds weren’t too serious; and Wendy cast an enchantment to prevent you losing strength whilst you were comatose.” Mavis nodded in acknowledgement, before agreeing verbally, “I feel alright, thank you.”

Lucy provided a few more explanations; that it had been a little while since the war ended, that things were ‘settling down’ – whatever that meant -, and that Porlyusica presumed Mavis’ extended period of unconsciousness was a result of the curse being removed. Mavis firmly agreed with that last conclusion, particularly with the context that she had sustained no physical injuries which would have caused such a prolonged period of unconsciousness.

When Lucy reached the end of what she needed to say, Mavis made a request, “Where is Zeref? …Can I see him?” Her voice was filled with hope and expectation; she’d waited so long to be with the real him again, and now all that stood between her and success were a few conversations to arrange it. He had been cursed far longer than herself, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for the after effects to be more potent; but even if he was still asleep, she would at least be able to go and sit by his side whilst she waited.

Lucy’s face fell, and Mavis’ happiness began to drift away too as she came to understand that it clearly wasn’t so simple.

Gravely, and with an understanding that what she had to say would not be of comfort, Lucy uttered a reply, “Actually…” Lucy gazed down at her feet, unsure how to tell someone something so hurtful. She didn’t have any more context to their romance than anyone else in the guild, but she’d heard the sheer hope and excitement in Mavis’ voice when she asked to see him. That alone had been more than enough for her to understand that whatever else had happened, they clearly hadn’t ended the war as bitter enemies. “We…didn’t find any evidence of him” she slowly admitted. “Alvarez haven’t said much publicly, though we think they’re continuing the title of ‘Spriggan’ as hereditary. We can only assume he didn’t survive…Sorry, First Master.”

With those words, all of Mavis’ plans and hopes for the future lay in tatters. She would never get to travel with him as his wife, rather than just fiancée; nor experience the joy of raising a family together.

They’d come so close, again. But the world was cruel, and apparently out to deny them happiness at every opportunity. She curled in on herself, and began to sob. She was alone, and it hurt. Her guild would doubtlessly tell her she wasn’t, because they loved her, and she had them. But that was different.

Everyone in Fairy Tail, except for Warrod she supposed, was younger than her, and looked up to her as a mentor. With their family-like ethos, the current generation of Fairy Tail could well be considered her metaphorical ‘children’. She was sure they would try to fill the hole in her heart, and it would be done with all the best of intentions, but regardless of the effort put forth they could never replace him. The relationships were different, to Fairy Tail she was a former leader, but she’d been Zeref’s equal; and now the man she’d chosen as her partner for life was gone forever.

As the initial wave of emotion gave way to a numb unfeeling haze, Mavis asked with quiet apprehension, “There…wasn’t a body?” That at least, might have given her closure. A chance to hold a funeral, choose a location for a grave, a style for the headstone, an opportunity to channel her grief into something that would properly mark his passing; rather than simply wallow in her sadness.

Lucy shook her head, “When we got to the guildhall, you were lying on the floor all by yourself.” They’d found it a bit odd, that Zeref had apparently vaporised; yet their First Master, who bore the same curse, was lying there unaffected. So far, their only potential explanation had been Natsu’s tentative suggestion that Zeref might have ‘sacrificed himself’ to ‘give her another chance to live as a mortal’.

“There was nothing?” Mavis persisted in disbelief, “Not even any objects?” Requip spells usually emptied their contents onto the floor nearby if their caster died, and she knew Zeref had been a prolific user of them. He rarely carried things around normally, and instead kept everything in his requip space where he could summon it to hand with but a small waft of magic.

The guildhall floor ought to have been littered with ancient spell books, pens, research notes, and …whatever else he kept in there. The fact that it hadn’t been didn’t make any sense according to the laws of magic; and physical objects shouldn’t be able to evaporate because of the death of one man. Granted, an entire human body ought not to evaporate either…but she could chalk that up to ill-understood curses, which had been borne for far too long, causing unexpected side-effects.

At some level it didn’t matter, objects were hardly important; but at another it absolutely did. It took away her chance to have something that was his to remember him by, and since there had been no body she wasn’t even able to keep his wedding ring. Hers had vanished somewhere in the events surrounding her ‘death’, but he’d still been wearing his when she last saw him. Another clear sign that despite the curse’s madness, he had never truly been able to give up on her.

Lucy was initially confused as to why objects mattered, but then she began to realise why Mavis had wanted to know.

Though Lucy couldn’t relate directly, she did know what it was like to lose a mother. She knew how much the things still in her possession which had once belonged to her mother meant, they were a tangible sign that a person no longer with you had been part of your life. Something she could casually run her fingers across when she felt sad, and remember the happy times before her mother’s death. Presuming this to be Mavis’ reason for asking, she uttered an enthusiastic “Wait a moment!” and exited the room.

Five minutes later, she returned with a bundle of white cloth with gold embroidery. “It was on the floor in a corner when we were tidying up. Mira put it in the master’s office since nobody knew what to do with it, but now I think you should keep it” she said as she handed it over. It was the toga-esque fabric Zeref had been wrapped in for most of the war, but eventually discarded prior to his fight with Natsu.

Mavis recognised it immediately, and clutched the garment tightly. It held no scent, nor was any magic cast onto it, but it had belonged to the man she loved and that was all that mattered. After a moment simply appreciating it, she cast a Preservation Enchantment upon the fabric; to protect it from the wear of time, as well as the many times she would probably take comfort from touching it. No harm would befall this precious final relic as long as she lived.

Lucy said nothing, but equally made no move to leave. Everyone handled grief differently, she’d seen that as various friends in the guild had faced difficult circumstances over the years, and she wanted to be available in whatever way their First Master needed.

Having spent several minutes curled up and crying into the fabric bundle, Mavis lifted her head and stretched out her legs. The fabric was unfurled from the ball and Mavis loosely wrapped it around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as good as having his arms around her, for obvious reasons, but being able to wrap herself in something so very ‘Zeref-ish’ was something, at least.

The full spectrum of effects from his passing only hit her a few days later. Zeref was gone, and she had survived …that made her a widow. But based on Porlyusica’s assessments, unlike many widows who would have to endure only a couple of decades, Mavis’ body and aging seemed to think she was a young adult. In other words, she had a great many years of loneliness ahead of her.

She would have a hole in her heart as long as she lived, but it was better to love, to remember past love, and hurt for the loss of it, than to harden one’s heart and never love. …even if it didn’t always feel like it.

Chapter Text

Invel would be the first to admit that post-war diplomacy had been quite the learning curve. In the years he’d been in post – and indeed for quite a number before that - Alvarez had always gone into negotiations with the upper hand. They had previously always been free to act as the powerful empire they were, and by extension stride into such discussions with confidence knowing they were a nation few would dare challenge too strongly. But to have any chance of restoring relations between themselves and… not just Fiore, but the entirety of the Ishgar continent, they could not afford to behave as though they held any sort of significant leverage.

Nowadays, when he was discussing minor trade agreements – the only kind of treaty they could reasonably expect anyone to agree to at the moment - he could not push for the absolute best deal for Alvarez. More often than not, he found himself having to compromise significantly. Watching the empire’s prestige fade had been a hard thing for a man who had once believed the best course of action would be to unify the entire world under His Majesty’s leadership.

But as he had mulled over all that had happened, Invel had finally come to the realisation that despite the prestige, political superiority, and patriotism it had fostered; building an empire that only knew how to fight and conquer wasn’t a good plan in the longer term. Suppose they had managed to conquer all of earthland, as Invel had previously imagined they would, what then? How would one manage an empire designed to fight when there was nobody left to fight?

This had come up one day when he’d been visiting His Majesty’s hospital room to provide updates on a few key situations, and he’d been surprised by how much their intentions had differed.

Invel had assumed that ‘conquering the world’ wasn’t just a pie in the sky idea that he and Neinhart – who had both risen through the ranks of the Alvarez military before being chosen as one of The Twelve – dreamt up due to how powerful the empire seemed. But apparently, world domination had never been His majesty’s intention. Alvarez had been started as a means to counter Acnologia, at least until His Majesty realised that even an entire empire would struggle against that beast, and later served as a convenient way to supress his curse.

“So you mean to say you hold no personal attachment or concern for Alvarez as a country, or anyone in it?” Invel had asked, alarmed, as their conversation progressed.

“You’re not entirely wrong, in terms of how it was when I was cursed” Zeref had broadly agreed. “You are correct that I made it my business to view Alvarez, and everyone living here, as pieces in an intricate military strategy game; in order to supress the Curse of Contradiction. However, that does not mean I didn’t care about the ‘game’s’ outcome.” Zeref had forced himself not to care about any individual life too seriously lest he incite the rage of his curse, but he had always been determined to see his nation succeed and prosper.

His Majesty sighed deeply, “If you’re concerned I will leave you all to pick up the pieces of this situation by yourselves, rest assured that isn’t the case.” A leaderless organisation was most likely bound only for certain disaster, but with someone to rally round, and behind, there was still a chance to avert such a catastrophe.

“I meant what I said the day I woke up” His Majesty insisted, “I can’t begin to explain how much it means to me that you all still care.” As far as Zeref was concerned, his empire would have had every reason to brand him a failure and refuse to follow him for a moment longer. But they hadn’t. They’d refused to abandon him, and he was determined to return the favour.

“Now that I’m free from the Curse of Contradiction I want to try and fulfil my role properly…instead of having to vanish into the wilderness every few months to avoid getting attached.” No matter how hard he’d tried over the years, he had never been able to stay in Alvarez for more than a few months at a time. Trying not to feel was very wearing.

“It is good to know I am not trying to save a drowning empire; only to have it sunk forever by the untimely exit of its leader” Invel eventually replied with immeasurable relief palpable in his tone. Rescuing Alvarez from it’s precarious political situation was no small undertaking, and having already sunk so many hours into trying… the brief moment where he had feared it might all have been for nothing had been rather unpleasant.

His Majesty nodded in acknowledgement, “I don’t have all the details, since you’ve been keeping all work reports out of my hands thus far, but from the looks of it you’ve been doing a good job stabilising things.” His Majesty had always been willing to compliment things he considered a ‘job well done’, but there was something about the casualness of the comment that made it mean more than usual. His Majesty was trying to slowly move from explaining matters to his elite guard as subordinates, to engaging with them more personally as allies.

“There’s no need to inflate my actions, Your Majesty; I am simply doing my job” Invel insisted.

However, Zeref simply replied, “Maybe so, but I doubt anyone else among The Twelve would do said job as well as you do.” Most of the rest of his elite guards were… extremely skilled in something, yes, but not at all so in delicate political manoeuvres. They all had their own eccentricities, and Zeref briefly mused that it was – in a sense - much like what he’d observed of the mages of Mavis’ guild. Unlike the rest though, whose eccentric behaviours tended to result only in chaos, Invel’s particular breed of it instilled order; and with a huge empire to keep at least somewhat under control… that was a very valuable skill indeed.

At that, Invel relented and simply accepted the compliment for what it was. Being so openly thanked for his contributions – which in Invel’s opinion were only remarkable due to the chaotic and politically unsuitable behaviours of many of the other shields - was a strange experience, but extending the discussion simply to deflect praise would ultimately be of aid to no one.

He had heard of His majesty’s …emotional struggles from Rahkeid, when he burst into the Winter General’s office that one afternoon, so Invel was quite pleased to see His Majesty in such a good mood. Perhaps putting his thoughts into writing had proved quite helpful?

Having decided that perhaps it was permitted to forego the excessive formality for a moment, Invel volunteered a rare personal question of his own, “How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” The Winter General leant back into the chair he’d pulled up by the bed, “Though I have read through all your medical reports, and am aware that you’re becoming more stable physically by the day…that does not speak for how you actually feel.”

His Majesty contemplated the question for a significant period before he answered, and Invel wasn’t initially sure whether he ought to be concerned by the extended silence.

“From a primarily physical perspective I’d agree with the medical reports. The sleepiness has long since worn off, and I’d be most likely to describe myself as feeling restless and bored. There is…only so much entertainment to be derived from a hospital room.”

Invel silently took in the explanation for a while, then found the urge to speak again. “I am glad to hear you are recovering. Though I admit I sense there is a ‘but’ you have yet to elaborate on.”

“Perceptive as always” His Majesty agreed. After a long sigh, he explained himself, “Emotionally is a different matter. I’m hundreds of miles from my wife, just learnt I’m apparently a parent to a ninety-four year old, and probably made my younger brother hate me more than he already did. It’s…been difficult to cope with.” with a vague gesture of resignation he added, “Especially whilst I’m stuck in here with little to occupy my mind.”

“With regards to struggling with it all”, Invel began slowly, as he appeared to be thinking the matter through in tandem with speaking about it. “I think that is only to be expected in the circumstances, Your Majesty. As for the lack of ways to occupy your time…” Invel tailed off so he could consider the matter properly before making a decision. Now that His Majesty was wide awake for a more normal amount of hours, Invel’s prior insistence on ‘not overdoing it’ was beginning to reach the end of its necessity.

“Considering that the trends on your medical reports have all been positive for over a week now, I think we can confidently presume that use of low power spells will not be detrimental to your health.” Invel did not miss the way His Majesty’s face positively lit up with the realisation that requip magic and academic study might once again be permitted actions.

“You’ll allow it?” he asked to seek absolute confirmation, “Even knowing that once you do permit me to do so, there will be little to no chance of reigning it back in?”

Invel almost laughed at the level of sheer excitement which emanated from His Majesty, but he restrained his amusement to instead utter, “So long as you promise not to cast anything of unwise magnitude. Universe One, Neo-Eclipse, city-wide barrier enchantments, or anything along those lines.” Invel did not particularly expect any of those to actually transpire, but felt it wise to convey a limit regardless.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I have no such intentions” His Majesty firmly agreed.

After a nod of mutual acknowledgement, Invel rose from the chair, “In which case, I shall leave you to your studies, Your Majesty.” Before he could take more than a step forwards, His Majesty awkwardly interrupted the Winter General’s efforts to leave, “Oh, uh, one other thing.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I probably don’t have the right references on hand for what I intend to work on…and I can’t exactly go to the library and get them myself. So…”

“That can be arranged” Invel affirmed, “I suggest you make a list of what you require, and I will send someone along later to collect them for you.” With that agreed, Invel left to attend to other matters.

Chapter Text

After a week and a half of staring at the boring white walls of his hospital room and mourning his lack of options for mental stimulation, Zeref was finally allowed to immerse himself in something which made him happy. Writing the emotional never-to-be-sent note ‘to Mavis’ had provided mental stimulation yes, but it hadn’t been a particularly happy thing to do.

Magic research on the other hand? Now that was something he truly enjoyed. The intricacies of the world’s magic had fascinated him for as long as he could remember. There was something about studying and understanding it all via a complex logic-based system of runes, letters, and numbers which felt right.

He was heralded by history as a genius of magic; but despite people’s claims about him studying magic to make it easier to kill more people - not something he’d ever actually desired – his significant contribution to the scientific field was primarily out of personal interest. He’d often invented complex spells, and entire new branches under the magical taxonomy, for little reason but his own enjoyment and curiosity.

He doubted many would understand that even if they were aware of his actual life story…as opposed to whatever weird rumours had possessed some fool to start the first ‘Zeref worshipping cult’ all those years ago.

Because of Natsu’s death, together with his subsequent – and ultimately successful - efforts to revive him, people would likely consider Zeref another case of a mage ‘consumed by grief’ who was ‘driven to the dark arts’. There were two major things wrong with that statement, firstly, he’d been just as into runic magic before Natsu died. Indeed the reason he alone had survived the dragon attack was because he had been at Mildian Magic Academy when it happened.

The second issue was the definition of ‘dark arts’. Practising mages had a nasty habit of branding anything they saw as ‘dangerous’ as being from the ‘dark arts’ or a form of ‘black magic’. The former term held little genuine application beyond denoting that spells designed specifically to commit murder, or other kinds of crimes, were obviously immoral and should be banned. The latter was once a functional label used to differentiate between types of magic which glowed white or gold from those whose light tinged more black and purple. But of course, ‘scholars’ and ‘historians’ were more than capable of misconstruing things to suit themselves.

Portions of his own research were still used as the foundation for many branches of magic in the present era. Widely so in Alvarez, with Emperor Spriggan looked up to both as a political figure and one with a great deal of magic-related knowledge and expertise. The respect his people held for him on the subject had been incredibly useful to Zeref politically too, as when someone in an ivory tower over in Ishgar decided to try and roll out the bureaucratic nonsense known as a ‘Multi-National Magic Council’ it had not been difficult to encourage Alvarez citizens and politicians to reject all talk of the empire being part of one.

Based on intelligence gathered prior to the war it appeared that over in Fiore, they too found his academic achievements useful. Translations of the un-altered original text were apparently even included in the curriculum of those few academies over there which still offered courses on magic as an academic field. Unfortunately they went about it far less respectfully, and had completely erased the author’s name from the text. In any other academic context such clear lack of citation would be thoroughly frowned upon.

Zeref understood why this was, certainly, but the… ‘wrongness’ of it irritated him still. Whether you liked someone or not, the decent thing academically remained to cite them as the author of their work. He’d written a couple of papers on magic and the law since the formation of the Magic Council over in Ishgar and on one occasion had – much as he disliked them – cited a piece of legislation they’d created about forms of air magic liable to cause suffocation; which had (surprisingly) been a genuinely sound and appropriate legal restriction.

A few such papers - bearing the name of ‘Emperor Spriggan’ - had also snuck into part of the Fiorean legal curriculum, and briefly he wondered what might become of them now that it was more widely known amongst magical society that both ‘Emperor Spriggan’ and ‘Black Wizard Zeref’ were in fact one and the same.

In Ishgar, anything which dared to bear the name ‘Zeref’ was immediately banned as though so much as laying eyes on his name would cause people to either drop dead or immediately become obsessed with murder. Actually, he wouldn’t be particularly surprised if there was a black magic cult somewhere who foolishly believed something along those lines. With that sort of precedent, he couldn’t help but suspect that all of ‘Emperor Spriggan’s’ work would soon also be disowned or anonymised.

Philosophical debates and frustrations at blatant plagiarism aside, studying magic made him happy; and he was going to continue doing it whether the world at large liked it or not.

It was hard to describe what it was about the study of magic which was so…contentment inducing. Maybe it was because it had clear cut rules and ways of working. If you put two wholly incompatible runes together, your enchantment would explode. Equally if you constructed a string of runes which didn’t react with one another in any particular way, your enchantment would do naught but glow slightly. It was all neat, tidy, and made sense - something which, in his experience, wasn’t always the case for people.

Presently he was trying to determine a method for untangling Rahkeid’s life force from his own. It was… an odd project to have come by, but a necessary one. The notion that – unlike August – Rahkeid was not actually his son, had been a clear reason to push back against whatever nonsense had resulted in the Etherious creating this miscomprehension in the first place. Well, it had been, until it became clear that this rejection of a factually incorrect statement was doing nothing but put them at loggerheads.

Ajeel had ended up bearing witness to one such escalated argument between the two of them, and after the Etherious had stormed from the room… Ajeel’s reaction to the exchange had left Zeref with much to think about.

“This might be out of place for me to say, but… I don’t think he’s trying to be a nuisance to you”, the Desert King had mused uncertainly with a calmness only someone with no emotional stake in the matter could produce. “Whether it’s ‘true’ or not doesn’t matter to him, …maybe Rahkeid just wants you to care about him the way you’ve started to for August?”

Despite the factual reasons why there was no justification for Zeref to do that, he couldn’t disagree that it was a reasonable explanation for Rahkeid’s increasingly volatile treatment of Zeref specifically. Other people were apparently treated far more calmly – not that Zeref would know whilst he was unable to leave his hospital room – with the sole other exception being August who Rahkeid avoided crossing paths with at all costs.

And so, after much self-reflection… and concluding once again that his strict adherence to facts and logic could at times be as much a hindrance as it was typically a help… Zeref had, apprehensively, relented.

He could find this particular Shield to be… rather overwhelming to be around at times. Rahkeid was enthusiastic, dramatic, and frankly unpredictable. Zeref did not like things which were unpredictable, their uncertain nature left him feeling on edge… which was very inconvenient when it involved a person one was supposed to interact amicably with.

Thus he decided to ‘make an effort to show he cared’ – as Ajeel had suggested - by working on something which he knew mattered to Rahkeid… rather than spending extended periods of time with him. Untangling their lives was something he’d now set his mind to achieve, and short of it being somehow declared wholly impossible by the laws of Living Magic, he would find a way to achieve it no matter what.

Living Magic was a specialty of his, despite usually being regarded as a deplorable thing. Yes, one could definitely use it for bad things, but in his opinion it wasn’t necessarily so different from more accepted branches of magic, like monster taming, or other kinds of summoning spells. Besides, what can’t be used wrongly? You could attack someone with a kitchen knife if you really wanted to, but that didn’t mean those were banned!

In the twenty-four hours since Invel at last permitted him to use magic, his previously spotless bed had become covered in a sprawl of books and notes. The first thing he’d done was go through his requip space to see what he had on hand, and by extension what he needed from the library. It was a task which had located several ‘lost’ items, and made him aware of the existence of some rather peculiar ones. The worst offender, by far, in the latter category was a slightly charred mop …the existence of which could not be accounted for. Cursed whims were truly inexplicable sometimes.

Unfortunately it had been Rahkeid – thankfully by then in a far better mood about things on account of Zeref’s change of heart - who found him examining the item and had quite reasonably questioned what he was doing with it. A mop being charred was rather odd in the first place, and a man who couldn’t walk was statistically unlikely to be using a mop at all.

The response, “I found it in my requip space” had promptly caused the Etherious to descend into a fit of laughter.

To Rahkeid’s credit, he had ultimately been considerate enough to take the useless object away before anyone else saw it and proceeded to turn the incident into a palace joke. Once, Zeref might have worried that ‘taking it away’ also included ensuring someone else saw it precisely to make a palace joke. But, on account of the now-mutual effort to make… something… of their not-actually-related-ness, Zeref held relative confidence that would not have happened.

He closed one of his reference books with a sigh as he came to the conclusion that his initial idea on how to separate their life forces wasn’t going to work. He turned a page in his notebook, and began searching for a different hypothesis.

Success in this matter wasn’t going to be easy, as Living Magic was a spell which fell under the classification of ‘open loop’ and thus meaning it would vanish upon the death of its caster. Whilst some forms of magic could persist beyond their caster’s lifetime; that only applied to closed loop spells where the ‘anchor’ which held the spell in existence was housed within the spell itself, rather than the one who cast it. This worked well for runic enchantments, as well as magic-imbued objects and machines, but unfortunately didn’t work for the etherious whose ‘anchor’ consisted of a complex two-way Body-Link.

“Making any progress?” Rahkeid questioned as he leant to one side to try and peer at the notebook in Zeref’s hands, only to conclude that nothing written in it meant anything to him. Although he had been enthusiastically checking up on his father’s progress every time he entered the room, Rahkeid was slowly coming to the conclusion it would be better to wait for news to be given. Scientific endeavours appeared nowhere near as quick to progress, as things like cooking food. Brandish had taken up baking recently, and when he’d periodically stopped by the kitchen to see if she’d finished it yet it was always done within a couple of hours. Twenty-four hours had now passed since this task was started, yet his father’s science work was clearly nowhere near completed.

“I’ve concluded that my first theory doesn’t work” Zeref answered.

“No, then” Rahkeid uttered disappointedly.

“Discounting the impossible still classes as making progress. Scientific understanding can only progress by understanding both the impossible and the possible”, Zeref insisted as he closed his notebook.

Rather than respond to that highly scientific statement, or further contemplate just how long it might take to complete, Rahkeid instead informed his ‘father’ of an important palace development. “Invel wants to organise a meeting of The Twelve - or what’s left of it - now that you’re feeling stronger. Something or other about ‘defining the way forwards and plotting our next steps towards peace and rebuilding’.” He shrugged vaguely, then added, “Don’t know any more, I’m just the messenger.”

“Sounds reasonable” Zeref agreed. It had been nice to know that Invel was looking out for his wellbeing by keeping him to bed rest thus far, but it was also appreciated that his Chief of Staff still knew when to loosen the constraints. “So…” he began, tone taking on a notably humorous lilt, “Do you plan on actually attending this one? Or will you be shirking your duties in that regard as per usual?”

Rahkeid had never been appreciative of formalities and meetings, to the point that the number of times he actually attended them was possibly as low as single figures. Zeref had always let him get away with it on the knowledge that if something genuinely important came up he would willingly fall into line.

“I think my brother will be rather angry with me if I don’t” the Etherious casually stated without further explanation. At the look of utter puzzlement he was given, Rahkeid explained, “August. He’s not, but he also sort of is, and none of it makes sense anyway so I’m just going to call him that regardless.”

“That’s surprising, considering that the last I heard of it you were shouting at me that the development was ‘terrible’”, Zeref remarked as he tried to get his head around this sudden truce which seemed to have emerged.

Apparently, after avoiding one another for a significant period, they’d recently sat down and talked it out. “Our personalities clash, and we’re probably not going to be the best of friends any time soon, but we’ve agreed not to fight either.” Though their ways of seeing and interacting with the world differed greatly, there were two things they could firmly agree on – that they would do whatever was necessary to rebuild their father’s struggling empire, and protect the man who had founded it.

“You might have noticed that you’ve seen rather a lot of me recently,” Rahkeid began in reference to his increased presence since Zeref’s decision of tentative acceptance.

Zeref’s change of heart on the matter had given Rahkeid a lot to think about too. He’d… begun to wonder whether the reason he and August clashed so badly was actually due to fearing the same thing – namely that the other one would push them out. That in mind, and despite worries that the whole idea would only cause more fighting, he’d tentatively asked August if his theory was remotely accurate. From there, they’d had an incredibly difficult conversation… and decided to actively cooperate as best they could. They had different skills; and by working together, even if it was awkward, they could better direct expertise to the correct places.

“I’m taking on responsibility for keeping you informed; in order to free up other people to deal with matters of policy which are …not something I am proficient at”, the Etherious admitted with a very audible note of awkwardness. Rahkeid’s description was probably an understatement. A bit like Natsu, he was a little too inclined to resort to actual force instead of just firm words.

Having heard the, albeit abridged, tale of their awkward attempts to meet in the middle… Zeref couldn’t help but feel proud of the emotional maturity the pair of them had shown. He’d fully expected to be picking the pieces of this mess up himself whenever Invel and the doctors decided they could stop imprisoning their Emperor within four increasingly annoying walls… but instead the one he had always considered immature and incident prone had taken it upon himself to seek an amicable resolution.

Much as it was good news, it also made him all too aware of how much he was missing whilst stuck in this infuriating bright white room. Things were coming and going, conversations were had, truces were agreed, and so much more… yet he was not able to be a part of it as a leader should.

None of that was spoken aloud, and instead several moments of silence hung in the air. Zeref could only assume that the ability to ‘sense wisps of emotion’ Rahkeid had mentioned previously must have kicked in, because the Etherious remained in respectful silence the entire time.

“I was becoming aware of your increasing presence” Zeref agreed, having ultimately decided to simply answer the original point. “So much so that I considered saying something to the effect of ‘you again?’ in response to your arrival.” Rahkeid’s persistent presence felt particularly strange as he’d been the one of The Twelve most inclined to wander away from the capital for large periods of time. Something Ajeel had jokingly remarked was a case of ‘like father, like son’.

After another extended silence, Rahkeid turned to leave, “I’ll let you get back to work. You won’t make much progress on it if I keep standing here providing a distraction.”

And with Rahkeid’s exit, Zeref returned to the lengthy task of attempting to make what was theoretically impossible – an open loop ‘spell’ existing beyond the death of its caster - possible. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d tried to re-write the known ‘laws’ of magic, and hopefully this one would prove just as successful as those previous efforts.

Chapter Text

One person who, aside from shooing Rahkeid out the door that first day, had been noticeably absent from the chaos surrounding August’s true identity was a certain Irene Belserion. Instead of joining in; she had chosen to wait for everyone else to calm down, and thus lull Zeref into a false sense of security that the chaos was over, before pouncing.

She’d come in to deliver some test results, and tack some more well wishes up on the far wall – which was steadily turning into a mosaic of different coloured paper notes – when she at last decided to strike.

“The development with August is all rather shocking, isn’t it? And just when I thought your love life couldn’t get any more disastrous.” Irene had not been facing His Majesty when she spoke, but she was quite aware of the annoyance flaring behind her.

“It is not disastrous” came the begrudging reply. The word much more aptly described the constant stream of flings favoured by celebrities, not the marital tensions of a man who had only ever been romantically involved once.

The Scarlet Despair shrugged, “Oh? Unless my memory fails me it has only been a handful of weeks since you declared war on Ishgar in attempt to claim the body of your estranged Empress.”

“It was not like that and you know it!” he immediately refuted in attempt to shut down Irene’s teasing remarks. The war had been started, primarily because the curse of contradiction decided so; but otherwise to attain the magic of ‘Fairy Heart’ which just so happened to be stored within Mavis. He had most certainly not declared the war for her body itself!

“Hey” Irene complained in mock offense, “I’m only repeating what Wahl told you at the first war planning committee.”

“Well don’t” Zeref hissed, remembering the ex-shield’s unsubstantiated words about ‘former lover’s body’ and ‘deeply sinful act’. With an air of finality, he declared, “I’ve had enough emotional upheaval since the war without you adding to it by insinuating…things.”

“Fair enough” Irene relented at last as she shifted to lean her back against the wall. “I suppose seeing an awkward parent-child relationship begin to stabilise so close to home is…trying, from my perspective”, she admitted with surprising honesty. Things were still noticeably awkward between Zeref and August, but it was going quite well in the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, Irene had determinedly and unremorsefully burned her bridges with her own estranged child during the war. But the longer she reflected on it all, the brighter her growing regret burned.

“You could try telling her” Zeref suggested, as though the matter were simple enough to resolve by merely ‘telling her’.

“She’ll just brush me off; and after how I behaved… I couldn’t exactly blame her if she did.” After a heavy sigh, Irene changed the subject. “You’ll be pleased to hear I didn’t just come to poke fun at you.”

“You admit it was part of the reason you came, then?” he hit back, but this time with a slightly playful edge to his words. It usually took a few back and forths to get there, but despite his usually serious mannerisms, Zeref was quite capable of playing along with a joke when he wanted to.

“No, no. I came for a reason” Irene insisted, “and merely decided to poke fun at you since I was here anyway. You’re welcome, by the way!”

“Do you plan on enlightening me as to the nature of ‘a reason’?” he questioned when she didn’t immediately offer an explanation and merely continued to prop up the wall.

“The staff have become tired of seeing Your Majesty permanently lounging around in here, so you’re leaving… albeit only temporarily”, she declared. With her point made, Irene cast her gaze downwards to appraise the sprawling pile of books and paper which was slowly taking over the bedding. It was not as much a mountain as some of the staff reports would have had her believe, but the untidy sprawl of literature could not be called insignificant either.

A flicker of hope crossed Zeref’s face at the thought of ‘out’. The addition of ‘temporarily’ was… not ideal, but it would be a start he supposed. Unwilling to verbally acknowledge any of those tentative and fragile hopes, he instead laughed and commented on Irene’s unconventional way of breaking the news. “Somehow, I am quite convinced that isn’t what they wrote on my medical notes.”

“That, Your Majesty, is because they lack my excellent sense of humour.” Irene jokingly agreed, before returning to the matter at hand, “Oh, and you’ll have to put those away-” she gestured to the books “-before attempting to leave as I foresee them being an unhelpful obstacle.” Though his injury had resulted in severe muscle weakness, rather than total paralysis, trying to manoeuvre around the books was still not to be advised.

With a quick waft of magic, the offending objects vanished back into the requip space from which they had been summoned. “Satisfied?” he enquired with a subtle gesture to the now-bookless bed. Irene gave a nod of approval, then disappeared back outside the room to collect something.

Moments later, she returned with a wheelchair. After some significant struggles, and some assistance from Irene’s skill with enchantments, he succeeded in transferring into it.

“That was harder than I thought it would be” he admitted with a groan as Irene checked that everything was in order. It was only a test run, so they weren’t emptying the room of the various belongings which had arrived there over the last couple of weeks yet, but apparently if all went well he should soon be discharged from inpatient care. That news was just enough to prevent Zeref acting on the otherwise tempting possibility of trying to extend this excursion for as long as physically possible. Much as he disliked the idea, Zeref supposed it was worth it to accept the temporary nature of this outing if it would ensure that a permanent escape came quickly.

For the past two days, Zeref had been developing a short range teleportation spell, which could be linked up and activated through a network of small lacrimas at key locations, to circumvent the issue of stairs. Since Zeref’s return to wakefulness Invel had repeatedly discussed the need to install lifts to enable him to get around within the palace, but that was a complex matter which would require knocking through walls and remodelling spaces. Zeref didn’t disagree with its usefulness in the long run, but since he could make do via magic in the short term – and hadn’t wanted anything to delay an escape from the hospital - he’d insisted Invel didn’t over prioritise the matter and let him solve it with magic instead.

With the aid of teleportation, they had left the hospital wing and materialised in the palace’s terrace garden. He leant back in contentment at the feeling of a breeze and some fresh air. It was a nice change having been stuck inside that stuffy hospital room ever since waking up.

It was a cool breeze now, rather than the warm summer one which had been blowing in the days before the war, as the autumnal chill had firmly set in during his incarceration in the hospital wing. But for a man who had spent much of his long life travelling through woodlands in all weathers, it was still a comforting feeling of familiarity.

Across the stone patio of the terrace, a singular garden chair had been placed beside a table, on which sat a tea set. Without word or ceremony, Irene headed over to it and claimed the chair.

He slowly followed, whilst attempting to adjust to the alien experience of self-propelling instead of walking. Teleporting out of the hospital had been easy, it was a magic he was deeply familiar with, and he could have left that way ages ago if not for the fact he’d have been unable to go anywhere after teleporting, and surely received a telling off afterwards from Invel. But now he was finally out, actually learning to manoeuvre around properly now he was injured would be far more difficult.

“Is it tiring?” Irene enquired when he joined her at the table.

“A bit” he agreed mildly, having found the experience more alien than anything so far. Zeref suspected he would get quite tired if he kept this up for extended periods, but he’d cross that bridge when it came to it. “It’s not that bad”, he decided, “Like the process of transferring myself, I’m sure I’ll get better at it with practise.” Over time, once he built up sufficient muscle strength, it ought to become quite manageable. However, as he was discovering for all non-curse-related forms of healing… it was unlikely to be a quick process.

He and Irene had a lot in common, though they’d rarely ever spoken about it. Mostly, of course, on account of Zeref’s prior inability to speak with anyone about anything emotionally positive without dire consequences. “I’m glad you survived the war” Irene had eventually admitted, breaking the significant silence which had stretched out between them after exhausting the immediate topic of the wheelchair.

“Weirdly, despite my many years of suicidal ideation, and the fact that I’m indefinitely separated from both Natsu and Mavis; I’m glad of that as well.” Without the curse clawing at his thoughts, and lurking beneath the surface ready to pounce on anyone he dared care about, living was a much more desirable option.

The near part of Vistarion city was visible over the railings of the terrace garden, and just beyond the sizable outer palace walls. This was the first time Zeref had seen ‘his city’ since leaving for the invasion back in September. From this distance it looked exactly as he’d left it, but even from the limited information Invel had permitted he be ‘troubled with’ Zeref was well aware that the current public mood was nothing like he remembered.

They’d lost a lot of their prior confidence in his leadership, and he couldn’t really blame them for doing so. He’d started a wholly unnecessary conflict which, whilst low on casualties due to Fiore’s merciful battle strategy, had lost them far more than they’d gained. The only potential victory he could claim to have achieved was the defeat of Acnologia, but even then, it had been a primarily Fiorean effort that brought about the apocalypse dragon’s demise. Zeref himself had already been knocked unconscious by the time it happened.

“Realistically speaking, do you think there is any chance of bringing the empire together again without a change of leadership?” he solemnly enquired. He had vaguely spoken about the issue with Invel, having needed to reassure his Chief of Staff that he wouldn’t suddenly abandon the empire. Zeref himself however remained uncertain that he would be able to unify everyone once again. He had done it once, certainly, but that was then… before he’d made mistakes. Back then, he’d been a new ruler coming in to conquer corrupt regimes and free the people from prior oppression. But now? Now he was the man who had brought them ruin and international disrepute.

Zeref wanted to be able to fulfil his role as Emperor, but was it the right choice in the long term for the empire at large? Or was he simply being blinded by a personal desire for the sense of belonging and community which ruling Alvarez provided? This was not a question he could truly answer by himself, as he found himself unable to judge the matter impartially given all the personal reasons for which he wanted to stay.

Without Alvarez, he was simply the Black Wizard who everyone hated and wanted dead. Given his current state… being weak, tired, and unable to care for himself independently… he couldn’t help but feel it would not be long before someone acted on that if not for the guards and palace walls which conveniently cocooned him at present.

This issue had been bothering him for a while, but he’d been yet to ask anyone about it because he suspected that some members of The Twelve would have given unduly bright predictions coloured by their personal trust in him. Irene, on the other hand, was good at speaking truth to power. He had long valued her conviction in openly opposing his judgement if she considered it to be flawed, and for something of this nature she was the one person he could be certain would speak the truth however unpleasant.

The Scarlet Despair pondered the question for a few moments before she settled on an appropriate answer. “I don’t expect it to be a walk in the park, but I don’t foresee it being impossible either.” She’d been out and about, seeing and interacting with the populous amidst the completion of her duties, for a large proportion of the time Zeref had spent in the hospital wing. The people were feeling vulnerable and downtrodden. They were fearful that the empire would collapse and life as they knew it would begin to change beyond recognition. They weren’t anti Emperor Spriggan though, just disappointed in his recent decisions.

All too aware of the various empire-shaking decisions which her answer might push Zeref either towards or away from, Irene firmly concluded, “This empire has never known another leader; if anything, I’d be inclined to believe that your exit would cause more problems than it would solve.”

“That was my tentative conclusion as well” he agreed with obvious personal relief, “which is why I’ve been trying to bring the remaining shields together as a starting point.” The only way they were going to make it through this mess remotely intact was by pulling together as a team. Fairy Tail had proved just how much, even against unbelievable odds, could be brought about through a team who truly trusted and believed in each other.

The people’s recent lack of faith in their Emperor was probably made worse by the fact that he hadn’t been seen in public since their retreat from Fiore, and rumours had begun to spread that he had been ‘taken into the palace on a stretcher’. It was true, he had been, but in the time since those rumours had lost much of their truthfulness as people devolved to speculation to fill the silence. Illness of the sovereign was a foreign concept to the people of Alvarez, as until now Zeref had essentially been immune to damage. But they would have to get used to it now that his immortality was gone.

“I must say, you’ve handled it all very well; especially for someone who hasn’t been in a great place emotionally” Irene answered, which this time was a genuine compliment.

Zeref groaned, having recalled he had once been caught crying and presumed word of it had spread like wildfire within the palace, “Rahkeid told you about last week, didn’t he?” If the look of surprise on Irene’s face was anything to go by, apparently not.

“No, I was simply aware that you’ve sometimes seemed quite…melancholy when I’ve visited.” After a moment, she added, “Not to mention your own earlier declaration about ‘emotional upheaval’, and the fact that I attended your wedding. I am far from unaware of how much she means to you.”

Irene was the longest serving of his elite guards, primarily owing to her nature as a dragon slayer who had undergone the traumatic process of ‘dragonification’. Her transformation into an actual dragon, though now supressed by a powerful Separation Enchantment he had cast ‘to return her human form’ had afforded Irene a much extended lifetime. She had joined Alvarez a decade or so before he first met Mavis, and had loyally served the country ever since.

The nation had been much smaller then than it was now, and she’d watched it grow alongside him in a way that no other human would have been able to. Though Rahkeid was an etherious, he’d spent an extended period sealed in book form and was only modified to his current state after Mavis’ ‘death’, and as for Bloodman… he was both now deceased, and a more recent etherious creation.

With some necessary business discussion completed, that paved the way for a more personal conversation, “Be honest with me; how are you finding dealing with August?” Irene tentatively asked.

“Strange, certainly” was the immediate and unequivocal answer. He’d been forced to accept it, for a variety of reasons, but especially due to the undeniable DNA evidence. In boys, the Y chromosome was a strong indicator of genealogy as it was directly passed down from father to son. Zeref’s bloodline had died out centuries ago, and the perfect match between their DNA was explicable only one way. It did make a little bit of sense, considering that when he was younger August had shared some uncanny facial similarities with Mavis.

It was a rather strange coincidence of cursed whim that had led him to take in a child in the first place, considering the nature of the curse. He’d only taken notice of August at all for a mixture of the extraordinary strength of his magic, even as a child, and how his appearance had mirrored that of his ‘late’ Empress; never once considering that he might have been related to her all along. That was probably for the best, however, as it would both have triggered his curse, and likely have caused him to make undue presumptions of Mavis having had prior relationships.

“It’s going to take a while for me to get used to interacting with him more casually, much less the idea I am supposed to be his parental figure. But what concerns me more is how I am going to explain it all to Mavis as and when, or indeed if, we manage to reunite” he eventually expanded. Mavis was an incredibly wise woman, but she could also be prone to jumping to conclusions at times. He had an unfortunate sinking feeling that explaining August’s existence would lead her to disbelieving the story – since she didn’t remember Precht delivering a baby from her body – and instead accusing him of being unfaithful soon after her ‘death’.

He knew that wasn’t the case, because he was himself, and had committed all the actions he had undertaken in those intervening years – of which being unfaithful was certainly not one – but Mavis didn’t. After starting a war which had hurt her so badly, he could well imagine her trust for him being less solid than usual and by extension she would be more likely to believe he would do things she did not approve of.

If she stopped and thought about it, she would eventually remember his strong personal distaste for the idea of being unfaithful, and how highly he regarded the concept of lifelong marital loyalty. The problem, of course, was that such an emotive topic did not usually encourage people to ‘stop and think’ before they reacted.

“I suspect we’re both finding it awkward” he hastily concluded, in regards to his relationship with August, before Irene attempted to interject on the topic of Mavis and force him to discuss that emotional tangle further.

His chief-guard-turned-son had visited quite a lot during the first few days after the revelation; but afterwards had begun to return to his prior distance, albeit with some more personal greetings. Even though he’d been desiring to be acknowledged all these years, the transition from business to personal wasn’t instant or easy.

“Am I correct that you have ulterior reasons for asking?”, he asked in return, which also conveniently distracted Irene from trying to talk about Mavis.

Irene sighed, and stared down at her half-filled tea cup, “Nothing slips by you, does it, Your Majesty?”

He shrugged lightly, “I wouldn’t say it’s an observation I drew from how you present yourself now; rather I made an informed guess based on your history.”

“You do realise that’s essentially the same thing”

“They’re different because of the distinct methods by which the conclusion is arrived at” Zeref insisted.

“When you’re writing an academic paper maybe, not so much when you’re holding a conversation” Irene begrudgingly accepted. “But you’re right. Like I said back in the hospital room; all this between you and August has made me think about my own child.”

Irene sighed deeply as she gazed up at the blue sky which was dotted with wisps of cloud. It had been misty first thing that morning, but by now it had all cleared away into a rather beautiful autumn day. “I wish I’d reacted differently. Of course we couldn’t just ‘get along’ due to being on different sides…but I went further than I needed to because seeing her reminded me of painful things.” She’d let her own emotions run away with her, and in doing so had probably done herself out of ever having any form of relationship with her daughter.

With sadness and resignation resounding in her voice, Irene uttered, “Perhaps it is the fate of all ancient parents such as ourselves to have disastrous relationships with our children.”

“Last time I heard someone talk about ‘fate’, they threatened to burn it to ashes.” He replied, in an attempt at encouragement. He’d thought Natsu’s words ridiculous at the time, perhaps still did, but looking back Zeref couldn’t deny that Natsu had achieved far better results with that attitude than he himself had by becoming resigned to his ‘accursed fate’.

“I’m unconvinced that sitting back and resigning ourselves to things staying the same by simply saying ‘it is my fate, I can do nothing about it’ leads to anything good” Zeref said, then added slowly, “…it certainly hasn’t when I’ve tried that.”

They both had difficult relationships to reconcile with mages in Fiore, but the shared circumstances at least provided a sense of solidarity. Zeref had not left things with Natsu on a positive note; most of their last interaction had involved fighting. Despite Natsu eventually having uttered a singular sentence which had acknowledged their status as siblings, Zeref was sure that did not mean all was resolved.

Irene had experienced only one interaction with Erza in her entire life – the few days they spent together when she was a new-born notwithstanding – and the near entirety of it had been antagonistic. In the end she’d voluntarily surrendered, when her motherly instincts resurfaced and she’d been unable to contemplate fighting her own daughter any longer. Her surrender had been accepted, but she knew that was not an indication that she herself was in any way being accepted.

After a while longer, and some further conversation, Zeref left the table to get some more practise with self-propelling. Though the slightly uneven surface of the terrace garden’s paved walkways probably wasn’t the easiest place for it, Zeref had firmly refused the suggestion of instead using the level floors of a hospital corridor. Irene remained seated as he practised, not least because an extra obstruction on the path probably wasn’t helpful. It was a first practise session, not an obstacle avoidance test …though Irene decided to retain the thought for future teasing.

When His Majesty eventually seemed to grow tired, Irene rose to her feet. “Shall we go back?” she suggested as she approached. He had not spoken anything aloud to alert her to his fatigue, but after many years as allies, Irene thought herself a reasonable judge of Zeref’s mood.

“That’s probably a good idea, my arms ache somewhat from the exertion” he admitted. Much as going back to that stupid white room was not something he was looking forward to, it was a necessary thing. At least he might be able to sleep away some time after using up so much energy on attempts to learn to steer the wheelchair.

With a flourish of magic they vanished from the terrace garden and rematerialized back in his hospital room. Once absolutely certain he was safely back in bed – the last thing she wanted was a telling off from a panicky Winter General for ‘leaving His Majesty in an unsafe position’ and ‘aggravating his injuries’ - Irene turned to leave.

However, before she did so she uttered some words of thanks, “I…appreciate your advice with regards to my daughter.” It was a strange feeling, to receive personal advice from His Majesty after so many years where he had been wholly unable to engage so deeply with those who served him. But Zeref was a sensible and grounded person, exactly the sort whose advice one could trust to be sound.

“You’re welcome” he answered easily. “It’s what friends are for, I think. Though having lived primarily as a hermit for centuries I am perhaps not the best judge of such things.”

“No, I think you’re right” Irene agreed, “It is what friends are for.”

Chapter Text

The days after had, much to Zeref’s delight, all been punctuated by chances to escape the hospital for wheelchair practise excursions with members of the Twelve. Then, just four days after his first outing with Irene, he was at last deemed fit enough to be discharged from inpatient care! It didn’t mean he was free from all medical intervention, however, as physio and other rehab efforts would be continuing for a while yet. But returning to his own imperial chambers remained a pleasant development.

His rooms were quite dark, and by extension a lot kinder on the senses; albeit a stark change after spending three weeks in a bright white hospital room. Though there was less open floor space than in the hospital wing, his chambers had never been excessively cluttered with furniture, and the floors were all level, so it wasn’t too hard to get around. Some of the palace staff had been in prior to his arrival and moved some of the armchairs out of the way. It wouldn’t be impossible for him to sit in a chair, as after extensive physiotherapy some of the less permanent forms of weakness had begun to dissipate. But even so, the effort of transferring back and forth remained significant and thus not something he was likely to make a habit of doing for a while yet.

The weirdest part of returning to such familiar territory was how high everything seemed. Things which used to be well below eye level were now right in his line of vision. Not to mention that reaching anything on a high shelf or inside a wall mounted cupboard was essentially impossible. He’d tried to reach up to a box on the bottom shelf of a high cupboard, and achieved nothing but some mild back pain and being firmly scolded by the physio who had actually been about to leave but then stayed for ten minutes longer just to give the Emperor a lecture on ‘staying safe’, ‘caring for his injuries’ and ‘not being foolish’. After that, Zeref had made a mental note to not even try and get anything out of anywhere he couldn’t just easily reach - if he had a visitor.

The sudden struggle with high shelves and cupboards had made him laugh more than once, upon remembering that Mavis was also vertically challenged on account of her short stature. In the past, her strategy to compensate for this had been asking him to get things down for her; but if she came to Vistarion in the future Mavis would have little choice but to stand on some steps. He certainly wasn’t much help anymore, indeed it was likely that his sitting height was a bit shorter than her standing one. Though without Mavis present to compare against, it was hard to be certain.

Their first ‘proper’ – in the sense of him being present at it – Spriggan Twelve (seven) meeting had been held late that afternoon. It had been a necessary exercise, to redistribute duties, and confirm next steps, now that all remaining staff were ‘back in action’. Invel had originally intended it to be yesterday, but upon learning of Zeref’s imminent discharge from the palace’s hospital wing he had decided to postpone it until he was released rather than have them all crowd into said hospital room.

Jacob and Brandish were due to board a ship back to Alakitashia in the next few days, as they’d done all they could for in-person diplomacy for the time being. It had gone okay in the grand scheme of things, but it remained painfully clear that people in Ishgarian politics – perhaps not unreasonably - regarded everyone in Alvarez with suspicion and distaste.

Travel of people between the two nations was practically banned at present, with only Alvarez citizens ‘whose absolute necessity of travel could be proven beyond all doubt’ permitted to enter Fiore. The only reason Jacob and Brandish had managed to stay this long was due to a recognition that avoiding further conflict would require some level of diplomatic engagement. It wasn’t just Fiore either, as similar rejections had apparently begun to crop up in other Ishgarian nations as the continent sought to punish the empire which had attacked them.

The only thing which anyone in Ishgar seemed interested in having anything to do with Alvarez for, were its exports. There hadn’t been much diplomacy, nor business, done between the nations for a near decade and now Ishgarian diplomats were trying to extort the situation for their own purposes. That left the Twelve with a hard balance to strike as they sought to avoid being labelled an empire who ‘lost and still won’t agree to anything’ yet also prevent the empire becoming saddled with bad deals designed to weaken and exploit them.

The amount of effort his elite guards had been willing to expend to try and stabilise the empire his curse had brought to the brink of disaster still surprised Zeref. But, their devotion to the nation was admirable, and they deserved to have their efforts supported.

For the time being, Zeref himself would still be staying out of the public eye. After ruling for so long as an untouchable immortal who was never ill or injured, making his first appearance seeming tired and ‘weak’ was not likely to be good for public confidence. Not to mention that he needed to mentally prepare himself for once again donning the heavy mantle of Emperor. He’d become out of practise after how casually the Twelve had treated him in recent weeks. Their willingness to interact with him as an ordinary person, not just a public figure, was appreciated; even if it made it harder to practise the carefully constructed mask of a confident emperor.

Politics aside, he wasn’t sure whether Mavis’ absence haunted him more or less now he was back in his own rooms. She had spent but a few hours inside them, owing to the timing and circumstances of her ‘death’, so it wasn’t that living alone in them was alien. He’d also spent many days and nights in his rooms during the ninety-five long years since. Therefore he suspected it was more that he’d never really imagined living there curse-free, but without Mavis.

All his more recent daydreams of breaking the curse and living – rather than fulfilling his long held death wish - had centred on at last experiencing the joys of quiet domesticity with his wife. Prior ones had been built on the idea of finally getting to be an ordinary big brother again, but that relationship was likely far harder to salvage.

It felt much easier to simply accept Natsu’s absence than Mavis’. Likely due to the fact that he wasn’t certain the former wanted anything to do with him at present, whilst he knew with relative certainty (even if he periodically convinced himself otherwise) that the latter would welcome his presence.

In the moments before they’d forced their curses to destroy one another, she had openly admitted to having always found him ‘fascinating’. He could only return the sentiment. Her clear interest in how magic worked, when so many these days cared only for its practical application, had stuck in his mind too. She’d seen through a curse which constantly twisted his words, behaviour, and motives, to stare straight at the real him right from the moment they first met. He could not name a single other person who had done so in a mere instant, and few who had managed to ever do it at all.

During his contemplations he had begun absentmindedly caressing his wedding ring. He’d never stopped wearing it; because whether Mavis was dead or alive he still considered himself her husband. Though their relationship lasted but six months of engagement and a night of marriage – owing to circumstances – he had decided to commit himself for life all those years ago and refused to go back on that promise. Her physical presence in his life may have, thus far, been fleeting; but the mark she had made on his heart was anything but.

The restrictions on people’s movements currently plaguing the empire’s diplomatic and trade objectives also limited what news made it to the general Fiore populous. This had not been welcome information for himself or Irene as it meant news of Alvarez’s efforts to try and rebuild diplomatic bridges were unlikely to reach those they most wanted to hear it.

During his incarceration in the hospital, left blissfully unaware of just how bad certain things were, Zeref had desperately clung to a hope of Mavis seeing something in a newspaper and taking it upon herself to write to him. It… hadn’t always been a helpful hope to cling to, as he’d become disappointed each time ‘incoming communications’ constituted only the usual medical paperwork and occasional legal matter Invel allowed him to know of and did not include an envelope in her handwriting. But he’d clung to it regardless, as it looked by far the fastest way to get back in touch. If she initiated the contact, surely that couldn’t be misconstrued as ‘aggression from Alvarez’, right? But now, knowing the lack of news crossing the border to anyone outside diplomatic circles… it looked highly unlikely she’d know enough to have reason to do so.

Though it was tempting to think continually about his dear beloved Empress, and how deeply he desired to be at her side now that he had been allowed out of the hospital, it was time to realign his own priorities. He had an entire empire to stabilise, and with contacting Mavis (or being contacted by her) still out of the question for the foreseeable future, his responsibilities to the people of Alvarez had to come before the presently unfulfillable ones to his Empress.

It was a bit strange seeing his usual comfy red armchair pushed into a corner, rather than poised in front of the fire; but it was necessary to fit a wheelchair by the coffee table, and with a bit of time he would either get used to the changes or become strong enough to have it reverted.

Perhaps the hardest thing to get used to was the amount of time which would have to pass before he could go back to being almost completely independent of his subordinates. He might be an Emperor, but much of the time he preferred to do things for himself. For this very reason the imperial chambers had been equipped with a fully functional kitchen, much to the dismay of an earlier Chief of Staff. He hadn’t necessarily used it very often; since immortals didn’t need food and he’d deemed stopping for unnecessary meals to be a hassle. In truth he often still felt that way, and had been told off more than once by the nurses for continuing his studies and taking no notice of a meal having been brought. Indeed he’d been given firm orders to keep a log of all his nutrition now he was discharged, under threat of otherwise being promptly returned to the bright white boring box he’d just escaped.

Despite his general disinterest in food, the opportunity to be independent had proved useful sometimes. Call it a weird form of human courtship, but he’d had an intense urge to ‘prove himself capable’ to Mavis. They’d talked about a theoretical future where they escaped the curse, shared their personal hopes for it, and expressed a mutual desire to have a family. In those things, basic human skills like cooking and cleaning were significantly more useful than the complicated runic spells he typically liked to immerse himself in.

Accepting being helped was hard sometimes too, and a completely alien concept at so many levels. He’d had to learn to ‘take care of himself’ from an early age after the wretched dragon attack which ended the lives of his immediate family. After that, he’d become something of a social outcast due to his intense focus on reviving Natsu and general disinterest in anything non-magic related.

He’d never been a particularly sociable person; and having such a long-term research project, fuelled by both genuine interest in the subject matter, and some abysmally handled grief, certainly hadn’t encouraged him to socialise.

However, that definitely wasn’t the only reason he’d avoided fellow students at the academy. He tended to see the world in terms of black and white, cause and effect. If something was ‘inexplicable’ that most likely meant that no one had yet bothered to determine the reasoning for it. If a marble rolled off a table, despite no external force being applied, that meant the table wasn’t level; it did not prove the existence of marble-pushing sprites, or happen ‘just because’. Everything had to have a reason why it happened.

This perspective had, unfortunately – in his opinion – not been shared by his fellow students …and pursuit of the idea that ‘there must be a reason why people are born and then die’ had ultimately got him into trouble with the board. He would have been expelled for ‘breaking a taboo’ – otherwise known as ‘something other people were too afraid to research’ – if not for the untimely entrance of the Curse of Contradiction.

After that, he’d spent the rest of his life so far wandering earthland as a cursed immortal who could not accept help from others; for fear of feeling grateful, appreciating their existence, and in doing so condemning them to certain death at the hands of the curse.

Having spent so many decades forcibly pushing away any and all help to protect the people offering it…readjusting to it being okay to let people in was…quite an experience. He kept catching himself trying to stamp down positive emotions, and fall back into that capricious emotionless state which would always come when he didn’t need it and vanish when it would have been most useful. But, like so many things these days, he presumed it would get better with time and practise.

It was mid-evening now, so he was at least spared any more interaction with people until bed time. Other human beings could be extremely tiring to spend time with; and until now he had never quite realised that necessary as it was to be sociable, he also needed a great deal of peace and quiet in order to function. Having grown mentally restless, he set the book he had originally been reading, and long since lost immediate interest in, down onto the table to his left. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to move into his study.

It was surprisingly easy to forget about his impaired movement, as it was only a ‘partial’ spinal cord injury. Whilst he’d lost a lot of strength in his legs, the majority of which could never be regained, sensory signals were largely unaffected. Sitting felt almost no different to usual, and he frequently only remembered that walking wasn’t an option after trying to stand and failing to exert enough force to do so.

The study was accessed via a door in the left wall of the lounge, which at least meant little energy needed to be used to get there. He wheeled across the room with significantly more confidence than the tentative movements he’d used on his first outing with Irene, and turned round just before reaching the door. He’d quickly learnt that it was easier to get past doors backwards, as the door was naturally pushed back by the chair, rather than trying to hold it open with one hand. Learning to push wheels to move around remained a process, certainly, but it was slowly becoming more instinctive with each hour that passed.

He hadn’t been into his study since returning to his rooms, initially on account of being busy, and then due to lack of inspiration. But he was craving mental stimulation now, and working on academic research was almost always a good cure for feelings of mental restlessness. He was quite relieved to see that someone had already moved the chair out from behind the desk. Somehow, despite the importance of this room, it hadn’t occurred to him to check it had been done when he’d made enquiries of Invel earlier.

It was a long room with a deep mulberry-toned carpet and dark wood panelling. He’d long insisted the palace staff weren’t to clean the room with anything scented, as they so often liked to do in other places, as he found comfort in the familiar smell of aged parchment which wafted off the shelves. A row of mesh-fronted bookcases filled with many such ancient tomes lined both long walls, whilst a large fabric-covered pin board adorned the short wall behind the desk. He’d used it for many years now to plan research projects, tack up lists to try and aid his confused curse-stricken mind, and otherwise draw attention to important paperwork. It clearly had the remnants of some past scheme pinned across it now, but he couldn’t muster the energy to investigate the matter further.

His desk was in the middle of the floor, towards the pin board wall, and had been untouched – but for some light dusting by palace staff – since before the war. He couldn’t quite recall what the stack of books and notes littering the surface had been about. Presumably that information had been lost to the ever-shifting sands of cursed whims.

He approached the desk with intrigue, and began to examine the surface’s contents. The first item he picked up was a loosely bound collection of notes relating to Neo-Eclipse. Despite his immediate conclusion that he had no further use for the spell they were written to develop, he found himself faced with a dilemma. Keep or destroy?

He had always hated destroying research. It felt wrong to burn something which so much effort had been poured into making, not to mention that though the spell itself held no further value, some of the conclusions drawn in the development process might prove useful to future projects. But at the same time; he was all too well aware that his reluctance to destroy notes he no longer needed, combined with curse-induced forgetfulness which had led to him becoming separated from many past volumes of research notes, was precisely how dark magic cultists had got their hands on plans for the R-system…among other things. Ultimately concluding that was too much of a mental rabbit hole to deal with at present, he settled for sending the notes to his requip space to decide their fate at a later date.

The rest of the pile was mostly reference material on time magic, and or notes about Fairy Heart itself, which had evidently been used to create the aforementioned volume of research. All of which were soon sent to join it in his requip space. Not particularly because he needed to carry them around, but instead because they belonged on high shelves he couldn’t reach. The idea of calling someone for assistance, who would in turn disturb the peace and quiet he was enjoying, was not one Zeref wished to entertain. He might have wafted them up there with magic, but that brought the risk of being told he’d overdone it in that regard as well. So into his requip space it was until someone suitably capable of putting them away was next present.

Once the desk was cleared of unnecessary prior materials, it was almost immediately filled again by a number of reference books he had been actively using in the hospital. He had made some progress on theories for disentangling the etherious’ existences from his own, but nothing solid enough to consider acting upon yet. That wasn’t necessarily a problem though, as lack of progress just meant more hours of study were required, and he wasn’t going to complain about having justification for immersing himself in such a fascinating subject.

Chapter Text

The guildhall was lively; just as it always was, really. She used to thrive on the energy in the room, but these days it served only as harsh reminder of the contrast between her internal and external realities.

The war was over, and according to a few scant news reports which cared only to extort Fiorean brilliance and paint the empire as villains, Alvarez was apparently having to bow and admit wrongdoing. Something which the entire Ishgarian continent considered a major victory, having felt threatened by Zeref’s empire for over a decade.

Mavis had currently secreted herself in a corner of the guildhall, with a cup of tea, and a bland book about Fiorean geography she’d selected from the guild’s library. Due to being well respected within the guild the first couple of days, after Porlyusica had permitted her to resume normal activities, had been filled with congratulations from fellow members.

“Congratulations on returning to the land of the living, First Master!”

“It’s great to see you alive and well!”

“You can enjoy your life again now you’re freed from the lacrima!”

Their intentions were in the right place, that she knew, but the positive tone of their words grated harshly against the yawning chasm of grief in her heart. All she’d been able to do was smile, nod, and hope they didn’t notice her acting strange. After that, she’d blissfully managed to mostly fade out into the background as people became distracted by repairing Magnolia, taking job requests, and pestering Makarov for news about whether he was or wasn’t going to hold any S-Class trials that year.

She flipped another page of the geography book and disinterestedly observed its contents. It was hard to distract herself, and there were few in the guild who would have any concept of why she was in pain. Lucy had admittedly been very understanding, but Mavis doubted even she really wanted to hear about it all. They were all celebrating a victory, perhaps rightly so given the steep odds they’d faced going into it, and Mavis’ upset over their enemy’s death was starkly against the grain.

The person she thought might understand best was Warrod, since he had been her friend originally, and had first met Zeref in a non-antagonistic situation. But he lived many miles away, and was currently quite busy with duties for the Magic Council.

The Council remained in a somewhat sorry state after Tartaros decimated its ranks a year before the war, but the so-called Wizard Saints were trying their best to rebuild and then delegate appropriately. The Fiorean branch didn’t have much involvement in the diplomatic victory being hailed across the newspapers. Instead, that was being argued for either by the kingdom, or by the small panel of the Multi-National Magic Council who oversaw all the Ishgarian branches. Both former and current members of that panel had desired to sink their controlling claws into Alvarez’s magic laws too, but Zeref had firmly thwarted that idea. Mavis remembered this point vividly as it had all come to a head around the time of the wedding, and he’d frequently complained about it.

She knew Warrod would make time to see her if she asked, and she would, eventually; but it was going to take some time before she felt ready to embark on the journey. Not least because, for the very same reasons he would understand her feelings best, he would also ask more personal questions about it all.

She wasn’t sure exactly what Warrod knew about her relationship with the late Black Wizard; but however much or little he already knew, Warrod was a very perceptive man. The younger members of the guild might let her get away with smiling and nodding, calmly telling them “I’m just recovering slowly, I think” and walking away. But Warrod wouldn’t.

At some level Natsu ought to understand, he was her brother in-law after all, but the brothers had been estranged for a very long time and Mavis was uncertain how warmly or otherwise he regarded his deceased sibling. He certainly hadn’t made any effort to actually talk about it with her so far, but then again; did he know they were married? Or that their relationship had been serious, and not just a transient fling?

He did keep giving her odd looks though. His gaze would linger on her from across the room, and on several occasions she’d thought he might come over and strike up conversation, but in the end his expression always tinged with uncertainty and he then turned away.

She really ought to tell her guild the truth. But the prospect of interrupting the general celebratory atmosphere, to explain that her romance with Ishgar’s feared Black Wizard had been much more serious than she’d previously admitted, and that she was saddened by his death, was a daunting one. Many former enemies had been accepted into the guild as family over the years, but Zeref’s reputation as ‘the evilest wizard to ever live’ seemed to blind people to his humanness.

Many, even in Fairy Tail, had branded him as an evil man; with no consideration to the truly horrendous circumstances to blame for it. Other people seemed unable to fathom the idea of, much less see, the gentle and kind hearted man with whom she had fallen in love. That lack of understanding brought with it, a fear her stories of their deep mutual love would instead be brushed off as her having been a naïve girl taken in by Zeref’s ‘lies’.

Even all that was without considering the far from insignificant possibility that some members of the guild could make the assumption he had abused her. No one in the guild considered her to be a child, quite right too when she was over a hundred years old, but it didn’t mean they were unaware of her teen-like appearance. Mavis hadn’t grown or aged since she was thirteen; and that fact made it a bit too easy for people, who had never known him personally, to assume that Zeref’s romantic interest in her had been for problematic reasons.

These accusations would, of course, be unsubstantiated. There was no one more distressed by the fact her growth had been stunted than Zeref himself; primarily because he blamed himself for causing her to get stuck that way. She had refuted the idea it was his fault several times – he had taught her the Law spell, but she was the one who so recklessly cast it before achieving mastery – but that point had never quite got through to him. He’d always been good at taking on blame for things he probably shouldn’t.

Mavis herself was surprisingly unbothered by her underdeveloped physique. It was annoying, yes, as people frequently mistook her for a teenager; but she’d learnt that dressing certain ways as well as putting her hair up, rather than leaving it loose, helped to increase the perception that she was merely a very short adult if it ever mattered.

Zeref had never generally commented on it, but for self-loathing utterances about it being his fault. Though she did remember one instance where he had joked that, since fairies were typically portrayed as small petite creatures, perhaps it was fitting for her to be such as well. She suspected that was genuinely how he perceived her, given that her official title as Empress – Anthousai – was derived from the name of a nymph of flowers in ancient mythology. His flippancy with the subject had been comforting, as at least she knew he did not consider her somewhat immature appearance to be highly objectionable.

They certainly hadn’t married for physical allure, though Mavis couldn’t deny she considered him highly attractive; and whilst the emotionally driven nature of their romance meant that physical appeal was far from the most important thing, she naturally still desired to be seen as aesthetically pleasing. Not that it mattered anymore.

Somehow, despite her best efforts to think of other things, Mavis found her thoughts ever returning to the cause of her grief. It was hard not to think about Zeref; how much she’d loved him, how dearly she missed his company, his sense of humour, and all the little things which had brought them together. They hadn’t been together because they were each other’s only option, though with the nature of the curse that had coincidentally been true, but out of genuine admiration and appreciation for one another.

Mavis’ musings were interrupted by the tapping of footsteps on the floor, which indicated someone had come to disturb her ‘peace’ …assuming it could be defined as such when she was so bogged down in grief.

“First Master?” uttered the familiar voice of Wendy Marvell, “Are you alright? You’ve seemed really down…” the navy haired young lady continued as she settled onto the wooden bench on the opposite side of the table.

“Yes and no” she eventually answered, hopeful that a vague reply would be enough to end the discussion, “Accepting all that’s happened is…taking some time.”

Carla hopped onto the table, “There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there? In all the times you showed yourself to us as a thought projection, I’ve never seen you wear so much black. If something is bothering you, why don’t you share it with us?” It was something everyone in the guild had begun to notice. Their energetic, upbeat, First Master who normally loved bright colours and socialising… had suddenly begun to drape herself in hues of black whilst she hid away in the corner. They had some inkling of the fact she retained at the very least a ‘fondness’ for Zeref, and that fighting him might have been hard for her, but her withdrawal seemed rather extreme if that were all there was to it.

Mavis harshly gripped her cup of tea as she struggled to determine what to say. “It’s just… I don’t think anyone wants to hear what I’m upset about.” That was the crux of the matter. If it were just about anything else, she’d have confided in someone long since. But just as Zeref’s reputation seemed to make him exempt from compassion, so too was admission of her grief likely to be the exception from the guild’s usual supportiveness.

“Why not?” Wendy queried confusedly as though Mavis was massively overcomplicating it all, “This guild is supposed to be like a big family, that’s the ethos you set down when you founded it. Therefore it’s important that we notice all parts of a person’s life, not just the happy bits.” The rest of the guild hadn’t hidden the pain they’d experienced during the war, so why should Mavis’ be any different?

“I’m grieving”, she uttered at last as she resigned herself to admitting it, “…for Zeref.” Wearing black had felt like the right choice. It was generally regarded as the colour of mourning, and was a rather apt way to remember a man who had so often dressed like he was going to a funeral.

Her two visitors contemplated those words, and exchanged glances. With genuine curiosity, Wendy enquired, “What was he like? Although I technically met him, going through the eclipse gate has made all those early memories too fuzzy to understand.” After a moment she added, “If you don’t want to talk about it right now that’s fine, I was just curious.”

Wendy had suspected that something like this might have been the reason for Mavis’ change of behaviour, and that was largely why she’d chosen to come and talk to her. Whilst she hadn’t known Zeref, she did understand the strange feeling that came from believing in someone being a good person whilst everyone else tells you they aren’t. After all, she’d briefly experienced it herself when she mistook earthland Jellal for his edolas counterpart.

Mavis tilted her head to one side as she tried to think what would be the most useful thing to say. “When not consumed by cursed insanity, he was always very gentle and sweet.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she recalled that he had never been able to accept the compliment, and even at the time she’d found his persistent yet weak denials rather funny.

Wendy nodded in seeming agreement once Mavis fell silent again, “That sounds a lot like the version of him that Anna recalled from their joint efforts on the eclipse project.” She’d asked Anna about Zeref last time she’d seen her, part from personal curiosity, and part from her growing concern about Mavis.

Mavis soon found that this chance to share some of her more positive memories helped to lessen the pain somewhat, and Wendy seemed content to listen to Mavis’ fond ramblings about a man more usually caricatured as a cold hearted mass murderer.

“I didn’t realise you had spent so much time together” Wendy replied after they’d been conversing for a while. Mavis looked away awkwardly, as new a wave of guilt washed over her as a result of her prior ‘glossing over’ the truth.

“That’s because…” she began uncertainly “I didn’t tell the guild the whole story before the war. It hurt every time I thought about it, and I couldn’t bring myself to explain.”

“Don’t force yourself on our account” Carla interjected. Wendy made a noise of agreement, “If it’s too much we can always talk about something else.”

Mavis firmly shook her head, “No, I think…I need to tell someone.” It would only be harder to grieve whilst no one knew why it hurt as much as it did. She’d tried to tell Zeref that about his own guilt and regrets when they’d been travelling together, that sharing lightened the burden, and if she refused now… well that would make her a hypocrite. “I didn’t die from our first kiss” she admitted after a lengthy silence “Instead we…travelled to Alakitashia. Towards the end of the journey he asked me to be his wife, and we were married in August X697” with a tone of distinct sadness she added, “…his curse ‘took my life’ soon afterwards.”

It took a while for either of her visitors to decide what to say, and what they eventually settled on surprised Mavis. She’d been expecting outrage at the idea she was legally together with the feared Black Mage, but instead she received gentle compassion. “I can understand why that would be so painful to talk about…you finally found solace in each other, then tragedy struck… and now…” Wendy tailed off, unsure what to say that was adequate.

“In all honesty, I don’t know what to do with myself. We’ve been apart for the last ninety-five years, and I’ve always managed to be my usual self despite that; but knowing that he’s gone forever makes it hard to do anything at all.” At least as a spirit she’d still had hope that somehow they could be together again, but now… there really wasn’t anything to hope for. That was why she’d been reading the book on Fiorean geography, rather than something more interesting. It had been the first book she’d laid her hand on, and when she was unable to muster the energy to find a different one, she’d simply accepted it.

“Carla and I were planning on taking a job request” Wendy explained, “if you want some company, and something else to think about, you’re welcome to come with us.” she offered cheerily. When she’d been grieving the loss of Cait Shelter, Erza had taken her hand and brought her to Fairy Tail, dragging her along on jobs to keep her occupied whilst she processed her feelings. Now her role was reversed, but Wendy was determined to offer a hand of compassion to Mavis just as Erza had for her.

Mavis contemplated the idea thoroughly for a moment; taking a job request for the first time in nearly a century sounded daunting, but the change of scenery and thoughts would be welcome. She could only allow herself to wallow in sadness for so long before it was necessary to at least try to move forwards. “That sounds like a good idea” she agreed, tentatively, and followed the pair over to the request board.

Chapter Text

Being told that the empire had problems was one thing; but actually reading the reports was quite another. Politics was not particularly a thing Zeref enjoyed dealing with, but with the Spriggan Twelve almost halved everyone was having to take on extra duties.

The reports on public mood he was presently going through were a strange mixture. With opinions varying wildly from vaguely hopeful mutterings about ‘just wait until Emperor Spriggan is well again’ to some truly alarming reports of a not-insignificant potential for civil unrest. He hadn’t realised how bad the situation was until now. Not because Invel had been keeping it from him per se, that had ceased a while ago, but rather due to the fact that it sounded much better paraphrased than it did when read in full detail.

The further away from the capital one looked, the worse things got. Vistarion itself was relatively stable; and seemed, from what Ajeel had heard when talking to people in the city as he went about his duties, to fall more in the ‘hopefully awaiting His Majesty’s return’ direction. The borderlands with the handful of Alakitashian nations which hadn’t been subsumed into the empire were a different story. People out there were more disgruntled, and there had been a minor but real, nonetheless, protest demanding a new head of state in one such town.

The protest in question hadn’t been particularly well attended, not to mention that an opposing group of citizens had busied themselves booing the protestors. It might not have been a big threat at present, but it was a clear sign of how far things could go if they weren’t stabilised soon. But whenever Zeref caught himself fearing that he could not resolve all this, he had to remind himself of Irene’s words from that afternoon in the terrace garden - the road back was not going to be easy, but that did not mean it was impossible. He just had to have hope (alien as such a concept was), believe in his team, and himself too, that somehow they could bring everything back into order.

“You do not seem happy” August noted perceptively as he entered the cabinet room carrying a pile of documents.

Zeref sighed, “I’m just realising how much I have missed whilst recovering from my injury.” Invel had rightly insisted he focus on recovering and becoming strong enough to face the people, but by homing in on that aspect of things he had ended up somewhat oblivious to the gravity of the political fallout. The way things were going, their tattered diplomatic relationship with Ishgar – important as it was to fix - could well become the least of everyone’s concerns.

“Now that Brandish and Jacob are en route to return we will at least have less of a personnel crisis” August agreed, having been unable to find anything else particularly positive to comment on. Eight doing the work of thirteen would still be far from ideal, but much better than the mere six people currently running the empire’s upper governance.

They were all learning on the job at the moment, particularly in regards to moderating the use of force. Many Alakitashian nations had been conquered that way, back when Zeref had sought to bring down corrupt regimes unable to be conquered via other methods, and in the past some of The Twelve had taken to a similarly harsh method of maintaining public order. But they could not go in heavy handed to stamp out dissent now, it would only make the problem worse.

Watching the country he’d built struggle not to tear itself apart was strangely painful …though, after further consideration it began to make sense why. When he’d spoken with – actually ‘antagonised’ was perhaps a more fitting description - Makarov Dreyar prior to the war, Fairy Tail’s long serving Guild Master had described the members as his ‘children’. Zeref could only agree that having built and founded something there was a strange form of innate protectiveness one tended to feel towards it.

Zeref would perhaps not have described the empire as his child; nor did he presume to be a particularly skilled parent considering that talking to August about anything non-work related was still at times awkward, and Rahkeid was another matter entirely! However, the fact remained that he’d built Alvarez from nothing into something - a very big, and currently out of control, something.

Invel strode into the cabinet room and he, in turn, disturbed the silence which had for a while only been punctuated by the scratching of pen on paper as father and son worked side by side on completely different matters. The Winter General had come with his own pile of paperwork, and some news, “Jacob and Brandish’s ship has confirmed expectation to dock at port in three days’ time.”

“They’ve made good time, then” Zeref answered without looking up from the document in his hands. If the winds had been less favourable, it could easily have taken another week or so for them to reach port.

“It would be nice to think that our ‘bad luck’, as Irene keeps calling it, would improve soon” Invel politely agreed as he took his usual seat at the cabinet table. Bad luck was certainly not an accurate description of their circumstances, but he had to agree it was better for morale to speak of it that way than to repeatedly declare they were dealing with the aftermath of a largely avoidable mess.

After a moment, having noticed that Zeref had moved on from the public opinion reports and was instead signing off some trade paperwork, Invel asked, “What is your verdict on the way forwards, Your Majesty?” He had been the one who originally tasked Zeref with going through the reports on Alvarez’s public mood, though His Majesty had immediately agreed it was a necessary task. Despite the continued caution and protection being given to Zeref’s fragile and slowly healing body he was still the Emperor. So now he was properly ‘back at work’, rather than merely being forwarded anything of upmost importance, the responsibility for making key decisions was also returned to him.

“Diplomacy has gone as far as it can for now” Zeref soon replied. He’d read through the reports on diplomacy with Ishgar yesterday, and hopeful as they were, that was not a project which could move forwards quickly. With a sigh he admitted, “We cannot expect Ishgar to accept anything further until we have proved that the low-impact agreements, secured by Jacob and Brandish, work.” That was a big part of their ‘journey back’ from burning diplomatic bridges to fight a war – proving that the empire had changed and could be trusted.

“The home affairs situation on the other hand…” Zeref uttered with evident concern, “…is beginning to spiral out of control; so in my opinion we should focus our efforts on reassuring the public.” Most of the diplomatic aims with Ishgar had been passed on to other people and departments by now anyway. Executing the new ‘by-air’ trade agreements, facilitated by Alvarez airship technology, was a matter for border control and airship pilots, whilst diplomacy with Fiore fell back to the Fiorean Ambassador who had now been allowed back into the country.

“By what means? Your Maj- er… Father?” August corrected mid-sentence between sorting a pile of incoming documents into several neat and categorised stacks.

“That’s the big question” Zeref affirmed, in lieu of an answer.

“We could attempt to issue some form of edict, or hold events to encourage patriotism” Invel began slowly as he considered their options, “But I must admit I lack faith either one would solve the problem.” No edict could magically produce belief in a leader whose reputation was crumbling, nor could national events force patriotism among the citizens. These were all things which had to grow naturally.

“Based on these reports” Zeref held up the stack of documents he’d been wading through all morning “I’m inclined to conclude that there is a singular thing the people who haven’t yet given up are waiting on.” He paused, and cast his gaze left and right to try and gauge whether or not the other two men had cottoned on to his meaning.

“Indeed, Your Majesty” Invel agreed, in turn breaking the silence. “I had concluded as much myself, but did not wish to push the issue if you did not feel ready.”

The people were waiting for a public appearance, a sign that their Emperor was not on his death bed. Reports had of course spread that His Majesty had been discharged from hospital and was ‘getting better’, but the people weren’t willing to accept that as the truth until they saw it with their own eyes. As far as Zeref could tell, the only way to reassure the population was to prove beyond all shadow of doubt that he was still a capable Emperor.

A public appearance ought to quiet the rumours that he had ‘been ill for a while’ had been ‘mentally deteriorating’ and that was ‘why he made such a grievous error in going to war’. Showing himself as mentally sound would mean taking responsibility for starting a genuinely ill-considered conflict, but it would also be a chance to publicly commit to leading them out the other side of the tunnel. His elite guards had been aware of this intention for quite a while, but the public had received only second hand accounts and vaguely worded official statements ever since the war.

He had often taken a hands-off approach to Alvarez in years gone by, wandering into the wilderness for significant periods and leaving all important matters to be decided by his subordinates. But now, more than ever, Alvarez needed a leader who was present in public life; not one who existed in name and reputation alone.

It would not be easy to stand – sit actually – before the people… his people… as truly ‘himself’ for the first time ever. Had people in the empire disliked his leadership before? Zeref couldn’t honestly remember, but for some words of disquiet many years ago from a far younger Yajeel. Even if there had been, it would have been so easy not to care about it whilst cursed. Now though, it would be far harder to ignore any booing and unhappiness. But regardless of all of that, a public appearance was something he had to do. The people needed it, and in a way he did too; to prove to himself that he could still do this without the curse.

Chapter Text

All things must come to an end someday; and that included the time for keeping His Majesty safely cocooned within the palace walls.

His Majesty hadn’t left the palace’s outer perimeter once since the war, now several months ago. Invel had deemed it a necessary procedure; to protect a man enduring a draining combination of emotional turmoil and physical rehabilitation. But public appearances were important, vital even, for maintaining morale and confidence. Two things which had taken a major hit after their needless scuffle with Fiore.

Emperor Spriggan had always been popular, even despite his military slowly conquering almost the entire continent. He’d led the country-turned-empire through respect more than fear; but that made his error in leading them into a battle they couldn’t win all the more damaging. A leader whose authority was built on respect, but then lost the faith of the people, would easily cease to be considered a leader at all.

That’s what today’s appearance was for; to show the populous that their Emperor was still capable of leading them through this.

The Twelve, even though they lacked the numbers to logically call themselves that now, each maintained firm faith in His Majesty’s leadership; but convincing the populous was a different matter. They all knew His Majesty as a person; understood how and why the war had happened, as well as the deeply personal costs of his mistake - which even now he was still struggling to come to terms with.

But Alvarez citizens merely saw a man who had built a great empire; only to lead them into disaster, and had stayed hidden inside the palace ever since. Much rode on today’s proceedings, and it was Invel’s job to ensure everything ran like clockwork. The efficiency of his staff might not be a major point winner with the public, but Invel remained determined to keep standards high. In such a precarious situation, even a small slip up might prove deadly.

The state of public morale was evidenced each time Invel found himself personally instructing guards. Gone was the deep honour of being one of His Majesty’s palace guards; and in its place sat a hollow feeling that they were defending a castle built on quicksand. Invel didn’t personally share the sentiment, but he could certainly feel the despair and disinterest emanating from the platoon of soldiers completing a final exercise in the courtyard. He could only hope His Majesty’s public appearance would change the atmosphere.

9 o’clock struck, and in turn began the final countdown to the all-important public appearance. Soldiers were stationed around the stage, crowd barriers were put up, and the adapted ramp slid into place over the three steps up to the usual speech platform. The imperial carpet was rolled out, and crowds of citizens and reporters began to gather around the stage.

Almost every news outlet in the empire had sent someone to report on the speech, however, whilst there were a handful of international reporters their numbers were far smaller as much of the world continued to shun the empire. This obstinate refusal to ‘give headline space and publicity’ to ‘such a barbaric and militaristic nation’ were sentiments which many presently involved in Alvarez’s diplomacy efforts had heard often. Hearing those phrases banded about in a tense diplomacy discussion was one thing, but seeing that cold dislike played out first hand, as the Ishgar continent sent just one single reporter to the speech, firmly reinforced just how big the void of dislike between the continents truly was.

The state of the crowds served as a clear sign of Zeref’s fall from public confidence too; they were thinner than Invel had ever seen them. The streets around the stage certainly weren’t empty, but they weren’t packed like sardines either. Even among those that had still turned out to watch, there seemed a sense of at least neutrality, which for some likely tipped over into dissatisfaction. It remained an expectant crowd; but gone were the flags, cheering, and immutable patriotism. They were expectant to see how bad things were with their own eyes, not raring to rally behind their leaders and be proud of their nation.

His Majesty’s words and presence had stilled many a gale in the past that, Invel knew from both personal experience and historical records. However the question remained - would that be enough in the present state of affairs? Even Invel, who had often seen first-hand His Majesty’s skill as a leader, struggled to cling to his once-unshakable certainty that all would be well once His Majesty called people back into line. Not because he lacked faith in their Emperor’s capabilities; but because he lacked confidence in the people’s willingness to give His Majesty another chance.

Anxiety was not an expression Invel was used to seeing affixed upon His Majesty’s visage prior to a public appearance; but it was undeniably present during the final exchange of orders inside the cabinet room. Everyone in the Twelve had apprehensions about this appearance, but quite reasonably none more so than His Majesty. After all, it was the persuasive strength of His Majesty’s words which would make, or break, this appearance.

Invel would not be accompanying him onto the platform; due to a last minute change in response to a couple of urgent foreign diplomacy matters. The issues in question weren’t likely to do the empire much damage per se, but it looked far better to other nations that they sought to address them swiftly. Luckily, despite the permanently brimming schedules caused by a mere seven trying to complete the work of twelve, Rahkeid had been both willing and able to step up in Invel’s place.

Invel might once have held some severe reservations about posting the most incident prone of the Twelve to such a vital task, but recently the troublesome etherious seemed to have mellowed out. Perhaps it was a result of learning to get along with August, or of the familial acknowledgement His Majesty had apparently given him but, either way, Invel appreciated the increased trust he could place in him now.

His Majesty had often appeared without guards in the past as, owing to his then-status as an immortal, no amount of public rebellion could pose any threat. Although they could now theoretically justify a great number of guards, they had unanimously decided to limit the numbers stationed on the platform. Too much personnel could give the wrong impression; and turn the public’s understanding of the appearance from ‘reassurance’ to ‘oppression’ or ‘military muscle flexing’. They weren’t attempting to scare the public into submission under the might of the Twelve, and it was vital it didn’t appear that way by mistake.

“Time to face the music, I suppose” uttered His Majesty upon setting a now-empty water glass onto the cabinet table.

“Let’s hope today marks a turning point” declared Irene as she promptly rose to her feet, “I, at the very least, have had more than enough of this tense and stuffy home atmosphere.” They’d all had enough of it, and the other occupants of the room quickly erupted into a round of agreeing cheers. But the political fallout from a failed invasion, which had singlehandedly brought a once-feared empire to its knees, was not a thing which dissipated easily.

It wasn’t even that home life was that bad in and of itself. Trade with the northern and southern continents remained relatively unaffected, even if prices had risen slightly, and relations with Fiore itself had been nearly non-existent for close to a decade prior to the invasion.

No, the problem lay in lost prestige as an unbeatable nation; and lost faith in a man who had never before delivered his empire anything less than victory. Actually, that part wasn’t true. There had indeed been losses before, but that was a couple of centuries ago; when Alvarez had scarcely grown big enough to call itself a country, much less an empire, and those early losses had long been consigned to the pages of dusty history books only routinely browsed by scholars.

The atmosphere around the platform was hushed with expectation. A far cry from the often loud and riotous celebrations at previous public appearances. Though Zeref certainly did not mind the lack of migraine-inducing cheers, he couldn’t help but feel concerned by the sentiment behind the silence. The people weren’t quiet out of respect for not causing him a migraine, but because they felt the event was no longer worth celebrating.

The final approach to the platform, down the tall arched corridors of the palace gatehouse, felt long and arduous. Not just due to the difference in his mode of traversing the space, but from the fear and anxiety hanging thick in the air. He was worried this would not be as effective in restoring public morale as they hoped, and he could tell both Irene and Rahkeid felt similarly.

This public appearance was the culmination of a month and a half’s work; announcing it, promoting it, encouraging the people to believe in it. But if the public were to decide they did not like what they saw, all of that would be for naught.

To make matters worse; this would also be his first public appearance since release from the curse. Though undoubtedly the bane of his life, the curse had been strangely helpful where Alvarez had been concerned. The detachment it had forced upon him made it easier to don the heavy mask of a charismatic leader. Without the mental oscillations of the curse which had originally driven him, a natural introvert, to the absurdities of becoming a reigning monarch in the first place… it was hard to wear the mask convincingly.

So much had changed since the war. His rag tag group of guards; who had once been disorganised and discordant with one another, if not for Invel or himself shooing them into line, had steadily grown together into something resembling a functional team. Not to mention the rise of genuine comradery not just amongst the seven remaining members, but also between them and himself. He was no longer forced to keep up a show of calm and open, but notably distant, leadership around his closest allies; and instead could be a leader who stood, not above them, but with them.

However, whilst much had changed within the palace, the lessons they’d learnt together within its walls would not help maintain public morale. The Alvarez populous would not be won over by tears, heartbreak, and humanity, as The Twelve had. No, the populous desired a strong and confident leader who would even out the horribly unbalanced scales of their political reputation overseas.

The huge entrance doors came into view, and the time for ruminating on possibilities was over. Now, there was nothing to do but push forwards to the best of his ability.

There was a sharp intake of breath as he finally came into public view, followed by a round of hushed whispers as they saw with their own eyes that the rumours of His Majesty’s ‘ill health’ were no longer mere hearsay. Anyone who knew His Majesty personally would question the accuracy of the term ‘ill health’, as his condition was not degenerative, nor did it affect his ability to carry out official duties. But it remained undeniable that His Majesty appearing in a wheelchair after so long enshrouded by palace walls was not brilliant for public confidence. Stigma around disability was far from non-existent, especially for one who did not appear aged and had not always been that way.

The worst part was perhaps not the condition itself, but what it represented - defeat. Someone from the ‘inferior’ country of Fiore had not only defeated, but permanently injured their unconquerable Emperor.

Perhaps, if they’d done this earlier, they could have excused the wheelchair as being due to ‘extended recovery’. But in the end they all knew it would have made no difference. Spinal cord injuries did not heal, and His Majesty would never walk again; this was Alvarez’s new normal. The sooner the populous adjusted to that, the better for everyone.

It wouldn’t be difficult to invite the people into the new future; but getting them to follow willingly might well prove to be.

He sat front and centre, whilst Irene and Rahkeid flanked behind and to the sides; however the pair maintained a calculated distance. It was necessary to imply that they were not the main event, present only as a last line of defence, and not to compensate for His Majesty’s perceived ‘inabilities’.

The speech began, whilst a nervous crowd watched like hawks. Had they noticed the waver in his tone? Or the slight hesitation before he commenced each section of the speech? It was hard to tell, and even if he had been able to… it was imperative he did not appear shaken by it. He didn’t have a script to read from, as that would definitely have looked bad, so had instead rehearsed these words over and over throughout the past few weeks. It was necessary; to appear strong and capable to a down trodden populous horrified at seeing their Emperor in a wheelchair.

“The past few months may not be how anyone envisaged the conflict to end; but Alvarez has weathered storms before, and we will do so again. Our loss in Fiore does not represent the end of our great nation, but the dawn of a new era!” The crowds continued to listen intently, though it remained near impossible to read anything from them. Listening alone did not guarantee acceptance. None of the crowd seemed to be turning away in disgust though, so that was hopeful.

Once he got back into the rhythm of public speaking, it wasn’t quite as hard as Zeref had feared. So, as he continued his speech the initial mask of calm and confident became less and less of a front as he settled into the task. “This defining moment in our history provides us all with a chance to change, and realign our priorities. We can choose to step forwards into the future, and become a nation whose standing in the world is not precariously resting on how many wars we win; but firmly rooted in constructive diplomatic ties with the rest of earthland.”

Alvarez had built its identity on military might for many years now, but after the recent loss, he hoped the people would see the merits of a change in strategy. They’d learnt that they couldn’t defeat the world, so it was time to accept their losses and move forwards. “A nation is nothing without its people; and so too will this new era only reach its full potential if we all own the move towards a more peaceful-”

It all happened in a flash. The quiet atmosphere and calm but firm speech ground to a halt, as all of a sudden Rahkeid was at the front; and a magic-imbued dagger rolled across the stage near his feet. A man in a scruffy looking cloak, who was stood near the back of the crowd, had thrown it. Rahkeid had noticed the incoming blow only on account of his nature as an etherious. Something in his construction had sensed the bloodlust in the requip magic used to hurl the dagger; and he’d instinctively rushed to protect his creator from it before he’d truly understood what was happening.

“It’s an assassination attempt! Protect His Majesty!” Rahkeid shouted as he spotted more people, in similar looking cloaks, emerge from a nearby building and begin to attack the guards at the front of the stage. Within moments the outer guard was overpowered, and the assailants began to storm the stage itself.

With an urgent spin of her large staff, Irene cast a barrier around the main part of the stage. “Crowds, disperse!” she ordered, and stepped forward to join Rahkeid’s determined efforts to fend off the cloaked assailants.

Zeref hadn’t felt so afraid in a very long time. He’d scarcely realised what was going on, and why Rahkeid was suddenly in front of him, until he at last spotted the magic-imbued dagger rolling to the side.

He could barely think, much less move, as his mind endlessly replayed the instant where Rahkeid rushed forwards. With his level of expertise in sensing magic, he knew just how close the murder weapon had come. There had been mere inches to spare, and he’d been too distracted with keeping up his mask of a composed and confident leader to notice it. If Rahkeid had acted a mere fraction of a second later, this would all have ended very differently.

He only became aware of reality again when the front of the stage, where he’d been helplessly staring all this time as the waves of fear crashed over him, suddenly began to get further away.

“Why are you just sitting there?! Your Majesty, it’s much too dangerous for you to stay!” came the panicked words of Ajeel, who he belatedly realised must have been the reason the scene was getting further and further away.

The idea of moving, leaving, had never occurred to him. He’d been too lost in the shock of the moment to think what to do with himself. He’d got away with his inaction only due to Irene’s quick thinking; to cast a protective barrier over him first, rather than immediately charge into battle.

This appearance was supposed to reassure the public that he was a strong and capable leader; not a doomed, ill, man being propped up and cocooned by his elite guards. As Ajeel resolutely wheeled him away from the scene, and an agitated Invel charged past in the opposite direction, he couldn’t help but feel the intended effect had been severely compromised.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the cabinet room was a hundred times worse than before the appearance. Then, they’d been nervous, but hopeful. Now, Alvarez had not only seen its first assassination attempt in as long as most could remember; but also one which had almost come to fruition.

His Majesty was now seated at the ‘head’ of their round cabinet table, shoulders wrapped in a large blanket, having complained of being cold. Even Zeref himself was aware that the feeling had very little to do with the actual room temperature, and instead resulted from the mental shock of being so suddenly attacked. Everything had been going so well… and then it had all gone spectacularly wrong… Zeref was sure the blanket would have looked a bit silly, especially when he already draped himself in a toga, but the added weight was comforting. Like the warm familial hugs he couldn’t have, whilst the two people he’d wish to have them from were stuck on another continent.

The cabinet room, which had then been deserted, was where Ajeel had brought him after the incident; and since then the chairs had slowly been filled by returning shields. Brandish had been the first to arrive; though she was often known to complain that things were ‘such a pain’, she remained a reliable woman. She’d actually had the day off, following her return to Alvarez turf after weeks of intense diplomacy work over in Fiore, but when news of the assassination attempt reached her she’d made a bee line for the cabinet room and had been sat to attention ever since.

Brandish had been closely followed by an extremely panicked August. He had said very little, but his initial questioning and subsequent not-so-subtle staring in Zeref’s direction made it quite clear he was both concerned and on alert.

After that came Ajeel, whose assistance had ultimately not been needed to repel the assassins. Followed by Jacob, who had been covering for Invel on the diplomacy meeting, he was forced to step out of in light of the assassination attempt. Jacob took his seat with a heavy sigh; whilst Ajeel walked towards the head of the table and made it his business to enquire of Zeref’s wellbeing - a discussion which eventually concluded that nobody was going to be ‘okay’ having almost been assassinated.

After an hour and a half, Rahkeid and Irene returned. Both were noticeably shaken by having to step in as they had, but they also came bearing news. The assassins themselves weren’t the problem, and had actually been subdued quite quickly. The power difference between Alvarez foot soldiers - though still nothing to laugh at - and that of the Twelve was vast. The assassins defeated the ordinary soldiers with relative ease, but were no match against two of the …Twelve? …Seven? Nobody was quite sure what to call it these days.

In the aftermath, having run an identity check through the policing system, they found out a few things about the assailants. A major one being that they were descendants of a group who had ruled a small territory Alvarez conquered about seventy years previously.

“I can’t believe this!” Ajeel cried as he rose to his feet and braced both hands on the table in show of frustration, “I’m royalty from a nation we conquered, and I don’t feel the need to assassinate His Majesty!” Ajeel knew his grandfather had initially disliked His Majesty when the empire overtook their nation, but after years of working together Yajeel had come to respect him and now proudly worked in the empire’s government. It just… didn’t make any sense why people would choose to hate His Majesty like that given all the great things he’d done for the empire! Like the protection being absorbed into the empire had given his grandfather’s nation, which back then had otherwise been on the brink of a bloody war with another territory!

“Just because you feel a certain way, doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same” Jacob replied with a sigh, “That by no means excuses the bloodthirst and disorder from earlier; but you cannot force your beliefs onto other people, Ajeel.”

The oft hot-tempered man sighed, “You’re right. We learnt that when we tried it with Fiore.” Though Ajeel was certainly known for jumping in too fast, he always remained amenable to reason, “I suppose I have so much personal respect for His Majesty, that I find it hard to see why anyone would want to assassinate him in the first place.” That was a common feeling which echoed through the chamber. Times had been tough since the war, but that didn’t mean they’d lost faith in their leader. If anything, Zeref’s determined efforts to keep trying despite the circumstances had increased it. They had always respected the man who had somehow moulded a set of separate and discordant nations into a largely cooperative empire. But unifying people was comparatively easy when one had the upper hand, and his continued commitment to that path when everything had worked against him in recent weeks demanded a whole new level of respect.

“Leadership is a very demanding business” Brandish agreed, “Those would-be assassins have no idea what they’d be getting themselves in to by controlling such a large and out of control machine as our empire. Having to manage all of that sounds like such a pain to me; I’d never want the job.” after a moment she added, “Uh, no offense intended, by the way.”

“None taken” he answered, speaking up for the first time in a while, but never quite bringing himself to look up from the repeating pattern of the blanket’s weave, “…honestly, I sometimes regret ever creating this job for myself.” Taking responsibility for a country had certainly not been an aim for his life, but somewhere amidst the oscillations of a cursed mind, he’d ended up doing just that.

At last, as they neared the two hour mark, and the discussion relating to information from the policing system neared stagnation, Invel returned. He’d been preoccupied with re-stationing troops and issuing holding statements to the newspapers, so had urged Irene and Rahkeid to start the discussion without him. Much as staff and home affairs was his responsibility; he trusted his comrades to discuss them even in his absence.

“Invel, finally” exclaimed Ajeel in relief, “How are things out there?”

“Chaotic, to say the least.” He answered upon taking his usual seat beside Irene. The people, and the Alvarez media, were in a frenzy thanks to the incident; but despite that, there were actually some positive signs. Most of the ‘frenzy’ seemed to be public outrage at the Emperor being attacked, and a couple of the concerned reporters Invel gave statements to had even uttered compliments for the part of Zeref’s speech which managed to be aired before the disaster.

“We’ve just finished bringing everyone up to speed with the data from the police system” Irene explained, and he responded with a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Right, if everyone is up to speed let’s get to determining a way forward-” it was then that Invel noticed the blanket draped around their sovereign’s shoulders. “Your Majesty? Are you alright?”

It took a moment for the words to register with Zeref; which was a clear sign that all was not well. “Uh, just…shocked still, I think.” The disjointed reply did not give Invel confidence that His Majesty was as alright as he was trying to seem; but so long as he wasn’t in danger Invel would allow him to continue. This was an inevitable part of getting His Majesty ‘back to work’ – allowing him to deal with the difficult decisions and not simply whisking him away for ‘health reasons’ as soon as a storm was on the horizon.

“From how I look at it we’ve only got one option; increase the guards, and leave no stone unturned until we’re absolutely certain the plot is quashed.” Irene declared as she folded her arms and leant back into her chair.

“What good will increasing the guards do?!” cried Ajeel, as he recalled the scene as he’d arrived - where defeated and injured guards lay helplessly around the stage whilst Irene and Rahkeid engaged the assassins. “You saw how easily the assassins beat them up! If you and Rahkeid hadn’t been there it would have all been over!”

August nodded, “Ajeel has a point. The ordinary guards are not capable of defending His Majesty from this threat.”

“I suppose that means at least one of us needs to accompany him at all times… how annoying” complained Brandish as she drummed her fingers on the stone table.

“I’m not sure this is really addressing the problem” Jacob interjected, “Yes, we obviously need to ensure His Majesty’s safety; but we also need to tackle the loss of public confidence that caused this in the first place. Increasing military presence on the streets is unlikely to do that.” As Jacob saw it the more guards they put out, the bigger the assassination threat looked, and the more of a threat it seemed, the less stable His Majesty’s grip on power appeared. They could not afford to make His Majesty look any weaker, or less equipped to handle the situation, than the war and his injuries already had.

“What are you suggesting? That we leave things as they are and run the risk of assassins strolling through the castle gates?!” Irene demanded.

From there, the discussion descended into a loud argument. Half the Spriggans backed ‘protect His Majesty first’ whilst the rest voted to ‘take steps necessary whilst focusing on calming and reassuring the public.’ It wasn’t pretty, or nice to listen to; especially for the man at the centre of it all.

“Fiore took a swipe at His Majesty’s life already, and just look at the consequences from it!” Irene declared, in response to a comment by one of the others. She rose to her feet as emotion swept her away in its tide, “Why therefore, can you not see that we have to focus our efforts on ensuring his safety?!”

An infuriated Brandish opened her mouth to retaliate, but was promptly interrupted by the sound of someone reaching breaking point. All eyes turned to the lone seat at the head of the table. His Majesty was bent over the table, arms protecting his head from the non-existent physical threat, as his mental fortitude snapped under the pressure.

The meeting was spiralling from his control, devolving into a senseless argument which would get them nowhere, and he had no idea how to pull it back. It was like everything else in his long, long, lifetime; as soon as he began to settle, someone yanked the rug from beneath his feet.

He’d been a happy child, then his family died in a dragon attack. He’d settled into a rhythm of studying magic, then became cursed. Acclimatised and found contentment with the love of his life, then she fell into a coma. And just now he’d begun to accept the state of his empire, and the arduous work required to patch up the cracks, but as soon as he decided that; it had all started to crumble around him once more.

“…Your Majesty?” uttered Irene, voice now barely a whisper.

“If it’s too much for you…perhaps you should retire to your room for a while?” August kindly suggested, and looked ready to take him there at a seconds’ notice.

Those words, that suggestion, did something. Today hurt. It was terrifying. He was no stranger to being attacked, and had been so many times in his long life; but a planned assassination, in a country where he had never been seen as anything less than a brilliant leader, was a whole different kind of terror. Not to mention that his years of martial arts and self-defence experience were of limited value now he couldn’t walk.

But being afraid didn’t mean it was right to walk away. Fairy Tail hadn’t, nor had Mavis; when he and his empire presented them the insurmountable looking mountain of an all-out war over Fairy Heart. So then…why should he flee from his mountain now?

Slowly, he lifted his head off the table. “No. I won’t run away” he declared with a firmness none had expected to hear again so soon. “It was my decisions that got the empire into this mess, so I will bring us out of it” after a moment he added, gravely, “or die trying.”

“With all due respect, please don’t.” Rahkeid apprehensively began, “If you die, we lose our leader; and without you to rally behind I daresay we’re doomed. Not to mention that I’ll disappear completely.”

“I’m working on that” Zeref insisted, without considering the added implications of the statement.

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

“I’ll second that” Brandish affirmed, “Lucy Heartfilia mentioned in one of her letters that something she’d learnt was that ‘you don’t die for your friends, you live for them’. You dying ‘for the future of the empire’ may not be all that effective; all you’ll do is create a power vacuum, and give the rest of us a bigger headache than we’ve got already.”

“Besides, if we manage to even out the diplomatic scales, you’ll hopefully get to see your Empress again. Isn’t that, at least, worth living for?” suggested Invel.

“…I didn’t say I was planning on dying!” he insisted, exasperatedly, having realised that his assurance to Rahkeid had been taken differently to how he had meant it. “Just that I’d rather end up in the firing line of would-be assassins whilst trying to rescue the empire than simply run from my problems.”

“Somehow I think it would be quite impossible for you to do that” Irene said.

“What?”

“Run from your problems; at least in a literal sense.” Zeref responded only by giving her an annoyed look.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Invel declared in an attempt to restore some form of order. “We’re here to resolve a national crisis, not crack jokes.” Invel might not actually be chairing the meeting – that was Zeref’s job – but he was certainly good at returning proceedings to order and in this instance Zeref was very grateful for his aid.

Rahkeid was the first to break the silence which followed Invel’s call for order, “Something hasn’t sat right with me about the whole incident. How come I was the only one who reacted to the dagger?”

Most of the table’s occupants gave him quizzical looks, so he continued to explain, “Irene is a dragon slayer; yet seemed completely unaware anything unusual was happening until I’d already moved.”

Irene was visibly deep in thought for an extended period before she eventually constructed an answer, “Rahkeid is right. I…don’t know why it didn’t strike me as odd until now.” Several people responded with suggestions that it was all down to the adrenaline of the moment, but Irene remained unconvinced. “That shouldn’t be the case” she insisted, “The adrenaline rush happened only after the dagger was thrown. I had several seconds to notice its flight path before anything should have begun to cloud my judgement.” Irene didn’t utilise her magical abilities as a dragon slayer all that often, and instead preferred to rely on forms of enchantment, but that didn’t mean her enhanced senses disappeared. She should have been just as, if not more, aware of the incoming projectile than Rahkeid. But instead, she’d only learnt of it when he uttered the words ‘assassination attempt’.

“The dagger itself was imbued with magic; so we know the group responsible have wizards capable of enchanting objects at the very least. It’s possible they found a way to circumvent, or at least dampen, dragon senses.” Zeref sensibly suggested.

“That’s possible?!” someone questioned.

“The enhanced senses of dragon slayers are caused by a form of magic, so I would expect it might be possible. I cannot say categorically at this moment, however, as I have never had reason to attempt such a thing.”

“If His Majesty’s theory is correct; then that only adds to the seriousness of the situation” Invel noted with concern. Indeed, such complex schemes would require a great deal of planning and even more concerningly… inside information. Irene’s status as a dragon wasn’t exactly common knowledge. Even that notwithstanding, as she had occasionally used her dragon form in battle, any efforts to counter her enhanced senses would have been completely ineffective against something like Jacob’s stealth magic.

Yet the assailants had either not known about the change from Invel to Rahkeid, or had, but were unaware of the latter’s true nature. Whoever the infiltrating agent was, they only had a certain level of security clearance; which would at least make it easier to track them down.

The meeting concluded after another forty minutes of discussion. There was only so much they could do until the investigation teams dug up some evidence, or Zeref made some progress on methods to negate the enhanced senses of a dragon slayer. Until then all they could do was wait for news, and stay alert to anything out of the ordinary.

Chapter Text

Progress came not in the form of an intelligence breakthrough per se, but with a sharp rise in cases of a fever-like illness specifically in those who had heard the imperial speech in person. The longer someone had been there, the worse their symptoms seemed to be; though thankfully none of the patients so far had showed any signs of their condition being life threatening.

Among the Twelve; Irene and Rahkeid seemed to suffer equally, whilst Invel and Ajeel, who had only arrived latterly, experienced the illness very mildly. Those who hadn’t been at the speech at all remained entirely unaffected, and had thus been tasked with trying to work out what could have caused the phenomenon. It was clear that the mystery illness couldn’t be passed from person to person, as otherwise they’d all have come down with it. So that meant that the cause, whatever it had been, must have related to something in the environment around the platform used for the speech.

Even Zeref himself managed to come down with it, though that was perhaps to be expected seeing as he had been giving the speech. Although the illness had been medically confirmed as non-life threatening – not that you’d have known from the hysterical reactions of the Twelve when he first showed symptoms – it was still more than capable of making its victims feel utterly miserable.

Whatever this illness was it seemed intent on attacking his senses, even more than usual. Which way saying something, considering that he’d always found the feeling of being ill to be exceptionally trying. It had been annoying when his eyes started itching, infuriating when he also began to feel stuffy, and absolutely terrible once every little sensation felt more intense than should ever be permissible.

“This is torture” he whined, in a rare show of childishness, having been left in bed for the afternoon in order to ‘recuperate’. How he was supposed to do that when everything, from the feel of the sheets, to the temperature of the air, and the usually comfortable crackle from the fireplace, was so unreasonably intense, he had no idea. He was tempted to return to mourning his lack of Mavis’ company, but ultimately concluded she wouldn’t necessarily be of much help.

With how bad everything felt, her voice would probably be too loud, and the feeling of being held and comforted too strong. That was a first… determining that she wouldn’t have been able to help even if she were present. But Zeref didn’t contemplate the matter further as he once again became all too aware of the sensory bombardment caused by this stupid illness.

It seemed he must have eventually fallen asleep, and stayed that way, as the next morning came around surprisingly quickly. By then his senses had, thankfully, returned to something more akin to normal. It wasn’t quite right, still, but the now-minor spike of sensitivity was far more bearable than yesterday’s version. Just the thought of how bad it had felt was enough to trigger an involuntary shiver. He sat up and stretched a bit in attempt to dislodge the uncomfortable feelings brought on by whatever weird position he’d fallen asleep in. Some mornings he still firmly lamented the fact that the other side of his bed remained empty, instead of occupied by a nymph-like woman with long golden hair …but it was a bit easier now he’d got used to his reality.

Mornings in general were easier now he’d worked out a consistently functional method for getting up without requiring the aid of another person. It was surprising how much independence could be achieved despite the significance of his injury. He’d long feared needing a great deal of help with everyday things permanently; but after five months of intense practise and physiotherapy the number of things he required help for on a daily basis had dwindled into the single figures. This was a welcome development as, despite being an emperor, the idea of being constantly waited on had never been appealing.

Bright February sunshine was filtering in through the large windows on either side of the fireplace when he entered the living room. It didn’t get as cold during Alakitashian winters as it did over in Ishgar, but it still wouldn’t be shorts weather. Not that Zeref cared, he’d always been more inclined to now-archaic long flowing robes which weren’t so suitable for high temperatures.

He became aware of a distinct ringing noise coming from his communication lacrima, which had been left in the kitchen yesterday, and made move to go and answer it. The carpeted floors of his imperial chambers weren’t as easy to wheel across as the smooth wooden floor in the library, but he’d come across worse surfaces. Grass being a particularly bad offender in that regard.

“Good morning, Invel. Has something happened?” he answered upon picking up the lacrima. Invel contacting him in itself wasn’t particularly unusual, but calling so early in the morning was. The volume of the device was a bit loud, probably owing to his still-recovering senses after yesterday’s debacle, but it was manageable at least. Weirdly enough, being distressed by whatever had messed with his senses was now Zeref’s prevailing memory of the day before, rather than… the other thing.

It would, of course, be a new source of anxiety every time he were to go out in public – ‘what if someone tries to assassinate me again?’ – but, like all the other doomsday scenarios he was good at thinking up, it was one which he would learn to mitigate as needed and otherwise ignore.

“We have established the cause of… your experiences yesterday” the Winter General replied from the other end of the line, and in vague allusion to his immense distress over feeling ill.

“Go on.”

Apparently, after a lengthy forensic investigation of the area around the platform, it seemed a peculiar substance had been released into the air around it. The forensics department had been whipped into a frenzy by the news of this mysterious substance and had enacted an emergency code which meant a team of staff had continued working on the matter all through the night.

Following some early morning discussions with a few of the better recovered guards who had patrolled the area prior to the speech, Invel had learnt that someone had set off containers of confetti half an hour or so before it was due to start. The guards had quickly reprimanded the man, who immediately ‘apologised’ stating that he ‘only wanted to show some patriotism on this momentous day.’ However, in addition to a belated identity check – which had been delayed by the only witnesses being too feverish to be consulted - revealing a connection to the group of assassins, there had been another piece of news.

It turned out that those ‘confetti tubes’ had contained, not just ‘innocent patriotic confetti’, but something else too. Large quantities of the same fine, near-invisible, powder the forensics team had found around the stage. By using a tube of confetti as a way to carry the substance in, the man had got through undetected. Not to mention that the propulsion required to expel the confetti had clearly doubled as a convenient way to spread the fine dust through the area and ensure it was breathed in by those around the platform.

A few preliminary tests which had been squeezed into the early hours, and whose results Invel had received mere moments before contacting Zeref, had indicated this mysterious powder could affect the senses. Which in turn explained quite a few of yesterday’s mysteries.

As for the man who had thrown the ‘confetti’, well, he’d been admitted to hospital yesterday as a result of exposure to his own powder and was now in custody. One down, certainly, but between the group of assassins and however many allies they had used to develop this problematic substance… there were sure to be many other culprits left to catch.

“Unfortunately I have to insist you remain within the palace, and possibly even the main keep building, for the time being, Your Majesty” Invel continued once the details of the preliminary powder tests had been conveyed in full. “We have reason to believe there are more members of this organisation out there and that they pose a continued threat to your safety.” It wasn’t unexpected. In fact Zeref had been anticipating being told he was affectively under house arrest, though for safety rather than having committed a crime, ever since the incident took place.

If anything was a surprise it was how long it had taken for Invel to make such a decision …though considering how distressed he was after the meeting yesterday, his Chief of Staff probably rightly assumed he wouldn’t have been going anywhere.

They’d agreed yesterday, not too long before Zeref fell ill, that their primary strategy would mix elements from the two ideas the Twelve had initially argued over. Military presence would be increased very slightly, and only more obviously if absolutely vital. Meanwhile they would try and get to the bottom of all this quickly, and before anything more noticeable had to be done about it.

As for his temporary ban on going out; the library, cabinet room, and his imperial chambers, were thankfully all housed within the main keep so his work plans would at least remain somewhat uninterrupted. Which was important, as without work to keep him occupied, Zeref found his thoughts forever straying to other topics. Like Mavis’ absence.

The other news of the morning was that Invel had, with great exasperation, finally and categorically given up trying to reach Neinhart. Their uncooperative seemingly-former comrade hadn’t uttered a word since he inexplicably vanished from the palace soon after Zeref recovered from his coma. With people plotting an assassination behind the scenes, Invel had deemed it prudent to sever communications now. He remained most irate at Neinhart’s apparent desertion, but if the troublesome shield’s communication lacrima had somehow fallen into enemy hands… that could very well be how the assailants had got their hands on palace secrets.

After a couple of weeks spent quietly gathering intelligence on the would-be assassinators and their allies, The Twelve prepared for a targeted strike. Irene, Rahkeid, Jacob, and Brandish would all be mobilising to different locations suspected as enemy hideouts, with the goal of tidying up anything they found and collecting as much evidence as possible. Zeref had used the time since the incident, and the results from forensics, to develop a spell to protect against any further attempts to use ‘sense-disruption powder’, as it had been nicknamed, and planned to assist from the safety of the palace via Archive.

He could probably still have held his own in a magic battle, on account of sheer power if nothing else, but even so, fighting a group who so clearly wanted him dead wasn’t wise. But via Archive he could manage communications between the four mages, and make necessary adjustments to the strategy as the situation developed. His strategic mind was nothing compared to Mavis’, but for dealing with an organised crime group who seemed to exist based on safety in numbers rather than skill, he was fairly confident his limited expertise on the subject would suffice.

By the time the shields arrived, only two of the four locations mentioned in their intelligence reports remained in active use; though the abandoned ones showed clear signs that someone had indeed been hiding there until recently. The gang had tried to clean up after themselves, but their ‘cleaning up’ had extended only to useful objects. Broken things, even if bearing the squiggly emblem they’d made for themselves, had simply been left behind despite it being a clear indicator they’d been in the area.

When it came to the hideouts which were occupied, none of the opponents inside were particularly powerful. So, when faced with a member of The Twelve and a platoon of non-powder affected soldiers… they’d all been rounded up and apprehended with little fuss.

Jacob’s trip had been especially successful as, in the hideout he’d targeted, had been a small makeshift lab which seemed to have been used to produce some of the troublesome powder. Using his stealth magic to slip inside undetected, he’d managed to cause a distraction and prevent any attempts to destroy the evidence in the room before his soldiers could secure it.

It would take a while for forensics, and the palace medical team, to wade their way through the evidence as well as conduct all the necessary tests, but once they worked out how the stuff had been made, it would be easier to create an antidote if nothing else.

Otherwise, the most useful thing they’d learnt from targeting the hideouts was that the rebel group had indeed been in contact with an ‘informant’. Unfortunately, on the other hand, both said informant and the person who had been contacting them, had done a runner. Clearly they had suspected that Alvarez’s government was onto them, and left their ‘less valuable’ personnel behind to take the fall. But, with what they assumed was the majority of the rebel group now in custody, and awaiting trial for plotting against the empire and attempted treason, the country should be a bit safer.

Chapter Text

Following the raid on the suspected bases, Jacob and the entire Alvarez intelligence division, remained hard at work trying to catch the two runaway members of the rebels. However, with that situation mostly under control again after a month’s hard work, the rest of the palace were finally able to turn their attention back to other matters.

After extensive testing, and a conclusion being drawn that some sort of sensory magic had been used to create it, the effects of the substance used to facilitate the attack had been scientifically confirmed and documented accordingly. The initial effect of the ‘sense disruption powder’ was a noticeable dampening of human senses. The Etherious didn’t seem affected by the sense dampening, Rahkeid’s ability to react to something no one else sensed coming had clearly proved that. In most people the effect was just enough that usually noticeable things would pass them by, but in Dragon Slayers their normally enhanced perception was completely negated by the effects of the powder.

Those were just the initial effects though, as once the substance had been circulating in someone’s system for a while its properties changed. It seemed that the body ultimately caught onto the fact its senses had been tampered with, and then swung the other way and instead increased the senses to fever inducing levels in the process of fighting off the powder’s effects. Unlike the sense dampening though, this side-effect did carry over to the Etherious. Rahkeid had apparently been a persistent annoyance to the palace medical team for the period he’d experienced it, and Zeref frankly counted himself lucky his own illness has spared him the trouble of dealing with it.

Given the quick recoveries, the substance wasn’t dangerous per se, with even the most severe of exposures seeming to have a full recovery within 48-hours as the potency of the sensory disruption spell naturally dissipated into the body’s ethernano supply.

However, it was a major threat to security. The powder could, and had, been used with intent to cause unrest and violence, which made stamping out its existence an extremely high priority before anyone got ideas of trying to conduct a repeat. Now the specifics of the powder’s construction were on record, they’d been able to draft a law to ensure that making, selling, or even possessing, the substance anywhere within Alvarez’s borders became illegal. After minimal debate – as everyone in Alvarez’s governance agreed on the necessity of the move – the law was now in its final stages of scrutiny before officially coming into force.

Invel had gone to great lengths to ensure the law covered backdated cases, and therefore that all of the rebels would be able to be charged with offences to do with illegal substances as well as violence, disorder, and conspiracy to murder.

Other government departments were beginning to win their battles too. Trade agreements with Ishgar, and particularly Fiore, had been in place for a few months now and were going surprisingly well. The fact that Alvarez had been forced to climb down from its ‘high perch of superiority’ and ask nicely without any attempt to deflect blame for the prior conflict seemed to have instilled a tentative degree of confidence in the agreements.

The Multi-National Magic Council’s International Governance Board kept trying to poke their noses in and disrupt things, but having been impressed by Alvarez’s efforts so far a few more Ishgarian nations were beginning to push back against their doom-and-gloom agenda.

It didn’t surprise Zeref in the least that the MNMC had it in for his empire. He had long been aware that the current members of the International Governance Board continued to hold onto their predecessors’ grudge to Alvarez over Zeref’s refusal to let them stomp arbitrary rules all over magic in his nation. Zeref didn’t feel all that friendly towards them either since they kept exploiting the long-standing slow travel of information between continents for stealing his research to pass off as their own.

Despite years of trying by both Alvarez scholars outraged by the misuse of their Emperor’s work, and Zeref himself, no one had managed to get enough political leverage over the International Governance Board to stop them disseminating the plagiarised work throughout Ishgar.

Disregarding the bureaucratic and self-serving disaster that was the MNMC, all political news from Ishgar was far from doom and gloom. Some further, mutually beneficial, arrangements for travel and tourism to various Ishgar nations had just gone through. Fiore had even accepted Alvarez’s research on the ‘sense-disruption powder’, and it looked set to soon be illegal over there as well.

Brandish – who was now back in Fiore for another stint of in-person diplomacy - had brought it up at a recent meeting with the Fiorean government’s trade department after the Twelve agreed it deserved escalating to an international level of threat. The powder might only have been doing the rounds in Alvarez for the time being, but it was sure to only be a matter of time before the recipe got passed to criminals in other countries and it became a problem elsewhere too.

Fiore had apparently been aware of the assassination attempt, albeit only in the sense of ‘there was one’. After Brandish and Jacob returned to Alvarez, the only news Ishgarian nations seemed to have been given came from the few, sparsely detailed, and highly classified, reports which trickled back from the lonely reporter the MNMC had stationed in Alvarez.

According to the information Brandish had gleaned, Sorcerer Weekly had been trying to get reporters out to Alvarez for months for some sort of special on Alakitashian magic. However, despite immaculate travel permits and paperwork, the MNMC had managed to somehow refuse them every time by dreaming up a criteria for travel so stringent almost no one would meet it.

Irene had briefly met the reporter who attended the speech, and she doubted they actually met the criteria. That was concerning, as it meant it looked likely the ‘criteria’ existed only to ensure the MNMC controlled all reporting on Alvarez and could spin the story as they wished.

The MNMC was being a right pain – as per usual – but Fiore’s warmer tone, and the slower acceptance from other nations, were both positives. Despite all the frustrations, Zeref had to admit it was nice to see that their tireless efforts to rebuild the empire were finally bearing some fruit.

Zeref had also been allowed out of the palace twice. The first time was to open a newly restored public building which had been damaged by fire a few years prior, and the second was, just yesterday, to make a speech in celebration of the reestablishment of regular boat travel between Alvarez and Ishgar. That speech had gone significantly better than the previous one, both because he hadn’t nearly been assassinated, and due to the increased crowds which turned up to hear it.

The people’s trust of their Emperor was still tentative, but they seemed to have taken his relatively speedy return to public life after the assassination attempt as a positive. Zeref’s lack of disappearance from public life seemed to have thrown the rebels too, as despite Jacob’s efforts the remaining handful of members seemed to be laying low.

The prompt apprehending of many of those behind the incident also seemed to have reassured the public; as whilst they had lost some faith in their Emperor, they equally didn’t desire to have violence on the street or see the empire run by a gang of criminals.

Mid-March arrived, and with it came the six-month marker since the end of the war. Six months of peace, moving forwards, and growing together. But it also meant it had been six months since that all too fleeting reunion with Mavis. Contacting her was probably still not the world’s best idea from a diplomacy perspective; and since Zeref wasn’t about to destroy the fragile truce they’d fought to agree, he hadn’t asked about it.

Whilst it was true that Brandish was in sporadic contact with Lucy, that was mostly only when she was in Fiore and it therefore became an internal letter. Even then, the contents of it had been carefully sanitised of anything political related due to the risk of suspected MNMC moles intercepting anything tied to the empire.

The thawing diplomatic atmosphere gave Zeref hope, though. Maybe by the end of the year things would be stable enough for him to at last write and tell her all the things which had haunted his heart. That he still loved her dearly, wanted to work through the issues he’d caused by starting the war, and grieved for her absence each and every day. He hoped she was doing well; enjoying life as a tangible living being again, instead of stuck as a formless thought projection.

Would she have grown since he last saw her? He hadn’t; despite having not quite ceased growing at the time of becoming cursed. But he’d been a few short weeks off twenty when that happened, whereas Mavis had been only thirteen, and by extension had a great deal more growing left to do. It would be a bit strange if she had; to see her taller, and more mature in appearance, instead of being the petite nymph-like woman she’d been all the years they’d known one another. …would he even recognise her? Probably, if she hadn’t cut her distinctively long blonde tresses; but if she’d found a more ‘mature’ hairstyle, and growth had changed the shape of her face, it might prove more difficult. Zeref had always found he didn’t recognise people well by their faces if something significant about their appearance changed. Still, Mavis was a mage and the sensation of her magical presence was well burned into his memory, so he ought to be able to track her down by that if nothing else.

Even so, the idea that she might be quite different, appearance wise, left him with a strange feeling of apprehension. He genuinely wanted her to be able to grow and mature properly, as he’d always felt guilty for his contribution to her becoming cursed. But at the same time, it would be another change; and the idea of Mavis of all people – who was supposed to be a constant in his life – changing… was a distressing one.

Not that any of it would matter if she decided to break off their relationship. For a while, he’d been quite content in the knowledge that upon reunion – as per her declaration of ‘together forever’ – she would happily return to his side. But as he had more recently reflected on how much his own life and mental state had changed since the end of the war… he’d begun to succumb to doubt once again.

If Mavis had grown, and gained a more unequivocally adult appearance, as opposed to treading the fine line where people were unsure what to classify her as when she looked so young yet spoke like an adult; she would, by extension, have more opportunities for dating.

Not to mention that if she believed him deceased she would presume to be free to pursue whatever romantic whims struck her. Even if she didn’t, it wasn’t impossible for her to conclude that, now she could be an ordinary mortal guild mage once more, the stigma from being together with the ‘feared Black Wizard’ wasn’t something she wanted. He couldn’t even blame her for it, given the utter disdain so often directed at him – and anyone who dared associate with him – by people in Ishgar.

Zeref regularly had to make a deliberate effort to prevent the words ‘divorce proceedings’ from entering his consciousness. Mainly, because the mere thought of it made him want to cry. He couldn’t force her to stay if she didn’t want to, especially after all the suffering he’d caused by starting the war in the first place, but the thought of her leaving was too painful.

With a firm shake of his head, Zeref attempted to banish those thoughts back into the void from whence they’d dared emerge and return to something more productive. Not a lot of information had made it across the border, especially whilst regular transport between the nations had been suspended, so there was currently no way for him to be sure how Mavis was reacting to post-war reality. It wasn’t worth dwelling on catastrophic ‘what ifs’ when nothing could be proven either way in the near future.

Chapter Text

Mavis lay curled up on her bed at Fairy Hills - today marked six months since she’d woken up. Six months, just over a hundred-and-eighty days; that was how long she’d been doing this. Mavis buried her face in the preservation-charmed fabric of Zeref’s discarded toga as she attempted to block out the pain from this ‘anniversary’ of sorts. This sole physical remnant of her beloved had provided a great deal of comfort. Indeed she’d often fallen asleep with it draped around her shoulders, in lieu of being held by the man it had belonged to.

After that first job she’d taken with Wendy, back in November, Mavis had somewhat settled into the life of a guild mage again. She’d started more regularly taking jobs, though always as part of a team, and tried to socialise with the other women at Fairy Hills. She’d considered trying to find somewhere in Magnolia to live ‘under her own roof’, but ultimately settled for staying in Fairy Hills on the understanding that isolation – though tempting – wouldn’t aid her grieving.

The rest of the guild knew the truth now, as Wendy had kindly helped get the message across without causing too much of a scene. There had definitely been a scene alright, complete with the expected outrage and needless worry for her having been mistreated, but it had calmed far faster than she’d expected after some further explanation.

Many in the guild still disliked Zeref, which Mavis supposed made sense when they’d only known him as a curse-possessed man who attacked the guild. But despite their personal feelings towards him there seemed to be a broad acceptance that, whatever they thought about her choice to be associated with him, Zeref had been very important to Mavis on a personal level.

The guild knowing didn’t necessarily change a great deal though, as on the whole people just didn’t bring the subject up. They didn’t know what to say - or at least that was Mavis’ theory - nor how to interact with a woman grieving for someone none of them had liked. Sometimes even Mavis herself felt silly for being so upset, she’d lived far more of her life away from Zeref than the time they’d spent together. But the fact that – disregarding her ninety-five years as a ghost - they’d been romantically involved for only a little longer than she’d been grieving his death did nothing to lessen the pain.

Valentine’s Day had been a few weeks ago; the first one since the end of the war, and it had been a deeply uncomfortable marker of her solitude.

A number of the younger members of the guild had taken this as a prime opportunity to ask their respective romantic interests out on dates. The unfortunate result of this, was a sudden increase in obviously romantic behaviour amongst guild members. Gajeel more obviously put him arm around Levy’s shoulders, Juvia greeted Gray even more enthusiastically than usual (quite a feat for a woman who had never hidden her appreciation of the ice-make wizard), and even Erza had been away for a few days in order to visit Jellal.

Seeing so many other people being ‘lovey dovey’ with their respective partners just added to that strange feeling of alienation. It was unintentional, that she knew, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch the rest of her guild stepping happily into a hope filled future; whilst she continued struggling to come to terms with the depth of her heartache.

Sometimes it was hard to stamp down the flicker of jealousy that sprung up whenever she saw others so easily enjoying something she’d be forever denied. During the years since her spirit regained consciousness, Mavis had long daydreamed about a future which involved quietly settling down with her own beloved. But that was all it could ever be now, a fanciful daydream destined to never come true.

With a heavy sigh, Mavis set the now-warmed fabric down onto the bed having folded it neatly. Despite all the tears and heartbreak it had helped absorb, and the spell which unquestioningly protected it, she continued to treat the embroidered toga with great care. It was all she had left to honour the man she loved, after all. Continuing to wear a wedding ring despite his death would have been another obvious way to honour Zeref’s memory, but Mavis had no idea what had become of it. She could theoretically have got a new one, but even if it had looked identical no replacement could hold the same deep meaning as the original that Zeref had so lovingly placed on her hand that day.

She heaved another heavy sigh, and forced herself to stand up and make herself presentable for the day.

Natsu had eventually brought up the topic of his late brother, and been surprisingly interested in it. Apparently, ever since the war, he’d begun to regain some memories from his early childhood. However, by his own admission, Natsu had lacked chance to really get to know his brother in any personal capacity.

He’d been hesitant to approach her at first, and had delayed doing so for a very long time. Confused by both his own jumble of feelings, and exactly what relationship she’d held to his brother, it had been hard for Natsu to know what to say. Only after Mavis finally came clean to the guild about the depth of it all did Natsu pluck up the courage to approach her.

Mavis had been a bit surprised when he’d asked her to share some stories of what Zeref had really been like, having mistakenly assumed Natsu wanted nothing to do with the situation, but once asked she’d willingly taken him up on the offer.

It had been one of the most life giving conversations since she’d awoken to this painful reality; a chance to share positive memories with someone who could directly relate to them. Natsu had picked up on all sorts of little details about Zeref’s personality which he recognised from his own childhood memories and for a while they’d managed to laugh and smile over their shared closeness to him.

Though it had shocked him at first, followed by an irritation that his brother had married without him present; Natsu had ultimately been grateful for Mavis’ close relationship to Zeref. Her stories, of a time when the curse had left him relatively in control, had helped Natsu build an accurate picture of the real version of his brother; something no one else in the guild would have been able to help with.

They’d continued to acknowledge one another after that, sometimes talking about it, but other times just being aware of their shared awkward position was enough. Natsu had also volunteered to accompany her on jobs if other people weren’t available… even if his destructive tendencies made him a bit annoying to tag along with. After a particularly ridiculous destruction incident Mavis had found herself quite glad that she’d fallen in love with the sensible one of the two. Natsu was fine as extended family, she had no particular problem with him as a person, but in Mavis’ opinion Lucy was quite welcome to putting up with the fire dragon slayer’s chaos on a daily basis.

Grief was a process people kept telling her, ‘it will get better with time’ they said, but in the reality she was staring down it didn’t feel very much like that. These last six months had felt like forever, with time slowing to a crawl as the life she’d long dreamed of slipped from between her fingers.

After a very long time spent dreading the idea of facing the world, Mavis dragged herself out of her room and made her way to Magnolia train station. Today was the day she’d agreed to meet Warrod.

It had been coincidence, rather than intention, that placed it upon the six month anniversary of her waking as a widow. But Warrod remained quite busy with matters at the national branch of the Magic Council, and today had been the first chance he’d had to meet with her for more than an hour.

She’d known Warrod for a very long time, as he was one of the trio with whom she had founded Fairy Tail. He also had his own, mild, connection to Zeref; as like her, he had learnt a great deal of his magic from their impromptu encounter with, and subsequent tutoring by, the curse-stricken mage.

After an hour and a half’s peaceful train journey, and a reasonable walk through the town and up a nearby hill, Mavis arrived at Warrod’s house. She’d half expected to be greeted by some sort of slightly absurd joke, as was often the want of her old friend, but he seemed only to regard her in an oddly serious manner as she entered his home.

They’d talked casually for a while, and Warrod had even succeeded in making her laugh on one occasion, but eventually the casualness faded as Warrod prepared to make enquiries. “I heard you haven’t been feeling well” he uttered, with a serious expression on his face.

Makarov had told him of her ‘low mood’ in a couple of letters, and asked if he had any ideas on how to lift it. Warrod had made some educated suggestions, but both the return letters and Mavis’ current demeanour indicated his efforts had amounted to very little success. Concern for her wellbeing was partially what had driven Warrod’s determination to see Mavis for an extended period, rather than only an hour.

“I suppose that’s true” she agreed, but cast her gaze down into her teacup so as not to have to see his expression.

“Your return to the living is all very miraculous” Warrod continued when it became clear Mavis had no intentions of speaking further. He wasn’t sure exactly what her upset was about, so didn’t want to ask something directly and end up saying the wrong thing. The problem with that, was that his only other option was to utter vague statements and hope something would hit close enough to the problem to prompt an answer.

He’d learnt, via Mest, about her being sealed within the Lacrima, and that a type of ‘infinite’ magic contained within it had been the real cause of the war …despite the publicly paraded version (according to the Multi-National Magic Council) being that ‘Alvarez desired to subjugate Ishgar and further flex their military might’. Warrod was also of the opinion that various people, most likely including Makarov, were aware of some further facts on the matter that Warrod himself wasn’t privy to. Whatever that information was, he could only assume that – like Fairy Heart – it was considered too sensitive to put in writing.

There were quite a number of signs that all was not well in the world of Mavis Vermillion, despite her protestations that she was just ‘taking a while to recover’. From the departure of her usual bubbly personality, to the all-black attire, and the permanent air of melancholy she carried on her person. For her to go through such marked change, having apparently never grown out of her bright persona even in the period she’d appeared as a thought projection, Warrod was certain there must have been more to it.

After a moment he asked, more pointedly, “but this is about more than just the world having changed, isn’t it?” Whilst he was sure that much was different about Fiore now compared to when Mavis became separated from the land of the living ninety-five years prior, that did not provide an adequate explanation for her behaviour. Mavis had always embraced change, viewing it as a new opportunity and a new adventure rather than a problem. The Mavis he knew would not have been brought down by mere changes in the world.

Mavis set down her cup and drew both knees up to her chest, then wrapped her arms around them, as she stared solemnly down at the floor under the table. Warrod had hit the nail squarely on the head. And so, once again, she found herself explaining the tale of her fascination, and ultimately romance, with Ishgar’s feared Black Wizard.

“So that’s what it is” Warrod answered neutrally when she at last finished her tale. “I always knew that something was odd about Rita’s death, especially with the way you fled afterwards, but I would never have guessed you’d become afflicted with the same curse as him.” Warrod had known that their ‘tutor’ – whom the then thirteen year old Mavis had affectionately called ‘Mr. Black Wizard’ despite not knowing of his identity – was cursed; because Mavis had explained it to them at the time. He had also, much later, become aware that the man who had taught them was, in all likelihood, the feared ‘Black Wizard Zeref’. But as for the depth of Mavis’ ultimate connection with the man… that he hadn’t foreseen.

Lifting her gaze slightly, Mavis asked uncertainly, “Do you… think it was improper of me? To marry him?”

Warrod shook his head, “It’s always easy to judge what is on the surface, but ‘bad’ people can be good at heart just as ‘good’ people can fall to the darkness.” Their own comrade, Precht Gaebolg, was an example of the latter having somehow lost his way and become swallowed by the darkness.

“I can tell how dearly you hold his memory” Warrod continued, in reference to Zeref, “and there is nothing wrong with grieving those we have lost. Prejudice is always the enemy of truth, and when ‘people’ become ‘legends’ the importance of ‘truth’ loses meaning to most.”

“Thank you” she replied “I think… I needed to hear that. It’s so easy to feel like my grief is ‘wrong’ when the rest of the world is busy cheering that the ‘scourge of Ishgar’ has at last fallen.” That fact alone was a large part of why she felt so much like an alien lifeform these days.

Zeref was feared by the light guilds as a man who had murdered many, revered by the dark ones as a legendary dark lord whose footsteps they wanted to follow in; and by the likes of the now-imprisoned Avatar cultists, even seen as a ‘god’ who would ‘rebuild the world’ and become its ‘ultimate ruler’. The only part of the rumours which was at all true, was that Zeref had indeed taken a great many lives in his four centuries of existence. However, even those crimes were far less voluntary than the rumours would have one believe.

“You mentioned that you were ultimately reunited with him during the war, but not whether you parted on good terms or not?” Warrod curiously prompted. Mavis’ sadness did not suggest their final meeting had consisted of a flaming row, but he was old enough to know the value of confirming facts rather than assuming things.

“Primarily positive” she affirmed with little hesitation. Mavis’ tone took on a momentary warmth as she reflected on a moment which had clearly been important, “By the time I got to him, the curse’s grip on his mind was already starting to abate, and as we spoke he was beginning to take on guilt for creating the conflict.” Zeref was certainly skilled in taking on guilt for things he’d had little control over. Sometimes going so far as to label himself a ‘terrible person’ or a ‘monster’ for failing to control a curse which was, by its very nature, out of the victim’s control.

He'd been so sweet, gentle, and caring towards her in those final moments. Every bit the man she’d fallen in love with, as the curse-induced madness had melted away. “We at last escaped the curse by pitting our individual curses against one another in a deliberate effort to make them self-destruct.” She sighed, and uttered emotionally, “I just…don’t know why I lived and he didn’t.”

Surely she couldn’t have loved him more than he had her? She certainly hadn’t on their wedding night, as Mavis presumed that was the reason she’d fallen into a coma rather than their curses simply cancelling each other out for good back then. Zeref had been forced to isolate himself from other people for so many years, she knew how desperate he had been for human connection. It was completely illogical to posit that she could have summoned a stronger manifestation of love – the primordial root of magic - than a man who had been craving love and connection for four excruciating centuries.

As their discussion progressed she’d eventually told Warrod about the vaporised body, lack of evidence of requip-emptying, and all the other inexplicable happenings surrounding her husband’s passing. Mavis hadn’t managed to come up with a sound explanation herself, but she hoped some external advice might help to tie up some loose ends.

“Do you know categorically that he didn’t survive?” Warrod had suggested. He’d heard all the same news reports as her, none of which indicated anything less than Zeref being long dead by now. But the physical facts of the situation spoke another story. Yes, theoretically, some Alvarez soldiers could have swooped in to collect both the body and the objects but the timeframe between their curses self-destructing and Lucy returning to the guild in search of Fairy Sphere was exceptionally short.

Retrieving just a body in that time would have been easy, but Zeref’s likely huge collection of requip-stored objects was another matter entirely. “As I see it, the only way it would have been possible was if the ‘body’, we assume Alvarez to have retrieved, was not dead” Warrod slowly suggested. In that scenario Zeref’s requip spell would have remained active, and simply taking him away in time would have been easy.

However, Mavis immediately refuted the idea. Even if Zeref had just been unconscious rather than dead when Alvarez had taken him away, he must have perished at some point afterwards. They’d mutually agreed to work things out between them before breaking the curse, so… if somehow Zeref had lived as Warrod seemed to want her to believe… why would he wordlessly abandon her?

Even assuming a death after being taken away by Alvarez, there were still unanswered questions. Mavis was legally his next of kin, there was no excuse for whoever was in charge of the empire these days to not inform her of his passing.

Given the lack of official contact, Mavis had taken to determinedly following the news for any information on Alvarez, and by extension Zeref. Sadly with the scant news which made it across the vast ocean separating Alakitashia from Ishgar, it was rather hard to know anything. Though it was difficult to determine whether the lack of reporting was some sort of deliberate secrecy to protect peace negotiations, or simply a case of information travelling slowly.

The most Mavis had determined from Fiorean newspapers was that some minor trade agreements with the empire were apparently being trialled, and passenger ships were supposedly also due to resume soon albeit with mages still banned from travelling unless involved in diplomacy. As for their Emperor, the last Fiorean account she’d managed to track down – albeit several months old by now - had noted that no such person had been seen in public since the war and ‘succession procedures’ were sure to be underway ‘soon’. That definitely supported the idea that he’d died, and the body had been returned to Alvarez. If Zeref had indeed perished, it would likely take the empire some time to settle on a procedure for succession, much less decide who to award the job to.

Warrod had heard those stories too, that was the account which came back from the ‘approved reporter’ that the MNMC’s International Governance Board had stationed in Alvarez. However, Warrod had long suspected that something about the reports didn’t add up, and Mavis’ account only hammered that thought home. If Zeref had died, and it was taking a very long time to elect a successor - as the confidential reports everyone at Fiore’s National Magic Council kept receiving stated – then how come someone with the title ‘Emperor Spriggan’ was supposedly almost assassinated a few weeks ago? If a successor was already selected, and the title Spriggan had for some strange reason been made hereditary, then why were mutterings of ‘it’s taking a long time to sort the succession’ so common in the reports?

Warrod considered sharing his questions with Mavis, but one look at her saddened visage kept him firmly settled on keeping his counsel. Mavis’ mental state was fragile, and if he gave her a wisp of hope which ultimately came to nothing… he feared she would break beyond repair like a pane of shattered glass.

It didn’t mean he was giving up though. Warrod would seek answers on the matter himself, and he planned to reach out to Lucy Heartfilia too, seeing as she was apparently friends with someone from the Twelve.

Chapter Text

Regular passenger ships between the two continents had resumed, and Fiore seemed quite satisfied with Alvarez’s efforts to ensure it ran smoothly. Ajeel had put forth a great deal of time and effort to ensure that every single staff member on Alvarez’s side knew what to do, and how to do it, so that the travel documentation checks passed without a hitch. For the moment, Brandish remained in Fiore working on enabling wizards to travel between the continents again. It was an arduous task, not because of anything Fiore was doing, but because the Multi-National Magic Council always seemed to have a new requirement or criteria which forced the proposals to be re-drafted yet again. At this point it was frankly looking far more like the MNMC wanted to stall for time and stop information spreading between the countries, rather than the potentially legitimate public security concerns they always cited as justification.

Zeref presumed they were trying to limit contact between the continents – as they had to some extent for years – in order to ‘save their own skins’. Once word reached Ishgar’s wizard population that other continents didn’t have to bow to a panel of bureaucrats who dreamt up arbitrary rules… well, it would be very likely that they wouldn’t want to answer to that either.

Slow travel of information had been a status quo between the continents for many years. Prior to the war, Zeref had used the limited spread of information as a handy way to keep his unsavoury reputation in Ishgar separated from that of Emperor Spriggan. The reason this was suddenly an issue was partially due to the MNMC being far more aggressive in their silencing than Zeref had ever seen from them before, but also because it was no longer mutually beneficial. The illusion of ‘Emperor Spriggan’ and ‘Black Wizard Zeref’ being different people had been shattered once and for all during the war. So now the only people with anything to gain from the enforced silence were the MNMC.

They probably knew that too, as despite being a panel of corrupt bureaucrats, the people who sat on the International Governance Board weren’t completely stupid. That said, their charade couldn’t last forever. Whether by official news reports, or word of mouth from the non-wizards now permitted to travel, news of empire happenings would reach Ishgar one way or another. This would in turn, show the MNMC up as a panel of liars who deliberately impeded the reporting of world news, and by extension they’d quickly lose the trust of the people. So what they thought stood to be gained from this – other than perhaps a couple of extra months in power – Zeref couldn’t quite fathom.

The MNMC aside, most other empire matters were going reasonably well as public mood improved and increasing trade agreements came into force. The main outstanding home affairs issue now was that, to the infuriation of the entire intelligence department, the ringleaders of the rebels remained at large. It seemed they had hidden themselves well. But then again, the fact the group had gone completely undetected until their strike at Zeref’s first speech indicated that hiding was something they were good at. However, the fact that they’d escaped the hawk’s gaze of Jacob’s division for this long after the incident was beginning to be concerning.

Some progress had been made though, as it had been confirmed that all of Alvarez’s known practitioners of magic capable of manipulating the senses worked in Jacob’s division. It wasn’t really surprising, as sense manipulation was not a common magical skill and was something people rarely bothered to learn. Considering that all of the people in question showed up to work every day, and were the same people getting frustrated with the lack of progress their department had made, it looked likely the sensory mage came from another country.

It was hard to tell whether it was an indication of a more significant attempt at foreign sabotage, or just a random criminal who snuck into the empire and decided to cause trouble, but either way they needed to be caught, and fast.

When not buried in six feet of intelligence reports, Jacob often helped Invel with the diplomacy. Lately they’d been finding that the atmosphere of those regular diplomatic meetings, and slightly less frequent trade discussions, had warmed significantly. Their Ishgar counterparts no longer regarded them with the cold hostility that had been displayed soon after their retreat, and one Fiorean minister had even started a recent meeting with the words “Nice to be working with you again, Lord Yura.”

It was on a particularly unremarkable Thursday that the aforementioned Invel Yura requested entry to the imperial chambers with a surprising amount of urgency. Normally, Invel would call on a communication Lacrima and ask Zeref to come to somewhere else – usually the cabinet room – if he needed something. So to request to meet in Zeref’s study was quite unusual.

“I take it something is amiss?” Zeref said, in lieu of a greeting, when Invel pushed open the door to his study. Zeref was sat at his desk, and had been quietly working on some rather uninteresting paperwork around loopholes in the definition of an obscure legal term until Invel’s arrival. Quite frankly, he was glad of a distraction from the monotony of it.

“I have some news for you, Your Majesty” Invel stated, only to immediately append the words, “which is not about foreign policy.”

“It’s not?” Zeref queried, surprised, before drawing a conclusion “Oh- You mean you’ve had to break up another destructive ‘sparring match’ between Rahkeid and Ajeel, don’t you?” The two most impulsive of his elite shields seemed to have taken the more hopeful atmosphere as a cue to deactivate ‘permanent work mode’ and start testing their strength against one another for personal enjoyment. Zeref would probably have let them get away with it if not for the sheer power they both wielded, making any such clash likely to cause collateral damage.

“No, Your Majesty; it’s a report from an Alvarez diplomat stationed in Fiore” Invel calmly explained with a slight waft of the folded paper he held in one hand.

Perplexed, Zeref questioned, “But I thought you just said it wasn’t about foreign relations?” The entire job of a diplomat was to engage with parties from other nations, and he struggled to see how a report from one could not be about relations with Fiore.

“That’s because it isn’t” Invel illogically affirmed as he approached the desk. “One of our diplomats has seen Her Majesty Anthousai on two occasions recently. Not to speak to, just in passing, but seen nonetheless.”

The thought of news after so long waiting, speculating, despairing, worrying, and sometimes even hoping, set Zeref’s heart beating erratically. She’d definitely survived, and was clearly well enough to go out in public; hopefully those were good signs. He’d sometimes worried Mavis would have been as injured as himself, but if she’d been unable to walk… Invel would surely have been told about it.

That likelihood did, as Zeref had truthfully long suspected, instead pin the cause of his injury onto Natsu’s final attack. But Zeref wasn’t bothered by the implications of that being the cause, as in its own way it had also been the thing which finally set him free. A normal lifetime unable to walk was so much better than infinite lives of cursed madness.

Apparently the diplomat had been visiting the Fiorean Magic Council, to agree a protocol that would allow practising mages to travel between the nations more easily. The MNMC had suddenly released the organisation-wide restriction on the travel of wizards and magical items to allow individual national branches to agree their own terms. Brandish would have rushed to the council herself, but she’d already had several other meetings scheduled and was left with no choice but to send a more minor diplomat in her place. Whilst walking between a meeting room and someone’s office to get some paperwork signed, the diplomat had apparently spotted Mavis talking to ‘an aged, tree-like, man with fluffy green hair’. Although he couldn’t say for certain, Zeref presumed the man to have been Warrod Sequen; as he had heard prior to the war that he was part of Fiore’s new Magic Council.

Invel placed the folded paper he’d been holding onto the desk, “They sent through a report based on their observations” then stepped back to a comfortable distance, “I haven’t read it, and so cannot speak for its contents, as I considered it to be a personal matter.”

“Thank you” he uttered simply, as emotional anticipation made it hard to speak at all, let alone clearly enough to be understood. With a noxious mixture of anxiety and hope battering his mind, Zeref unfolded the sheet and lifted the paper to read its contents.

‘Sighting report: Her Majesty Anthousai, Empress Consort’

Her Majesty the Empress was sighted at the Magic Council: Fiore Branch Headquarters at around 14:37 on the 3^rd of April X793; as well as boarding a Crocus-bound train at just after 16:00 the following day. On the second occasion Her Majesty was accompanied by a man with long dark hair tied back with a headband who wore a long dark coat, and a woman with short blue hair which was also tied back with a headband and who wore a bright orange dress. Both of them bore the Fairy Tail emblem. The trio were also accompanied by a dark toned exceed carrying a small sword.’

Based on the intelligence Zeref had been gathering on Fairy Tail prior to declaring war, he presumed the accompanying people were Gajeel Redfox, Levy Mcgarden, and Pantherlily, respectively. He wasn’t aware of Mavis having any personal connections in Fiore’s capital city, so the train ride was probably connected with a job request.

The next paragraph of the report detailed her physical appearance. ‘On initial inspection, Empress Anthousai did not appear physically different from the widely circulated official photos taken before, and at, the wedding. However, on both occasions she was seen dressed in outfits consisting only of black and grey; which both did not match previous reports of her style, and was in clear contrast with her companions.’

All black? That was certainly odd. In his experience Mavis had seemed to favour either bright, or pastel, colours not the dark, moody, tones he always tended to dress in. He read onwards, and his heart sank as he began to realise what was most likely going on. ‘Her Majesty seemed quite solemn and subdued, and did not obviously smile on either occasion, though this might be reasonably attributed to current affairs in her life that we are not aware of.’

‘Solemn’ was not a word which one normally used to describe Mavis. She was a cheerful, energetic lady by nature; something which even the curse of contradiction had only temporarily been able to supress. If Mavis was so clearly unhappy, then something painful must have happened. The more he considered it, the more convinced he became that he knew what that ‘something’ was.

The MNMC kept issuing statements to Fiore with vague ominous lines which frankly made it sound like Zeref no longer existed. Meanwhile Mavis was dressing in all black, looking ‘subdued’, and rarely smiling… she was clearly in mourning. Mavis thought he was dead, and it was hurting her. He yearned to be able to go to her, pull her close, and offer assurance that it would all be okay; but there was an ocean, and a fraught diplomatic situation, and reality wasn’t so simple.

He only realised he’d begun crying when the paper in his hand grew damp from the tears it had absorbed. “Oh, Mavis” he uttered, to no one in particular, as his heart ached over the pain his absence was causing her, and his utter inability to do anything about it.

How could he have thought, even for a moment, that she’d immediately go off with someone else? After all…though their first kiss had been initiated by him, it was Mavis who originally floated the idea of ‘together’. If only things were simpler between their nations…

“Is it bad news? Your Majesty?” Invel uttered awkwardly. Though the Winter General was quite proficient in most empire matters, comforting a distressed emperor was not… something he had much experience of. Not to mention that, unlike comforting someone of similar status, one had to consider the appropriateness of any actions undertaken.

Until Invel had spoken, Zeref had temporarily forgotten his Chief of Staff was still in the room. It took a significant amount of time to compose himself enough to speak, and several further seconds to decide what to say. At last, he answered, “That depends-” there was a notable pause as emotion ran riot once more, “-on how one defines ‘bad news’, I suppose.” At the point it became clear that explaining the subject without constantly regressing into tears was not an option, Zeref simply handed the document back for Invel to read for himself.

Invel took the paper apprehensively, as His Majesty’s answer gave little insight into what the problem was. However, as he read down the page, it all became clear. The mourning someone aspect was quite obvious from the stark change of fashion sense. The understanding that it was most likely their very much alive Emperor who was being mourned was evidenced by the lack of similar attire by those who had accompanied her on the train. If it were a key member of the guild who had passed away, they would all have been in mourning.

Making direct contact still wasn’t a great idea, as whilst Fiorean attitudes had warmed significantly, they were not ‘out of the woods’ when it came to international suspicion. Not to mention that with the MNMC seemingly controlling all reporting on Alvarez, they could easily try to spin a personal letter into some sort of underhanded tactic for another war.

Though they had worked hard on changing their behaviour these last six months, Alvarez’s prior reputation of subjugating neighbouring territories was not so easily escaped. Especially when a panel of people with a grudge pulled the strings on the reporting. Invel sighed, “It is not an easy situation to resolve. What would be the logical response at a personal level could have negative repercussions on the empire, and vice versa.”

“How long do you think it will take to stabilise relations enough to make contact?” His Majesty quietly answered.

Such a thing was hard to define specifically. It all depended on factors outside of Invel’s control; how Fiore reacted to their efforts, the strength of the MNMC’s grip on news reporting, how fast they could agree a more permanent peace treaty, and much more besides. Having dismissed all of those answers as inadequate replies to a man heartbroken by the news of his wife’s distress, Invel simply said, “Too long.”

“That’s what I feared” Zeref uttered quietly, and with much emotion lurking beneath those four saddened words. Leadership was a double edged sword, on one hand it was a chance to watch a group of people grow and flourish, yet on the other it brought about difficult choices on who to prioritise.

“So let’s find a solution” Invel declared with conviction. His Majesty was noticeably shocked by the usually formal Winter General’s sudden determination to attempt something which would likely class as ‘bending the rules’. “I cannot promise success. However, I can assure you that no effort will be spared in finding a resolution that doesn’t irreparably compromise the empire.”

Despite the emotional weight of the matter, Zeref bravely attempted to push onwards as a steady leader, “Invel you…surely have more important things to be doing.”

“Perhaps so, depending on how one chooses to look at it” Invel vaguely agreed, “Though I think you may have missed the point.” Contradicting Zeref in general, much less over bending the rules, was an unusual action on Invel’s part. It was typically the other way round; where he insisted to palace staff that the rules were followed even when His Majesty was willing to let things slide.

“I feel confident in saying that the empire would not have survived these tumultuous times in one piece were it not for your leadership. As such, it is perhaps time that we… ‘return the favour’, so to speak.” There were still problems at large, like the rebel ringleaders, who Jacob was becoming increasingly frustrated by being unable to track down. But even so, the empire had come a long way compared to the messy state it had been in the day Zeref awoke from his coma.

“You’d…really do it?” His Majesty asked in disbelief.

“Of course” Invel affirmed with a nod, “I would not have suggested it if I were not willing to see it through.”

“Then… please do” Zeref answered, at last accepting the offer. “I…really want to see her.”

“I will do what I can” Invel replied as he finally handed back the report which had stayed in his hands this entire time. “Since this isn’t an official matter in the normal sense, and there are… emotional repercussions to be considered; do you have any particular requests in regard to me keeping you updated on it?” His majesty would desire to know how much progress was being made, that was certain. But Invel was equally aware that too much detail, on avenues which might ultimately turn out to be dead ends, held the potential to do more harm than good.

Having understood the alluded to problem, Zeref answered, “…maybe don’t tell me too much, unless you’re sure it will come to fruition. Otherwise I’ll end up constantly flitting from hope to despair and back again.” He definitely didn’t need that. Four centuries of being cursed had subjected Zeref to more than enough rapid swings of mood and emotion for many lifetimes.

After some further acknowledgements, and with a final backward glance of concern to the still-emotional Emperor semi-crumpled over his desk, Invel left the room to commence his mission.

Chapter Text

After the day Zeref had first been allowed out of his hospital room, when they’d agreed that sharing advice and counsel was what friends were for, meeting with Irene for casual conversation had become something of a regular occurrence.

However, on this particular day the terrace garden’s paving was unexpectedly littered… with empty flower pots. The sheer regularity of the wide gaps between them was a clear indication that the flower pots had not simply been ‘blown over when the shed door wasn’t shut properly’.

Irene herself was comfortably settled on the garden chair, well beyond the display of suspiciously arranged pots. “What is the uh…” he paused to consider how to describe it, “…empty flower pot arrangement in aid of?”

“It’s an obstacle avoidance test” Irene cheerfully answered as though that was the normal use for empty flower pots.

“Well given that you’re sat over there, I think you’ve successfully avoided all of them.” He replied, having realised this was probably a joke and decided to simply play along.

“Of course” she agreed with a vague waft of one hand, “what remains to be seen is whether anyone else is capable of similar feats.”

It took longer to navigate past the flower pots than simply go in a straight line, but Irene had at least been considerate enough to space them at a realistically navigable distance. “I hope you’re planning to put those away again” he told her, after a highly sarcastic exchange regarding ‘successful navigation around unplanted pots’. “I doubt the gardeners will be too pleased to learn you’ve left their plant pot supply blowing round the terrace.”

With a light tap of her staff, Irene enchanted the pots to stack neatly inside one another, and speed away back towards the shed. She was a master enchanter, which made her a force to be reckoned with on the battle field, as well as… able to tidy away plant pots without touching them, apparently.

“Did you actually put them away or are they just sat outside the shed door instead of in the middle of the path?” he questioned sceptically. Enchanting plant pots to move was one thing, simultaneously ensuring a door one could not see successfully unlocked, opened, and then closed again, was quite another.

“The latter” Irene affirmed, “Though I will put them back inside when we’ve finished here. Wouldn’t want to be accused of damaging the shed with an enchantment.” The palace gardeners had never been keen on letting mages ‘help’ with the process. When a member of the guards who specialised in water magic once offered to help with watering a couple of years ago, they had been very quickly turned down.

With the offending plant pots removed from their field of vision, Irene turned serious for the first time in their entire exchange. “You must be somewhat alright; since you’ve played along with this nonsense instead of just telling me it was ridiculous.”

The news on their Empress had been publicly announced at yesterday’s Spriggan Twelve meeting, so Irene was not unaware of the news and its consequences. If anything, as the only member of the shields who was old enough to have attended the wedding, she was more aware than most.

“It’s interesting you say that” Zeref slowly answered, “because prior to getting here I wasn’t feeling alright; but the absurdity of the plant pots managed to make me forget about feeling miserable for a while.” His choice of wording, particularly the fleeting nature of ‘a while’ did not bypass Irene’s notice.

She acknowledged his words, but otherwise kept her silence. They’d helped each other through various difficult circumstances in recent months by recognising when the other one needed space to discuss things on a personal level. They had numerous allies in the governing of the empire, but there were some matters which crossed the border into being personal and as such were better discussed with a friend.

Though there was technically a ‘power dynamic’ of lord and servant, they’d largely rendered it a moot point. He willingly accepted Irene’s ‘insolence’ because she provided a valuable second opinion; and in turn, Irene recognised the difference between the Emperor she served offering friendly advice, and issuing an order.

It wasn’t that Zeref hadn’t been upset about his prolonged separation from Mavis prior to the news, just that he’d seen it in a different light. He’d been pained by her absence, of course, but presumed she was broadly alright and getting on with life - so he needed to do the same. Somehow, he hadn’t quite seen her immense grief and heartache coming; and now he knew of it, that had brought all his own pain back to the surface.

“I started the war, hurt both Mavis herself and all those in her guild; and now I can’t even be with her when she’s in pain.” The implication of perceiving himself as being a ‘complete failure’ went unsaid, but was understood nonetheless.

“I’m not convinced that being physically present is what really matters in the end”, Irene suggested. “Take it from me as a woman whose husband had her thrown into the dungeons for showing signs of dragonification, he was very present but also absolutely useless in my hour of need.” Irene’s situation had been very different to Zeref’s, not just because it took place around 400 years ago, but also on account of it having been a political marriage rather than one of love.

However, as a woman, she could still provide some insight on what might matter most to Mavis. “Even if she’s upset at first, the fact that you’ve been worrying about her all this time will mean a great deal.” After a moment she added, lightly, “and I think just about everyone in the Twelve could vouch for the fact that you have been.” He hadn’t been trying to make his distress obvious, but such deeply held feelings weren’t easy to disguise either. Especially with the way the Twelve, or what remained of it anyway, rallied round each other these days as friends and allies rather than just coworkers.

The biggest question haunting his thoughts wasn’t even how to get to see her, as Invel had promised to try and resolve that part without his input so Zeref was in turn trying to avoid overthinking on it any further. Rather, he worried as to how he would ever be able to ‘make it up to her’ for his beyond-regrettable behaviour last year. The fact she was still in clear mourning after all these months suggested that the matter was far from pressing in Mavis’ head. But whether she cared or otherwise, Zeref remained frustrated at himself for failing to control the curse.

“Since she’s been mourning you so intensely, why not just give her yourself? That’s what she seems to want, after all”, Irene suggested after remembering his insistence, the first time they met like this, that she should just ‘do what she could’ to mend things with her daughter. As Irene saw it, what Mavis wanted and needed when they were eventually reunited wasn’t an elegantly worded apology but, quite simply, her husband’s company.

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, primarily on account of having taken the wrong kind of implication from her words. “Relational problems cannot be solved simply by getting into bed with someone” he complained indignantly.

Irene groaned, “Shockingly enough, that was not what I meant.” After a pause, and a firm stare, to ensure he had understood her properly this time, Irene continued. “I was thinking more along the lines of ensuring, whenever Invel gets it sorted, that you have an open enough schedule to have some quality time together.” Objectively speaking, that was the biggest problem facing their marriage, as they’d been wedded for a near century but had ended up spending little more than twenty-four hours of that time actually in the same place.

Finally, and with gravity, Irene declared, “If that man-” in reference to her long deceased husband “- had merely offered me his bed I would not have minced my words of displeasure.” In fact, Irene would likely have not minced her actions either. The Scarlet Despair had held significant magical prowess back then as well, which she would have not hesitated to use to put the man in his place for daring to make such an insulting suggestion.

After the clarification, Irene’s recommendation was at last taken the correct way. “Sorry. I’m uh…not sure why that was the first conclusion I jumped to” Zeref eventually admitted with obvious awkwardness.

“Because, if I may be so bold as to say this; You’re highly emotional, and all over the place, which means considered decision making is not a skill you excel in at present” Irene stated firmly with a waft of the hand not holding her teacup.

She wasn’t the first person to tell him something along those lines. August had been handing things back to him, for containing silly mistakes, all morning. It was honestly a little embarrassing to have had his own son keep correcting him like that…

Irene firmly set her emptied teacup back onto the table, “Why don’t we go out of the palace for a while? And before you protest about security, I said ‘we’, and was thinking of somewhere quiet.” She sighed deeply as she regarded his conflicted expression, “You’re in no fit state to work, so let’s try getting out of this atmosphere of despond you’ve been stewing in.”

It wouldn’t change anything about the actual situation, but moving to another place had sometimes helped to clear his head when he’d been wandering Fiore’s forests in previous years. Even despite all the progress on physical recovery that had been made in the past six months, and the great efforts of Jacob’s department to ensure his safety, Zeref didn’t often leave the palace.

Vistarion was broadly accessible by wheelchair, but there were also plenty of places which weren’t level enough, where pavements were littered with cracks and potholes, or the only way into a building involved steps. More than once since the war a temporary ramp had needed to be put in place simply for Zeref to attend an official function. That, combined with the fact that wheelchairs and grass really didn’t mix, had left him reluctant to go outside, even without the threat of the few rebels still on the loose.

Zeref knew Invel would immediately shoot Irene’s suggestion down, citing the threat from the rebels, but on an unplanned trip it would be nigh-impossible for the now-banned sense disruption powder to be weaponised. All facts considered, it was about as safe as was possible in the current situation, and Zeref couldn’t deny that he’d like to see something other than the palace walls for once. As for the likely complaints it would bring about from Invel… Irene would probably find some way to talk, or annoy, the Winter General out of complaining too much.

It was Irene who cast the teleportation spell, and the scene of the palace terrace garden melted away into static for a moment before the spell began to clear and reveal their new surroundings. They had arrived in a secluded patch of Alvarez forest, home only to wildlife, where some ancient ruins jutted out amongst the large trees. There was just enough paving remaining from the slowly disintegrating relic of bygone eras for it to be bearably navigable in a wheelchair, yet the area remained still remote enough that few dared tread there. In terms of somewhere ‘outside’ which could also be considered ‘safe’, Irene had chosen well.

Despite being their Emperor, Zeref had done very little personal exploration of his country outside of military campaigns. In all the times his curse had allowed him to feel concern for lives, and by extension fascination for nature and history, he’d fled the nation so as not to hurt his subjects. As such, these secluded ruins were new to him. But given the ease with which she teleported them there, Zeref could only assume Irene had been before.

As if she had known he was bound to be curious, Irene spoke up a moment later. “I’ve come here sometimes to clear my head between assignments” she explained as she perched on a nearby wall which, though half its presumed original height, remained fairly solid. Irene had stumbled upon these ruins some years back, when she’d been in a bad mood and sent her soldiers back to the capital on their own so she could claim some peace and quiet. The winding countryside detour she’d taken en-route had led her to these ruins, and in the years since it had become something of tradition to walk or teleport to them whenever she needed some space.

A vague acknowledgment, followed by the words, “It’s…so peaceful” was all he said in reply.

Vistarion was nice enough, and Zeref was definitely proud of how the once-little settlement had grown into a huge city, but it served as the beating heart of the ‘empire machine’ and was always bustling with people and staff. A far cry from the quiet seclusion amongst the wildlife where he had spent much of his too-long life.

Peace, silence, and space to himself were all things Zeref valued highly. Being left alone sometimes was necessary for him to even function, as talking to too many people all in one day only ever left him feeling drained and exhausted. It was nice, to hear animals again after centuries knowing that the moment one got close… all that would be left would be a corpse. The smell of nature was a nice change too, as despite what palace staff had told him about how this or that cleaner was supposed to make the palace ‘smell fresh’, nothing ever compared to the smell of genuine fresh air.

Being Emperor all the time these days was hard, because it required him to permanently perform to a role which, without the curse, he’d never have willingly taken on. Zeref wouldn’t be without them at this point, though. When the rest of the world hated him… having an empire who didn’t, and where he could (mostly) be assured of his own safety, was important beyond words. But even so, keeping it, and everyone in it, afloat and happy was exhausting.

At least out here, the only person around to judge or criticise his choice to sit quietly and try to temporarily block out the million empire problems demanding his attention was Irene… and she was only likely to do so for friendly teasing.

Irene had been quite worried for a while, but as she watched him sit in contented silence in the middle of the small area flat enough to traverse, and slowly relaxing into the quietness of nature once more, she thought that things might not be so bad after all. This little outing wasn’t going to take the pain away, but it could hopefully provide enough distance to see the situation more clearly when they returned.

Zeref wouldn’t have to keep up the strong front he’d bravely put on since the war forever, but they all needed him to keep going just a bit longer. No one in Alvarez had a fix for the problem itself right now, but they could all do their own little things to try and boost Zeref’s mood whilst they waited for Invel to find a solution.

Chapter Text

A few days later, as Invel strode down a corridor following a routine briefing with a group of military chiefs, he became aware of a loud bang in the direction of the castle’s rear gatehouse. Hopefully it was just Ajeel and Rahkeid having a friendly sparring match again, but after the events of His Majesty’s first post-war public appearance… Invel always felt obliged to check such disturbances personally. The unintended side-effect of this, had been a sharp rise in the encounter rate between the two hapless Shields, and Invel’s ire. The increased telling off didn’t seem to have been doing much good though, since the pair kept on acting out in the exact same way regardless of what Invel did, or didn’t, say to them.

His Majesty had on more than one occasion since the war mused that the empire had much it could learn from Fairy Tail’s ethos, but in Invel’s opinion the shields copying their rowdy behaviour was really a step too far.

What awaited him at the gatehouse was not two sparring comrades; but a former one. After months of complete and utter silence – which had ultimately seen him demoted from the Twelve for desertion - Neinhart was back, apparently.

The former shield stood just inside the perimeter of the palace, with the dented rear gate visible behind him. Invel thought he’d caught sight of some other figures stood just outside, but the moment he looked towards them properly a strange mist obscured them from sight.

“I hope you realise how utterly disrespectful it is to wander off and ignore all our attempts to reach you” he informed the man unhappily. Invel had known Neinhart rather a long time; as they were around the same age, and had risen through the ranks of Alvarez’s military almost in step with one another. Owing to their shared background, they had often seen roughly eye to eye on Alvarez’s defence and war affairs despite their differing personalities.

“Ah, Invel!” Neinhart greeted in tandem with dramatic gestures which unfortunately reminded Invel of a certain obnoxious and infuriating former Ishgar ‘Wizard Saint’. “To think my valiant return would be heralded by the visit of such a close ally!” …valiant return? As far as Invel was aware Neinhart had done naught but sulk and hide since the war; and whatever this was certainly didn’t feel helpful.

Uninterested in conversing with the other man any further, but unwilling to end this discussion too fast and risk missing information about whoever he had spotted hiding outside, Invel settled for a non-committal reply, “We certainly have no shortage of work these days.”

“Oh I’m sure” Neinhart proudly declared as though he knew more about current empire affairs than the empire’s own Chief of Staff, “but have you ever stopped to consider why?”

Invel did not need to stop and ponder ‘why’, the reason was quite obvious – a mere eight people were responsible for what would once have been the work of thirteen. Neinhart immediately laughed at his reasoning, then turned serious again, “So the rumours were true after all, and here I thought such things were beneath you. Invel Yura… you really have lost your infamously ice-cold persona.”

“If you do not intend to return to work then I must insist you hand yourself in to the guards, Neinhart. You have already been demoted from the Twelve due to your lack of cooperation.” If there was one thing Invel had remained firmly tied to throughout his career, it was the importance of procedure and the rule of law.

“Oh I intend to return to work alright” the lilac-haired man insisted, “but not as a mere shield. In the wake of Zeref’s fall, Alvarez needs a new ruler!” Neinhart raised his arms in a familiar gesture, and Invel readied himself for battle. Apparently, his former comrade was not amenable to discussion, much less reason.

Invel was… not necessarily upset by this turn of events either. Yes, ideally Neinhart would just hand himself in like a decent citizen, but Invel was personally annoyed by the other man’s actions and was far from disappointed at the surprise justification to make his displeasure clear with magic as well as words.

“It was always between me and you, Invel”, Neinhart declared as he called to his magic, “but since you’re clinging to such nonsense as your workload resulting from mere ‘understaffing’, I think it’s become quite clear just who will take charge.”

Neinhart conjured a Historia of Kyoka, one of His Majesty’s creations. The conjured puppet charged at Invel, but he soon froze it over and flung icy block to one side as both spells rapidly disintegrated. “I hereby place you under arrest for treason against the empire!” Invel declared as his own powers began to freeze the courtyard floor.

“Me? Treason? Ha! I think you’ll be the one getting sent to prison for that if you continue on this path, Invel Yura.”

Neinhart dispelled the Kyoka Historia, only to immediately summon a new one. Invel did not recognise the dark-skinned man, dressed in dark trousers and a black waistcoat with white flame patterns, who had appeared, but it mattered not. He knew from experience that Neinhart could only summon Historias up to a certain level of strength; and that level remained well within Invel’s own capabilities.

“Inferno!” declared the enemy who leant forwards and breathed out a wave of flames. Invel held one hand out in front of himself and called to his magic, freezing both enemy and spell in place before either could do any real damage to the courtyard.

“Stand down” he ordered, in complete opposition to Neinhart’s prior demand for submission. “Even if you were to somehow defeat me in battle you will not succeed; the remaining shields are unanimous in their support for His Majesty.” If there was anything likely to rile up the other shields enough to turn them into an unstoppable defensive force, it would be Neinhart’s baseless insults to their Emperor. Critique and accountability were important within a team, but this was neither of those things. Neinhart was not here to point out genuine flaws in His Majesty’s actions. Neinhart was clearly just on a power trip, and as such it was Invel’s sworn duty as one of the Twelve to stop him immediately.

Neinhart grew angry, threw both arms in the air, and began to channel large amounts of power through his body to summon a stronger Historia. Desperation and futility often drove people to extremes, and even madness, so Invel wasn’t particularly surprised by this move. He was no strategist, but possessed enough first-hand battle experience to know that remaining calm, and calculating his opponent’s most likely tactics, was always the best reaction.

The shape of a person began to form from the feet upwards. First appeared black boots, then came dark outer robes, and an all-too-familiar white toga. Invel’s eyes went wide as he beheld the thing before him. Neinhart had summoned a Historia of His Majesty, as he was before the war. But…how? Historia were supposedly only possible to create of people who had died. Surely he… couldn’t have?!

Neinhart was only just inside the gates when Invel found him, there would surely have been far too many guards and staff for him to have got anywhere near His Majesty! But considering the sense-disruption powder used at that first speech… and the rebel ringleaders still on the loose… Invel hated the fact he couldn’t quite assure himself of the Emperor’s safety.

Overtaken by concern and fury, Invel started a blizzard and charged at his comrade-turned mortal enemy; only to be held back by a runic barrier.

“Come now Invel, surely there’s no need for such violence?” uttered the Historia’s, the imposter’s, familiarly calm voice. Having not been on the receiving end of Neinhart’s abilities since their last spar several years ago Invel had almost forgotten how lifelike Neinhart made his Historias appear. It was deeply disturbing, especially when he could not reassure himself of the safety of the man Neinhart was so audaciously copying.

Invel made another dash towards Neinhart, only to once again be stopped by a spell from the Historia. “That’s enough, Invel; I will take it from here.” A familiar phrase, and one he would have instantly obeyed if it came from the man who usually spoke it.

Instead, he replied only with a stern “I do not answer to you” and an attempt to dispel the runic wall with sheer cold. But the spell didn’t shatter, didn’t freeze over, and simply remained uncompromisingly in the way.

“Runic spells aren’t like ordinary elemental magic; you cannot overcome them with force alone, Invel.” Each time Neinhart’s imposter puppet opened its mouth, Invel’s desire to obliterate it grew stronger. How dare Neinhart disrespect His Majesty so egregiously, by donning his face, and his magic, to fight against the very peace His Majesty had poured blood, sweat, and tears, into rebuilding!

Invel would not allow it; but neither would the runic spell let him past. “Historia, rise!” cried Neinhart, and Invel soon became aware of magic power building up behind him. He spun round just in time to parry a strike from an unfamiliar blonde-haired man dressed in a green sleeveless top and light coloured bottoms.

The man stepped back, and laughed haughtily, “Oh~? It looks like you also made the mistake of touching me.” The man clicked his fingers, and a strange glowing light appeared on Invel’s arm where they had made momentary contact. “Explosion!” shouted his opponent, and the glowing mark did just that.

Invel soon regained his lost footing. His significant power, and a hasty attempt at self-defence, had protected him from too severe a physical injury, but he would have to be more careful from then onwards. He was about to cast a spell in retaliation, when a magic circle appeared under his feet.

“How many times must I tell you ‘that’s enough’ before you listen? It’s quite out of character, Invel, you aren’t usually one of the unruly ones.” declared the clone of His Majesty, who Invel immediately concluded must have been behind the spell beneath his feet.

He turned back to face his original opponent, determined to wipe that insulting clone from existence once and for all, and was about to step out of the circle when he felt something enter his mind.

It wasn’t antagonistic, but informative. ‘That spell will explode if you step outside the area without dispelling it first.’ It told him. ‘The one behind you is Jackal, an etherious specialising in explosions’ it added.

Slowly, Invel began to recognise the magic causing the sudden bursts of epiphany – Archive.

Neinhart certainly wouldn’t be helping him, so that could only mean there was now a third party in this battle. Invel cautiously looked around the area in hope of determining the identity of the Archive caster, without being too distracted from the battle. After a moment, his gaze landed on a nearby balcony; particularly the black and white figure, seated in a wheelchair, and operating a glowing archive interface. Invel took a deep, relieved, breath as he attempted to return order to his racing thoughts.

No, Neinhart had not harmed His Majesty; rather, it was that His Majesty was ‘dead to Neinhart’. Seemingly, the man’s conviction that His Majesty ‘was no more’ had been strong enough to let him summon a Historia. But a Historia was never as strong as its living counterpart, especially with the man himself helping from the side-lines.

It soon became clear that Zeref had realised he had been spotted, as a telepathic link connected.

“Apologies for not intervening until now; I wanted to be sure you knew it was me and not the Historia.” In fact, he’d only been pushed to act at all by the troublesome combination of runic enchantments unable to be bested by force, and Jackal’s explosiveness.

“No need to apologise” Invel acknowledged via telepathy. “I believe Neinhart is using the enchantments as a shield, as he doubts his ability to defeat me in a one on one battle.” Neinhart no doubt thought he’d stand a better chance if he forced Invel to waste a large amount of magic power on the Historias first.

“That is my understanding as well.” It was a clever tactic on Neinhart’s part, Zeref had to admit, but it certainly wasn’t unbeatable. “Once you get past the runic shield enchantments, the battle shouldn’t last very long.” Invel was a highly capable warrior, as well as a skilled Chief of Staff. Not to mention that, unlike Neinhart, Invel was being carried by positive emotions – the desire to protect the empire - so Zeref had no doubt he would ultimately prevail.

Alvarez had theoretically been carried by positive emotions during the war too, Zeref had long counted on that for any chance of victory against a guild with bonds as strong as Fairy Tail’s. A team operating on fear would never have stood a chance, and whilst Alvarez had been thoroughly defeated in the war even despite the loyalty and patriotism which had motivated his forces to fight… this was different.

Zeref didn’t doubt that Fairy Tail’s bonds probably ran deeper than the Twelve’s even now, but there was an unmistakable air of genuine comradery amongst his shields these days. As for Neinhart… well, he was operating on a self-serving grudge, and magic borne of hate and rage would never be as robust as that which flowed from loyalty and protection.

“But Your Majesty, I am not proficient in such things” Invel protested at the idea he would somehow be able to remove the troublesome enchantments himself.

“Perhaps so, but that is the very purpose of Archive. Since that Historia represents my past self, there is nothing it can cast that I don’t know how to undo.” Archive wasn’t just a way to manage multiple telepathy links at once, it was also a method of instantly sharing knowledge. Invel might not understand runic enchantments himself, but via archive, that point could soon be rendered inconsequential.

Invel took another deep breath, and prepared for counter attack. “Very well, Your Majesty” he agreed, and instructions for disarming the spells began to appear inside his head.

“What?!” shrieked Neinhart as Invel wordlessly dispelled the explode-on-exit enchantment through a quick scribble of a rune into the air.

“Since when were you capable of countering the runic-whatevers Emperor Spriggan used to like?!” Though Neinhart broadly controlled his Historia, that didn’t necessarily mean he truly understood how their abilities worked. Even the Historia puppet seemed unsure what to do, and simply stood making vague hand gestures.

This moment of indecision by Neinhart provided Invel with a perfect opportunity to turn the tide of battle. “Freeze!” he yelled, and a wave of ice sped forwards towards the offending Historia puppet. It tried to protect itself with more runes; but His Majesty immediately provided a counter-spell.

Invel’s ice began to encapsulate its target, putting Neinhart’s prized Historia out of action at last. The second Historia, Jackal, made a mad swipe for Invel screeching “How dare you attack Lord Zeref!” as he went. But this Historia lacked the runic defences of the previous one, and was easily frozen over with a single flick of his wrist.

With his Historia puppets defeated, and most of his magic power burned through in puppeteering them, Neinhart was well and truly exposed. Neinhart dodged the first icy wave aimed at him, and avoided the second with a weak but well-timed blast of magic.

He might not have been using a copy of His Majesty as a shield anymore, but Neinhart had still been a member of the elite Spriggan Twelve; and as such was not an opponent to take lightly. However, despite all that, he was not so lucky on Invel’s third attempt, and found his limbs restrained inside a large glacier-like ice formation.

Neinhart turned his head to glare daggers at his former comrade, “I know for a fact you never studied runic magic! So how could you defeat a Historia specialising in it?! The first time I thought it was a red herring…” After briefly quieting to regain his breath, Neinhart bellowed, “but you did it again!!”

Invel adjusted his glasses, which had slid to an uncomfortable position during the battle, before deigning Neinhart with a reply, “You are correct; but through the use of Archive many things become possible in a short period of time. To put it simply; neither you, nor your Historia, were a match for the real His Majesty.”

“His Majesty is dead!” spat Neinhart, “The Emperor we all respected perished the day we rode back on our plans for world domination! That-that empty shell on wheels is no Emperor Spriggan!”

“I would advise you not to further disrespect His Majesty.” Invel complained, offended on Zeref’s behalf at the idea a man who had fought so hard to stabilise their struggling empire was an ‘empty shell on wheels’.

Magic power began to build in front of Invel’s glacier, and a swirling dark orb appeared. The deliberately showy variation on a teleportation spell grew in size, then the orb began to separate and reveal the person within. “I am deeply disappointed to see that this – turning on anyone who does not agree with you, even if they are your allies - is the ‘answer’ you reached on the future, Neinhart” uttered the commanding voice of His Majesty. Seeing as their former comrade was no longer capable of posing a threat, thanks to Invel’s icy restraints, he had decided to come and interrogate the man in person.

“As a member of the Twelve you had every opportunity to raise your concerns with me, or anyone else in the upper governance structure of the empire” His Majesty continued as Neinhart remained utterly silent. Invel had persistently tried to contact Neinhart for weeks after he vanished from the palace, yet he had blatantly ignored each and every attempt. Now, they could only assume it had been a deliberate act that had briefly enabled him to continue obtaining palace secrets whilst he planned this senseless attack.

“The fact that you refused to do so, in favour of pursuing a path of violence, is not a thing which can be overlooked” Zeref reprimanded in a firm and commanding tone.

To that Neinhart responded, not with words, but by shattering Invel’s ice. “I will not allow our great empire to be ruled by a decrepit shell!” he cried, and began a bloodthirsty charge at the Emperor he had once vowed to protect. Invel prepared to react, but Neinhart didn’t get very far as after but a couple of paces he was caught in an enchantment. ‘Neinhart is prevented from leaving this space unless in handcuffs’ read the enchantment’s rules.

“Your scheme is defeated, Neinhart. Now, I’d like some answers” the Emperor insisted in a tone of authority. It was far from the first time Zeref had interrogated someone who had tried to undermine the empire. However he had to admit it wasn’t pleasant that the culprit this time had been one of his own shields, whose supposed duty included preventing exactly this sort of thing.

“Defeated?” Neinhart questioned haughtily despite his position locked within an uncompromising enchantment, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that! I brought allies! Reinforcements! They’ll be storming every entrance to your precious castle at this very moment!”

“I am aware of them, yes” Zeref calmly replied. “Though I can also inform you that they are being rounded up for questioning as we speak. Your former comrades in the Twelve have not taken kindly to your insolence, Neinhart.”

Zeref had first learnt of the attack fifteen minutes prior to Neinhart’s arrival. Irene had been followed by some men in cloaks reminiscent of the rebel organisation as she returned to the palace after a trip into the city. She’d contacted August, who had just heard of something similar from the guards at the eastern entrance, and everyone had quickly been mobilised to counter the apparent threat.

Since it had seemed suspiciously like an attempt to lay siege to the palace, Zeref had been immediately informed and taken up post managing communications between the teams sent to each gate. As a precaution he’d deliberately left the imperial suite, on the assumption that whoever was striking would look for him there first, and instead relocated to the difficult to access tower balcony where Invel had first spotted him.

Invel and Neinhart’s battle had broken out, and come to his attention, whilst he had been managing the situation at the other gates. The rebel teams sent to them had been small, but the people in question were noticeably more powerful than the lot that had been rounded up in earlier raids on their bases. Even so, they hadn’t ultimately posed much of a challenge.

Each group of rebels had tried to make use of the same sense-disruption powder from the speech but by now the empire had an immediate antidote developed and all platoons were required to carry it as standard.

Without the added advantage of everyone else having addled senses, the tables were turned and even the Alvarez foot soldiers had limited trouble subduing the rebels. Now that the other members of the Twelve had the rest of the palace secured, Zeref had been able to leave them to their own devices and focus on what they now assumed was the ringleader.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Neinhart refused to cooperate and instead flitted between angry silence and spewing strings of enraged words. Once it became clear that a personal questioning was futile, at least for the time being, Invel ordered the nearest set of guards to take him away.

The guards sprinted over, and immediately began to try and get the uncooperative man into handcuffs. Invel’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the lack of strategy to Neinhart’s attempts to evade the handcuffs. Locked within the enchantment, his capture was inevitable… yet he kept resisting… as if he was trying to buy himself, or perhaps someone else, more time.

Chapter Text

There was a sudden sound of wheels on the paved courtyard as His Majesty rapidly turned to face a flicker of magic Invel had barely sensed at all. Despite the Winter General turning round too having sensed His Majesty’s move, Invel’s reaction was far too late to be of any help.

However, Zeref was not defenceless. Magic-imbued daggers, strikingly similar to the one from the speech, fell to the floor in a semicircle just beyond the front of his wheelchair as the spell which had thrown them became cancelled out by his own.

A middle-aged woman, dressed in high heels and a long furry cloak, stepped out of the mist of dispersing magic caused by the clash of their two spells. Zeref recognised her immediately, and as more pieces of the puzzle clicked into place he was mentally kicking himself for forgetting that this woman had once publicly alluded to significant knowledge around sensory spells.

Noriko Yamanut, who now stood before them, sat on the Multi-National Magic Council’s International Governance Board. Of course they would have had something to do with all the internal unrest in recent weeks, none had as much contempt for the empire as the MNMC. But even so, Zeref had long presumed launching an outright assault on the empire, or on himself, to be too audacious a move even for them. Apparently not, if Noriko’s presence was anything to go by.

“Black Wizard Zeref” she addressed, voice dripping with malice, as she clicked her fingers to summon several more daggers that levitated around her person awaiting a push of magic to be flung forwards. “We at the council are unanimously agreed, your heinous crimes have gone unpunished for far too long. Only one punishment can possibly befit your abhorrent existence which has blighted our world for centuries – you shall pay for your crimes with your life!”

“You have just admitted intent to murder a foreign head of state in front of numerous witnesses” Zeref replied sternly as he tried his best not to seem fazed by her threat. “That won’t be a good look for the council.” He knew they were often brazen, and rarely cared to be bound by decent moral codes, but to confess to such a plan in front of not only Invel but a group of palace guards… that truly was a stupid move. Even if she succeeded in doing away with him, there would be multiple witnesses capable of pinning all blame for the murder onto her.

“What witnesses?” Noriko questioned with a dramatic gesture to the swirl of magic which now separated them from the rest of the courtyard.

When did she manage to do that? Zeref thought worriedly. She must have planned this assault well before today… and the spell separating them from the rest of the courtyard must have been prepared in advance too for it to have bypassed his notice so easily. That, or she was manipulating his senses like at the speech.

Zeref knew his ability to sense and recognise magic was far above average, and by convenient extension it made it difficult to sneak anything past his notice. Even at the speech, he’d immediately felt the magic of the dagger after it had been thrown, as all the disruption powder had managed to achieve was a delayed response… but in close combat… delay was akin to mortal peril.

Noriko continued to proudly exalt the cleverness of her plans, “You see, Neinhart and his disappointingly weak band of rebels were just a distraction. My forces have hidden themselves far more convincingly and are hard at work distracting your allies with wisps of illusory nothingness as we speak.”

Zeref had no plans to die, he couldn’t allow it to go that far, but it would hopefully shake Noriko’s confidence if he seemed unruffled by her suggestion. “Even without me, you will not gain control of the empire. Everyone in this country is agreed that the Multi-National Magic Council will never be allowed to repress and control their creativity with magic.” People in Alvarez valued the freedom of practise and research that Zeref’s legal system allowed them. Once experienced, such freedoms were exactly the sort of things the general population would fight to defend. The MNMC would never win over Alvarez’s people, all they’d get would be an unquenchable rebellion.

Noriko was far from deterred, having always known that her target would try to argue his way out. The council kept plenty of intelligence on this troublesome man, and all of it indicated he was a force to be reckoned with. She had ways to deal with that though, she’d never have agreed to the mission otherwise. “You’ve kept this land bogged down in lawless magic for too long, Black Wizard, but your death will right that wrong. I will blame it on Neinhart, and claim to swoop in as the saviour who tried to save you against steep odds.” Noriko put on a fake air which, had Zeref not heard all of her earlier threats, made it almost believable that she was ‘about to cry’ “But the wounds were beyond help, and all she could do was arrest the man who committed high treason.”

This was the thing about Noriko Yamanut, she was known to be a master actress. A woman who presented different fronts depending on who she spoke to. For a moment Zeref wondered why Noriko was bothering to waste time like this, muttering at length about how things would pan out if she got away with murder. But the more she spoke, the more he realised what it was supposed to be. She was trying to weaponise psychological tactics, hoping he’d fear for his empire’s future, act rashly in response, and die as a result. If that was how she wanted to play it, then so be it. He had no intentions of reacting to any of the nonsense coming out of her mouth, after all, her idea of the future wasn’t going to happen.

With her speech concluded, and scare tactics proved useless, Noriko dropped her bravado and instead readied for battle.

From the location she’d chosen Noriko would be able to see anything Zeref cast long before it reached her. Given how long standing this plan from the MNMC appeared to be, they would surely have done their research, into his health, and into the types of magic Zeref had favoured during past military campaigns. Not all of that information would be useful to her now, as most of his past preferences in close-combat were rendered useless by being unable to walk, but even so it was an advantage. Noriko had almost never been seen fighting in all her years at the council, and as such Zeref’s information on her was comparatively small.

He knew she could disguise her true intentions behind elaborate acts, and was potentially as powerful as one of his Shields. Based on recent evidence, and a vague allusion in the notes of one of those partially plagiarised academic papers she’d put her name to a few years ago, it seemed she could also manipulate human senses; but that was all he had to go on.

The location of Noriko’s isolation spell alone suggested that she’d done her research, as much of the ground was taken up by a stepped platform for some flagpoles that left Zeref very little space to retreat or dodge incoming magic. Not to mention that he’d never had a friendly spar with someone since becoming a full-time wheelchair user, much less tried to fight seriously.

He could overpower her, theoretically, but practically…

A wave of daggers hurtled towards him, and shook Zeref from his contemplations as he was forced to cast a hasty wave of flames in self-defence. The daggers faltered in the air, before zipping back towards their owner. Noriko tapped one of her heeled shoes loudly onto the cobbles. “Arc of Time”, she uttered, and the previously even paving began to wither away into a bumpy surface which would be exceptionally difficult to traverse.

Back when he could walk, something simple like broken paving slabs would have barely constituted a nuisance, and certainly not posed an actual threat. But wheelchairs relied so heavily on even ground to function, and without it he was stranded.

Noriko switched branches of magic entirely and threw some magic cards, but Zeref didn’t spot them fast enough to ready a counter spell and was forced to back away slightly to evade them. It was only as he felt the chair tilt uncomfortably to one side that he remembered the now-uneven paving in this area of the courtyard. The effort required to free the wheel from the dip it had got stuck in would take too long, but whilst stuck in one place he was nothing but a sitting target.

“Any last words, Black Wizard?” she asked mockingly, knowing all too well that she had him cornered.

Zeref didn’t answer, he was far too caught up in an internal swirl of thoughts to formulate a reply. He’d barely had chance to fight back, and already she’d backed him into an inescapable corner! It was so frustrating! He’d never hated his injury before. It had been quite the inconvenience, yes, but it was what it was really. However, with Noriko bearing down, and little he could do but throw out spells in hope of slowing the inevitable, he was suddenly irritated by it.

Without the problem of a wheelchair’s reliance on even ground, Noriko wouldn’t have stood a chance. He’d survived receiving the injury, and recovered slightly beyond what the palace doctors had originally hoped for, but in the end… that irreparable damage to his spine was quite literally going to be the death of him.

Now she had him cornered, Noriko no longer seemed to have any urge to rush, and was instead content to let her target stew in fear for a while longer. He kept trying to fight back, as anyone would she supposed, even resorting to throwing a minor Amaterasu Formula her way. The feared Black Wizard had surely mastered such spells far beyond formula 23, but she supposed he lacked the time for something more spectacular. That said, trying to cancel out something like formula 100 was an extreme danger she was happy to pass on.

Zeref kept trying to still his racing thoughts, to gather enough mental capacity to try and strategise for a way out of the situation, but all he got was more jumbled emotions. The timing of this was beyond terrible! Just last week he’d received the report about Mavis, it was still sat on his desk even, folded up preciously beside a framed copy of the wedding photo. But now this woman was about to make the false nightmare they’d spun for Mavis into a real one… he wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow it. But Noriko was difficult to fight in his current state, and Zeref was pretty sure she’d done something to his senses.

Mavis wasn’t the only person at risk either. Both Natsu and Rahkeid’s existences entirely relied on the bodylink which tethered them to Zeref. By now he had a mostly-finished plan on how to fix that, but it couldn’t be enacted in the heat of the moment like this. Losing both of the emperor and one of the shields was sure to doom the empire. Right now they were barely keeping up with everything as a team of eight, so taking another two pairs of hands from the list would render the empire unable to function and pave the way for an unjust takeover by the council.

“I wouldn’t worry about your family” Noriko uttered as she picked up one of the fallen daggers from earlier and stalked maliciously towards him, “My personnel are under orders to eradicate anyone with a claim to your throne, so your son, Empress, and brother will all be joining you in death soon enough.”

Noriko now stood a mere pace away, with the arm holding the dagger tensed and ready to attack. Zeref sat there frozen with terror, and unsure how to protect himself when it was quite clear that the moment he moved to save himself would also be the time she struck. “You made quite the miscalculation thinking you could escape our jurisdiction, Black Wizard” Noriko spat as she glared him down.

A strange noise reverberated through the air, and a large metallic object came spinning towards Noriko and almost took her out. The dagger she’d held clattered uselessly to the floor just in front of Zeref’s feet as she jumped backwards to dodge. Despite the difficulty his injury created in reaching down so far, Zeref determinedly bent to pick it up to at least having something to use against her.

“Show yourself!” Noriko yelled unhappily, “No human can escape my sense disruption spells!”

A humanoid figure stepped through the mist of Noriko’s spell like it had never existed. The voice which spoke was angry and determined, “If anyone here made a miscalculation, that would be you.”

Zeref recognised the voice immediately, and even if he hadn’t, the contrasting dark body markings and pale white flames of his not-quite son’s etherious form spoke for itself. “Not all of His Majesty’s guards are, as you so put it, ‘human’.” Rahkeid said as he deliberately placed himself between Zeref and Noriko.

“I should have known”, the woman ground out, “that he’d try to defend himself with his disgusting creatures! …What a disgrace to magic, to hide a monster in a humanoid shape!”

Rahkeid could defeat her, probably, but it was a more even match of power than it would have been against a non-impeded Zeref. What Rahkeid provided wasn’t particularly the power for an easy victory, but a chance for Zeref to breathe, gather his thoughts, and put an end to the spells Noriko was using to force the tide of battle to her side. She was winning by cheating, by manipulating the situation in ways which put Zeref at the most disadvantage. So if he could stop that, so too would her success.

Too distracted by fending off an opponent she had never planned to fight, and couldn’t corner simply by breaking the paving, Noriko only noticed the barrier being dispelled when it was already too late to stop it.

Zeref’s nullification spell took hold, the barrier fell, and the courtyard came back into view. Within seconds, Noriko went from seemingly winning, to being surrounded and outnumbered. The rest of the Shields had all come running at Invel’s call of alarm when Noriko first raised the barrier, but with Irene still rounding up the last few of Noriko’s soldiers, there had been nothing they could do until Rahkeid realised he could step through it.

Noriko’s soldiers had shown themselves immediately after Zeref abandoned his Archive interface to interrogate Neinhart. But, the guards and shields had recognised the gaggles of people dressed in a slightly off variation on a council diplomat’s uniform as a threat and treated them accordingly. Rahkeid took Noriko’s momentary shock at being glared down upon by so many powerful and angry mages as a chance to close in and restrain her. Moments later, Ajeel sprinted closer and clamped on some seal-stone handcuffs. With her magic sealed, and thoroughly outnumbered, she no longer posed much of a threat.

Invel stepped forward with purpose, “Although a foreign citizen, Noriko Yamanut has attempted to assassinate His Majesty, and as such is subject to arrest by the Empire under section 22 of the International Criminality and Arrest legislation!” He paused to take a breath, then ordered Jacob and Ajeel to escort her to the dungeons, whilst Irene – who had arrived seconds too late to help - accompanied the now-unconscious Neinhart as well as the tied-up rebels and council soldiers to their own holding cells.

“To think all this was orchestrated by a former member of the Twelve, with the backing of the Multi-National Magic Council” Invel uttered with irritation as those remaining in the courtyard watched the steadily shrinking figures of the guards and prisoners. He was really quite angry about today’s events, irritated by how such brazen and treasonous behaviour was apparently deemed acceptable by some simply because of His Majesty’s identity as the feared ‘Black Wizard Zeref’.

Invel was also more concerned for His Majesty’s safety than he’d ever been before. The MNMC were out for his blood, and in his current state… it was far harder for His Majesty to protect himself. Immortality had not been the thing which had kept His Majesty safe in previous years, but now it was gone his enemies were clearly far too keen to capitalise on its absence.

Having suddenly recalled Noriko’s earlier, and unlikely to be empty, threat Zeref made an urgent request of Invel. “Tell Fiore we have intelligence suggesting there is an immediate threat to life for both Natsu and Mavis! Noriko said anyone with a claim to the Alvarez throne is on their hit list, we can’t let that happen!” The breathlessness and panic was quite obvious as he spoke, but the gravity with which those words were uttered told Invel that His Majesty was beyond certain the threat was real. It was a gamble, Fiore could definitely take something like that the wrong way. But what choice did he have, when lives were clearly on the line? Invel nodded in affirmation, unable to find an appropriate verbal acknowledgement, and walked away at speed to contact Fiore.

Two shadows loomed over Zeref, and he started with surprise at the sudden realisation that there were still people around. There probably ought to be, really, since it had just been proved how vulnerable he was these days.

Two anxious variations of ‘Father, are you alright?!’ were uttered, and without looking up to confirm it Zeref could be assured of exactly who owned the two looming shadows. He took a long, deep breath, and almost said yes before instead replying with a slightly breathless “Probably.”

Rahkeid knelt down to check him over for injuries, whilst August lightly tapped his long staff against the decayed paving to undo Noriko’s spell and return it to the smooth surface from before. They didn’t leave once those tasks were completed, and simply hovered close by in evident concern. After a long moment spent calming his racing thoughts and heartbeat, Zeref tiredly decided, “I think, I would like to go back to the imperial suite and lie down for a bit.”

The knowledge that this disturbance had in part been caused by ‘one of their own’ so to speak, shook everyone to some extent. But they’d learnt to exist without Neinhart during his extended absence, and in the end, they were far better off without a bloodthirsty man who would turn on his allies at the first sign of trouble.

Even disregarding Neinhart, Noriko Yamanut’s involvement had created a brand new kind of headache for the empire. Now, they had to work out not only what to do with her, but what to do about the MNMC in general. A council-sanctioned attempt to assassinate the head of state of another country couldn’t be let slide, but it was a question of how and where to deal with it. All that was certain, was that once this came to light… it was highly likely the MNMC would find itself without any takers for its ‘assistance’ in governing magic. No country would ever sanction shared rule with an organisation who saw it within their remit to kill off heads of state they didn’t like - infamous legend or otherwise.

The only positive from all this was that finally putting an end to the ‘assassination incident’, by arresting the ringleaders, seemed to have significantly boosted public confidence in their Emperor. Noriko’s role in it had been clearly publicised too, largely because it helped to tie the council’s hands. Now it wasn’t just a lack of support from Alvarez citizens, but distaste for a group who had brazenly tried to assassinate the country’s long-standing, and much beloved, Emperor.

Alvarez news outlets paraded the capture of Neinhart and Noriko with delight and patriotism. ‘Vile criminals who almost assassinated Emperor Spriggan arrested at last!’ read one headline, ‘Criminal gang who masterminded two assassination attempts finally caught!’ declared another, as the public celebrated the return to peace and order. Many had felt doubtful after the war, and even now there remained some understandable feelings of uncertainty. However, seeing that their Emperor had handled the assassination attempt, and ensuing hunt for the perpetrators, just as well as usual helped to restore the hope and confidence damaged by the war.

Their empire had fallen to its knees after the war, but it wasn’t beyond repair; and the people were at last beginning to see and believe that truth for themselves.

Chapter Text

On a different continent, Team Natsu had taken a middle difficulty job and were in the process of assessing a shoddy-looking, rune-inscribed shed which was thought to be related to a recent increase in the local monster population. They’d invited Mavis along too, thinking she’d appreciate the company and conversation, but given the obscure language of the runes on the shed she was proving an invaluable addition to the team.

They’d been quietly investigating the external walls for about fifteen minutes when several sets of footsteps were heard coming up the lonely track they’d taken to reach the shed.

If they had been ‘surprised’ when the owners of the footsteps turned out to be a group of Fiore soldiers, then the gravity of their shock when the soldiers opened their mouths was truly off the charts. Having cleared his throat, the man who appeared to be responsible for the group declared, “We have been ordered by Her Majesty Queen Hisui to issue immediate protection to one Natsu Dragneel, and one Mavis Vermillion, due to international intelligence suggesting an immediate threat to life.”

The group of mages did not immediately respond, and simply stared blankly at the soldiers. Getting accosted by royal soldiers concerned for their safety was an eventuality so unlikely Mavis wouldn’t have even bothered counting it.

Gray pulled a confused face, and questioned disbelievingly, “What in earthland did you guys do to need to be protected by the kingdom?!”

Natsu shrugged, “Don’t look at me. I’ve got no more idea than you do, Snowflake.” Unlike the rest of the group, he had been sniffing around the path the entire time instead of looking at the shed. Partially because he couldn’t read the runes, but mostly because something about the scent there ‘bothered him’. For once, and presumably only because he was distracted by the sheer weirdness of the situation, Gray didn’t even respond to the insulting nickname Natsu appended onto his answer.

After a moment the soldier from before spoke again, “We have also been ordered not to mention this in any written communication, or discuss it openly via communication Lacrima. The same request will apply to yourselves due to concerns around spying and communication integrity.”

Five minutes passed in awkward peace as the group kept inspecting the peculiar inscriptions whilst feeling deeply uncomfortable about having several soldiers following them. Especially when it was impossible to tell if they were genuinely from the kingdom. They seemed friendly enough though so the team had silently agreed, to see what happened, before throwing suspicion at them.

At last, Mavis straightened out from the crouched position she’d been in to inspect the runes. “I think we’ll need to go inside. Everything on these outer walls is just nonsense, it will glow a bit since they’re runes but they don’t serve any functional purpose”, she explained. How odd though, who would bother to make an abandoned shed glow?

Mavis approached the shed door, grabbed the handle, and began to pull it open. A loud yell of “Get back!!” echoed through the area as Natsu moved at lightning speed to just barely pull Mavis away from the shed as it exploded.

Mavis watched the explosion with confusion, especially as the smoke cleared and the remnants of an explosion lacrima became visible in the rubble. If Natsu hadn’t acted when he did she’d have been seriously injured, or more likely not survived at all. How had she not noticed the explosion lacrima’s magical presence? With the shed now in ruins, Mavis noticed something she hadn’t before. A semi-transparent copy of ‘the shed’ still stood, and the nonsense runes she’d investigated were on it. She’d been duped, by an illusion.

But how was that possible, she thought to herself, as a master of illusion magic she was especially hard to fool with them. But she hadn’t even thought, hadn’t even noticed, that anything was amiss. The Fiore soldiers hurried over and worriedly asked if she was alright. After a moment to catch her breath Mavis assured them she was fine.

Then, a group of people clad in garb similar to the Rune Knights suddenly dropped onto the path up to the shed from a set of Territory portals. Within seconds the group of attackers aimed for Mavis, but Natsu stepped in front of her and incinerated their spells in an instant.

As weird as it all was, the kingdom’s soldiers seemed to have been acting on real intelligence, and although there was no proof per se… Mavis couldn’t help but feel like the exploding shed and the wave of attackers were somehow connected.

After that, things escalated quickly as the rest of the team recognised the threat to their friends and sprang into action. Within a couple of minutes all of the ‘Rune Knights’ were lying unconscious amidst charred grass, wreckage of Ice-Make spells, and a few fallen Heaven’s Wheel swords. With the threat extinguished, Erza wasted no time in tying them up and presenting the bundle of unconscious attackers to the stunned soldiers from the kingdom.

Lucy thought it made sense the soldiers sent to protect them were so stunned. They’d been asked to protect some wizards after all, and clearly had not been told that their enemy was not strong enough to pose the wizards in question any real threat.

“So, why were you guys sent here, again?” Natsu questioned confusedly as he realised that his team had been a better match for their magic-equipped attackers than the kingdom’s guards would ever have been.

“I am not privy to the details”, the leader admitted, “but a reputable international source contacted the kingdom regarding concerns about international criminal groups in possession of a banned sense-affecting substance. Following associated unrest in their own nation, they apparently caught wind of a hit-list.” Sense-affecting banned substance? Mavis supposed that might explain why neither she, nor anyone else, noticed anything amiss with the shed. But if so… how come Natsu had reacted? Was it because he was part etherious?

“As such, we were sent to protect you…”, the soldier paused, then admitted awkwardly, “Although it seems we were hardly required.” After some further acknowledgements, and firm reassurance from the rest of the team that they would ensure both Natsu and Mavis stayed safe, the soldiers left to take the attackers away for questioning.

Once they were gone, Lucy turned to Natsu and Mavis, “If either of you have any idea what that was about, now would be a great time to tell the rest of us.” She didn’t really expect that they did, but seeing as Mavis had waited months after it became relevant to tell them she was married to Zeref… Lucy thought it was worth being doubly sure she had all the information this time. She doubted there would have been much she could have done differently, even if she’d known during the war how deeply Mavis had desired to save Zeref, but at least if she’d known from the start she could have been more supportive.

Unaware of Lucy’s deeper musings, Natsu just shrugged dramatically, “Why would some international-whoever-it-was be worried about our safety? I’m normally getting into trouble with those legal-government sorts of people, not being protected by them.”

As the rest of the team exchanged confused and uninformed mumbles, Mavis’ thoughts were racing a mile a minute. For a moment her mind had jumped to one particular conclusion, to the only international party who would ever have had interest in ensuring her and Natsu’s safety. For those few precious seconds, she’d had thoughts of a handsome dark-haired man dressed in archaic robes. His care, his smile, his lovely deep voice. Then she firmly squashed them down, dead men couldn’t send intelligence warnings.

“I suppose it could have come via Alvarez”, she decided to admit, “…Zeref did have me listed as next of kin, and I suppose I would technically have been next in line for the throne. They must have decided against acting on that though, since no one has asked.” Mavis wasn’t sure what she’d have made of it even if someone had offered her the position. Part of her thought that ensuring the survival of the more positive part of Zeref’s legacy would have been helpful, whilst the other felt certain it would only cause more heartache. She certainly didn’t think she’d have been able to bring herself to sleep in what would have been their room. Without Zeref, that large double bed would only have served as a reminder of her painful solitude.

With no further information available to them, and it having become clear that the job request had been a fake issued precisely to lure them there, the team headed back to the guild. However, despite the ease with which they had repelled the attackers, there was an undeniable air of unease throughout the journey and neither Natsu nor Mavis strayed far from the rest of the group.

Chapter Text

Being cornered by Noriko with such ease, had set off a sort of paranoia. Despite his original intention to ‘lie down’, Zeref had spent the first forty minutes setting up an array of complicated defensive enchantments. Only once those were completed, and checked for inaccuracies significantly more times than necessary, did he finally retreat to his room.

The feeling of constant danger haunted him mercilessly. Self-defence in the moment of an attack was impossible, the incident earlier had made that point very clear. Which meant that casting defensive enchantments in advance was the only meaningful thing he could do to… at least feel like something had been done. A defensive enchantment would only be any good if the opponent wasn’t skilled enough to untangle it, and the MNMC was almost certain to have at least someone capable of that, but something was better than nothing.

August and Rahkeid had offered to stick around for protection and companionship, but Zeref hadn’t been very receptive to that idea as he really wanted some peace and quiet. He knew they meant well, but right then, with emotions swirling around his thoughts like a looming storm, talking to anyone – family or otherwise – felt like an enormous ask far beyond his abilities.

He knew they hadn’t left, as their magical presence remained in the air, and Zeref suspected they would loiter in other rooms of the imperial suite unless he expended further effort kicking them out. Their concern, and desire to stick close, were entirely reasonable so, for now, having a closed door as separation was good enough.

He felt a little guilty for keeping them both away at a time like this, but he needed space, and being in the same room as two worried adult children was not going to give him that. Locking himself in his room made Zeref feel that tiny bit safer, even if the practical difference was… negligible at best. It also gave him a rare freedom to not keep it together anymore. With the door shut, he momentarily ceased being a parent, Emperor, and feared ‘Black Wizard’ and could just be Zeref Dragneel… who couldn’t cope.

Away from the concerns and worried gazes of other people, he could finally curl in on himself without judgement. Zeref was well aware that no one in the Twelve would take issue with his struggles, by now they were too close as a team for that sort of thing. However, he didn’t want the other things which tended to happen when humans saw another in distress - namely, touch.

Being touched by other people was… questionable, at the best of times. It had been suggested numerous times since the war that Zeref’s frequent recoils whenever someone touched him were a result of his centuries as a cursed immortal. This was true… to an extent. However, Zeref would personally argue that it was more longstanding than that. He’d never liked it, not really anyway. It was alright if he knew it was coming and could anticipate it, or if he started it. But even as a child, the random unannounced hugs and shoulder touches which seemed to be how human society liked to connect… always set him on edge.

That, primarily, was why Zeref very rarely went to other people for comfort. Sometimes, he just wanted someone to sit with him, not really to do anything, but just to be present as company.

Mavis had been good at that. Either sitting in silence whilst respecting his personal space, or filling the moment with utterances about something which didn’t really matter but helpfully distracted from Zeref’s internal distress. Her hugs were sometimes alright too, as she seemed to understand that being pushed away did not mean ‘rejection’ but simply ‘it’s not helping’.

This was another of those moments where he so dearly wished she wasn’t so impossibly far away, with communication banned on diplomatic grounds. Just to be held for a moment, and told – false as it probably was – that things would ‘be alright’. Zeref belatedly realised, only after he’d been crying for a while, that this line of thought wasn’t helping. All he’d done was replace thoughts of one distressing non-solvable problem – Noriko’s attack – with the pain of another – Mavis’ absence.

Shakily, he looked up for the first time in several minutes and attempted to find something to focus on.

His bedroom was quite dark, with wood panelled walls and a large stone fireplace opposite the end of the bed. It wasn’t lit, he realised, but that was easily rectified with a small flick of magic. The flames which sprang up along the logs in the fire brought a warmth of air and atmosphere, as well as light, back into the dark space. It didn’t bring any emotional warmth, sadly, but the patterns of the dancing flames and the irregular shadows they cast around the room were at least a distraction,

Rather than go further into the room, Zeref hesitated by the curtains of the window near the door, and he momentarily considered whether to draw them. Having them open wasn’t letting in much light at present, as in the hour or so since he left the courtyard it had started to rain quite hard. It had always been forecast to be a miserable afternoon, which was one reason Irene had done her city trip so early in the morning, but Zeref had never expected the stark contrast in the weather to be so in tune with the turn of events.

Eventually he decided against it, and held one wheel still whilst pushing on the other to turn himself away from the window. He couldn’t hide with closed curtains forever, and the protection it offered was small anyway when the imperial suite was already multiple floors up.

With his back to the window, Zeref silently wheeled across to the bed so he could finally accomplish the ‘lying down’ he’d planned to do well over an hour ago. He’d thought retreating into bed would help, and assumed that the comforting weight of the heavy covers might help to control the chaos of his thoughts… but it didn’t.

The emotional storm raged on, unheeding of his attempts to put an end to it. Theoretically, he was much safer now Noriko and Neinhart were in empire custody… but he felt the exact opposite. The sudden awareness of a vulnerability he could never fix left him feeling anxious and exposed, waiting in terror for the next time someone decided to strike.

They’d all thought they’d got the better of the rebels after the attack, convinced themselves that things would be ok, and they just needed to catch a few more people. Then Noriko struck, at a weakness almost no one had ever stopped to consider.

Until now, Invel’s myriad of plans to ensure Zeref’s safety all relied on one now-glaringly false assumption – that he would never be left defending his safety by himself. Invel’s strategies were all incredibly effective in themselves, but as soon as a mage capable of creating a barrier was involved… those contingencies all came to nothing.

Lying beneath the covers and staring aimlessly at the intricate wooden carvings of the bed canopy was of no help whatsoever in controlling the catastrophic direction of his thoughts. With nothing else to do, and in desperate need of something to ground him, Zeref began to take some actual notice of the patterns above his head.

The carvings were a very traditional affair on the insistence of a past Chief of Staff who had overseen the creation of the bed. At the time, now over a hundred-and-fifty years ago, Zeref had been forced to try very hard not to laugh at the man’s suggestions. Back then, the idea that someone wanted to have traditional symbols of ‘love’ and ‘fertility’ carved on the bed of a death-emitting immortal who could grow close to no one had seemed… more than a little ridiculous.

In hindsight, had she been given more than a handful of minutes to appreciate the space, Mavis would probably have loved the symbolism. She was like that, ever-fascinated by the pointless symbols and traditions which Zeref was forever rolling his eyes at the stupidity of. She somehow made them bearable in conversation too, and he didn’t doubt that Mavis’ ramblings about the positive meanings of the fruits and leaves carved above his head would have been far more entertaining than the explanation from that former Chief of Staff.

The decorative choice was rather ironic in the end, as all those years later it had been the place where the life later known as ‘August’ first came into being. Mavis would probably love the irony of that too, Zeref realised, and he decided he’d have to make sure to tell her someday just to enjoy her reaction. Assuming, of course, that she didn’t take one look at the carvings and work it all out by herself… but even then, Mavis would be almost certain to tell him about it.

By now, having reminded himself once more of the various ironies it had, the ceiling of the bed ceased to provide any meaningful mental stimulation. He couldn’t sleep, despite desperately wishing to turn his mind off for a while and try to forget that Noriko’s attack ever happened. Lying awake with nothing to do only made Zeref feel even worse, as being directionless left him too much idle time to get sucked back into the fearful spiral from earlier.

The heavy maroon bed curtains hadn’t been drawn, which in turn enabled him to look out across the room in search of something to think about. Zeref had very rarely bothered to draw them, even when he could walk to do so easily. At first because it was a largely pointless action, but in more recent years on account of his strongest memory of doing so relating to the disastrous night he ‘lost’ Mavis. She had seemed very excited about the idea of a curtained bed, and when she’d enthusiastically asked him to close them and rely on the little light lacrima strung just beneath the bed-ceiling… well… how could he have refused?

His line of sight, between the tall bedposts and associated curtains, was filled by the steadily burning fireplace and the two armchairs just to the left of it. Although not created at the same time, the chairs had been upholstered in a patterned fabric which was a good match with the colour of the bed curtains.

The chair nearest to the fire was well used, with the once-bright pattern of the fabric visibly worn away in places from years of service. On the seat, sat a large padded cushion embroidered with the swirling letters of the imperial cypher. The first such cushion had worn out some years ago and been replaced, with its replacement now also beginning to age.

The second chair sat untouched, but for occasional dusting when Zeref had been away and palace staff were allowed in to clean. Its cushion – which bore a slightly different cypher - was pristine as the chair had been made so Mavis would have had somewhere to sit… and without her around, it served no function. Her still-wrapped wedding gift remained occupying the chair, as in all the years he’d believed her deceased he’d never quite been able to bring himself to move it.

By now, with their reunion, and her return to Vistarion, hopefully inevitable in the longer term… Zeref had decided it might as well stay put until she could finally open it.

Restless and frustrated, he gave up on lying down and transferred back to his wheelchair. He didn’t have the energy to bother re-dressing into something publicly presentable, and had no plans to see anyone anyway, so simply tied his previously discarded toga back into place over the night robe he’d put on in hope of sleeping. The weight of the toga was a necessary comfort, and unless trying to sleep, Zeref would rarely allow himself to be without it.

Once mobile again, Zeref approached his chair by the fire and slowly ran one hand across the fabric. He hadn’t sat in it since his injury, having deemed it an annoying hassle, and a waste of energy, to ‘faff about’ moving himself from one chair to another. The wheelchair had significant practical advantages over a stationary one, and it wasn’t uncomfortable either having been fitted with proper padding due to the sheer number of hours for which it was used.

The urge to indulge in the familiarity of a normal chair had been easy to ignore until now, but this morning’s events had left Zeref unsettled and frustrated. He wanted back some semblance of normalcy, and with most of the other ‘normal’ things he was desperate to see reinstated impossible to attain… this was the easiest option.

The main reason he’d often avoided using ordinary chairs since being injured was because it was difficult. Although far stronger now than the day he awoke in the hospital, his leg muscles remained weak and hard to control.

Once the palace doctors had realised that their Emperor’s spinal cord injury was an ‘incomplete’ one – meaning that some motor and sensory function remained below the site of the damage – they’d keenly tried to get him back on his feet. However, the effects from the injury were far more pronounced down one side, as was apparently common, and even whilst being partially held up by another person the concept of ‘balance’ had been non-existent.

His right leg moved relatively easily, and months of physiotherapy had helped to fix most of the initial muscle wasting from the coma. However his left leg was classified as having ‘paresis’ – a sort of partial impairment halfway between weakness and paralysis - and trying to move it against gravity was problematic. This meant that even taking a momentary step to move to another chair was impossible, and Zeref instead had to position his wheelchair at a very specific angle in order to move his right leg first and sort of drag the left one along afterwards.

The act of moving across was as difficult as he’d expected, but the chair by the fire was comfortable and Zeref gladly allowed himself to sink into it a little.

He didn’t hate the wheelchair. It was satisfactorily comfortable, and even felt a bit special after Ajeel took it upon himself to sneakily attach black spoke covers emblazoned with a dark purple Alvarez crest. Invel had nearly exploded with indignation at Ajeel ‘acting out’ like that, and the confrontation between the two shields had been a bit comical. At least until Invel nearly lost his temper and Zeref had been forced to intervene. Ajeel’s efforts were a nice gesture, even if it had left Zeref wondering how he could have known that was the colour of his mark.

Except… after today… he hated what the wheelchair represented. Until now, Zeref had never been all that upset about suddenly becoming disabled. If one were to talk in terms of something being ‘disabling’, then being cursed had been far more disabling to his life than a mere inability to walk.

Indeed his biggest injury-related concern in recent weeks had been a few fearful thoughts about Mavis perhaps… not wanting a man who could not walk. Her evident grieving proved she hadn’t moved on, but it did not prove anything about how she’d react to the effects of his injury.

But Noriko’s attack had changed everything, and it had left him fearful of what the injury meant for the rest of his life in a far more catastrophic way. He had no way to defend himself now, whilst stuck reliant on a wheeled device easily obstructed by something as simple as an uneven surface. All any opponent had to do now was break the paving, or lure him onto a surface littered with potholes, and wait for him to get stuck.

But there was no way to fix it either, walking would never again be an option, and the impossibility of finding a solution scared Zeref beyond words.

From teleporting between floors instead of using the stairs, to lifting books off high shelves with wafts of magic, most other injury-related problems Zeref could solve easily. Magic could solve almost all of his everyday practical struggles, so being left defenceless against an attack was the first time Zeref had truly understood the depth of the impairment he now lived with.

His injury was, in many senses, quite ‘mild’. His muscle function grades on the right were a very respectable ‘3-D’ indicating that, despite some impairment, a full range of movement against gravity was possible. Although at ‘2-C’ the left was significantly worse, overall he retained quite a lot of lower body function for someone with a spinal cord injury. Although he knew he should be grateful for that alone, Zeref was determined to find a way to prevent a repeat of his helplessness earlier. He would never be able to truly rest, or feel safe, even in his own rooms, until he had done so.

The next day dawned with a misty spring atmosphere, and brought with it a rescheduled physio appointment. It was supposed to have happened yesterday afternoon, but Invel had quite rightly postponed it due to the fact that Zeref had ‘not been in the right mindset’. The care shown towards him by all of his elite guards meant a great deal to Zeref, as so often in recent months they’d stepped into the gap to solve problems before he’d even thought of them.

Indeed when Zeref very belatedly recalled the missed appointment late yesterday evening, Invel had reassured him that it was already sorted and he needn’t worry.

The exercises were not the most entertaining of things, and they often hurt too, but by now Zeref could recognise that the improvements to his strength and movement far outweighed those frustrations.

The physio made his usual enquiries about general strength and movement, then onto Zeref’s progress with the last set of exercises. “I assume movement on the left side has not improved further?” the physio enquired as he let go after a routine check of movement range with gravity eliminated.

“Not obviously” Zeref replied with a shrug, “If there’s been any change it was too minor for me to notice.”

Now he had been in ‘recovery’ for around six months, it was becoming clearer what the permanent outcomes of his injury were likely to be… and this looked likely to be one of them. The physio sighed, “I suspect this might be the glass ceiling then. If you were going to regain further function I would have expected to see evidence of improvement by now.”

There was always going to be a glass ceiling, that was how SCI’s worked. Severed nerves in the spine could not be fixed by anything, with even the most advanced healing magic unable to right such catastrophic damage to something so fundamental. It wasn’t a bad outcome, far from it, but the prognosis drove home a point Zeref had feared greatly since yesterday’s incident – being stuck in this vulnerable state forever.

“You don’t seem happy with that prognosis” the physio remarked, having unfortunately learnt to read Zeref’s emotions rather well over the many times they’d interacted.

“I assume you’ll have heard about what happened yesterday?”, he began with a heavy sigh. After a simple nod of acknowledgement, Zeref continued with what he’d decided to say. “Using this”, he made a gesture towards the wheelchair, “was nothing but a vulnerability yesterday. Anyone who wishes to hurt me, and by extension the empire, has an easy way to gain the upper hand as long as I’m stuck this way.” He wasn’t entirely sure what options there could possibly be to resolve the problem, but if anyone was going to know it would be the physio.

“In terms of a way to be less reliant on the wheelchair…” the physio replied thoughtfully as he flicked through the day’s notes. The treatment for each SCI patient was different, as the amount of function retained post-injury was as unique as the person. Many SCI patients had no choice but to rely on a wheelchair, but in cases like His Majesty’s where the loss of muscle function was in a very limited area there were - sometimes - other ways of getting them mobile.

Two days, and many difficult discussions later… Zeref found himself staring down at something he’d been trying to avoid for weeks. It was not the first time someone in the palace medical team suggested that fitting an orthosis would be beneficial. However, until the attack, Zeref had been content to decline - citing that the wheelchair was comfortable and minimally problematic.

The idea of having to wear what was essentially a mechanical splint, had not been one Zeref wished to entertain… but according to the physio it had a very high chance of, ultimately, returning some ability to walk. With the wheelchair now posing something of a problem from a safety perspective, Zeref had felt he had no choice but to try.

His enemies, such as those at the MNMC had surely seen the wheelchair and taken it as a sign of weakness to be exploited. He could not allow himself to put his empire in constant danger of attack like this. He had to be strong, and prove that even a severely injured ‘Black Wizard’ was not an opponent to take lightly.

The knee-ankle-foot orthosis – or KAFO as people kept calling it - looked ugly, was borderline uncomfortable, and required him to change clothing habits just so the thing could be strapped tightly around his left leg without too many ‘interfering fabric wrinkles’. It was no secret that Zeref hated modern clothing, and it was his long held opinion that whoever was responsible for the designs of fashion in this era clearly hadn’t cared about preserving any level of comfort for the wearer.

He had been relieved when it was confirmed that the long robes he favoured wearing wouldn’t get in the way of the mechanism, but the idea of being expected to wear shorts and a long grippy-tube-thing underneath the robe was an insult to both comfort and fashion. Yet… even so… he found himself persevering to put the stupid thing on in hope of progress on personal safety.

With the insulting disability aid now firmly attached to his person, and the physio hovering anxiously by one side to provide support as-needed, Zeref made an attempt to stand. It was shaky, and at first he feared overbalancing, but once both feet were firmly on the floor he managed to stabilise himself with minimal intervention by anyone else. With a mechanical support supplying the strength and range of movement against gravity, made impossible by the partially severed nerve connections to his left leg, it was once again possible to stand.

After six months sat down, suddenly seeing the world from his full height was rather strange. The orthosis was not an instant fix, however, and would require significant amounts of practise to use properly. That was why he wasn’t allowed to use it without supervision for at least the first week, to avoid – as Invel had so politely put it – ‘accidents caused by hasty and aspirational actions’.

“How was it?” August asked, gently, once his father sat down again after the first practice session and the pair made their way back to the cabinet room for an upcoming meeting.

In reply, Zeref cited how glad he was to return to his chair and rest. After so much disuse even a few minutes of standing, with one or two ‘steps’ where he’d been more supported by other people than done it himself, his legs hurt significantly. But, like when his hands had hurt from constant use against the wheelchair’s push-rims, it was something which would improve with time and practice.

Chapter Text

Warrod sat in his office at Fiore’s magic council, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the desk and watching as the leaves of a few nearby pot plants swayed slightly from the vibrations.

The oddly specific request he had heard was sent to the kingdom - ‘for Natsu and Mavis to be protected’ - was the first thing resembling tangible evidence that the story proclaimed by the ‘higher-ups’ was wrong. Especially when it appeared to have been MNMC personnel who had attacked them! The International Governance Board might well deny involvement and claim it was a ‘group acting out without our consent’, but it seemed unlikely that story would be any more truthful than their current one.

Warrod had been making good progress towards trying to get some more reputable information on the situation in Alvarez. However, following the attack on Natsu’s team by what looked like MNMC soldiers, even Fiore’s national branch of the council had been denied their previous stream of ‘highly classified intelligence files’, with the ‘higher-ups’ claiming something about ‘questionable propaganda’.

Warrod didn’t believe it for a minute, there was simply far too much which didn’t add up!

The circumstances of Zeref’s supposed ‘death’ were suspicious to say the least, and whilst Mavis couldn’t bring herself to accept the hope of those inexplicable circumstances, Warrod was almost entirely removed from the emotion of the situation and could see it all very clearly. In short, the only indication that Zeref Dragneel had ‘died’ was his surprise disappearance and subsequent lack of contact with Mavis. Warrod couldn’t say he knew Zeref very well, and certainly not enough to make a firm judgement on his character, but Mavis’ accounts of their history certainly suggested that if he was still alive there had to be a reason he’d gone silent.

Given the MNMC’s chokehold on current affairs reporting, Warrod could well imagine that Zeref’s attempts at personal contact either got caught up in the mess or weren’t even sent, knowing they’d never reach Mavis, and just fuel the bureaucrats’ anger instead.

These were all plausible theories, and some of them likely truer than the ‘news’ of a ‘long and complicated succession process’ that the MNMC was so quick to cite over the lack of information.

By now, the war had been over for a little more than six months. It was extremely unlikely that Alvarez would still be ‘without a leader’ even if Zeref had died. No country could function without a head of state for long, and even if their succession process was a lengthy one… an interim leader would surely have been selected. The fact that the MNMC could not name an interim leader, despite Warrod having requested the contact twice on account of ‘urgent legislation requiring approval at the highest level’, was another cause of suspicion.

The MNMC had to know who was in charge. They were the only Ishgar organisation allowed to have any staff within Alvarez territory. They’d banned everyone else from going on account of ‘security concerns’ and ‘to avoid endangering more people than necessary’. The ‘higher ups’ knew exactly what was going on, Warrod was sure of it, they just didn’t want to share the information… and the only reason they’d have to do that was if the ‘interim leader’ was someone they didn’t like.

Based on the, albeit limited, information Fiore’s council now had on the ‘Twelve Shields of Spriggan’ – from whom a new leader was most likely to be selected - there was no obvious vendetta for the council against any of the members. Speaking of succession, it was quite possible the MNMC attacked Mavis and Natsu over worries they had a claim to Zeref’s ‘empty throne’. Therefore Alvarez’s reasons for warning Fiore could simply have been out of courtesy to the extended imperial family. However, if Zeref lived it was far more likely he’d been personally worried and urged his subordinates to warn Fiore out of concern for his family’s safety.

Warrod folded his arms unhappily, this problem was rapidly becoming quite the headache. He was prevented from sending anyone to Alvarez whether council staff, guild mages, government officials, or even Fiore news reporters. Warrod had tried politely nudging Sorcerer Weekly to do a special on Alakitashian magic some months back, and Jason had practically jumped at the chance by sending back a lengthy letter which used the word ‘cool’ to excess and beyond, but the popular magazine had found their travel permits were denied at the last second just as had happened to Warrod’s staff before them.

All in all, it looked near impossible to get any sort of sense without dragging someone from the empire’s upper governance into Fiore and having a personal conversation with them. That, he hoped, was where Lucy Heartfilia’s apparent friendship with a certain Alvarez diplomat by the name of Brandish μ would come in handy.

Warrod had been poring over a letter to Lucy for some time as he considered how to delicately word a request for her to come and meet him urgently, without letting anything slip that might be problematic - if the MNMC was intercepting post as well as news.

To say Lucy was surprised when a note from Warrod landed on her doorstep on one unassuming Monday afternoon would have been an understatement.

Natsu was round at her flat, with permission for once, even if he had still entered via the window. They were sat talking as they tried to pin down a plan for a couple of days away from Magnolia. They’d originally been going to sort the plan out around the time they were attacked by the so-called ‘rebelling forces’ in council uniform. However between the drama itself and their team suffering with a fever-like illness afterwards… they’d felt it necessary to put those plans on hold for a while.

Now, though, with the suggestion from the kingdom being to ‘act as though its business as usual’ but never allow Natsu or Mavis to stray too far without company… Lucy had decided to finish the planning they’d started. If their attackers were either from the council, or clever enough to infiltrate them, the risk was just as high wherever they went so they might as well make the best of it.

The two of them were still adjusting to the new dynamics of their relationship, after the clumsy post-war conversation that turned ‘strong friendship’ into ‘dating’. In itself, this didn’t create any particular need to go on a trip. However, in the circumstances, getting away from Magnolia seemed important.

Both Natsu and Lucy were very conscious of the fact that their ‘finding happiness together’ was a painful thing for Mavis to witness, as it only reminded her of what she’d lost. So Lucy had suggested that if they wanted to go on some ‘proper dates’ – that didn’t just consistent of Natsu showing up at weird hours and climbing in through her window to drag her along on some monster hunt job – they should go away for a few days.

“Anything interesting?” Natsu asked as he glanced up at her briefly before returning his gaze to the map in his hands… which was upside down.

“Natsu, that’s upside down” Lucy pointed out.

The dragon slayer shrugged indifferently, “The letters look as jumbled to me whichever way I have it” he grumbled, but turned it back the right way even so. Given how much Natsu struggled with written words sometimes, Lucy honestly wondered how he’d ever managed to get to the right place for things before he had either her or Happy to read maps and such for him.

Lucy turned the envelope in her hands, out of curiosity to see who had sent it. The most likely sender would be her many, many, times ‘great’ grandmother – Anna. Since she was now stuck in the ‘future’ having travelled through the Eclipse Gate, Anna had decided to settle down in a small village and teach at the school there. Lucy didn’t see her often, but they’d exchanged regular letters.

Anna got along well with Natsu too, partially on account of having taught him when he was little, but she was also an old friend of Zeref’s and Natsu had been as keen to quiz her about his late brother as he had Mavis. He’d just shown more… self-restraint towards the latter, unlike with Anna who had been deluged with questions at almost the first chance Natsu had got.

However, as Lucy looked at the envelope properly she noticed it was not Anna’s handwriting. Confused, Lucy flipped it over to look at the return address on the back. ‘Warrod Sequen, Fiore Magic Council Headquarters, Crocus, CF177’ read the return address. Lucy blinked to be sure she was not imagining things, then let out a yelp of surprise.

Natsu looked at her like she was weird, and she gave him a pointed look in return. “Warrod sent me a letter!” she declared indignantly, by way of explanation.

For a moment Natsu seemed confused, then he uttered “Oh! You mean the tree guy with the weird jokes?” Lucy nodded. She was about to say something else, when Natsu piped up, again “Hold on, why’s he writing to you all of a sudden?”

Lucy replied something to the effect of ‘how would I know?’ and opened the letter to read it. The first sheet of paper was blank on the outside, whilst the other side… had a very scribbly drawing of a potato and the words ‘only joking’. Lucy put it down on her coffee table and quickly moved on to the second sheet which did at least look like an actual letter. She was greatly relieved when she began to read down and confirmed that the second sheet was a genuine piece of communication. For a moment she’d been worried the joke-prone wizard had gone to the trouble of sending her an entire ‘letter’ just as a joke.

“Warrod wants me to go and see him”, Lucy spoke aloud after a while, “Apparently he thinks I might know someone who can help him ‘resolve a gardening crisis’.” The idea that Warrod, a master of plant magic and long-term gardener, needed help with gardening was… strange… to say the least. But despite his penchant for jokes, something in the letter’s phrasing felt like it mattered.

After an initial request for ‘resolving a gardening crisis’ the letter descended into absolute silliness which made Lucy’s thoughts spin. Warrod had filled the remainder of the page muttering about different types of flowers and whether ‘the white flowers were wilting because the black flowers had died’ or whether it was a case of ‘mere coincidence’. In the end, Lucy decided not to try and interpret that part of the letter. Warrod would either – hopefully - explain it in person, or she would assume it didn’t matter. For all she knew, there might just be some ancient joke about black and white flowers she was missing the point of.

Having heard Lucy’s explanation of Warrod’s request, Natsu made a suggestion, “I know this delays our plans, but I saw a job request that’s in that area on the board earlier. We could invite Mavis along too and visit Warrod on the way back. She certainly seemed a bit happier after she went to visit him last time.”

The route back to the guild from that job request, this time thankfully a real one, did indeed take their little group almost by the door of Fiore’s Magic Council so stopping by to see Warrod was barely a detour. Mavis had even looked genuinely happy for a while at the suggestion of visiting him.

“How lovely of you all to stop by!” Warrod greeted cheerfully as they met just inside the building, and he quickly led them away towards his office. The tree-like man stopped in a section of corridor occupied by two unassuming wooden doors spaced slightly apart. He cheerily spoke the words “Welcome to my office!”, and opened the nearest door.

Behind it was not an office, but a cupboard filled to the brim with cleaning supplies. After several seconds in awkward silence, Warrod closed the door. “Just kidding!” he chirped, and opened the other door. Behind which, was actually an office. Well, the office of a gardener anyway.

Every shelf, surface, windowsill and cupboard-top had been occupied by pot plants leaving only the desk free enough to use for anything. The office wasn’t a broom cupboard, despite Warrod’s earlier joke, but it was also far from large.

Warrod’s chair was a proper one, but the guest chairs were the fold-up sort, and were leant against the wall when not in use. If they were up all the time, the combination of pot plants and guest chairs would mean there was no safe route across the floor. Part of Mavis also suspected that, if left with permanent guest chairs, Warrod would have tried filling those with pot plants too just to see how people reacted to it.

The issue here was not that they weren’t very comfy, although that was also true, rather that they were a chair short. Warrod tut-tutted as he looked at the pair of now-unfolded chairs, “It seems Wolfheim has been stealing my chairs again. I keep telling him to stop hosting so many guests at once that he has to pilfer chairs from other departments.” Warrod made a slightly exaggerated groan and continued to utter exasperatedly, “Then they get marked down as belonging to his department, and I have to file a lengthy form to reclaim ownership...”

Mavis spun on her heel and reached for the door, “Don’t worry about it, Warrod! I’ll go ask at reception, I’m sure someone has a spare chair!” and with that, she sprinted from the room. For once, almost a picture of her previous enthusiastic personality.

Natsu eyed Warrod sceptically, as his dragon slayer senses had enabled him to get a better view of the dark over-filled cleaning cupboard’s contents than the rest of the group. “There was a folded chair in the cupboard” he insisted despite Mavis having already left.

Warrod indicated he was well aware of that, and sat down at his desk, “I’ll get straight to the point - Lucy, am I correct that you have some personal contact with the Alvarez diplomat Brandish μ?”

“Yes…” Lucy replied slowly, “Although I’m not sure what that has to do with anything you asked in your letter? Or why you needed Mavis to leave to ask the question?” Brandish wasn’t into gardening, that much Lucy did know, so how or why Warrod wanted her help with black and white flowers… It was then that the gears in Lucy’s mind began to turn. Brandish… Alvarez… Black and white… The black flower ‘died’ and the white one ‘withered’…

Warrod’s speech cut across Lucy’s musings, “The information I am about to share with you is confidential, and I expect you both to keep it that way.” He paused, then added gravely, “Do not tell anyone, other than perhaps Makarov I suppose, about this. The ‘higher-ups’ will start a riot if they hear this has got out.” Lucy and Natsu uttered acknowledgements, and both worried as to just how bad things were in Alvarez that it couldn’t be shared.

“Resolving this matter is a complicated job”, Warrod told them, “but even an old tree, such as I, possess only two hands.” He sighed, and made a dramatic hand gesture, “Alas it proves difficult to water both black and white flowers at the same time.”

As Warrod spoke those words, Lucy became ever more certain she was onto something. Warrod’s ‘nonsense’ surely hadn’t been nonsense at all if he was bothering to repeat it so clearly. She had a feeling he’d never been talking about flowers at all, but using the phrase as an allegory for Mavis’ situation… It had been a clever disguise, as without the context of the otherwise-absurd request for help from Brandish… Lucy would never have connected the two things.

Having spotted the look of realisation on Lucy’s face, Warrod uttered the mostly unlikely thing she had heard in quite some time. “I have reason to suspect that Zeref lives” he told them, in apparent seriousness, “and it is likely the Multi-National part of the council is attempting to cover that fact up.”

“Hold on!” Natsu yelled loudly, before realising this was supposed to be confidential and lowering his volume, “If you’re saying my brother is still alive… why’d you kick Mavis out? Y’know she’s like… attached to him and stuff.” Natsu explained vaguely, then turned to Lucy, “What’s the word again?”

“Married?” Lucy tried hopefully.

“No, not that. She’s… she’s… his something or other?”

“Empress? Other half? Wife?” Lucy continued to prompt despite feeling that all of those things were – in the circumstances – essentially the same meaning as her first suggestion.

“Wife! that’s it!” Natsu yelled, once again far louder than he should have. Having been given a look of complaint by both Lucy and Warrod he quietened before finishing his point. “Since she’s his wife, isn’t it weird you’re not telling her about it first?”

Warrod sighed heavily, “I have tried to imply something of the sort to Mavis several times already, but on each occasion she has quickly shut that idea down.” Even when the suggestion was subtle, Mavis picked up on it instantly. But she consistently refused to even think about it. It was hard for him to accept, but he also understood why Mavis was behaving the way she was. Mavis was trying to protect herself emotionally, by forcibly placing all thoughts of Zeref into ‘the past’ and hoping that would help her to move on.

Having attempted a variety of ways to encourage her to change her mind, and deemed none successful, Warrod concluded that nothing short of seeing Zeref ‘in the flesh’ would convince her to believe it. That was where Warrod’s request came in – he hoped Lucy might be able to meet Brandish in person, find out what was going on in the empire, and gather enough cooperation to stage a reunion.

“I can try” Lucy agreed. “But I can’t exactly promise you that Brandish will tell me anything. She’s extremely loyal to the empire. So if she sees my questions as a threat to their interests, her lips will be sealed-” The door behind them slammed open as Mavis attempted to haul another folding chair, which was only a little smaller than she was, inside.

“Found the chair!” Mavis declared slightly breathlessly. “It seems like one of the cleaners found it on the loose somewhere so put it back in the cupboard near your office thinking it was a spare.” With it finally inside the room, she unfolded it and gratefully sat down to catch her breath.

“In which case, I’ll definitely have a word with Wolfheim!” Warrod declared with apparent passion. “Not just about abducting my chairs, but also about leaving chairs around irresponsibly!” Warrod tut-tutted, along with continued complaints of potential injuries caused by people running into abandoned chairs, then swiftly moved the subject on to more casual topics.

Chapter Text

Brandish agreed to meet Lucy at a quiet park in a town a little outside Crocus. They’d exchanged various casual letters, whenever she’d been in Fiore since the war, but had never quite managed an in person conversation. Lucy’s sudden enthusiasm to meet up had surprised her, but Brandish had no reason to decline.

She was due to go back to the empire soon, as the current set of diplomatic talks were to conclude in a few days’ time, but the surprise chance to squeeze in a personal chat with one of her few friends was a pleasant one. To her credit, and despite the temptation not to do so for fear of it being vetoed, Brandish had made sure to okay the idea with Invel first. Luckily there were no objections from a diplomacy perspective, so she’d been able to agree to the idea without also having to dream up an excuse to give Invel later on.

It probably helped that the empire was slightly less restricted in who they could talk to now. On the surface little had changed, but Noriko’s attack had actually tipped the scales of power back into Alvarez’s hands. The MNMC’s façade of brilliance remained standing only until the point Alvarez decided to share their information about the council’s unsavoury actions and associated cover-up attempts. Both Jacob’s intelligence and Noriko’s attitude suggested that the council had not been at all prepared for her to lose, and as such they’d been forced to prioritise which channels to control whilst they regrouped in search of a way to slither out of responsibility.

If Brandish had anything to do with it, she’d be personally ensuring they couldn’t escape scot-free this time. Attempting to assassinate a head of state was a crime of the highest order, and the MNMC could not be allowed to get away with it. If they did, it would have implications, not just for the empire, but every nation in earthland… and could ultimately pave the way for the MNMC to setup a dictatorship. Alvarez, though ruled by an emperor, prided itself on being a fair and just nation. As a citizen of an empire with such an ethos, Brandish could not simply sit idly by whilst corrupt MNMC bureaucrats ran riot.

Lucy was already there when Brandish arrived, having had to travel further and probably been caught by awkward train timings which got her there too early. The two women greeted each other warmly, and quickly settled into a comfortable and friendly chat. Though they hadn’t spoken in person since Brandish (without telling Invel) stopped by at the guild some months back to suggest Lucy wrote to her ‘care of’ the Alvarez Embassy in Crocus, the many letters they’d exchanged made it easy to strike up conversation.

They spent half an afternoon casually chatting and enjoying the scenery as a near-normal pair of friends. It was nice to be able to talk about their lives, and laugh at a few of the sillier stories.

Eventually, though, Lucy decided it was time to ask Warrod’s question. Unsure how to approach the topic, she decided to start by checking if Brandish actually knew who Warrod was. “You might know Warrod Sequen? From Fiore’s Magic Council?” Lucy prompted hopefully.

“The name is familiar, although I have not personally met him.” She’d been supposed to, multiple times actually, but someone from the MNMC always seemed to find some last-minute paperwork which kept her occupied and forced Brandish to send a lower level diplomat instead. She did know of his exploits though, as apparently he’d had quite a hand in sorting out the groundwork that would enable wizards to travel fairly freely between the continents again.

“Well…” Lucy started with obvious awkwardness. She took a deep breath, and said what needed to be said before her courage faltered, “He thinks the Multi-National council is keeping what’s really going on in Alvarez from everyone in Ishgar. Is that true?” If the startled look on Brandish’s face was anything to go by, Lucy had a feeling Warrod had hit the nail on the head.

“I must say, I’m surprised he could think to deduce such a thing when all information on it is highly classified.” Brandish replied in a deliberately vague manner, and visibly looked around as if concerned for eavesdroppers.

Officially, she shouldn’t say anything. Invel had made it crystal clear that Brandish was not to let anything slip despite her friendship with Lucy. They all wanted their Emperor and Empress reunited, but they couldn’t afford to do anything the MNMC could use against them. Like sharing ‘classified’ information with Fiore citizens – even if it was public knowledge in Alakitashia. But, even so, Brandish couldn’t help but feel that getting Fairy Tail’s backing would ultimately be vital to ever achieving a reunion…

Unsure what to ask, but desperate to know more, Lucy began to ramble, “What don’t we know? What pieces of the puzzle are we missing? Warrod is sure something-” Brandish suddenly rose to her feet from the bench they’d been resting on and placed one hand over Lucy’s mouth. “Not here” she hissed, and aimed magic at a bush a little distance away.

“Command T: reduction!”, Brandish declared, and immediately stalked over to the bush. Moments later, she plucked out a now-shrunken man in MNMC diplomat garb. “Following other diplomats in their personal affairs for the purposes of spying is illegal under international diplomacy codes” she informed him harshly. The shrunken man, currently the size of a tiny doll, and being held aloft by his cape, shivered in fear. Uncaring for her stalker’s terror, Brandish continued uncompromisingly, “Not to mention that your organisation cannot be unaware of the significant accusations of foul play that Alvarez has against them.”

‘Accusations of foul play’? Lucy thought confusedly, but was unable to dwell on it further before Brandish impatiently gestured for her to follow. An irritated Brandish, with a deeply confused Lucy in tow, escorted the captured spy to the nearest Fiore-controlled Rune Knight station so Brandish could hand the spy in and make an official complaint… which would be escalated up to the MNMC. She had no expectations of them doing anything useful with her complaint, and no doubt Invel would soon find a response on his desk claiming it was ‘a rogue man acting out of line’ and ‘we will endeavour to prevent this recurring in future’, but it would not hurt them to know that they couldn’t sneak spies around on Alvarez’s watch.

As the two women stepped out into the fresh air again once all the forms were filled in, Brandish spoke up, “We should find somewhere with assured privacy to speak. Invel is unlikely to sanction my sharing this with you, but by his own admission his efforts have been fruitless so far.” Invel was trying his best to find a way to reunite the imperial family, but Invel had no sway in Fiore outside of trade discussions and kingdom diplomats… who equally had no sway with the people who most needed to get behind any such plan – Fairy Tail.

Brandish sighed heavily, she couldn’t say too much in public, and shouldn’t really say anything at all, but Lucy needed to understand that she wasn’t being difficult. Eventually, she settled on the words, “I’m hoping your guild might be able to provide a solution to something we all need fixed.”

That was how – later that week – Lucy greeted Brandish at the guildhall. After some brief greetings, including from a few other members of the guild who had by now deemed Brandish a sort of adopted member by association to Lucy, the pair made their way out the back towards the Master’s office.

The door was still shut when they got there, suggesting that a prior discussion was still in progress, so they decided to wait nearby and continue their conversation whilst they waited.

“You learnt some Celestial Spirit magic?! That’s wonderful!” Lucy exclaimed after Brandish showed her a couple of silver keys she now carried around with her.

Brandish merely shrugged, “It was my mother’s magic… and after the closure I got during the war… I suppose I felt it was right to follow in her footsteps a little bit.” It was quickly discovered that they both possessed Nikora keys, with Brandish having found the little creature adorable just as Lucy had with Plue all those months ago. Brandish’s Nikora was a light purple, and had been named Lilac as a result.

“Ah, I suppose it’s easy to forget that in other countries plant and flower names are used for people and things” Lucy commented as she petted the little creature, “I’m so used to thinking of Lilac as a little seaside town in northern Fiore that I’d never considered it as a name.”

Without warning the door to Makarov’s office opened, in turn revealing one Warrod Sequen. It was only as he fixed his gaze on Lilac, that Lucy remembered what she’d forgotten to warn Brandish about – Warrod’s jokes.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Brandish! Although I must say…” Warrod stooped slightly to get a closer look at Lilac, “I was expecting to receive someone of a more… humanoid appearance.”

“What?” Brandish replied, confused.

Lucy groaned, “Warrod, I know this is asking a lot, but could you please try to be serious?” The last thing Lucy wanted was for Brandish’s patience to get worn out by Warrod’s jokes.

Warrod suddenly straightened his posture and looked up at Brandish, instead of at the Nikora in her arms, “Ah, I almost didn’t see you there! My apologies, but the celestial being you are carrying is rather cute and I may have become distracted.” Now that Warrod had spoken again, Brandish drew a conclusion – he was a bit too much like Irene… and she sincerely hoped the pair of them never met. The mere thought of the chaos they might get up to together was… more than a little concerning, and Brandish thought Invel might well collapse from the stress of it all.

With his customary joke of a greeting completed, Warrod ushered them inside Master Makarov’s office. The room had apparently been sealed, to prevent any noise escaping, by some silencing enchantments courtesy of Levy.

This meeting was to take place whilst Natsu and Happy invited Mavis along on a monster hunt job to keep her out of the way. Lucy had questioned whether a job of that type was really the right thing to persuade Mavis to leave, but Natsu had insisted and she’d decided to leave him to it.

It was vital Mavis left though, especially since she had an unfortunate habit of randomly bursting into Makarov’s office to ‘check on him’. Probably as a sort of overcompensation for being unable to truly act like the godmother she was in previous years.

At first, Makarov had found it rather comical watching a woman who looked about thirteen stride in to check on a man in a wheelchair who was visibly aged. However, when the loud bang of the flung-open door became a regular occurrence… he had to admit her joyful routine of saying hello became a little wearing.

As the meeting commenced the three Fairy Tail mages explained what they knew about the situation, little as it was, then waited for Brandish to fill in the missing pieces.

“You are correct that His Majesty is alive and…” Brandish hesitated at the expected word ‘well’ but managed to find a substitute before the pause became suspiciously long, “…he’s recovering steadily from some injuries. You are also correct that the Multi-National Magic Council is behind the massive cover-up. However I cannot tell you more than that whilst the empire works out what to do about it.”

Lucy leant back in her chair sadly, and unsure what to do with this information. “So all this time poor Mavis has been grieving for no reason…” She’d been suffering all these months, when in reality she could have travelled back to the empire on day one and been reunited with the love of her life months ago.

Makarov spoke up next. He too was saddened by what could have been, but decided to focus on the practicalities of what could be done now to rectify things quickly. “I understand you are due to return to the empire soon? Could you perhaps… take her back with you?” he suggested hopefully. Convincing Mavis to go was likely to be difficult, but they all knew it would be worth it in the end. As a Guildmaster, with responsibility for the wellbeing of all members, it was hard to decide to trust sending her out there. But, given recent evidence of Alvarez’s actions and the intelligence report specifically to guard her and Natsu’s safety… Makarov had no reason but prejudice not to trust the empire either.

“I wish I could” Brandish immediately replied, “But given how unstable things are between us and the Multi-National council… I’m concerned it would jeopardise things further.” False headlines, pedalled by the MNMC, of ‘Fairy Tail mage kidnapped by Alvarez diplomat’ or ‘Alvarez’s claims of ‘fundamental change’ nothing but lies in light of recent kidnapping’ accompanied by greyed out pictures of a saddened Mavis and outlandish stories of dungeons and torture chambers were likely to follow any such attempt.

“Besides”, Brandish admitted with a sigh, “I don’t actually have permission to tell you any of this.” She just couldn’t stand the status quo, and had felt that something needed to be done.

Warrod hummed thoughtfully. Never would he have imagined having so much use for the political powers thrust upon him by the unfortunate end of the Fiorean council’s previous administration.

Having thought some things through, and considered that the chances of success were at least reasonable – oddly enough thanks to the information blockade - he made a suggestion, “What if he comes here?”

Brandish pulled a face to the effect of ‘don’t be ridiculous’, but Warrod was not deterred. “I know Hisui is keen to make a ‘big deal’ of moving into good relations with the empire”, he began to explain, “… so a few strings might be able to be pulled this end to encourage those plans to include… perhaps… inviting the Emperor for a visit?”

It would be hard to sneak such a plan into the empire’s hands without Invel suspecting something being amiss, but Brandish certainly thought it was worth a try.

On a road in the Fiore countryside, Natsu, Happy, and Mavis were en-route to a job. The former pair were chatting animatedly about fishing, whilst Mavis semi-trudged along a few paces behind.

She really hadn’t wanted to come, hunting monsters wasn’t something her skills lent themselves to. But seeing someone from Alvarez was worse, especially as there was no telling whether Brandish knew and would have approached her for conversation. So, here she was, trudging along this quiet road, tuning out Natsu and Happy’s conversation, and trying not to think about Zeref.

She hadn’t even been thinking about him today, at least until Brandish arrived. She’d been quite happily distracted looking up care information for an obscure pot-plant Warrod had given her on that visit to his office. Because, despite what he’d said, ‘leave it in the sun and it will grow ‘by itself’ when the conditions are perfect’ seemed like an unwise plan. It had been rather difficult to establish what it actually was, not helped at all by Warrod having given her the peculiar plant’s name in an obscurer still ancient language. She was around 92% certain the language in question was Ancient Encanian, which she had some cursory familiarity with on account of…!

Excited by her sudden eureka moment, Mavis sped up her pace to close the distance to Natsu and yelled his name loudly in hope he’d take notice.

“Uh…? Is… something wrong?” uttered the confused dragon slayer as he beheld Mavis’ sudden change in demeanour from unhappy trudging to apparent excitement.

“You understand Ancient Encanian, yes?” Mavis enquired as she bounced on her feet as if about to burst with enthusiasm. The plant’s name had been a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve all this time, and somehow it had bypassed her notice that the potential solution really wasn’t very far away.

“Some of it, yeah. Why?”

“Because you might be able to help me work out what the plant Warrod gave me is called!” Natsu was not certain he was translating it right, as she repeated the thing’s name to him, but his best attempt put the plant’s name as ‘True Love’s Reunion’.

For once, analytics overtook her now-usual sadness, “I suppose Warrod translated it into an obscure language because of how thematically inappropriate the name is to my life.” A puzzled look formed a moment later, “Though… Encanian is definitely a strange choice for that. He knows I have some familiarity with it since I told him Zeref was trying to teach me.”

It turned out, following some further research, that there was not a plant called ‘True Love’s Reunion’. Which meant that Natsu had either mistranslated it, or that Warrod had – likely deliberately - given her a false name… and Mavis was deeply unsure what to make of the latter idea. Particularly since the false name in question… was suspicious, both by its meaning, and the language Warrod had chosen to write it in. Come to think of it, since when had Warrod known enough Ancient Encanian to make up something like that in the first place?

Weirder still, were the words Warrod had spoken as he handed the small pot over to her. ‘I’m sure that when it blooms, it shall be a day of good luck’. Except, truth be told, it wasn’t all that weird. By now, Mavis was almost certain of what Warrod wanted her to believe.

But why should she? There was no evidence, but for some slightly odd coincidences, to suggest that Zeref was still out there somewhere. Not to mention that the idea he was alive and… and… utterly ignoring her was even worse! She refused to believe he’d do such a thing! Her Zeref, the him not controlled by the curse, he was far too caring to go silent. So she had no choice, but to assume they were once more separated by death… even if the circumstances were a little odd.

Emotion and grief coursed anew through her veins, somehow the ‘distraction’ of the plant had led her thoughts right back to the usual spiral of sadness. Forever repeating memories of the short time they’d been together, and forever wishing her time as a wife had been ‘years’ and not ‘hours’. Mavis still wished for any other outcome than the one she was faced with. A severe, even permanent, injury would have been infinitely better. At least then she could have rushed to Zeref’s side to provide love and care. Nursed her beloved man back to health, and indulged in many hours of his quiet, enjoyable, company.

Sometimes she’d feel guilty for thinking that, and spend the next several minutes wondering how Zeref would have reacted to decades irreversibly injured. Then she would end up questioning if it was unfair of her to expect a man who had suffered for over four hundred years to keep on living just for her.

The only tiny minute positive of all this, she supposed, was the knowledge that he wasn’t suffering anymore. At least in death… Zeref would be at peace, and nobody could hurt him further.

Chapter Text

By now, the focus of the rehab efforts had begun to shift away from the original goal of getting a basic level of day-to-day function. Now the recovery outlook was clearer, the priority was on increased physical endurance, and getting Zeref back to a state where he would be fit to travel.

Even disregarding a very personal desire to go to Fiore, needing to travel would be inevitable eventually. As other nations began to warm up to the idea of having dealings with the empire, there was sure to come a point when someone requested a state visit, or just added ‘Emperor Spriggan’ to the list of invitees for an in-person diplomacy meeting. Having a tangible end goal helped significantly with Zeref’s motivation, as he could at least feel like the frequent aches which resulted from it all were for something worthwhile.

Theoretically, anyway. Stumbling around slowly with an orthosis and a crutch often didn’t feel very ‘worthwhile’ when he could get from A to B significantly faster, and with less discomfort, in his wheelchair. ‘It will improve’ people kept telling him, but if so it certainly wasn’t happening very quickly.

After a couple of weeks practise, Zeref’s original hopes of being able to swap the wheelchair for the orthosis in a fast-paced life-or-death attack type of scenario were looking… unlikely. At least in the near future.

He had quickly solved the problem of it taking too long to put on, as if entire armour sets could be requipped onto one’s person… why should the same not be true of disability aids? Requipping was easy, and had the added bonus of saving him from the mortification of being forced to wear the stupid shorts unless actively using the orthosis.

Walking, on the other hand, could not be called ‘easy’. It was slow, and often clumsy - with uneven ground proving even more of a hazard than in his wheelchair. The mechanical support from the orthosis helped with his movement, but it was also quite literally the only thing holding him upright. Zeref had very little voluntary control of the muscles in his left leg, so if his foot caught on a rock or in a dip it was far harder to rely on reflexes to catch himself. That’s why he was also encumbered with a crutch, to act as a sort of pseudo third limb he could ‘press down through’ to keep balance.

He was not very happy about all this, as the ‘solution’ wasn’t even a solution and he was – essentially – back in square one. Vulnerable, and ever-reliant on a wheelchair which was too easy for opponents to obstruct mid-battle. He had not even been allowed to give up on the orthosis! Whenever he complained about it, someone would immediately comment that it was ‘good to have options’ and extol its ‘usefulness’ until Zeref ultimately gave in and begrudgingly continued.

Deep down, he could sort of recognise that having even limited walking ability would be useful at some point. But nonetheless it was incredibly annoying that the device would not fix the problem he’d so desperately wanted it to.

Accepting that there would be things he couldn’t do – at least not in the way or with the efficiency he wanted to - as a result of the injury was something Zeref had thought he’d made peace with months ago. Although he had, at the time, Zeref found himself having to more consciously accept it now.

It had been far easier to make peace with it when he’d believed the impact on his life would be inconsequential. Indeed there had in that sense been almost nothing to ‘make peace’ with. Accepting the raw, hard, reality that ‘some ability to walk’ would not mean ‘walk efficiently like before’ was… challenging. It also failed to provide the ‘quick fix’, that he’d been so desperately seeking, for the fearful feelings of vulnerability which Noriko’s attack had unleashed.

But… not all of that was really the fault of his injury. Yes, being injured and less capable in defending himself had highlighted the problem… but being vulnerable to attack was also a natural side-effect of being mortal again. Whether walking or otherwise, he couldn’t ever truly guarantee his safety. Being mortal meant he could die, ultimately, when old age finally caught up to his body …or sooner if something went wrong. That was just… reality, albeit one he’d scarcely had to consider in centuries.

The more he thought about it, it posed the question of what was he trying to achieve by attempting to force through any protective solutions possible? Someone could have tripped him up whilst walking, and that could have been just as dangerous to a now-mortal wizard as getting his chair stuck! Being freed from the curse – with all the many positives that had brought – also meant potential danger was a part of Zeref’s life for the first time in centuries. So, somehow, he had to work out how to live with that reality.

It wasn’t going to be easy to do, but Zeref was fairly sure that doing so would make other things easier. If he could stop trying to pin everything on being able to walk more ‘properly’, then the orthosis not achieving that wouldn’t be such a massive issue anymore. Life was busy, even if half of that was thanks to all the trouble the MNMC had been causing, and thinking himself into frustration over this only served to drain him emotionally and waste time probably better used for other purposes.

That in mind, as he took an uncomfortable step forwards, Zeref considered that perhaps… it was unnecessary to force through another few minutes of practise that day. Tomorrow, or even the day after, would be soon enough. Settling back into the wheelchair was far more comfortable, and without the constant mental drain of focusing on keeping upright it was much easier to think about other things he needed to do. Like putting away the pile of books currently filling the coffee table, ultimately cooking some food… and completing the absolutely riveting box of paperwork Invel left for him earlier.

With all the extra work created by the MNMC’s meddling, he frequently felt like all he did these days was eat, sleep, fill in paperwork, and get sent to somewhere for a rehab session. His evenings were sometimes free for a few precious hours of magic study, but then Rahkeid had determinedly organised a ‘family evening’ and proceeded to make it a weekly – or twice weekly if given half a chance – occurrence.

Brandish also returned from her extended period doing in-person diplomacy in Fiore recently… and as if conspiring with the former to take up as many evenings as possible, she had immediately set about creating a ‘palace social’.

Unfortunately, the last people to hear this particular plan were the very two who would have quickly shot it down – namely, Invel and Zeref. Invel had grumbled about this significantly, and told Brandish off for ‘not informing His Majesty first’ whilst Zeref was left with a feeling that their lack of being told was deliberate… and precisely because they’d have put a stop to it.

Brandish had then unhelpfully ‘reassured’ him it would be ‘sort of like a Spriggan Twelve meeting, but more casual’. However that was true only in the sense that they used the same room. There was no agenda, people’s favourite topics were now the weather or food – neither of which Zeref found remotely interesting – and the second occurrence of this disaster had somehow ended with Ajeel challenging Jacob to a poetry contest. In Zeref’s opinion they both lost, as neither could write decent poetry in the first place, but if you asked anyone else – except Invel - Jacob had apparently narrowly won.

Eventually, Zeref put his foot down – so to speak – and declared that he was taking an evening off and would not be available for work or socialising until the following day.

Ah, the blissful near-silence of being shut in his own rooms when they were devoid of all other humans! At last he could relax, and rest, without being expected to deal with ‘poetry contests’ and absurd questions about his tastes (or supposed lack of taste) in food… among other such topics.

He suspected that the increasing amount to which other people filled his schedule was deliberate. To stop him having too much time to ‘be sad’, and to ensure there was almost always someone around to sound an alarm in the event of another attack. However with Noriko publicly declared to be on trial in a few days for attempted murder… Zeref thought that was probably unlikely. Certainly the MNMC would have had to lose all sense of ‘how the political game is played’ to try such a thing.

For now, though, Zeref attempted to put all of that out of his mind and instead focus on the productive task he intended to accomplish with his increasingly rare time alone.

Namely, putting some structure onto the vague idea of ‘attaching defensive enchantments to the wheelchair’ that he and August had been bouncing back and forth for several days. It had been August’s idea originally, and Zeref could only agree that it was about as perfect a ‘mitigation’ - for any battle he had to fight in the wheelchair - as was possible to achieve.

With use of the orthosis in battle out of the question for now, but the need for self-defence vital nonetheless… switching perspectives to work out how to defend rather than how to fight back was a brilliant solution. It wouldn’t be foolproof, nothing was, and if Zeref’s opponent worked out how to dispel the protective runes then he’d be left vulnerable once more. However, by choosing an obscure ancient script as the language for the enchantment, Zeref could certainly make it significantly challenging to achieve that.

Having talked the idea over across several days, August had ultimately given him a draft version of the spell one afternoon. The timing was either coincidentally brilliant, or a case of August having exceptional foresight. After a failed practise session where Zeref had tried – and often failed – to intercept various harmless spells as they travelled towards him, the intrigue of the draft spell had boosted his otherwise unhappy mood. With a day or so of distance since then, Zeref could admit that the practise hadn’t been a total failure. He’d managed to evade or intercept around half of them, but in a real battle the ‘attacks’ would not merely summon a silly glittery cloud.

He’d first brought up the suggestion that some practise would be necessary at one of their ‘damage control’ emergency meetings in the days after Noriko’s attack. It had been unanimously agreed that he ought to get back into practising combat-related spells with another mage, but Zeref’s potential candidates for help had quickly counted themselves out one by one.

Ajeel had rightly suggested that sand was not good for wheelchairs, Jacob declined on similar reasons of incompatibility, Rahkeid made a variety of incomprehensible excuses then quickly slunk away, and although Invel would have helped he was up to his ears in other matters. Zeref had then considered asking Irene, who had been unable to attend the meeting as interrogating the MNMC soldiers took priority. At least, until he concluded she might well find reason to get ‘creative’ with ideas like… subjecting him to a barrage of plant pots! …and thus the idea of asking her had been rapidly shelved!

That left August, and having helped train many empire mages over the years, he was admittedly in the perfect position to notice and consider Zeref’s new strengths and weaknesses in a battle situation.

Zeref hadn’t wanted to force the duty onto his shoulders though, which had been a large part of his decision to raise the suggestion more publicly. August hadn’t seemed to mind becoming the only remaining candidate, and quickly suggested the ‘glittery cloud plan’ as a way to prevent any injuries but still have a way to measure success.

August had always been an exceptional mage, with magic power of a level far exceeding normality even as a small child, but August’s skill extended far beyond merely having an abnormally large ‘magic container’. He understood magic exceptionally well too, even if various people had dubbed the copy magic he gravitated to using as ‘cheating’ and wrongly saw it as meaning he ‘lacked the skill’ to ‘focus in on one branch’. None of August’s exceptional magic-related skills were quite as surprising these days as Zeref had once found them. Magic was, in part, genetic and it was certainly true that parents’ with a high aptitude for magic were more likely to have children who exhibited similar traits. Considering the significant individual skill levels of himself and Mavis, it was hardly surprising that their son had been born with such an aptitude for it.

Having collected a relevant book from across the room, Zeref unsteadily sat down on the now-reinstated chair behind the desk in his study. He accidentally let go of the crutch as he did so, and Zeref grumbled unhappily as it quickly fell to the floor beside the chair. He had no need of it immediately, but it would be annoying as and when he did want to get up again so he awkwardly bent to pick it up and stow it in his requip space so it couldn’t fall again.

Reinstating the desk chair had been one of the few conveniences brought about by the orthosis. His wheelchair never had been quite the right height for the desk, so it was nice to be able to sit at a more comfortable level now. By reinstating a heavy-ish chair in such a frequently used location also, by extension, forced him into regularly practising the motions of standing up and sitting down again.

As he at last got to settle at his desk and focus on the magical conundrum before him, Zeref finally felt some of the stress of it all begin to dissipate. People had long thought him strange for it, but studying magic was – to him – an energising experience rather than a tiring one.

He could come to this ‘work’ tired and drained, work on it for an hour or so, and leave feeling strangely rejuvenated. Which was nice, even if it had also been known to result in him staying up until the early hours entirely unaware of how late it had got.

After a couple of hours work, which ended at an entirely reasonable 9:40pm, Zeref had a completed revision of the initial plan for the chair enchantment. It looked about right, but he intended to pass it by August before implementing it. Firstly because it was his son’s idea and he genuinely wanted to see what August thought of the revised version but, also if there were any mistakes, or anything which could be improved, it was more likely to get picked up by a second pair of eyes.

Chapter Text

Hisui paced her office unhappily. She’d just had a meeting with a representative from the Multi-National Magic Council, and far from soothing her rampant concerns… it had turned them into an ever-growing snowball rapidly rolling down a hill.

At first, after the war, the MNMC had seemed helpful. They had approached her father, and many other Ishgarian nations, with offers to act as mediators and go-betweens in attempts to build ‘trust and trade deals’ with the withdrawing Alvarez Empire. Fiore had gratefully accepted their aid, and felt more at ease having MNMC personnel in those early discussions. At least then, there was an independent arbiter to hold Alvarez to account.

As atmospheres warmed, and she’d begun the process of taking the throne as her father stepped back, Hisui had no longer felt such a need to always invite or inform the MNMC about talks with the empire. On account of clear regret, and commitment to change, from the Alvarez side the two nations had gone from enemies to tentative allies far faster than Hisui could have hoped. They’d shared intelligence around threats to public safety, agreed a variety of deals which benefitted all involved, and things were truly moving in a positive direction.

So, when Alvarez sent through an urgent intelligence warning over a threat to the lives of two mages from Fairy Tail… Hisui had mobilised a group of soldiers at once. By then, she held a fair degree of trust for the words of Invel Yura, and the sheer urgency with which he delivered the message made it blatantly clear that a fast response was vital.

However, what awaited the soldiers she dispatched had defied Hisui’s expectations. They had discovered, not mere armed rebels akin to those who had apparently plagued Alvarez lately, but a group of assassins… seemingly from the council.

Alarmed beyond words by such a development, Hisui had demanded an urgent meeting with a representative from the International Governance Board and insisted they explain themselves immediately.

She’d hoped the meeting would have calmed her fears, but it had done the opposite. The man wheeled out by the council had promptly denounced the entire thing as a supposed ‘group from the Alvarez military’ that had ‘somehow infiltrated the council’ and were ‘in the process of being stamped out’.

Then, as if that was not absurd enough - considering that the urgent warning came from Alvarez in the first place - the man claimed the empire was ‘knee deep’ in preparations for another war within a month.

Hisui did not have much experience as a ruler, but as she pondered the improbable statements by the man from the council… Hisui became increasingly worried that the council was trying to use fear of the vast empire to achieve… something underhanded. Six months ago, it would have worked. Back then, immediately following the short sharp conflict between their countries, Hisui would have instantly suspected the large empire of foul play.

Now though, having worked with them to agree trade deals, and come to understand something of the empire’s current diplomatic goals… to start another conflict wasn’t at all in their interest.

Alvarez had no reason to start a conflict, and though Hisui wasn’t sure why the council would want one either… current evidence suggested they were more likely to be the source of the problem.

Unable to turn to her usual ‘allies’ for support or advice on what was truly going on, Hisui contacted the national branch of the council. Given it was run by the so-called ‘Wizard Saints’ whose loyalty was to their guilds and the country – rather than the bureaucrats above them – it was hopefully not caught up in the underhanded tactics, but might have gleaned some useful information. So, one Warrod Sequen soon found himself in receipt of a summons to the palace Mercurius.

She could have asked any of the other Wizard Saints who worked at the council, but Hisui felt very strongly that Warrod Sequen was by far the best choice. He was, after all, affiliated with Fairy Tail. That meant, of course, that he would be personally bothered by the attempted attack. More importantly though, Fairy Tail was a wildcard of a guild. They were unafraid to oppose corruption and misrule wherever it came from… and Hisui was relying on that sense of justice to get some answers.

When they met, one afternoon, she wasted little time on preamble and after some simple greetings got straight to the point. “I assume you will be well aware of this, but currently the story from Alvarez diplomats and that from the Multi-National Magic Council do not…” Hisui paused as she attempted to work out what to say, “share many similarities.”

Warrod nodded, “I can only agree. I had the pleasure of an informal conversation with Brandish μ recently, and as you have described… her accounts and that of the formal papers handed down by my superiors are… in stark contrast, at best.”

Hisui sighed heavily and cast her gaze up to the patterned ceiling as she tried to decide how to approach the delicate subject.

Having spent years in ‘training’ to take the throne, Hisui had thought she had a good grasp of international politics, but recent events left her confused and questioning. “I would once have always deferred to the council first on matters of politics with the empire”, she stated slowly. For years, the council had acted as a way for Ishgar to ‘band together’ and ‘oppose Alvarez as one’ which had made many nations feel slightly safer since when they spoke as one the power difference between them and the vast empire was drastically reduced.

“But after hearing first-hand accounts from my own soldiers that council personnel attacked my citizens…”, Hisui continued quietly as many concerns about the matter weighed heavily on her mind, “which I only knew was a risk at all due to a peculiar warning from Alvarez…”

At last, she found it in herself to turn her gaze back to Warrod. “I honestly do not quite know who to believe anymore. But, seeing as you both work for the council yet have ties to the most rambunctious guild in the kingdom…” After a long sigh, Hisui at last concluded with something resembling a request, “I am hoping you can provide me with some perspective.”

Fairy Tail had been hurt greatly by the war, after all they had – for reasons she was not quite clear on - been Alvarez’s primary target. So if there was the slightest sign of malintent from Alvarez, especially since Warrod had apparently spoken with Brandish recently, Hisui assumed he’d have picked up on it and assure her not to trust them.

Warrod sat there, deep in thought, for several moments as he carefully considered what words to speak. There were plenty of things he knew which were too sensitive to divulge even to Hisui… but she needed a gentle push in the right direction.

He suspected Fiore’s new Queen would come down on ‘the correct side of the fence’ whether he said anything or not – the MNMC had been proved far too untrustworthy at this point – but if she decided to fully trust the empire instead… it would also help Warrod solve some other problems…

Eventually he settled on uttering a simple statement, “Disappointing as that is, I fear the upper echelons of the council… have no desire to make peace with the current administration in Alvarez.”

Warrod did not know for certain as the information was too vague and scattered, but various pieces of evidence gave him reason to suspect the MNMC - whether fully backing it or not - had at least ‘aided’ the recent unrest in the empire.

Deep down, Hisui had sort of known that already. It was, after all, where the evidence pointed. Alvarez’s attitude hadn’t changed in the slightest since someone on the International Governance Board made the frantic call to Hisui’s office warning her of ‘another war, imminently’. The only people whose story changed… was the council.

“So should I believe Alvarez, then?” she implored, hoping someone would tell her at last that she wasn’t completely mad for considering stepping irreversibly away from the council and, by extension, publicly allying with Alvarez instead.

Warrod nodded, “I have barely met anyone from the empire in person, I must admit, but I feel as though I can trust the integrity of the information from Alvarez’s diplomats.” A heavy paused extended before he uttered a damning conclusion, “Which is far more than can be said for the confusing tales of conspiracy from the council.”

Hisui could only agree. Whatever scheme the council was trying to concoct, they’d pushed it so far their deception tipped from ‘subtle’ into ‘blindingly obvious’.

Stepping away from the multi-national part of the council would, ultimately, cause a significant number of other problems. If Hisui banished the administration which currently oversaw all trials and punishment around magic-related crimes she would, in turn, have to establish pathways to punish such criminals under the kingdom instead.

That was yet another reason to foster closer ties with the empire. They supposedly handled all of their criminal trials under the state, barely distinguishing between a magical crime and an ordinary one in how it was tried and punished. Perhaps, in the process of cooperation, there would be ways for her to learn from that apparent success.

Having concluded her meeting with Warrod, and immensely grateful for his help, Hisui strode back towards her office. - she had urgent letters to pen. Firstly, to the council, announcing her dissatisfaction and intent to withdraw from their ‘services’. Then, to the Alvarez administration to request a proper in-person summit on their future relationship as nations.

Over in Alvarez, Zeref was poring over an academic essay – written in Ancient Encanian of all things – which had been sent ‘care of Winter General’s office’ to a scholar no one had heard of.

Encanian translation experts in the empire had tried their best to decipher the meaning after Jacob’s department requested their help, but to no avail. So, in the end, the task had fallen to the only living person who still spoke it as their native language.

Encanian was a difficult language to understand which relied heavily on context and was known for giving certain common terms shorthands which tended to confuse subsequent generations of translators. Zeref was forever correcting these sorts of things when he came across them, so other people being stumped by a piece of Encanian text did not surprise him. What was unexpected, however, was being unable to make sense of it himself either.

This… multi-page document… appeared to be an essay on the subject of ‘Encanian Black-Flowered Potatoes’. Which would have been perfectly fine, if such a vegetable ever existed in the first place!

Enca certainly had varieties of White-Flowered potatoes, Zeref remembered seeing them growing around the village when he was a child. There was, however, no such thing as a ‘Black-Flowered’ one. Yet this… document – he refused to call it an essay when it made no sense – treated this false plant as though it were real!

It went so far as to make wild inexplicable claims about these fictitious plants such as that ‘Black-Flowered potatoes appear to emit a toxin into the soil, when deceased, which cause nearby white ones to wither’ and that ‘a living black flowered potato is the most efficient method of removing the toxins. Such that, if replanted quickly enough, it can result in a full recovery for the White-Flowered plant.’

At this point, convinced that someone with far too much time on their hands had concocted the entire thing… as a hoax to waste empire time Zeref picked up the envelope to shove the contents back inside. As he did so, he happened to catch sight of the words on the front.

Below the ‘C/O Winter General’s Office’, and the palace address, were some further lines of text including the name of the scholar nobody could track down any records of.

‘For the attention of Dr. Leenga Erdnaxela regarding ecological concerns relating to the ‘Black-Flowered Liaty-riaf Dor Rawmorf’ variety of Encanian Retro Potatoes.’

What?

Zeref understood everything except the supposed species name as individual words… but all thrown together in the same sentence they made little sense. There was also a mistake in it, as ‘retro’ was a Mildian word meaning backwards. Although the sound of the word ‘retro’ could indeed be written with the Encanian script, it held no meaning in the language.

He could understand how someone could get mixed up over it though, since despite key differences between them, later generations of scholars had a terrible track record of merging the two languages together. That said, to Zeref’s knowledge, even in Mildian, it had absolutely nothing to do with potatoes.

Out of desperation to understand what in earthland this peculiar piece of communication was, Zeref decided to act on a vain hope tied to the red herring word of ‘backwards’.

As he painstakingly wrote the nonsense backwards on a stray piece of paper he’d used earlier to get excess ink out of a newly refilled pen… Zeref came to the unfortunate conclusion that ‘Liaty-riaf Dor Rawmorf’ was simply ‘From Warrod, Fairy Tail’ written backwards with some deliberately confusing spacing.

As for the scholar none had heard of, and who was supposed to be fluent enough in Ancient Encanian to spot the red herring… when that was also written backwards the name came out as ‘Alexandre Agneel Rd’. It could have been a terrible translation of a ‘Mr. Alexandre’ living on an ‘Agneel Road’... but the two stray letters would suspiciously also make ‘Agneel’ into ‘Dragneel’. Considering who seemed to have sent it… that was unlikely to be an accident - especially when the ‘first name’ wasn’t a random choice either.

Credit where it was due, it was rather clever to disguise the letter’s intended recipient by using a middle name only a handful of people even knew existed, but even so…

Warrod had written him a letter… about potatoes. Supposedly about potatoes, anyway. Surely, surely, the joke-prone plant mage hadn’t gone to all this trouble just as a joke?! At least, Zeref sincerely hoped not!

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the utter stupidity of it, or throw the paper across the room in frustration. Either way, Warrod had managed to waste an awful lot of time for a significant number of people all to deliver a very cryptic message… for which Zeref still remained unsure of the meaning!

With the new information that Warrod had written it and intended the letter for him, Zeref re-read the nonsense potato essay in hope of working out what all this was about. He was absolutely relieved to discover that the first sentence of the essay did not mean anything backwards and that he was not going to have to translate the entire thing that way.

As for what it did mean… the only possibility Zeref could think of was that Warrod was perhaps attempting to convey something of Mavis’ grief and suffering…? In a way he would never have recognised if he didn’t already know about it. He couldn’t be all that certain it was what Warrod had meant either, but Zeref equally didn’t see any other reason for the wizard to send a letter full of such weird allegories.

It was certainly one way to sneak information past the MNMC’s blockade. However Zeref rather doubted that taking a similar approach as a way to contact Mavis would be a good idea. The last thing she’d be wanting right then would be some weird letter about… potatoes, asparagus, pen inks, or whatever other thing he might have picked.

Having set the potato essay down onto the desk, Zeref noticed there was another piece of paper in the envelope. It was a small one, with a scribbly drawing… of a potato wearing a party hat above the words ‘the white flowered potato goes to the party’.

Mavis? Party? Something about Mavis and attending a party? It was information, certainly, but Zeref was as-yet unaware of any party she might be attending which he could also have reason to be at.

Fairy Tail might well be organising a party soon… for whatever reason… but Zeref was hardly likely to be a welcome guest in Fiore whilst the MNMC continued their smear campaign against the empire.

Even putting that conundrum aside, Zeref couldn’t help but wonder how in earthland he was going to explain all this to Invel!

Chapter Text

As April gave way to May, so also arrived the best news of the year – Fiore had suggested the idea of some in-person talks on future relations between their nations. Apparently, Queen Hisui was ‘delighted’ to be able to make such progress on fostering ‘meaningful cooperation’ between the two countries.

The statement also included some vague wording around ‘extending thanks for aid in combating criminal threats’, which set Zeref ever so slightly more at ease with the thought that Natsu and Mavis were – probably – still breathing. He could have confirmed that for Natsu by examining the book of E.N.D which was stowed in the depths of his requip space… but Zeref hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to do so for fear of the worst.

The cabinet room had gone wild with cheers and excitement when their recently reappointed Ambassador to Fiore broke the news about the talks. This was what they’d been working towards! A real, tangible, chance to undo some of the damage they’d wrought whilst determined to conquer the world.

The meeting ended with positivity and hope almost vibrating in the air, and everyone went their separate ways to attend to their duties. However Invel and His Majesty continued down the same corridor, discussing various further matters as they went. Noriko’s first court appearance was scheduled for a couple of days’ time, and that created a sharp urgency in completing other tasks before that single event could make anything else go wrong.

As a result, their schedules for the day were mostly filled with back-to-back meetings and briefings so talking en route was one of their few chances to stay updated on relevant matters. Once most official business had been taken care of, Invel brought up something else, “I cannot say at present whether this agreement will improve the situation with Mavis.”

Zeref halted in surprise at his usually ever-formal Chief of Staff addressing her so casually. “Is something wrong, Your Majesty?”

“No, no. I’m just surprised because I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her anything but her official title.”

Invel was visibly relieved to learn there was not a problem. He’d been mildly concerned that bringing the topic up would unleash an emotional torrent upon his Emperor, but wanted to address the point promptly before he could get too hopeful. “Though I remain of the opinion that procedure exists for a reason most of the time, I have also come to understand that excessive formality does not always… foster the team mentality we are growing to rely upon.” Quite an admission, from a man who adhered more closely to the formal code than several other staff members combined.

Truthfully, Zeref had suspected the news might not change a great deal. Instead, and frustrating as it was, he felt that his best chance for getting to see her would only come once the negotiations were completed. But even so, Invel’s clear consideration for what he might have been thinking and feeling meant something. Invel was his Chief of Staff, certainly, but to a growing extent he was also a personal friend.

The day of Noriko’s first court appearance dawned, and to Alvarez’s immense surprise it passed uneventfully. Only one lonely representative from the MNMC came to stand on Noriko’s side of the court, and the woman herself appeared subdued as she spoke only to confirm her identity.

The main trial, where the MNMC was far more likely to try and kick up a fuss, wouldn’t be for some time yet. Many other cases needed to be heard, and given the significant period of time Noriko’s trial would require there was no choice but to schedule it for several months down the line. Jacob also hoped to push through the trials for the rebels, and even Neinhart, in the interim so he could use the evidence from those to further reinforce the case against Noriko.

The days which followed the court appearance were quiet. Noriko and her allies were kept firmly locked away in a maximum security wizards’ prison, and so far didn’t seem to be trying to escape, which allowed everyone else to refocus on the usual assortment of home and foreign affairs work which had come to dominate their schedules.

Alvarez was certainly still concerned that Noriko might somehow try something else, and Irene had spent many hours constructing a complicated system of warning enchantments around the area Noriko was to be held. That way, if any of them tried to escape, the palace would know within seconds.

The plans for the in-person talks with Fiore were also going well, and there were even a few rumours about the possibility of a celebratory ball. Both nations were keen to use the talks as a chance to publicly and unequivocally declare their determination to foster good relations going forwards.

By now, the news that Fiore wished to make a show of allying with the empire was not too surprising. What did come as a shock to all in the empire was that Queen Hisui had apparently shown the MNMC the door! For years Zeref had understood all Ishgarian nations as too beholden to the council for such a move, and therefore that naught would change on that even as Hisui took the throne. Seemingly, he’d misjudged the new Queen.

Having so firmly kicked the council out of her nation, it was likely she was looking for new international allies to fill the void they left behind. That fact likely explained why she was so very enthusiastic about allying with the empire. With no external allies, she would potentially be at risk from a council-backed coup. However, and even assuming Hisui knew little of what had transpired in Alvarez recently, the young queen had presumably realised that allying with the empire would make it harder for the council to target her.

Theoretically, anyway. The empire being vast certainly hadn’t put off Noriko and her allies.

The reappointment of an Ambassador to Fiore had helped greatly in reducing people’s workload. No longer did the empire have to repeatedly spare one of the Twelve – usually Brandish – to go to Fiore for extended periods. Now, they could leave those matters to the ambassador and share information via a specially encrypted communication Lacrima. Zeref doubted the council would have found a way to pirate the signal from a regular one, but after all that had happened… it was better to be safe than sorry.

Now that the Ambassador to Fiore had agreed some tentative plans with Fiore’s administration, including a potential invite list of Alvarez personnel to the now more-than-a-rumour ball, the task of confirming the final arrangements fell to Invel.

He and Brandish were presently the only two in the cabinet room as everyone else attended to some non-paperwork duties. Though its primary purpose was technically as a meeting room, the shields also used it as an open plan office which was especially useful if several people were working on connected matters.

That wasn’t the case on this occasion though, as Brandish was reviewing port records to cover for Ajeel - who was briefly on holiday - whilst Invel attempted to make sense of the plans for the in-person diplomacy summit, turned celebratory ball, turned…state visit?!

Invel read the paperwork again just to be sure he had not been mistaken, but it indeed said that ‘Emperor Spriggan’ was a potential invitee to the events in question. Unsure what to make of that idea, and paling slightly at the thought of trying to organise wheelchair accessibility from across an ocean – it was hard enough just in Vistarion city – Invel turned to the next sheet.

…which unfortunately did not help him ‘put the problem aside for now’. It was a letter from Queen Hisui, to His Majesty, stating that she considered it ‘invaluable to the efforts for long term peace if we took this opportunity to meet and discuss the matter directly’. How it had ended up on Invel’s desk when it wasn’t even for him was a valid question, but the enormity of the matter at hand sent such trivial questions running for the hills.

His Majesty had been invited to Fiore to aid the diplomatic efforts… His Majesty also desired to go to Fiore, though not for that purpose… Queen Hisui’s request was one which was likely to take up a great deal of His Majesty’s time… time Invel knew his Emperor would be dying to spend with his Empress instead. His Majesty going, but being permanently distracted by emotional longing would not leave a great impression, but neither would declining the offer…

“Is something the matter?” Brandish questioned having apparently looked up from her own paperwork.

Invel sighed, and attempted to summarise both the situation and his concerns, “Queen Hisui has invited His Majesty for a visit, during the period they’re hosting the talks and the celebratory ball. With the Anthousai situation unresolved I fear taking him to Fiore may lead only to distraction.”

A figurative lightbulb appeared over Brandish’s head as Invel spoke, and she promptly interrupted with her own comments, “That reminds me, I heard from Lucy Heartfilia recently…”

Having taken a moment to ensure she kept her tone and expression controlled, Brandish fell into the explanation she’d agreed with Warrod, “…she mentioned that a number of key members of Fairy Tail were also being invited to the celebration. I suspect Hisui’s intent is to try and use it for both publicity of the peace efforts, and personal resolution between ourselves and the guild we targeted.”

Brandish’s conclusion seemed reasonable, but only made Invel despair further, “You do realise that seeing members of her guild will only worsen His Majesty’s emotional state.” She didn’t answer verbally, and merely gave Invel a pointed look until he seemed to catch her drift.

“You don’t mean…” Invel began, as the full scale of the problem Hisui’s letter could unleash began to dawn on him.

Brandish nodded, though added a mild warning, “I don’t know for certain; but who could be a more ‘key’ member of Fairy Tail for us to ‘make peace with’ than the woman at the centre of the conflict?”

Now this development added a whole new level of complication to the situation. It was not merely a case of if His Majesty became distracted, but that he most certainly would be. If she reacted positively to his wish to be together once more, which if those intelligence reports were to be believed Invel presumed she would… then His Majesty’s mind would in all likelihood be more focused on showering affections on his beloved Empress than his actual reason for visiting. Not to mention the political fallout when Fiore at last fell in that Mavis Vermillion had been Empress Anthousai all along!

All in all, Invel was not liking the look of things.

But he had promised to help, out of personal concern for Zeref’s wellbeing…and as such, he could not – in good conscience - keep this information from him. All the Winter General could do was hope that His Majesty would remember the importance of the visit’s purpose, as well as his own romantic interests with Mavis.

Zeref had just finished signing off some home affairs budgets when Invel requested an urgent meeting, and an hour later, His Chief of Staff strode into the room with an air of apprehension hanging about his person.

“Do you have anything which must be finished today remaining in your schedule? If so I suggest you complete it before I tell you this” was the Winter General’s opening line.

A bit of an odd thing for Invel to say, certainly, but the question itself was simple enough. “Other than a physio appointment in about two hours, not that I’m aware of…?” Zeref answered uncertainly. “Though by the gravity of your tone I assume there has been some form of disaster.”

Invel sighed, “That depends, primarily, on whether you make it one, Your Majesty.” There was something mildly hilarious about being told one had the potential to ‘make something into a disaster’ yet also be respectfully addressed as ‘Your Majesty’ in the same sentence.

“Go on…?” Zeref acknowledged uncertainly.

His Chief of Staff took a long, deep, breath before he began to explain. “Queen Hisui has expressed a wish that you personally join the Alvarez delegation for the talks and celebratory ball. She wrote a letter to you, which somehow landed on my desk.” Invel handed the problematic object to its intended recipient, and paused to give His Majesty a chance to read through it.

Having read the contents, Zeref set the letter down onto his desk, “I must admit I do not see how this is a potential disaster, if anything, surely this is a positive sign?” If Alvarez’s head of state was now considered a welcome guest of the kingdom, that was a significant step forward in relations with Fiore… and by extension also a step closer to seeing Mavis.

Invel debated what to say for several long seconds, but eventually concluded that getting to the point was the best choice. “There are two major problems. Firstly there is the fact that various Fiorean mages are now well aware that the Emperor they fought was one and the same as the feared ‘Black Mage Zeref’, and a personal visit will shatter any illusions they may have after the council’s false reports… that the title of ‘Spriggan’ is being treated as hereditary.”

“Ah. I had forgotten about that.” Despite knowing his over-seas reputation was… far from positive, and that the MNMC had warped accounts of the war’s aftermath beyond recognition, it was easy to forget those details when Zeref had spent so long barely leaving his capital city. “…you mentioned a second problem?”

“Brandish has reason to believe that various prominent members of the Fairy Tail guild are also being invited, quite possibly including Mavis herself.”

Zeref’s face noticeably lit up at the thought of seeing Mavis, but he promptly squashed the excitement – he would allow himself to bask in it later – in order to deal with the issue at hand. “You think the rest of them will react very negatively to my presence, thus rendering the celebratory ball less a celebration and more of an… outraged argument?”

That wasn’t quite what Invel had been getting at, though it was another valid concern to add to the already lengthy list he was rapidly compiling. “Not exactly, though you are likely correct that the opinion of her allies will not be favourable. My most major concern, Your Majesty, is more that you will be too distracted by seeing her to focus on the actual reason you were permitted to attend.”

“That’s…” sometimes it was hard to face the truth, to accept that Invel was, as usual, quite right about this sort of thing. “…a valid concern” he solemnly admitted. The thought of Mavis unleashed all sorts of feelings; and though he managed to keep them under control most of the time, finally seeing her would make ‘self-control’ in that regard significantly more challenging.

The urge to hide from the world and see no one but her for several days afterwards would be very real. It had been so long, and he’d missed her so much… But it would not be a good look for Alvarez – at home or abroad - if their Emperor prioritised his romantic interests over securing a stable future for the empire.

Emotionally, he asked, “Are you saying that I…won’t be allowed to see her?” From a political standpoint it would be an entirely sound decision for Invel to make, but the thought of going and not seeing her would also be the worst kind of emotional torture. Not to mention if it made the news, and Mavis caught wind of his presence, she might conclude from the lack of contact that he ‘didn’t care’ anymore.

“No” Invel insisted, “It would be unreasonable of me to expect that of you. However, if you are to accept Hisui’s invitation, you must recognise that it will by no means be an uninterrupted reunion with your wife. You will be required to give up significant periods of time – which I don’t doubt you’d rather spend with her – to ensure the future of the empire.” After a moment, Invel gravely questioned, “Do you understand?”

With a heavy sigh, Zeref affirmed, “Yes, I understand.” It would be hard to tear himself away from her, but the empire still needed his leadership, and the chance to at last be with Mavis, even if for less time than he’d hoped, would be worth the effort.

“On an unrelated note” Invel began after a few moments of silence, and Zeref briefly looked up from the drawer he’d opened to put Hisui’s letter into. “Has there been any progress with the…” Invel paused, seemingly unsure how to describe whatever it was he wished to ask about. “…indecipherable potato essay?”

Zeref nearly groaned as he was forced to suddenly remember the confusing thing Warrod had sent him. He’d been trying to work out a way to explain it to Invel ever since deciphering it. More specifically, a way of explaining it to Invel which did not lead his Chief of Staff to suspect Zeref of losing his mind.

“I have resolved the issue…” Zeref slowly answered, and he cautiously watched the shifting expressions on Invel’s face as he continued, “…and I believe it was in fact a piece of intelligence information”

Invel sighed, “Your Majesty, have you perhaps misread the dosage for your painkillers?” he enquired in a tone which was intended to sound caring, but ultimately did little to disguise Invel’s weary exasperation. “An excess dosage is known to cause delusions-”

“I am perfectly serious”, Zeref firmly stated, cutting across Invel’s attempted explanation, “and with due explanation I am confident you will concur with my opinion.”

Invel was not at all confident of that, even despite His Majesty’s words. However, as the exasperated Winter General listened to the several minutes of explanation, and compared it against the translation reports from Jacob’s department… he could only agree. It was a message from Warrod Sequen, dressed up in a code so confusing it would have been impossible for someone who neither knew the code nor spoke Ancient Encanian fluently to pick up on.

A perfect disguise, to pass by the MNMC unnoticed, yet draw the attention of Alvarez and by extension His Majesty. If not for all the time Jacob’s department had wasted on this particular letter, Invel might have praised Warrod Sequen’s ingenuity.

“With the news of the celebratory ball” Zeref continued, “but more specifically my invitation to it, I believe I may have another piece of the puzzle.” The extra sheet of paper, the one which read ‘the white-flowered potato goes to the party’, it was probably an attempt to encourage Zeref to go. Which would make sense given that Warrod must have spoken to Mavis, and therefore might have heard from her how much Zeref did not… find such types of social engagement to be enjoyable.

Zeref had to admit that, if not for the prospect of seeing Mavis either at the ball or in the period surrounding it, he would likely have been hoping for a reason to cry off the trip. Not because he was incapable of in-person diplomacy these days, but because travelling would be daunting. After months travelling only around a small area in Alvarez near the capital, the thought of leaving that relative safety set him on edge.

Warrod would have had no way to know that Brandish had heard rumours of Fairy Tail being invited, and by extension no other way to ensure that Zeref did make an effort to attend. With that in mind, Warrod’s motivation for sending the confusing potato essay made significantly more sense than when Zeref first received it.

…even if it had still been a very annoying thing to receive.

Chapter Text

The ball was due to be held in early August, which left ample time to plan and prepare for the trip; both at home, in terms of packing and security, and abroad, in ensuring level access venues for the talks.

Whilst Zeref could technically walk using the orthosis, it took a lot of energy. Simply attending the ball was in itself likely to be a draining experience so, that in mind, Zeref had been firm in insisting to Invel that they still needed to request level access.

With the state visit essentially confirmed at this point, Zeref was impatiently counting down the days until they left for Fiore …whilst simultaneously attempting to avoid forgetting that seeing Mavis was not the sole reason for going. It was a reason for going, and certainly the most important at a personal level, but it remained true that diplomacy would have to take priority as needed.

It was the middle of June now, which meant there was only a month and a half, just over forty-five days, before he would finally see her again! He was happy, primarily, but there were also many other conflicting feelings lurking beneath the surface. Concern for her mental wellbeing, excitement at finally being reunited, worry about how much of a political crisis might be created by irrevocably informing Fiore that the feared ‘Black Wizard Zeref’ still lived, and anxiety as to how well she would take the idea he had genuinely been unable to contact her sooner.

As the day drew ever closer Zeref had begun making a list of things to take with him. Not really out of concern for forgetting a toothbrush, but rather from considering what might become important after their reunion – if it all went well.

The first thing to go on it, and which had prompted the list’s creation in the first place, was an elegant dress which had been made for her around the time of the wedding. Mavis had never actually had chance to wear it as the curse decreed her comatose before he’d had chance to give it to her. Hopefully Mavis would like it, and at last enable him to see the elegant garment on her instead of forever concealed by paper as it sat on her unused chair by the fire.

Something else he’d made a point of doing, was to confirm that he was still carrying her wedding ring inside his requip space. In the past he might have said it was there with absolute confidence, but after the incident with the charred mop…it seemed sensible to be certain. The little black box and its contents were, to his relief, still exactly where he left them. He’d retained it, rather than left it on her hand, out of concern that learning their founder had ‘got married without their knowledge’ would have distressed her friends when he returned her body to Fairy Tail all those years ago.

Despite the many oscillations of cursed whim which had flung him this way and that during the intervening ninety-five years, he had dutifully carried the symbol of their union around with him throughout. Zeref had rarely taken it out of his requip space, but the knowledge it was in there had provided a strange form of comfort. Even when he’d presumed her deceased, something representative of their short but meaningful romance had remained with him each day. The thought of at last being able to return the precious object to its rightful owner always made him smile. ‘Together forever’ was what she’d said last time they were reunited, and in but a few short weeks he would at last be able to make it clear that there remained a great deal of that ‘forever’ left.

Across the palace, the door to August’s office was flung open with significantly more force than necessary. “August!!” hollered the intruder as he lurked annoyingly in the background.

August, who was half way through proofreading a particularly detailed piece of correspondence, unenthusiastically uttered the words, “Is it important?”

“…define important” Rahkeid replied as his enthusiasm began to deflate.

“No, then” August decided, and promptly returned to his paperwork. Despite the relative ease with which they interacted these days, his ‘younger brother’ had a particular knack for being exceedingly annoying.

When it eventually became clear the intruding etherious was not going to leave, August set his now-proofread correspondence down onto his desk with a heavy sigh. “What do you want?” he uttered in a long-suffering tone he tended to deploy only against such intrusions.

“We both know that Father is going to panic about the whole thing at the last minute” Rahkeid explained, without giving any context. August was however inclined to assume ‘the whole thing’ in question was the celebratory ball and associated reunion with Mavis. He made a noise of acknowledgement, and waited for further explanation.

“I don’t want to go, but someone needs to stop Father worrying so much he ends up being late or something. I thought maybe you could do something on behalf of both of us.”

“I’m not going either” August stated.

Bewildered was barely strong enough to describe the look of shock which formed on the etherious’ face before he exclaimed “What? Why not?!”

August shuffled the paperwork on his desk awkwardly. “I would prefer Mother and Father to sort things out between the two of them before adding the complication of myself.”

“How are you the complication? You’re literally their son! I’m the complication.”

“I’m not going” August insisted with an air of finality. “I do not want my presence to in any way affect things between them.” He also thought that perhaps he did not want his first meeting with his mother to be with a woman drowning in her own grief. It was, in a way, for all the same reasons that August had never followed Zeref when he used to leave the capital during more mentally unstable periods. To see his own parent in such a state… was not a thing he wished to face.

“However”, August said after a moment, “I am willing to assist you in sending some form of encouragement.” There were a myriad of possibilities, from sneaking a letter into one of the suitcases, to putting an enchantment on something which would only activate at the right moment…

As August continued to contemplate his options, the room’s other occupant groaned dramatically. “Great, now I’ve lost you to the depths of magic study too.” Rahkeid had attempted to deliver something to Zeref’s office about half an hour prior but had ended up having to write his ‘briefing’ out on a piece of paper as his explanation was vaguely waved off in a way which suggested it probably wouldn’t have registered.

As for who would be accompanying Zeref on the momentous trip to Fiore, much like over practising magic in the wheelchair, the options had counted themselves out one by one. August and Rahkeid both refused, the former stating a variety of things which left Zeref unsure what the real reason was, whilst the latter had simply uttered “Nope, not going” and walked away.

Ajeel and Jacob had been splitting their time between resolving home affairs concerns in the northern reaches of the empire and dealing with the court cases and convictions for the rebels. Whilst the situation in the mountains up north had improved significantly since Neinhart’s underlings had stopped interfering with the local residents, neither of them felt that leaving for Fiore was a good idea at present. Given the efficiency with which this rather odd pairing seemed to be progressing their work, Zeref could only agree it was best they stayed put.

That left Brandish, who was coming on account of being the primary ‘face’ involved in the diplomacy so far, as well as Irene and Invel. It felt weirdly right, in a way, that the latter two would be coming along. They’d been the first to interact with him when he awoke in the hospital, and had become a consistent source of support throughout the difficult periods since. Now they would also be accompanying him on what was, unquestionably, the most significant diplomatic act the empire had undertaken in years.

Irene was sure to tease him, and make herself something of a nuisance, but Zeref could live with that. She had even taken his advice to ‘try sorting things out’ between herself and Erza. To the point that she’d recently written a letter out of a personal need to apologise and set some things straight, even if Irene had tried to claim she was merely ‘testing the postal system for council tampering’. Irene had never really expected a reply, but whether she was given the time of day or not was of limited consequence. At least, having made a decision to write, she could say she had acted on her regrets and not merely buried them.

Then, just last week, a reply turned up. The handwriting in which it had been penned was… quite appalling, but the message contained within managed to be just about deciphered nonetheless. Though Zeref had to admit he was mildly concerned for the lecture on proper handwriting which Erza might receive in reply.

The mutual acknowledgement that what had happened was a major obstacle, and much needed to be resolved, had meant a great deal to Irene. Having been specifically asked if she would be coming for the celebration, ‘so they could have a proper conversation’, Irene had jumped at the chance to tag along.

Invel’s reason for involvement was fairly obvious as such a key figure in the empire’s governance. However, Zeref suspected his Chief of Staff also wanted to be there in person to ensure Zeref did not – as he’d put it - ‘get too distracted’ by seeing Mavis and subsequently neglect his empire-related duties.

The issues around personal safety and the wheelchair had been mostly resolved by this point. Zeref and August had agreed a final version of the enchantment, and tested it thoroughly such that security personnel were happy to sign off on it being a suitable mitigation. Whilst the empire sincerely hoped the council would have learnt their lesson from Noriko’s loss, it was also true that the trip to Fiore was risky.

Even though Hisui had shown the council the door, there was a high chance that some council moles remained, and even that some more public council personnel would be in the country trying to curry new favour with Fiore’s young queen.

As the time before the ball continued to dwindle Zeref stood before one of the bookshelves in his study, and gazed unhappily upwards at the shelf he was trying to reach. He used to be able to push upwards through both feet to get just enough height to reach, or return, a book to the shelf. Now though, that wasn’t so easy. The orthosis enabled a degree of walking, but it did not restore other types of lost movement. Like the ability to stretch upwards by raising the back of his feet off the floor.

At any other time, Zeref might have wafted the heavy tome up onto the shelf with magic, but he currently had a delicate experiment set up across the room and had a personal rule against using magic until it was finished. The last thing he wanted was any interference in the resulting data. His other option would have been to wait until later to put the book away. However, the idea of leaving it around to clutter up the study he was currently making a point of tidying up ahead of a string of events which would hopefully bring about Mavis’ return to Vistarion… was distasteful to him.

So instead, Zeref impatiently attempted to somehow stretch upwards and reach by hand despite the lost height from being unable to push upwards through his toes like he always used to. At last the book reached the shelf! Zeref was pleased to see that it was on properly too, and not about to fall right off again onto his head. He was less pleased about the pain reverberating through his shoulder, but Zeref had experienced this feeling before and reasoned that it would soon abate as it always had previously.

He brought his arm down, cautiously, and gripped the flat surface which divided the bookcases from the cupboard below with both hands to try and support himself. The agony in his shoulder certainly did not make it easy to focus on staying upright.

Several minutes passed with the pain barely changed, and Zeref eventually crumpled forwards to rest both forearms on the surface. Belatedly, he recalled that all those instances of ‘pain abating quickly’ …belonged to his years under the curse. Where any injury, from cuts and bruises to something instantly fatal, could quickly heal up as though nothing ever happened.

This was not the first time Zeref had realised the curse’s ability to heal anything had left him far too careless. He’d burnt his fingers in the kitchen a couple of times having forgotten that it was not a ‘mere momentary sting’ for normal, mortal, people.

Now worried about how serious this might actually be, he requipped his communication lacrima into his right hand and called Invel. Whatever this was, someone with medical knowledge needed to look at it.

Invel had taken a rare few days off prior, and owing to this being their first conversation since he resumed work that morning, the Winter General answered with a surprisingly humorous, “I sincerely hope this call is not to inform me that Warrod Sequen has sent us more coded essays in my absence”

However, the noticeable hiss of pain from the other end of the line caused Invel’s prior humour to vanish, “Your Majesty? Is there a problem?”

“I think I may have injured myself” Zeref quietly admitted.

Fifteen minutes later, having been guided to the nearest chair, he was being poked and prodded by a nurse whilst a concerned Invel watched on. Hopefully, for more reasons than could sensibly be listed, it wasn’t anything serious.

Zeref hated the process of being checked over. The pain was bad enough by itself, but having to have another person touching his skin was especially unpleasant. As he struggled to fight the urge to push the nurse away, Zeref found himself belatedly wondering how he’d not experienced a similar problem with Mavis.

Logically, the night of August’s conception ought to have been his worst nightmare. By its very nature it required an encroach on his personal space, and significant physical contact. However, aside from Mavis’ comatose state which resulted from it… Zeref recalled those fleeting moments, where they’d allowed themselves to be something akin to an ordinary couple, with nothing but fondness.

Eventually, the nurse stepped back and in turn broke Zeref from the musings he’d been focusing on to avoid lashing out by accident. “It’s only a pulled muscle” the nurse calmly concluded.

Invel was visibly relieved, though Zeref himself remained too stressed by both the touch he’d endured and the agony the injury was causing him to fully relax. He had been initially relieved it was not his writing arm, but as the moments ticked by Zeref began to realise all the consequences the stupid decision to be impatient was about to have on his life.

Injuring his shoulder was a significant problem, and far more so given his existing injuries. He relied on arm strength for a lot of things, from simply getting around in the wheelchair to pushing himself up out of a chair. The treatment for his damaged shoulder involved not moving it more than necessary for a couple of days, and certainly not bearing any weight on that arm. Therefore, all of those things where he'd have had to use it… would now require the aid of another person.

“However” the nurse firmly continued having sensed Invel’s air of relief, “it will need to be treated carefully for at least three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!” Zeref cried through the noxious combination of stress and agony from the injury. “But…I’m due to set out for Fiore in just over one!” An emotional storm began to brew as everything, all of his plans, hopes, and happiness, appeared to crumble away into dust.

The nurse did not have much regard for how much the trip meant to his patient, and simply began packing away his equipment whilst uttering further warnings, “If the healing has not progressed significantly, and continued rest and recovery cannot be ensured throughout the trip, you will not be going.” Medically speaking, it was doubtless a sound decision, to refuse the trip unless it healed well and quickly, but from an emotional perspective it was an entirely different story.

Without further ceremony, the nurse set about trying to ‘get him settled’ so he could ‘rest properly’. No small task, when it was his uncompromising words which had brought the Emperor to tears.

Over in Fiore the final preparations for the celebratory ball were also underway. Guest lists were finalised, venues decorated, and Hargeon Port prepared to receive the empire’s imperial ship. An undertone of anticipation was evident among the citizens too. Just under a year ago, the two countries had been at war. Yet now things looked set to move in a far more friendly direction.

Especially after Queen Hisui’s sudden public declaration of withdrawing from the jurisdiction of Ishgar’s Multi-National Magic Council, the citizens were anything from intrigued to concerned about where the future was heading. But either way, it spurred people on to follow the events around the talks and try to catch a glimpse of the happenings as the empire’s huge ship docked in Hargeon.

At Fairy Tail, the final week passed in its usual blur of job requests, destruction complaints, and out-of-control guildhall brawls – between which those involved in a certain plan had to try and move the final pieces into place. Time ticked down ever faster, with Lucy just barely crossing items off her list in time, until the day of the celebratory ball finally dawned and she was left with one singular unresolved issue.

Namely, ensuring that Mavis actually went to the ball. Lucy had tried everything she could think of, from encouraging Mavis’ enjoyment of pretty dresses, to mentioning the food, the music, the dancing, anything at all which would normally have made the guild’s First Master jump at the chance to go along. But with the grief in her heart, it seemed none of those things could override the older woman’s conviction that it was not worth attending.

Despite feeling insulted by the false name of ‘True Love’s Reunion’ that Warrod had given it, Mavis never removed the little pot from the sunny windowsill in her room at Fairy Hills. It just stayed there, as a reminder of… something. Over the weeks sat on her windowsill, it had sprouted a couple of tiny leaves, and otherwise barely grown. Whatever this thing really was, it clearly grew based on the plant magic Warrod had imbued it with, and not on account of sunshine and water.

So Mavis was beyond surprised when on the morning of the celebratory ball – which she had repeatedly refused to attend - the thing sprouted a thick stalk… with a potato…? Which in turn had some… black and white flowers growing out of it…?

It was certainly a peculiar sight to behold.

Warrod’s words when he gave it to her had been that ‘when it blooms, it shall be a day of good luck’, but what sort of ‘good luck symbol’ was a flowering potato?!

It just looked weird, like someone’s experiment with plant magic had gone horribly wrong but they still put it in a pot anyway! Knowing Warrod, and as much as he loved his silly jokes, even he wouldn’t go this far just for the sake of having a laugh.

The message in the plant’s insulting name ‘believe he’s alive and uncaringly ignoring you instead of dead and actually a decent person’ came through loud and clear. But as for what she was supposed to understand from this weird… flowery potato, Mavis had to admit she was utterly stumped. Unless Warrod was just hoping the ‘today shall be a day of good luck’ bit would somehow persuade her to go the ball.

She had no clear evidence of it, but Mavis had become increasingly suspicious of the fact that Warrod’s antics with the plant, Lucy’s attempts to persuade her to go along tonight, Natsu’s suspicious lack of taking job requests this last week, and Makarov’s pathetic excuse for not approving her to take a job request yesterday were somehow all connected. They all wanted her to go along… for whatever unfathomable reason.

Having stared at the potted… thing for what was probably several minutes, Mavis was broken from her thoughts by the sound of a knock against her door. With a sigh, and after taking a breath to prepare herself to yet again refuse to go to the ball that evening, Mavis reluctantly called a ‘come in!’ to permit whoever was beyond her door to come inside.

Despite not living at Fairy Hills herself, it was Lucy who stepped through the doorway. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but remained silent as her gaze promptly fell on the offending potato plant. As Lucy beheld the… thing occupying the small pot, she felt an immediate déjà vu to the cryptic letter Warrod had sent her. It seemed the tree wizard was still having a great time confusing people with that particular analogy.

Having deemed the meaning behind the plant not worth trying to explain, Lucy asked a far more important question, “Are you coming to the ball tonight?” It was not the first time she, or one of the other ladies at Fairy Hills, had asked this of Mavis. But her answer was always the same.

In proof of that point, it took only a couple of seconds for Mavis to firmly utter “No.”

Lucy sighed heavily, “Look, I… do understand why you don’t want to.” She really did, as with the information Mavis currently had… nothing about the ball would look attractive. Lucy wished she could convince Mavis to listen properly, and therefore hear the full story of why she ought to go, but Mavis had made it very clear she had no ears for any such explanations. So, as hard as it was when Lucy and others knew a solution to her grief was right around the corner… they’d been left with no choice but to leave her in the dark.

Gently, as Lucy knew attempting to convince Mavis to go was in a sense ‘playing with fire’, she continued to suggest, “I think you might regret it if you don’t. If nothing else, maybe you can… find someone from Alvarez to ask for some proper answers? You know, seeing as even Queen Hisui is convinced the council’s reports aren’t to be trusted at this point.”

“What ‘proper answers’ do I need, Lucy?” Mavis questioned, as she gazed uncompromisingly up at the taller woman. “Zeref’s dead, nobody can change that! I just have to make peace with it and move on with my life…somehow.” Slowly, she added, “I’m trying not to be so sad all the time, really I am. I even asked Makarov about putting up a memorial on Tenrou Island… then at least I’ve done something meaningful with my grief… but he hasn’t got back to me about it yet.”

Lucy paled slightly at the thought, and found herself immensely grateful that Makarov was involved in this plan and therefore had the foresight to stall on Mavis’ suggestion until after the ball. Having noticed the suspicious way Mavis was staring at her thanks to the extended silence, Lucy uttered a very awkward reply in hope of dampening her suspicions. However the look Mavis gave her in return left Lucy fairly certain the older woman only became more convinced that something was ‘off’.

“Fine…” Mavis grumbled, “If you won’t let me get on with my plans for a memorial until I’ve gone to this stupid ball then I’ll come.” Mavis glared at her determinedly, and if not for the underlying knowledge that going was absolutely in Mavis’ best interest, Lucy was sure she’d have withered under the intensity of it. “But only on the condition that Makarov considers my request properly afterwards! I want him to get a proper dignified memorial like anyone else would have, and nowhere else in Fiore is going to let me put up anything with the words ‘Zeref Dragneel’ on it!” Mavis half-yelled to further drive the point home.

“Uh… sure!” Lucy replied in a way she hoped didn’t sound too fake, “That can… that can be arranged.”

All of her prior anger fizzled out, and now sounding more tired and drained than anything else, Mavis uttered emotionally, “You’re still keeping something from me, aren’t you?”

“We have tried to tell you, but-” Lucy tried, only to be promptly spoken over instead.

Indignant about the suggestion she knew from experience was sure to follow, Mavis complained, “Oh, so you’re still clinging to the absurd idea that ‘Prince Charming’ is going to come back from the dead for one last dance?!” Once more, the bitterness and anger which so quickly rose up at first, vapourised just as quickly and left her with nothing to feel but tears and heartache. “If falling in love with him has taught me anything… it’s that those cute fairy stories don’t correspond to reality…”

“If I come…” Mavis suggested slowly, “Can we agree in exchange that everyone in the guild drops this ridiculous suggestion? I know you all want to help, but trying to get me to believe he’s alive and just ignoring me isn’t helping.” That thought was far worse, as it meant Zeref didn’t love her. At least… not anymore. It would have meant he’d moved on, probably found someone else too. Someone whose growth wasn’t horribly stunted, who didn’t need to deliberately dress more ‘grown up’ to avoid looking like a little girl.

That was a reality Mavis didn’t think she could face. It would mean their relationship, the deep connection she’d felt, had all meant nothing. At least if he was dead, she could rest content in the knowledge Zeref had been loyal until the end.

Chapter Text

Mavis had come to the ball out of a feeling of obligation, having been endlessly encouraged by the other women at Fairy Hills, and being at the centre of the conflict it sought to resolve; but she was not enjoying the experience.

She’d imagined herself attending formal balls before, but not like this. Those faint and wispy fantasies had involved being elegantly led around the floor by a soft spoken man dressed in archaic-looking robes. But tonight, the man in question was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t even know if he’d survived; presumably not, despite the various inexplicable occurrences surrounding the incident, if the radio silence was any indication.

She was attending this not as an Empress, but as a member of the guild who had helped defend Fiore. In all honesty, Mavis wasn’t quite sure why she had ever been invited. She hadn’t done a great deal of fighting, and whilst she had arguably been the one who singlehandedly ended the conflict… being praised for taking the life of her own husband was not a thing she appreciated.

For once, she was grateful for her short stature and unremarkable physique; at least she could vanish into the crowds of whirling dancers and pretend not to exist. Nobody from Fairy Tail had tried to stop her as she fled, though she had doubts it was because they understood her emotional turmoil. Most likely, they’d simply assumed she had finally succumbed to the curiosity and excitement of being a tangible living being again; but they couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Mavis clutched her hands to her chest and desperately tried to shut it all out as she weaved her way through the crowds. This wasn’t happening. She was not attending a ball to celebrate the death of her husband. Technically, the ball’s purpose was to ‘celebrate the return to peace and foster good relations’; and she’d heard that some of the Spriggan Twelve had even been invited. But among at least some of those gathered in the Fiorean ballroom, there remained an undertone of glee that Alvarez’s great Emperor had supposedly fallen in battle.

It was quite hard to know what was really going on over there as all reporting on Alvarez’s head of state was incredibly cagey. Word on the street suggested that ‘Emperor Spriggan’ had become a hereditary title, but as for whoever held it these days… it was impossible to glean anything about them.

She’d caught a glimpse of Irene when she was announced into the room, and seen her go over to talk with Erza, but was loathe to speak with her personally. Not so much due to any lingering dislike from the Separation Enchantment Irene had attempted to cast on her during the war, but rather for fear she’d burst into tears upon seeing anyone connected to her late husband.

That had certainly been an issue with Natsu on more than one occasion. In his particular case it was made even worse by the fact that the two brothers shared some obvious facial similarities. Some part of Mavis felt it surely couldn’t be healthy to remain so inconsolably upset after eleven long months… yet she could not shake her grief. The situation was probably made worse by the ages of many she was close to in the guild’s current generation. They were all at that stage of life where they found partners and began to settle down for life… whilst all she could do was mourn for what might have been.

Mavis’ attempts to flee the scene were interrupted by the sound of slightly hurried footsteps, and she turned to see Lucy, Wendy, and Queen Hisui approaching. It seemed the latter wished to speak with her, and the former two had been helping to find her. “As the Queen of Fiore, I wish to extend my thanks to you for your significant contribution to ending the war. I have been told that the defeat of Alvarez’s late Emperor wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

She’d nodded and curtseyed on auto-pilot, acknowledging Hisui with as few words as possible, and vanishing into the crowd again, as soon as was socially acceptable. She vaguely heard Lucy and Wendy calling after her, presumably having at last realised she was far from alright, but she took no notice of their cries.

That interaction had been her worst nightmare come true. Until then, the thanks for taking Zeref’s life had always been alluded to rather than said outright. She’d hoped it would stay that way, so she could survive those conversations by telling herself she was reading too much meaning into it.

But that illusion was shattered now; people really were painting her a heroine for something she hadn’t even wanted to do. People saw an ‘incredible strategist’ who ‘led her guild into the fray against steep odds’ and ‘skilfully claimed victory at the vital moment’; but in parading that version of her, they missed the fact that she had emerged from the battle not only as a victor but also as a widow. Even her own guild seemed to be blind to the impact of it, or perhaps they weren’t, but still didn’t know what to say; it was hard to tell sometimes.

Regardless, there wasn’t a soul at this party she wanted to speak to. The only advantage of the fact she’d never had chance to go on any foreign diplomacy missions as Empress was that she remained, essentially, a nobody. Fairy Tail might well be a famous guild, but generally only the prominent members were recognised; and even then, only by other guild wizards. At a party where half the attendees were guild wizards with no personal connection to her; and the remaining half were aristocrats who wouldn’t have the foggiest idea she existed, the people likely to bother her tonight were at least numbered.

She leant heavily against the archway onto the balcony and gazed out at the starry sky. Part of her wished to run away; climb down from the balcony and vanish into the night. But that was definitely a bad idea. Firstly, of course, because there was at least a 97.2% chance someone from Fairy Tail, probably one of the dragon slayers, would notice she was missing …and then would end up causing a scene in looking for her.

Secondly, she never felt safe alone after dark. As a woman, she would probably have felt vulnerable whatever…but her curse-induced stunted growth certainly didn’t help. She looked a little too much like a teenager, though the formal dress she wore that night certainly reduced this effect, and lacked physical strength too. Every other woman in the guild was physically stronger than her, even Levy and Wendy who were nearly as short as she was. But they had been able to grow and mature naturally; instead of being frozen in a teen-looking body which still refused to mature any further despite the lifting of the curse.

In an effort to distract herself from the dangerous idea of running away, Mavis returned her gaze to the bustling ballroom. At first it was just a hazy sea of twirling shapes, but then she became aware of people she knew and immediately regretted turning back to the party. Natsu and Lucy were visible, dancing …or at least, trying to. Even at a distance it looked rather like the former had no idea what he was doing and kept nearly tripping over Lucy’s feet.

Natsu and Lucy had started dating soon after the war. Nothing wrong with that really; she supposed, but seeing her brother-in-law so casually moving on with his life …didn’t feel particularly nice. Though they had spoken privately about it a few times, Natsu had – to her knowledge - never publicly acknowledged the fact that they were brother and sister in law. Though to be fair, as far as she was aware, he’d also yet to tell anyone in the guild – except Lucy - he even had a sibling. The fact that he was E.N.D had come out by default but he’d seemingly made no effort to acknowledge his other, and arguably more important, connection to the late Emperor.

Mavis had eventually taken to gazing at her feet, and periodically pulling a face at the uncomfortable shoes she’d been forced to wear. Hopefully nobody would notice, much less dare to speak with, the deceptively young-looking lady in the corner.

She only looked up from her feet when the previously constant rhythm of orchestral music came to a stuttering halt. The Page stationed at the top of the stairs, and who had announced each group into the room earlier, cleared his throat. “Presenting, His Majesty Emperor Spriggan of the Alvarez Empire!” announced the Page, with an elegant gesture to his right; but the air beside him was empty.

The ballroom stilled for several seconds, all eyes focused on the Page who seemed to become more embarrassed by the moment. When no second person appeared, things seemed to return to normal, much to the relief of the poor Page who had not been expecting to garner so much attention.

…only to erupt into chaos seconds later. Apparently someone, somewhere in the large room, had located the man in question.

The ballroom appeared divided on whether the new Emperor’s arrival was worth gasping at or not. Upon further inspection Mavis realised that a very high proportion of those uttering outraged gasps, and not so subtly pointing across the room, were guild wizards …with the notable exception of her own guild, who were contentedly carrying on as though nothing had happened. As for the aristocracy guests, they merely watched on rather bemused as to what all the fuss was about.

The orchestra promptly resumed, presumably as confused as the rest of Fiorean high society. With the added pressure, from the return of the music, even the still clearly outraged guild mages ceased to stare so openly and instead began to whisper anxiously in little huddles.

Mavis turned away disinterestedly. If Alvarez’s new Emperor wished to cause a scene by entering via the wrong door, or whatever had just happened, it would at least further reduce the chances of someone disturbing her.

By now she’d mostly tuned out the sound of the ball, from the gentle click of shoes on the shiny floor, to the undulations of the music, it was all inconsequential static to her now. She was momentarily returned to awareness by an unfamiliar noise against the flooring, but quickly dismissed the sound as an after effect of the earlier drama.

Then, she felt it; the pressure of a familiar galaxy of power. Something ancient, that almost felt more akin to a dusty spellbook found in long forgotten ruins than it did a person. It was illogical, impossible, and she was clearly dreaming… yet it would so easily explain the earlier outrage. Especially outrage from such a specific audience, and one who were unlikely to care in the least about broken etiquette from entering via the wrong door.

She lifted her gaze at last, and caught sight of a familiar looking entity. She ceased leaning on the wall and pressed one hand to her chest as her heart began to beat erratically. It’s just an apparition; you’ve accidentally created a near-sentient illusion from grief before, do not do it again, she fiercely reminded herself.

But the apparition moved, and she belatedly realised why something about it felt off; he – it - wasn’t standing. The apparition continued to approach her, and Mavis kept trying to make it go away through sheer willpower until she was jerked from her determined blank stare by a hand being waved in front of her face. “…are you alright? You’ve been staring right through me.”

The words were out before she could stop to think them through, “…You’re not an apparition?”

He laughed; amused, but understanding, “No, I’m quite real. A mere apparition wouldn’t have caused such a commotion simply by existing.”

She stared, though this time at rather than through him, as she awaited an explanation. How? When? Why now?

“I came to see you” he told her, despite it being somewhat obvious when he’d skirted the entire party to reach her. “I don’t know for certain whether you want to see me or not; if you don’t I’ll respect that, but…” he wasn’t crying, or visually emotional, but she could feel that just the thought of her rejection was immensely painful. It was the absolute last thing he wanted, but he offered her the choice anyway; because regardless of how the world caricatured him as a remorseless villain, the real him had always been a respectful gentleman.

She responded to the offer by closing the short distance between them, “I’m glad you did.” Relief flooded Zeref’s face the moment he realised he hadn’t just caused a massive commotion only to be flatly rejected.

“What happened?” Mavis asked, deliberately open ended, as she adjusted to the strange experience of looking him in the eyes requiring her to look slightly down instead of significantly up. She smiled a little at the familiar way he soon moved his own gaze somewhere else having found her stare uncomfortable.

“Natsu’s final attack damaged my spinal cord, and the curse was broken before it healed.” He didn’t seem upset or unhappy about it being the case, just calmly accepting. It made sense, after all he’d been through. Being unable to walk was nothing when weighed against spending further centuries in forced isolation from humanity.

“It resulted in a lot of muscle weakness, so it’s… problematic to walk or stand” he continued to explain.

A moment passed in near silence, if not for the din of still-outraged voices across the room, and Mavis contemplated reaching for his hand but refrained upon considering that he needed both hands to self-propel. He adjusted something on the wheelchair, which Mavis belatedly realised were the brakes, then held out his arms to invite her closer. She didn’t hesitate this time, and instead took a confident step towards him.

Hugging over the wheelchair armrest was a bit awkward at first, but after twisting his torso slightly Zeref found an angle where he could comfortably embrace her. Mavis was quick to return the gesture and settle her hands on his upper back. He leant against her, and buried his face in her right shoulder which soon became damp as the emotion of the moment brought them both to tears.

This was the first contact of any sort they’d had in nearing a year, and the first time they’d been physically together, without war-related concerns clawing at their thoughts, since their wedding night ninety-six years prior. He pulled back slightly, and brought one hand up to her face to gently brush a finger across her lips. She smiled warmly, “Do you really need to ask?” He responded, not with words, but by promptly bringing their faces together.

Mavis sighed contently, her hands still on his shoulders to keep balance as she leant forwards, and at last allowed the tension and anxiety she’d been carrying all evening to ebb away. They would eventually have to deal with the fallout of his arrival, but for a moment or two they could forget the rest of the world and simply be together.

No words needed to be spoken about how much the moment meant, as the depth of feeling was unmistakably conveyed by the firm grip with which they held each other. He closed his eyes and leant against her forehead in contentment. “I love you” he told her quietly, as if speaking too loudly might somehow jeopardise the moment.

“I know” she breathed, “and I love you too.” There was so much she wished to say, and even more that she wanted to ask, but all those things could wait. For now, all that mattered was that they were reunited at last. Hopefully, this time, far less fleetingly than during the war.

Though she’d been hesitant to pin any hope on his suggestion, Warrod had been right all along – she hadn’t ‘known’ for certain that only death could explain Zeref’s absence. Belatedly, she wondered if all the people who had so persistently tried to persuade her to attend… had actually known all along… and she’d ultimately denied herself that knowledge by refusing to listen. But the moment was too special to dwell on such thoughts, and Mavis cast them aside to worry about later.

Letting go was her least favourite part, but it had to be done eventually; so Mavis gently loosened her hold on his shoulders and stepped back ever so slightly. Just enough to provide a comfortable distance for conversation, but not so far she felt they were apart.

There was an openness on his face now, something which, as a result of the curse, she hadn’t seen so clearly in a very long time. Flippantly, he said, “You look exquisite in that dress, by the way.” It was a low-necked deep purple gown which, when paired with the delicate way her long hair had been pinned up, gave her a strong air of grace and sophistication. He’d always liked seeing her in more formal outfits, as they made her look every bit the elegant nymph of flowers her official Alvarez title was derived from. It also helped to disguise her stunted teen-looking physique; though that was a minor, albeit welcome, point.

She hummed in acknowledgement, “Still a fan of fancy and slightly archaic sounding language I see”

He tilted his head slightly and told her humorously, “I have been alive for rather a long time. Indeed some language considered dated now was once thought quite modern”

Mavis laughed, both at the comment, and in appreciation of his good mood. “And you are quite handsome yourself” she replied. He’d come dressed in a slightly more modern variant of his typically archaic sense of fashion. The coat and trousers reflected current tastes of high society, slightly old fashioned to the rest of the world but still in style at royal balls. But, as usual, he’d also draped himself in one of his much loved togas.

During the time they travelled together whilst engaged he had told her that it wasn’t actually fashion sense which drove his attachment to them, rather he simply liked the added weight of the fabric. In a way, it was nice to see that some things never change.

Finally tearing her gaze away from her beloved, Mavis cast a glance at the crowds behind them; who, amazingly, were yet to notice their or rather, his, absence. Presumably everyone was still too outraged that Zeref lived at all to bother noticing where he was.

“Do we…um…need to do something about the scene you caused?” she suggested unenthusiastically. Dealing with a crowd of enraged mages was a significantly less appealing idea than chatting with her dear husband.

“Invel and Irene are…attempting to handle it” he answered. Surprise crossed Mavis’ face as he spoke… if Zeref knew categorically that the two members of The Twelve who had been in the ballroom prior to his arrival were ‘handling it’, or trying to, despite not having had chance to speak with them since the incident… “This… was planned?” Mavis questioned as she began to put pieces of the puzzle together.

“I was officially invited” he affirmed, albeit slightly aggrieved at the idea she thought he would turn up to a thing like this uninvited. After a moment, he expanded, “Well, I suspect Queen Hisui thought she was inviting my successor rather than me myself but… if you do send an invite to ‘Emperor Spriggan’ without affirming who actually holds that position you have to be prepared to deal with the consequences.” Mavis snorted, then suggested, “And you turned up slightly late in hope that people would be too busy dancing to cause such a scene?”

“That part wasn’t planned”, and it hadn’t exactly prevented the chaos either. “Trying to access a ballroom in a wheelchair is…interesting, shall we say.” Fiore had been informed about his access requirements, but after the incident with the pulled muscle there had been some confusion as to whether he would actually be able to attend or not. The final confirmation of his attendance somehow didn’t reach the guards, and all in all it had been rather a mess. Irene and Invel had eventually had to go on ahead, to protect the empire’s image, and leave the access problems in the hands of the ambassador.

“Why go through all the trouble though? I know you detest parties.” This was something which had struck Mavis as being odd right from his first appearance. He’d always had an ambassador, or one of The Twelve (nowadays usually the ever-responsible Invel) attend social events on his behalf. Partially out of concern for his curse, though he was unlikely to hold personal concern for any of Fiore’s aristocracy, but also because ‘Zeref Dragneel’ and ‘party’ weren’t words which went together. It made even less sense for him to be there when it was so much harder to get into Mercurius Palace without using steps.

“I found out that you were supposed to be here” he said, as if it explained everything. “I’d been desperate to see you ever since I woke from my coma…” that was news to her, and Mavis made a mental note to ask further questions later in a more private setting. “…but simply turning up at Fairy Tail would definitely create a crisis” Mavis could only agree, and even the word ‘crisis’ was probably a glaring understatement. They’d accepted her amendment of her original story, to include the true nature of their relationship, but Mavis remained convinced that Zeref suddenly turning up ‘to see her’ would still have been met with suspicion, and or chaotic shows of displeasure.

“As would sending a letter to Fairy Hills addressed to ‘Mrs M. Dragneel’ and, pathetic as this probably sounds, I could not bring myself to write your maiden name instead.” There was an undertone of possessiveness to the last part, but she didn’t mind. She doubted she would have liked receiving a letter from him addressed to a ‘Miss Vermillion’ either. In fact, she’d have been most likely to take it the wrong way and thought she was receiving a file for divorce.

As the meaning of it all truly set in, she couldn’t stop smiling. He had really, truly, come to see her. Not for the ball itself, or to curry favour with the Fiorean administration; if anything he’d probably given himself more of a diplomatic headache by attending than staying away. He’d come for her, and nothing else.

“Natsu is here” she said, unsure if he knew.

“I know. I doubt my presence will have gone unnoticed, not with his sense of smell. The fact he hasn’t already stormed over here and shouted at me means he’s either decided I’m not a threat, or is still pretending I don’t exist.”

“Do you think Invel and Irene will have less of a diplomacy headache if we show ourselves?” she ‘asked’ but gave him a look which essentially meant ‘I think we should help them’.

“Hard to say. I could easily make it worse; because what conversation doesn’t get worse when ‘the Black Wizard Zeref’ decides to join it” he complained, voice laced with cynicism. “But we might as well” he conceded “I certainly don’t think any of the other conversations we need to have should take place in a public ballroom.”

They needed to talk more. About their feelings, about the war, about the last year; her situation, his health, living arrangements in the future, and much more besides. But those were conversations to be had in a room which contained only the two of them.

Across the ballroom, Invel pushed his glasses further up his nose as he calmly explained, for the hundredth time, that yes; Emperor Spriggan had been formally invited. Yes; Zeref was still Alvarez’s sovereign, but there was no need to fret as he had personally overseen the peace efforts since the end of the war.

Invel was good at this sort of thing, he had to be, as Alvarez Chief of Staff; and de-facto leader whenever His Majesty was occupied or ill. But that didn’t make answering the same questions over and over any less infuriating after a while.

To her credit, Irene was actually helping. To say Invel had been doubtful when the Scarlet Despair had proposed she would be the one to assist him would have been quite the understatement. But for once, Irene had decided to simply do her job rather than derive undue amusement from Invel’s struggles.

“You can’t claim that Zeref of all people turning up to a ball, which had already started, and by the wrong entrance to boot is ‘playing by the rules’!” complained one person.

“I may not have been able to see him over the crowd but I don’t need to see him to know that this is wrong!” cried another.

Composedly, Invel explained, “I can assure you the late arrival was not intended. There were some miscommunications regarding access requirements which delayed proceedings.” Invel’s assurances did little to cool the fiery atmosphere; and instead only triggered another round of complaints about His Majesty ‘disrupting the ball only to immediately disappear again!’

But before he could make further attempts to placate the irritated mages there was the sound of wheels on the shiny wooden floor, followed by a commanding male voice.

“I did not, in fact, disappear.”

Zeref wasn’t certain what exactly had triggered the round of shocked gasps which followed. It could have been the fact he was still there at all, or that he’d essentially admitted to really being the ‘feared Black Mage’; but he had a feeling that quite a number were to do with the fact that he wasn’t walking. It was strange, really, Fiore’s wizards seemed to almost feel more threatened by him now he couldn’t walk than they had when he could.

Invel was surprised to see His Majesty alone, instead of accompanied by his Empress; but though mildly concerned for the implications, he knew better than to question such a thing in public.

“As Invel has likely explained already, my lateness was a consequence of some miscommunications between ourselves and Fiore. We will naturally endeavour to ensure we communicate our requirements with more clarity in future.” He caught the gaze of Queen Hisui as he spoke, most notably he saw the rather shocked expression she momentarily had on her face. Both sovereigns knew it had been Fiore’s error; but Zeref had chosen to claim the blame for his side to avoid criticising Fiore.

Alvarez had been the aggressor in the war, and tensions between the two nations remained high, it would benefit nobody for Alvarez to still come across as feeling in the least ‘superior’. He hoped that this subtle shifting of blame would end up saving face for both sides.

Having recognised the olive branch held out to her, when he would have had every right to be critical of Fiore’s handling of the situation, Queen Hisui stepped forwards. As a mage she still held some reservations about dealing with such a feared legend, but as the Queen, Hisui could not allow such concerns to prevent her from ensuring continued peace.

She cleared her throat delicately as she approached, then declared, “Emperor Spriggan is correct.” In response, the room fell to a hush, “There were indeed some miscommunications which led to the delays tonight; however I’m sure these small issues will be resolved as we work diligently towards a permanent peace between our nations.” That had been one reason for the ball, after all; a celebration that negotiations for a more permanent peace treaty had been agreed.

Nobody seemed to have the courage to openly disagree with the Queen of Fiore, though Zeref was well aware that many stares remained firmly pinned on him. Waiting, watching; for him to slip up, or attack, anything that they could use against him. When the crowd did not immediately disperse, Hisui made a show of going up to the conductor and requesting a different song in a determined attempt to return the ball to order.

The aristocracy guests, having correctly deduced that the drama was supposed to be over, ceased watching the debacle and found partners to dance with. The guild mages - with the exception of Fairy Tail who had, oddly, never joined the crowd – were however less keen to disperse. In response to their abstinent refusal to move on, despite it clearly being desired by both heads of state, Hisui turned her back to the crowd of mages and instead struck up conversation with the man who had unintentionally started all this.

It was a case of common pleasantries at first; as both of them quietly monitored the state of the crowd behind, who they were quite aware, were watching their every move like hawks. He congratulated her on both ascending to the throne in general, and the seamless transition from peace talks under her father, to ones under her. She commented that she’d heard he’d been unwell prior to the ball and was ‘glad things had improved enough to attend’. As the casual conversation continued, a number of the less invested mages finally seemed to lose interest and returned to dancing or perusing the buffet tables.

“I understand you have an Empress?” Hisui enquired. The reports of Emperor Spriggan being married were quite old, but so was the man who held the title. There was no way to be certain, without asking, whether they were true; or if she still lived. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met her. Is she here tonight? Or perhaps there was further confusion over invitations…?”

Zeref had no idea what to say to that. Not because he didn’t know the answer - of course he knew the answer! He’d spoken with her, kissed her even, in that very ballroom. But Mavis had been hailed by Fiore as the heroine who defeated him. Revealing her as his Empress could very well throw suspicions of ‘foul play’ towards Mavis herself, and even to Fairy Tail as a whole. He couldn’t lie, both because he hated lying, and because the truth would come out eventually.

It was only because both the people of Alvarez and his elite shields were good at keeping information quiet – and he supposed some likely interference from the council - that news of ‘Fairy Tail’s founder caught in scandalous relationship with Black Wizard’ hadn’t already spread like wildfire.

Just before the silence dragged on long enough to look like hesitation, Zeref became aware of Mavis’ deliberate but subtle crossing of the room. If she’d decided it was strategically favourable to go through with it, he might as well play along. There was none whose strategic judgement he trusted more than hers. She’d defeated his army despite the overwhelming odds stacked against her, after all.

“She is” he affirmed “although admittedly not attending in any official capacity for Alvarez.” Hisui raised an eyebrow. “She has personal ties here in Fiore, and…” fought for Fiore during the war - we lost because she’s a strategic genius even I can’t outdo “…due to various circumstances I will not go into detail of for the sake of brevity; we have been living separately for a period. However she remains committed to both myself and Alvarez; and hopes her mutual connection with both countries might assist in the efforts for peace.”

Nobody seemed to have noticed Mavis’ subtle approach until she walked right up to Queen Hisui. It was hard to say who was most shocked, the Queen or the crowd of mages. Hisui’s mix of confusion and awkwardness was unable to be masked as she spoke, “It’s…an honour to meet you Empress…Mavis…?”

She nodded in acknowledgment, and greeted Hisui similarly albeit with less awkwardness. In response to Hisui’s uncertainty of what to address her as, Mavis said, “My official title is Anthousai, as my husband’s is Spriggan; though those are perhaps a bit stiff for an occasion like this.” It was supposed to be a celebration of peace, after all.

The rest of the gathered mages dispersed, having presumably concluded that international politics and formal titles, as well as the Emperor’s love life, really weren’t all that entertaining. Soon afterwards, Hisui politely excused herself having at last caught sight of a guest she’d been attempting to speak with all evening.

“How long are you here for?” Mavis enquired as they made their way back to a quiet corner of the ballroom. Though she didn’t mind the bustling atmosphere, she knew he probably would, and it was a bit hard to hear one another over the chatter of the other guests.

“A couple of weeks” he answered as he followed her. “I was invited for the diplomatic talks which are due to follow, more than the ball itself.”

Excitedly, Mavis turned to stare at him, “So that means I can see you whenever I want? Between now and then?”

He sighed, “Not quite whenever. I promised Invel that even though seeing you was a high priority from my perspective, I wouldn’t lose focus on the diplomatic reason for being here.” His schedule was quite full, and finding any daytime slot of reasonable length to spend with her would be challenging. Mavis drooped at that idea, so, tentatively, he made a suggestion. “…you could come and stay with me at the embassy. It’s a double bed, there would be plenty of room for you. …at least, I’m assuming you would be okay with that given how willingly you let me kiss you earlier.”

Mavis smiled and placed one hand on his knee, their lengthy separation had created an intense urge to be in physical contact. “I’ve dreamt of waking in your embrace for so long, how could I possibly refuse?” with a mildly embarrassed giggle she added, suggestively, “and um… I’d happily let you do more than ‘just kiss’ me tonight.”

He put a hand over her mouth before she had the audacity to spout anything further, “Save your suggestive comments for when we’re safely in our room, alright?” he complained, having been both embarrassed, and taken by surprise, over her not-so-subtle implications.

Having never intended to dwell on her prior comment, Mavis enquired of a topic she’d been mulling over ever since he brought it up. “You said you ‘had heard I would be here’, how come? I know word travels quite slowly between Ishgar and Alvarez at the moment otherwise I’d have known…” she tailed off, unsure how to explain the last eleven months of her life.

“…That I survived?” he prompted when her silence continued. Her previously downwards gaze shot up to meet his again as those words took her by surprise, “You…knew about that?”

“Since April” he affirmed, and placed his own hand on top of hers. “One of our diplomats saw you talking to Warrod at the headquarters of Fiore’s Magic Council, and later ended up boarding the same crocus-bound train as you, Gajeel, and Levy. They noticed you seemed sad, and were wearing black. I made some assumptions based on that information… then Warrod sent me an incredibly cryptic letter he’s extremely lucky I understood correctly!” He squeezed her hand tightly. “If it hadn’t been for the severe diplomatic consequences of trying to contact you directly I’d have been here months ago.”

As the diplomatic situation had thawed in recent weeks – and since Irene’s letter seemed to have arrived untampered - the possibility of writing to her had potentially been on the table at last, but he’d ultimately determined that their reunion needed to be in person. He knew that if he’d believed her to be deceased, yet received a letter purporting to be from her, he would likely have immediately disbelieved it. It had arguably delayed their reunion slightly, but it was important she knew for certain he was real and alive rather than be left with only a confusing letter.

Softly, but on the verge of tears, she answered, “and if I’d known you were still alive, I’d have been on the first passenger ship to Alakitashia.” They had been apart for a very long time, but the love and devotion which had first brought them together remained as strong as ever.

“I do apologise for the fact I won’t be spinning you round the floor like I thought I would be on our first state visit together.” Even this wasn’t technically a joint visit, but their marital status was public knowledge now, so it might as well be. She shook her head, “Don’t. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

They’d spent the rest of the evening quietly conversing in a corner of the ballroom, and scarcely letting go of each other’s hands, before eventually retiring to the embassy for some much needed private conversation.

It was still ‘early’ by the usual standards of ball leaving times, and most of the other guests were probably still partying, but leaving was necessary when there was so much that remained to be discussed. Invel had accompanied them back to the embassy, whilst Irene stayed at the ball to continue her own reconciliation efforts which, if the amount of time she’d spent talking to Erza was any indication, seemed to have gone quite well.

The Winter General had seen them into the drawing room, then immediately excused himself to give them space to talk. Invel’s efforts had been vital in making this moment happen, but he also recognised just how important it was that they at last had space to reconnect.

At first, they simply stared at one another silently as an infinite number of conversation topics were considered for discussion. There was so much to say, that it was hard to prioritise what to talk about first.

Mavis was the first to break the silence; having at last bypassed her indecision and simply asked the first thing which came to her mind, regardless of whether it was the ‘most important’ or not. “What happened to my wedding ring?” she asked, primarily in hope he still retained it somewhere. Precht could well have removed it when her body was returned to Fairy Tail, meaning Zeref knew no more than she did, but it was worth asking.

“I’ve kept it in my requip space” he answered reassuringly, and summoned a small black box into his hand. She held out her left hand, and contentedly let him slip the symbol of their union back onto her finger. Zeref lifted her hand so he could kiss it, then uttered the words, “My beautiful wife” as he continued to gaze at her lovingly.

When she ultimately decided to enquire why he had relegated it to his requip space all those years ago, instead of simply leaving it on, he was quite willing to answer. “At the time of returning your body to Fairy Tail I presumed that learning of the fact you were married, presumably to myself, would cause them excessive panic …and I decided to spare them that.” After a moment he added, “Though with hindsight, perhaps knowing of our legal union would have eased Precht’s presumed confusion instead.”

At Mavis’ lack of understanding, he belatedly remembered that she knew nothing of the… improbable situation… that was August’s existence. Slowly, tentatively, as all his prior apprehensions as to how she might react came back to haunt him, Zeref tried to explain it. “Do you…remember August?”

“I assume you mean ‘of the Spriggan Twelve’, rather than this time last year” she answered.

He nodded, “Yes, but…uh…” Zeref struggled to explain as the fear of a possible negative reaction – likely involving accusations of him being unfaithful - clawed at his thoughts. “Apparently, he’s our son and was delivered by Precht sometime between you falling unconscious and regaining full self-awareness. I know that sounds utterly ridiculous but-”

Mavis gasped, cutting off his speech, and clapped her hands together in apparent epiphany, “Everything makes sense now!” she declared with passion, even as the gears visibly continued to turn in her head as she worked out the finer details of the matter.

“…it does?” Zeref repeated, perplexed by both the epiphany itself and the happiness in her tone. Everything about the situation, from August’s now undeniable parentage, to said son’s peculiar ability to use magic to view scenes from his parent’s past and become aware of their identities, had seemed improbable to him. But, seemingly, Mavis understood it from a different angle.

“That must be why I ‘died’, and you didn’t that time!” she continued and practically bounced with enthusiasm as she pieced the situation together. “The curse, being designed to destroy life, saw our conceiving of a child as the highest possible contradiction of its power. As such, it tried to purge said life, but couldn’t because due to being ‘part of’ my body at the time he must’ve temporarily shared my immortality!” That…made sense, actually; and was certainly more logical than any of the hole-riddled explanations he’d come up with previously. Zeref continued to mull the idea over, then added, “By extension, you assumedly fell unconscious because of the curse’s incessant efforts to kill August.”

She nodded firmly, “I suspect it also explains why I never knew he existed, as the curse only ‘let up’ and enabled my spirit to being to regain self-awareness after August had been delivered.” After a momentary silence she curiously enquired, “Why is he called ‘August’, it’s…an interesting choice of name. Did Precht choose it?”

Awkwardly, as he could only agree with her assessment, but it was much too late to change anything now, he answered, “Because…when I first met him he looked – facially at least - like a little version of you and I remembered that we were married during August and… lacked creativity.” Feeling that was still not an adequate explanation for unknowingly naming their firstborn child after a month of the year he continued to ramble, “I really don’t know what I was thinking… was I thinking? I’m not sure it’s safe to assume that cursed-Zeref really knew what thinking was.”

Mavis laughed, and delightedly threw herself at him for another cuddle. “It’s so weird to think we’ve been parents all these years and never knew!” They had spoken about the possibility of children prior to getting married, and firmly agreed that if they someday escaped the curse they would attempt to have a family together; but it still felt odd when neither had seen it coming. Softly, as she brought up one hand to caress his face, Mavis uttered, “Congratulations.”

“…For?” he asked in confusion.

“Being a father, of course!” she insisted cheerily. In a slightly more sombre, though by no means depressed, tone she continued, “This development probably throws a spanner in my plans to attempt to conceive now …but in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter I suppose.”

Zeref smiled back in genuine happiness, “In that case, congratulations to you too, my dear” he told her lovingly whilst gently twirling some of her hair around his fingers. “With regard to your second point; August was not against the notion he might have younger siblings.”

Excitedly, she disentangled herself from the embrace, “Come on then! We have things to do!” she declared whilst making a bee line for the door, and presumably their room. Having taken a moment to simply be amused by her behaviour, he followed her out the door.

Chapter Text

After three days in Fiore, the décor of his embassy bedroom was becoming a routine sight. What wasn’t normal, however, was the feeling of something heavy atop his left arm and shoulder. Zeref dislodged the weight without second thought, and gingerly sat up for fear he’d triggered the pulled muscle again. The weight...er…person…shrieked.

He momentarily panicked, because no one should be in his bed, only to belatedly recognise the petite, blonde haired, lady sprawled across the pillow. “Good morning to you too” Mavis grumbled as she righted herself from the odd way she’d fallen. “Sorry…I uh…” he began “temporarily forgot that last night happened …so panicked at the idea I was sharing a bed with someone.”

“It is a bit surreal” she agreed, and sat up. “I had the same fear when I first woke a little while ago; but having confirmed it was just you, I curled up again and went back to sleep.” She looked so happy, elated even, at the fact she was finally getting to spend her first morning with her husband. She held out both arms, in invitation for a hug, and mumbled contentedly at the pleasant experience of being squeezed.

After a moment, Mavis registered one hand being placed behind her head for support, and Zeref leant closer still to cover her cheeks with soft, loving, kisses.

Mavis brought her own hand up to gently caress the area on the upper right of his back where she knew the Alvarez crest had been emblazed via magic stamp. The stamp’s imprint felt almost no different to the rest of his skin, but she could sense the subtle pulse of magic which held the deep purple emblem in existence. In return, he moved the hand not supporting her head to press against her upper arm where it bore a white Fairy Tail one.

After a while, he pulled back slightly and placed the fingers of both hands between her own. “Come back to Alvarez with me” he implored wistfully. Now that he’d had another taste of what marital life could be like, he had no desire to let it go again.

She smiled reassuringly, but didn’t directly answer the question, “It’s possible to teleport intercontinentally, yes?”

“It is, but…why do you ask?” he replied suspiciously. The idea of her staying in Fiore but ‘coming to visit sometimes’ was not one he wished to entertain. Mavis quickly cottoned on to his misunderstanding, “Because then I can live with you, but not completely abandon my guild, silly!” With a shake of her head she added, “Of course I’m not going to live with them and visit you!”

He sighed with relief, “I don’t know why I’m still so inclined to doubt every little thing, when you’ve been so completely devoted all this time.”

“Because your life was something of a rolling disaster for four long centuries” she immediately answered. “I think it’s reasonable it would take a while for you to adjust to the idea that positive things do indeed happen.” Mavis understood the feeling herself. After all the grief and pain she’d felt in the last year, even she kept momentarily convincing herself that this was all an elaborate dreamscape.

“It will be weird meeting August” Mavis uttered absentmindedly as they returned to cuddling lying down. The change of position made it easy for him to hold her torso in a comforting embrace without bearing her weight and potentially aggravating his mostly-healed pulled muscle. “At least you ought to be spared doing it at four in the morning” he replied, having remembered the delightful experience he’d had by learning of it at such an unearthly hour.

“I wonder why Precht abandoned him?” she continued to muse, “He could just as easily have raised him in the guild, even without admitting that he was my son.” As she said that, Zeref concluded that Mavis was severely underestimating just how much like her August had looked when he was younger. If not for the assumed impossibility which had forever kept his mind from such a conclusion, the physical resemblance would have been more than enough evidence to make such a theory appear plausible.

“August thinks it was something to do with me” Zeref answered whilst running his fingers through her hair. “I delivered your comatose, though then assumed dead, body to him and Precht likely made the correct assumption of August’s parentage.” Mavis sighed, “I suppose that makes sense.” The idea she had been together with ‘Zeref of all people’ had made some current members of her guild a bit uncomfortable. “Now that I think about it, there may be an explanation for why he sent August away and never told anyone about it” she uttered.

Zeref made a noise indicating he had heard, and was waiting for her to explain further, but otherwise merely continued burying his face in her hair.

“Precht may have thought I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know, because he could have assumed you…uh” she paused with intent, but was unable to quite say the words, “did it…without my consent.”

“Ah” he answered awkwardly. “I detest the assertion I would do something so horrific, but it…would unfortunately make sense from Precht’s perspective.” After a brief pause, Zeref changed his mind, “Except it doesn’t; because in later life he essentially turned into one of those dark magic cultists who revere my existence.” The distaste for such cults was quite palpable in his tone as he continued, “Which would mean he was placing on a pedestal the very man he presumed to have done… that to a dear friend of his.”

Eventually she simply shrugged, “I doubt we’ll ever truly understand Precht’s actions without interrogating him about them.”

“You won’t be doing that either” Zeref answered, gravely, “I used death pillar on him when he tried to flee Tenrou Island. The curse had half taken hold, and the way he had both created such turmoil in an otherwise peaceful place, and summoned Acnologia made me really angry.” Moments later, he seemed to realise what he’d just admitted to. “Sorry. Telling you I killed one of your friends isn’t exactly a nice thing to hear about.”

“Maybe not” Mavis broadly agreed, “But you know as well as I do that by then Precht was so deep into the darkness that he refused to be brought back.” Various members of the guild, including Makarov, had tried to talk their former Guildmaster out of it but he’d refused to listen. She had known for some time that he had presumably died, so only Zeref’s involvement in it was news to her. “By doing what you did, you may well have saved a great deal more people from having their lives upended by his attempts to gain favour with you.” Mavis quietly concluded. Precht, then calling himself Hades, had destroyed numerous villages whilst pursuing a cultist myth about ‘keys of Zeref’s revival’… and would likely have damaged more still if he’d managed to flee the island.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. After a loud call of “Your Majesty?” the person was revealed to be Irene. “I’m told breakfast is being served in half an hour, and today’s first meeting is in two hours. So in other words, get up now” she called through the door. “And no, I don’t care that you’re probably comfortable with Mavis. You still have responsibilities and are obliged to fulfil them.”

With a mild grumble of unhappiness, he began to disentangle himself from the cosy position they’d settled in. “Yes, yes. We’re working on it.” he called back unenthusiastically, and Irene’s footsteps were heard retreating back down the corridor.

“Anything I can help with?” Mavis asked as she watched him prepare to transfer back into his wheelchair. She desired to be of help, but had quickly learnt it was best to ask first. ‘Can’t walk’ was a spectrum; and whilst some wheelchair users needed assistance simply to move from one surface to another, others were near completely independent with it. She’d tried to help with getting into bed last night, and had immediately been swatted away for encroaching on his independence.

“Not really” he answered with a light shrug “I’ve learnt to do most things myself. Though…” he tilted his head towards a neatly folded pile of clothing on the blanket chest as he slowly moved away from the side of the bed. “If you’re really at such a loose end, you could choose some clothes for me.”

Mavis snorted, apparently having found some amusement from his entirely serious suggestion. Jokingly, and between bouts of laughter, she replied “I certainly don’t recommend copying the legend of ‘the emperor’s new clothes’.”

In mock offense, he turned away at speed, “How rude! Maybe I won’t brush your hair for you after all.” A moment later he added, “Like you’re any more presentable.” She most certainly wasn’t, given her primary source of modesty was the bedsheet, but Mavis only laughed harder.

It was a nice change, to finally be able to laugh and smile together, instead of always struggling through pain and hardship. Though it was arguably ‘tragedy’ which had brought them together, their relationship was so much more than that. It was built on love and mutual appreciation, the knowledge that they complemented one another, and were stronger together. There would doubtlessly be more storms ahead in what remained of their lives, but now they could at last face it all as a team; without wars and cursed whims to drive them apart.

Ten minutes later, having made themselves decent, and after some further silliness and teasing, they joined Irene and Invel in the dining room.

“Well” remarked the Scarlet Despair, from where she stood loitering by the table, as they entered, “And here I thought I’d surely have to chase you both out of there.”

“Good morning, Your Majesties” Invel uttered, in a far more polite manner, as he approached from across the room.

Mavis curtseyed on instinct, having temporarily forgotten that she was the one with the ‘power’ in this situation. She only realised her mistake, upon spotting Invel’s horrified expression, “Empress Anthousai, you mustn’t curtsey before people of lower ranking than yourself it is unbefitting-!”

“No need to berate her”, Irene cut in, “She’s not exactly used to the life of an Empress.” That was certainly true. Mavis had only existed in Alvarez public life for two short months as ‘Empress to be’, and as such most of the mannerisms were foreign to her. …especially when coming from such a casual and rowdy guild as Fairy Tail.

“I am aware” Invel answered with a sigh, “but imagine if someone from Fiore saw her doing it!” And just like that, the two shields became embroiled in a debate over the importance of procedure. As the ‘discussion’ descended into mania it became clear that Irene was partially teasing him, but Invel himself seemed not to have realised it yet.

“Should I be concerned?” Mavis asked as she took her seat at the large table.

“Not particularly” Zeref answered disinterestedly as he picked up a spoon, “They do this every so often. I’ve learnt to just let them get on with it.”

Quietly, she replied, “Reminds me of something you’d see at my guild.” If Zeref’s shields were all this lively, maybe it wouldn’t be such a strange transition to live in Alvarez.

His hand reached for hers under the table, “That was exactly what I thought the first time it happened.” Their styles of leadership were different, and the environments in which they led even more so, but the people they’d brought together were surprisingly similar.

Mavis hadn’t accompanied him to the day’s meetings. Primarily on account of the fact she knew next to nothing about Alvarez’s current affairs, and so from a functional standpoint would have been little more than an added decoration round the negotiation table. They’d been sad to part ways so soon, but the knowledge that it was only for a few hours made it bearable.

She’d expected to spend those hours quietly reading, and was deeply engrossed in a fascinating book about obscure forms of script magic when there was a loud slamming noise from the force with which the room’s double doors were opened. “Morning!” Natsu practically yelled as he stepped past a speechless guard who had intended to escort him inside.

“Ugghhh” Lucy groaned as she followed him through the doorway, “Do you have to make a scene everywhere you go?!”

Natsu took as much notice of Lucy’s complaint as he did Makarov’s pleas not to be so destructive on job requests – otherwise known as none at all – and instead gazed around the room with increasing impatience. “Hey! Where’s my brother?! Isn’t he supposed to be staying in this fancy place?”

Mavis gently set a bookmark between the pages and placed her reading material down onto the ornate coffee table. “He’s busy with the negotiations” she explained simply.

Natsu immediately spun round to look at Lucy, “See! This is why I told you we should’ve come last night!”

Having seen the exasperated look which formed on Lucy’s face, Mavis concluded that the topic of when to visit the embassy had probably been debated a significant number of times already. In hope of avoiding them reigniting that argument, Mavis cut in, “So… what brings you both here?”

“I came to see my brother” Natsu immediately grumbled as he folded his arms, “only for him to not even be here!”

“And to check on you!”, Lucy added in general reference to recent events, “After… everything. Are things… alright?” she asked uncertainly. Although she had seen the pair leave the ball together the previous night… Lucy had to admit she wasn’t sure whether the fact that Mavis had not accompanied him today, indicated that things had subsequently gone pear-shaped.

Lucy did not receive a verbal answer, and instead yelped in surprise as Mavis jumped to her feet and promptly threw herself in Lucy’s direction. “Thank you” Mavis uttered when she stepped back a few seconds later and allowed Lucy to breathe once more, “I surmised you had something to do with last night... and it… truly…” It was hard for Mavis to explain how she felt now. The crushing feeling of being alone in a world full of people had mostly dissipated, and the knowledge that her guild had in some way facilitated it, also helped soothe the worries that people viewed her differently now after she’d openly declared the depth of her relationship with Zeref.

“I can’t put into words how much it means to me that you helped reunite us despite his…”, Mavis paused as she considered how to describe it, “…unsavoury reputation, and recent… antagonism towards the guild.” It had been clear for some time that the guild had broadly – if not always happily – accepted Mavis having loved and grieved for Zeref, but never would she have considered they’d be so willing to… seemingly orchestrate a reunion.

Lucy shrugged, “I’ll admit that at first it was hard to put aside my fears after the war, but having talked to you and Natsu this past year I guess I realised Zeref really isn’t that different to anyone else.” Based on Natsu’s slightly fuzzy childhood memories, Zeref had been a quiet and gentle person. One with a lot of intelligence certainly, but more importantly someone who cared very deeply about other people. It could not be denied that ‘Zeref’s hands’ had committed countless evil deeds, yet neither was it true that Zeref had ‘wanted’ to do most of them.

Even from what little she knew of it, Lucy thought it was nothing short of a miracle that Zeref’s true personality seemed to have weathered the 400 year storm of cursed madness. Yet seemingly it had, if the glimpses she’d caught of the pair last night, and Mavis’ happiness since, were anything to go by. Warmly, she added, “The two of you certainly don’t deserve to be denied happiness just because of Zeref’s bad reputation.” People in the guild were still nervous of this arrangement, but after Lucy made an impassioned case for it… and Natsu uttered his own speech of questionable persuasiveness… their friends had been willing to give it – or rather Zeref - a chance.

“So… everyone else knows he’s your brother?” Mavis asked quietly as she turned to Natsu. “I thought you were keeping it a secret because you couldn’t bring yourself to admit to it.” That’s certainly what it had looked like, to one who did not know the announcement had happened behind her back… on account of Mavis’ own refusal to hear out the associated plan.

“Now you’re as bad as Lucy!” Natsu immediately complained, “Don’t blame me for the rest of the guild not noticing E.N.D is also my initials!”

“And you noticed that? Before Zeref told you?” Lucy questioned in full knowledge of the answer. The reactions when Natsu had made his speech and casually mentioned Zeref being his brother… as though it had been obvious information people had known for years… for that, the word ‘chaos’ was not nearly strong enough!

Outrage had spread through their group of friends at break-neck speed all whilst Natsu stood on the guild stage looking rather bemused followed by an equally bizarre declaration that it should have been ‘obvious’ the moment they learnt he was E.N.D.

That scene had rather predictably ended with Gray and Natsu getting into a fight. However, to Lucy’s immense relief, it had been about who was more ‘stupid’ – Natsu for ‘thinking something so absurd was obvious’, or Gray for ‘just not noticing’ - than anything more team-shattering such as Gray’s still-significant dislike for Zeref.

The fact that the ice-mage – who had long vowed to kill both Zeref and E.N.D – had been willing to help out with the plan to reunite Mavis and Zeref had surprised Lucy. But perhaps seeing their usually upbeat First Master so depressed had been too much for even Gray to ignore. It remained clear that Gray was far from trusting of Zeref. However trust could – if earned – be built with time, as Zeref was, hopefully, allowed to integrate into the guild’s community by association to Natsu and Mavis.

Unable to argue with Lucy’s statements, Natsu moved to sit near where Mavis had been when they arrived in an attempt to avoid acknowledging that she’d shown up his failing logic. Having not felt like arguing over the point, Lucy sat down beside him as Mavis also returned to her seat.

As the three of them sat and chatted, it was clear that Mavis was still getting over the last eleven months of heartache, but her spark of immutable happiness was back too. That, combined with the knowledge that Zeref would surely be just as watchful for Mavis’ mental wellbeing as those at the guild, gave Lucy confidence that things would be ok.

When he returned to the embassy late that afternoon, Zeref was relieved to have finished dealing with politics and trade agreements for the day and simply looked forward to some more long awaited alone time with his beloved Empress. Except, when he wheeled into the drawing room, Mavis was not alone! At some point in his absence, it seemed a certain pair of individuals – including one Natsu Dragneel - had turned up.

Well…that was…he honestly didn’t know what to say. “What brings you here?” he eventually uttered, with a distinct air of uncertainty, as he approached the group sat around the coffee table. His brother hesitated slightly, and cast a momentary look towards Lucy Heartfilia who sat beside him, but soon answered. “I was going to try and talk to you when you left the party last night; but Luce told me that was ‘too inconsiderate’ because-” his gaze flicked across to Mavis “-you both probably wanted some time to yourselves.”

“I’m not sure that answered my question, but go on” he agreed with a sigh.

Natsu fidgeted as he contemplated what he was about to say, then quietly offered, “I’d…like to get to know you. If that’s okay…?” When the war had ended, and it had seemed that Zeref was gone forever… Natsu really hadn’t known what to feel. It had felt silly to be upset over it when they’d been estranged for… essentially forever. But, as more of Natsu’s early memories resurfaced, from before the death that set Zeref on the path which ultimately got him cursed… he couldn’t deny that they had once been extremely close.

In truth, ever since arriving in ‘the future’ Natsu had always felt like a piece was missing from his life. But for years it had been easy to chalk that up to Igneel’s disappearance. Even following Igneel’s death, Natsu had presumed that empty void of absence to consist only of grief for his adoptive father. But in the months after the war, as the weight of those regained childhood memories had grown increasingly heavy from the knowledge there was no one else who recalled them… Natsu had finally realised that the empty hole in his life was very much ‘Zeref-shaped’.

So when Warrod had told them Zeref likely lived, he’d made up his mind to do something about reconnecting as soon as he got the chance. Indeed it had taken all of Lucy’s persuasiveness to keep the impulsive dragon slayer from barging into the embassy last night. In other circumstances, Lucy might not have stopped him. But after the struggle to persuade Mavis to attend, she hadn’t wanted the other woman to end up feeling sidelined as Natsu enthusiastically attempted to reconnect with his brother.

“Of course” Zeref immediately affirmed, despite lacking any context to Natsu’s change of heart. “I didn’t get cursed trying to bring you back to life, only to refuse to have anything to do with you now.” He had no way to know what had changed the dragon slayer’s mind, away from the pure antagonism they’d exchanged during the war, but whatever it was… Zeref refused to let the opportunity to finally reconnect pass him by.

Those words set Natsu more at ease. He’d been nervous about how his offer would be received, but it seemed that he needn’t have worried – a non-cursed Zeref didn’t do weird things. “You certainly sound much more like the brother I remember than you did last year” Natsu commented casually. “Cursed-you was really weird. Even Mavis thought so, and she can’t think you’re that bad since she married you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Zeref cried indignantly.

Natsu shrugged dramatically, “I don’t know! What am I supposed to say to a 400-year es…? estr…? Extra-staged…?” he tried, but upon failing to work out what the word he wanted was, Natsu simply settled for, “An older brother I haven’t talked to in hundreds of years!”

“The feeling is definitely mutual” Zeref grumbled, whilst pointedly ignoring the fact that Mavis had the audacity to burst out laughing at Natsu’s stupid comment that she couldn’t think he was ‘that bad’ if she’d married him.

“Oh yeah! Speaking of that!”, Natsu uttered in apparent epiphany, “I almost forgot to tell you…” He immediately gestured towards Lucy, then uttered, “This is Lucy, she’s from Anna’s family and is also my girlfriend.”

“Somehow”, Lucy uttered exasperatedly despite knowing there was no intention of offense, “I think those two statements should have been the other way round.”

“And!” Natsu continued animatedly, after muttering a last minute apology to Lucy, “She was the orchestra to the plan last night!”

“…you mean she ‘orchestrated’ it?” Zeref questioned.

“Probably”

“I didn’t even orchestrate it!” Lucy protested, “Warrod started it! He sent me a weird letter about black and white flowers with a drawing of a potato… and somehow I got dragged into making everything happen according to plan!” It had been a huge amount of responsibility, and whilst she had originally been alright about being involved… those pressured moments when she’d feared being unable to persuade Mavis to attend and as a result letting everyone down… that had been far more stress than Lucy had wanted. Things had gone so down to the wire that Lucy had half expected to find herself left to explain to Zeref why his wife didn’t show up, despite Warrod having apparently told Alvarez she would be there.

At Lucy’s outburst, the gears in Mavis’ head visibly turned as she finally connected the dots around the weird pot plant Warrod gave her - that was to be expected. However Lucy was not expecting the look of recognition which also formed on Zeref’s face.

Then, and almost as indignant as Lucy had been, Zeref cried, “So you’re telling me… that Warrod’s flowering potatoes were a wider scheme than the stupid essay he sent to Invel’s office?!”

“Hold on” Lucy uttered disbelievingly, having belatedly recalled that the tree wizard had complained of being unable to send official post to Alvarez as it got blocked by the council. “Warrod sent you a letter? How?!”

“Don’t call it a letter, Lucy. It doesn’t deserve that much credit” Zeref complained. “It was an infuriating multi-page document, which went on and on about dead potato plants causing living potato plants to die and I never want to see anything like it ever again.” Zeref paused to take a breath, then added, “Oh, and to top it all off, it was so absurd that when I told Invel about it he thought I was delusional from overdosing on painkillers!”

At the horrified look Mavis gave him, having assumedly misunderstood his statement, Zeref impatiently corrected her. “No! I was not, and am not, high on painkillers! On all occasions I have only ever taken the dose stated on my prescription.” He… sort of… understood why people had been concerned by the possibility of it. Those first days out of hospital, where the doctors had refused to let him be in possession of more than one dose’s worth at once, drove home the point that people in his life were well aware of his past inclination… to stop existing.

But after all these months where – in Zeref’s opinion – he’d very much proved to have a functioning will to live… the insinuation that he was somehow the same person as a cursed man seeking any escape from four centuries of torment… was rather insulting. Only a few moments later did he recall that most of those ‘displays of will to live’ were instances to which Mavis was quite reasonably oblivious.

“I was just checking…” Mavis muttered, slightly taken aback by his immense irritation around the subject.

“Based on a false assumption that I will forever view death as my only option…” Zeref continued to grumble. Despite what it may have looked like to others, for him the curse and the desire to die were forever connected. If the curse vanished, he had no reason to hate living.

Zeref sighed heavily before he concluded his complaints the same way he liked to solve most problems – by presenting factual evidence, “Considering I’ve had to bounce back from two assassination attempts by the council… I think those fears are unfounded.” It was intended as a reassurance, to settle Mavis’ fears and hopefully stop her worrying about him in relation to this particular issue. Only as all three pairs of eyes in the room zeroed in on him uncomfortably, did Zeref recall that he had not mentioned this particular point previously.

Chapter Text

“They did what?!” Lucy and Mavis cried in tandem. Followed by an enraged yell from Natsu, who promptly stood up and began to make punching motions in the air, “Alright let me at them! I’ll burn all those council hypocrites to a crisp for trying to hurt my brother!” As Natsu’s rage continued to boil over, it became clear that if someone did not intervene… the phrase ‘spitting fire’ could have become rather literal.

“Don’t even think about it!” Zeref yelled in a reply which was likely not the best for calming things down. “I have a solution in motion already, and in this case I expect you to leave me to solve my own problems!” The last thing Zeref wanted was Natsu burning to ashes months of diplomatic work towards a way to undermine the council for good.

“But I have to do something after what they’ve done!!” Natsu bellowed, practically shaking the room with the amount of magical pressure he was exerting. A clattering sound reverberated from out in the corridor as one of the embassy staff had presumably dropped something in their shock.

A moment later Natsu’s fiery tirade of rage faltered, and his gaze fixed firmly on his brother’s wheelchair. “That’s why you’re… why you can’t… walk anymore. Isn’t it?” If the council were responsible for hurting his brother so permanently… Natsu would see to it that they faced punishment for their crimes.

Quietly, and with a deep uncertainty about what he ought to say, Zeref uttered, “It… wasn’t the council.”

“Then who was it?!” Natsu yelled, just as ready to jump into a fight over it no matter who the perpetrator was.

Lucy had told Natsu about Brandish’s comments that Zeref was ‘recovering slowly from an injury’, but Natsu hadn’t realised it was something so permanent. He’d expected a few bandages, maybe a scar, or some lingering pain or stiffness. Not an irreversible injury which would affect Zeref’s life forever.

Magic pulsated in the air as Zeref cast a requip spell. For a moment Natsu thought nothing had changed, but then he spotted the weird strapping which trailed up his brother’s left leg before disappearing under the weird dress-looking thing he was wearing.

Without a single word of explanation, Zeref put both feet onto the floor, and pressed down on the wheelchair’s arm rests to shakily push himself upright. Despite the movement not taking long in the grand scheme of things, it was clear to see that it required significantly more effort than for an uninjured person.

He stumbled slightly as he stepped forwards, having completely forgotten to also summon a crutch, but soon closed the small distance to pull a shocked Natsu into a hug.

“It’s no one’s fault. You need to understand that… before I give you the context” Zeref uttered in a way which left Natsu feeling that there was indeed a very specific person at fault here.

“Go on…” Natsu uttered, as he tentatively returned the surprise embrace. Despite all his impulsiveness and frequent lack of thinking, he had rapidly pieced the puzzle of Zeref’s words together. If his conclusion was correct, then the answer… was far worse than the council.

Natsu had known immediately that the hug was meant to be a comfort and a distraction. Despite all the years which had passed, it seemed he could still very much read his brother like an open book. Better than one, actually, considering how confusing all those words seemed to be sometimes.

Zeref’s actions since rising to his feet all spoke of a singular intention – stopping Natsu from feeling responsible. Therefore it was no longer surprising when Zeref at last admitted that his injury stemmed not from an accident in Alvarez, but from the force with which his back had hit the guildhall floor after their fight.

Temporarily, that force had shattered a vertebrae and severed all movement and sensation. Zeref remembered that part fairly clearly, as being rendered unable to move any of his limbs was a level of damage almost nothing else had ever managed to inflict upon him. But then the curse had got to work healing it over, and by the time Mavis drew close to put an end to their shared curse once and for all… he’d regained enough sensation and movement not to think anything further of it.

Natsu stood there frozen, unable to think of a single adequate thing to say when the injury was so clearly his fault. It wasn’t the council who left Zeref in this state… No, it was… him. He was responsible. For… all of it. And that… was unacceptable. Natsu stood for a philosophy where protecting the people he loved was important beyond words… and yet he found himself as the sole responsible party for inflicting Zeref with a lifelong injury.

“Don’t blame yourself. You only did what you had to.” Zeref told him softly as he leant into his shoulder in a way which seemed weirdly relaxed and at peace for a man hugging the person who put him in such a state in the first place. “I suspect nothing short of an injury so severe even I could not immediately get up from would have managed to stop the curse-fuelled mania that controlled my decisions.” That had definitely been an issue when the curse had taken hold in the past. People tried to beat him down, but the curse healed wounds rapidly, and Zeref’s history of suicide attempts had left his undying body numb to the agony of many forms of injury.

Natsu still sounded angry as he spoke, but his tone had shifted in a way which told anyone who knew him well that his frustration was directed at himself rather than anyone else. “How can you say that?! I’ve doomed you to be injured for the rest of your life… and now you’re acting like it doesn’t matter!” Natsu couldn’t say he even began to understand what effects the injury had on Zeref’s life, but he was certain that it must have been inconvenient. To be unable to walk steadily, and who knew how many other issues besides… all because of the little brother he’d already sacrificed so much to bring back from the dead.

“That’s because it doesn’t.” Zeref insisted as he squeezed Natsu in reassurance. “Yes, it was technically Mavis who set me free from the curse… but I had to be sane enough to hear her out for that to work. Being unable to get up and continue fighting forced the break in my mental state which made that possible.” It was still true at a technical level that Natsu was ‘responsible’ for the injury, but the numerous positives from at last being freed from the curse ultimately outweighed even the most infuriating of problems caused by the injury.

“You helped set me free from my suffering. Thank you, Natsu.”

It was not often the fire dragon slayer found himself inclined to cry. As children, Zeref had always been the one who got upset about things. From the loud horns used to mark village events, to Natsu running around and knocking water over a page of scribbled notes, it had always been easy for Zeref’s emotions – tears – to bubble up to the surface.

Natsu was the boisterous one, with a sunny personality that rarely got bothered by things going wrong. He was a lot like Mavis in that regard, albeit often far more oblivious to the mood of the room than she tended to be.

In this, though, the roles were reversed.

Zeref was strangely calm about the whole thing, having made his peace with the situation in the months they’d been apart. Although in the first moments he’d realised the injury’s cause, a tiny flicker of an urge to blame Natsu had surfaced … it had quickly fizzled out. The injury had set up the moment necessary for breaking the curse, and almost any physical toll was a worthwhile sacrifice for the freedom to live, and love, without consequence.

Natsu, on the other hand, struggled to work out what to do with the torrent of emotions he was experiencing. “I’m sorry” he uttered, emotionally, “I… never intended to hurt you.”

“I know” Zeref assured.

He’d long suspected that Natsu would try to blame himself when he inevitably found out about it. That was, largely, why Zeref had been so unsure what to say. He’d wanted to spare Natsu the guilt, yet known it would be almost impossible to do so. Natsu had always considered protecting others and, as children, Zeref in particular for some reason to be an important duty. …which had been a bit odd when Natsu was the younger one. But then again Zeref had always felt odd compared to other children, and Natsu – who was somehow universally liked by almost everyone – had been very helpful in distracting other people from finding him too weird.

So, given Natsu’s general philosophy on life… the idea that he had unintentionally harmed someone he loved was sure to hurt him. That’s why it had been so hard to know what to say, because, in the end, Natsu was going to feel some guilt for it whatever Zeref did. As much as he wanted to, there was no way to protect Natsu from everything. Especially now that the small pink-haired little brother he’d once known… was an adult himself. All he could do was be present, and try his best to ensure Natsu understood that however bad he felt at the news, Zeref didn’t blame him for what happened.

Although they’d been estranged far longer – even in Natsu’s case – than the years they’d been close as small children, there was something inherently grounding about Zeref’s presence. To Natsu, none of the fancy titles mattered. All of the identities by which Zeref was known to the rest of earthland came second to a far more important role – being his big brother.

It was all so much to take in, and a bit like he’d felt after the war… Natsu suspected making peace with these feelings was not going to be immediate.

The exertion of standing began to catch up with Zeref, and Natsu helped support him as he wearily stepped closer to the settee to sit down. Rehab had helped his endurance significantly, but merely coping with the trip to Fiore had taken a lot out of him and that left far less energy available for other things.

“You look exhausted” Lucy commented as he sank into the padded cushions beside her, as it had been the nearest place to sit. Meanwhile, Natsu moved to occupy the end cushion of the settee - just to Zeref’s right.

“I’ve spent most of today talking to people I barely know, and that always takes an inordinate amount of energy for some reason.” He just… found himself having to think so hard about everything he said. People he knew relatively well were alright, as by then Zeref had a fair idea of their personality and reactions. It was easy to avoid saying the wrong thing when he had some clue what the ‘wrong thing’ might be. But new people were a blank slate, filled with hidden ways to trip up and say something seemingly normal which would somehow upset the other person.

“Oh, sorry. Are we imposing?” Lucy asked, having considered from those words that – as someone Zeref did not know all that well - maybe turning up without asking first hadn’t been the best idea. Especially since, despite the chaotic way in which he’d barged into the drawing room earlier, Natsu had told Lucy in the run up to the ball that Zeref had ‘never liked it when people visited suddenly’.

“It’s fine.” Zeref assured, albeit without opening his eyes. “I am significantly less concerned about accidentally upsetting either of you than if that happened with a Fiorean diplomat.” At least with Natsu, and assumedly Lucy as well, he’d – probably – have a chance to put whatever it was right before they decided to hate him forever over it.

A few minutes passed where Zeref simply sat there looking moments from falling asleep, but then he summoned a notebook from his requip space and began to write something down in it. Lucy had expected that would be the end of Zeref’s already dwindling involvement in the conversation, but oddly he seemed to become more talkative with the partial distraction of whatever he was writing.

“You know” Natsu mused as he folded his arms behind his head and casually leant back into the settee, “I thought it’d be really weird and I wouldn’t recognise how you are now. But actually you’re just weird in all the ways you were weird before.”

“I’m not weird!” Zeref protested as he wrote the spiralling form of a rune onto the page with far more force than necessary. He did feel a bit like an alien sometimes with how natural and at home other people seemed to feel in places like parties, but still… to accept being called weird outright was another thing entirely.

“Who tries to talk to people and work on some magic circle at the same time?!”, Natsu questioned amidst various gesticulations as he attempted to look at his brother’s work over his shoulder and immediately concluded he couldn’t read any of it. “That’s weirder than Lucy!”

The woman in question was, unsurprisingly, rather outraged by that comment. “Why am I the marker for whether something is weird or not?!”

Natsu shrugged unhelpfully. “It’s not like you’re the only person that’s weird, Luce.” he mused, after a moment. “But I spend the most time with you so I guess I started measuring all weird against your weird.”

“Natsu, stop calling her weird. It’s not a compliment.” Zeref told him without looking up from his notebook.

“Huh? But I thought everyone in Fairy Tail was weird?” Natsu mumbled in apparent confusion. “Gray is always losing his clothes, Erza takes a whole wagon of suitcases on even the simplest jobs, and Mavis has to give every answer as a probability percentage.”

“I do not!” Mavis protested. She opened her mouth again to cite all the times that very afternoon where she had answered with words not numbers… only to find someone else had taken that momentary silence as a chance to speak.

“Says the woman who’s first response to being proposed to was to comment that at 47.3% she had ‘severely underestimated’ the likelihood of it happening.”

Mavis’ face morphed through shock into annoyance as she shrieked indignantly. “Rude” she complained as she stretched out one leg to poke his knee with her bare toes.

Zeref shrugged disinterestedly, “I maintain the opinion I held at the time of being aggrieved by your lack of belief in my feelings for you. 47.3% is an abysmally low percentage.”

“Hmph”, Mavis uttered as she turned away slightly, “I don’t have clairvoyance… I cannot foresee everything perfectly, even with my strategic skills.” Having briefly cast a glance back in his direction, she added, “If you’re going to keep complaining, I can always sleep in another room tonight.”

Having concluded that this particular argument was no longer worth pursuing he replied, “My Darling, I fear that would be a… needless overreaction.”

“You don’t get to score points just by calling me a nickname instead…” Mavis complained, then sighed heavily and uttered, “But far more important than that – you never explained what you meant about those assassination attempts!”

And so, Zeref spent the next several minutes explaining the events of his first speech after the war, and Neinhart’s attack on the palace. Which, unsurprisingly, resulted in a round of outraged yells – especially from Natsu – about it all.

“Should I be worried?” Mavis asked, having mentioned that she’d seen some people from the Multi-National part of the council at the ball the night before.

“Possibly, to an extent. Although by now we are well prepared with countermeasures.” Zeref paused briefly as he appeared to think something over, “In the end, the foolish action which resulted in me damaging my shoulder has perhaps had an advantage.” The miscommunications about Zeref ‘not attending’ which had reverberated through the Fiorean administration had – unintended though they were -- hopefully left the council unprepared to make any further strikes.

“Ultimately though, something must be done about the council” Zeref admitted. They’d pushed too far, so far in fact, that even Hisui could no longer justify allying with them. It was one of the many things Zeref wished to discuss with Hisui during his visit – how to setup a force counter to the council which would restrict their movements and actions until the security threat they posed could be fully extinguished.

“Speaking of Alvarez stuff” Natsu interjected in a way which entirely suggested he was about to jump to a topic with very little to do with the previous one. “Zeref! You’re not off the hook for not inviting me to your wedding!” Natsu declared unhappily.

Mavis and Lucy exchanged knowing looks, both women having heard Natsu utter this exact complaint before. Mavis in particular also had a sinking feeling that it might turn into an argument rather quickly.

“Natsu you were still in the eclipse gate, I couldn’t have invited you” Zeref immediately corrected as he pulled a face which suggested he couldn’t quite fathom why Natsu hadn’t realised that already.

“I don’t care! You should’ve waited for me to reappear first!” Natsu continued, entirely undeterred by Zeref’s factual statement, “It couldn’t have been that hard to just wait a bit longer!”

“Ninety years passed between the wedding and your arrival. Nobody is going to wait that long to get married, even if they are immortal.” Zeref said, and rolled his eyes for added effect. “However there are many official photos, and I believe the ceremony was recorded on a Lacrima. So you’ll still be able to see it.” Zeref reasonably suggested in an attempt to placate Natsu’s complaints about the wedding. He did, sort of, understand Natsu’s annoyance. Zeref certainly thought he’d have felt at least disappointed at missing out if things were the other way around. However, unlike Natsu, Zeref considered the physical inability of one’s sibling to attend as a reasonable explanation for the lack of invite.

“It’s not the same though, is it?” Natsu huffed, as he crossed his arms unhappily, “I still should’ve been there.” A moment later, having seemingly forgotten what attending a wedding would even have entailed, he added, “To… drag you up the aisle or whatever.”

“Natsu, do you even understand how weddings work?” Zeref questioned as he once again resolutely ignored the fact that Mavis seemed to think it was hilarious. “The bride is walked – not dragged – up the aisle, typically by her father. So even if you’d been there you wouldn’t have been doing that part!” The fact that Mavis had walked up by herself - owing to her parents being deceased and it not being safe for others to be close to her anyway – was deemed to not be worth trying to explain.

“I didn’t say anything about Mavis” Natsu firmly corrected as though Zeref’s comments had been nothing short of ridiculous. “I was talking about you.”

Zeref stared blankly at Natsu for several long seconds as his mind attempted to process the absurd suggestion. Then, when his thoughts finally got a grasp of Natsu’s meaning, he yelled indignantly, “There is no wedding custom where the groom’s younger brother physically drags him up the aisle! …in some absurd and embarrassing display of… of… utter stupidity!”

Natsu turned to look at Lucy and Mavis, as if expecting them to take his side of the argument.

“I’ve certainly never heard of that one” Lucy said when it became clear Natsu was waiting for some answers. Amidst this, she also found herself wondering what sort of a disaster her own wedding might end up looking like – or at least how much planning supervision she’d have to do - when she and Natsu made it that far in their relationship.

“And even if there was such a custom” Mavis began, “I would have vetoed the inclusion of such… chaotic actions.” Their wedding had been calm and elegant, and as much as Mavis enjoyed Fairy Tail’s rowdiness… she would not particularly have wanted it transposed onto such an important day.

“Huh”, Natsu mused aloud, “The wedding doesn’t sound as fun anymore.”

“That was your motivation for going?!” Zeref questioned unhappily, “To be annoying?! And embarrass me in front of my entire country?!”

“No, I wanted to see you get married” Natsu insisted. “But y’know, getting to drag you up there first sounded fun too” he added with a grin.

It seemed that four hundred years of separation had been enough to forget that, in addition to being a much loved little brother… Natsu was also the most annoying person Zeref had ever met.

The family reunion lasted for another hour before Natsu and Lucy had to go in order to meet up with their guildmates and catch a train back to Magnolia. Life wasn’t perfect, and it never would be; but after much trial and tribulation things were at last looking up.

Once the pair had left, and relative peace was returned to the drawing room, Mavis scooted across the settee to take over the cushion Lucy had vacated. It wasn’t long before Mavis felt fingers being entwined with her own, and the gentle pressure of Zeref leaning against her shoulder. “I love being with you” he murmured.

“Probably for the best, since I’m your wife” she agreed humorously.

“Mmm. Being with you is always for the best.”

“Do you want something?” she questioned sceptically as he continued to invade her personal space.

“Attention” he answered, then lifted the hand he’d been holding and kissed the back of it. Though he had adjusted to the life of an emperor – of looking through and signing off reams of uninteresting legal paperwork – doing so felt especially boring when there was something specific he’d rather have been doing. Cuddling with Mavis, for instance. But promises should be kept, and he’d known from the start it would have to be this way. At least, now she was here, he could look forwards to pleasant company as a way to unwind after listening to diplomats droning on about peace treaties and legal loopholes for hours.

Mavis laughed as she felt herself being rearranged to sit across his knee, “You just can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?”

He didn’t seem too pleased by her comment, and lightly pushed her near arm in complaint. “If you choose to take innocent cuddles as having other implications that’s your problem, not mine.” She playfully poked him back, “I didn’t mean it like that. I merely observed based on substantial evidence that, as it has taken you all of five minutes to go from quietly sitting side by side, to being all over me, you ‘cannot keep your hands to yourself’.”

“I’ve been forced by circumstance to ‘keep my hands to myself’ for the last ninety-five years! I’m merely making up for lost time” he complained, then buried his face in her hair in indication the discussion was finished. She hadn’t been intending to create conflict, so Mavis happily let the subject go and instead reciprocated his efforts in cuddling.

For the first time in longer than either of them cared to remember, their future resembled a blue cloudless sky rather than a darkened thunderstorm. It would take a while to find a balance between time spent together and time with their respective groups of allies; but now that everyone was willing to work together, that was all it would take. Time, to settle into a rhythm of comings and goings that worked for everyone.

Chapter Text

Invel sat alone in the Embassy’s dining room as he wondered, exasperatedly, when someone other than himself would finally arrive. Brandish’s absence was to be expected, since she had completely declined to dine with the rest of the party… but there remained three people who were noticeably absent. Firstly Irene, who had apparently rushed off at the crack of dawn having spouted a few supposedly placating words about ‘doing duties as needed’ - Invel however, was rather sceptical. The other two people very noticeably not at the breakfast table, were the Emperor and Empress.

Irene’s absence Invel could… well… not excuse per se, but he could certainly say he saw it coming. However the absence of the imperial couple was extremely unacceptable! Invel drummed his fingers rhythmically against the pale cream tablecloth as he waited, with ever-decreasing patience, for the pair to arrive.

He had a very good idea where they were as, unlike with Irene, there was no circumstance in which the guards would have permitted either to leave the embassy without Invel’s agreement. However… the knowledge that they were surely still in their bedroom was of little practical use when they were supposed to already be up and about.

Whilst it was true that today’s meetings did not start until an hour later than yesterday’s… Invel had at no point sanctioned those extra sixty minutes before the Emperor’s expected arrival at Mercurius also correlating to an extra sixty minutes in bed. Breakfast remained scheduled at the same time as yesterday, and the fact the pair were already 15 minutes late today after verging on late yesterday was far from impressive…

The room’s door was pushed open slightly, but quickly began to drift shut again until the small form of Empress Anthousai appeared and promptly pressed her weight against it to keep it open. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” she called as her husband finally wheeled into the room behind her.

Invel’s frustration must have mistakenly become evident on his face, as the previously happy and animated looks rapidly slid off the faces of the approaching sovereigns. “Sorry we’re late” Mavis quietly apologised as she took her seat at the table.

“We were discussing Mavis’ involvement in the move against the council” Zeref added as he positioned his wheelchair in the empty space beside her.

Invel was surprised as he’d expected romantic distraction to be the delay, rather than an entirely necessary… albeit seemingly overly long conversation about something genuinely important.

Currently, the entire world was perched on a precipice of sorts. The MNMC was one wrong move away from a permanent fall from grace, but they were also but one move away from causing most of Ishgar to distrust the empire on the back of false rumours. So, to spare all of earthland from a future ruled by corrupt bureaucrats with no qualms about trying to assassinate foreign heads of state… it was vital that His Majesty’s plan – which partially hinged on Mavis’ involvement – came to fruition.

A moment later Zeref added, “…which turned into a wider conversation about illusion and sensory manipulation spells.” Ah, so there was some distraction involved after all. Just of a different type to what Invel had originally suspected. That, the Winter General realised, was perhaps the one effect of Mavis’ presence which he had not given enough consideration to. Namely, her significant capacity to both facilitate and encourage His Majesty’s… limitless intrigue with complicated magic.

“I suppose that is at least important to the empire’s future” Invel hesitantly agreed. As frustrated as he’d been by their lateness, it was a relief to know that His Majesty had not descended into the romantic distraction he had long feared would arise from their admittedly necessary reunion.

The conversation fell silent, but the wisp of magic in the air told Invel quite clearly that whatever discussion they’d previously been delayed by was in some way being continued even now… albeit telepathically. Actually, that concerned Invel more since such conduct would be extremely impolite if they devolved to it during the peace talks!

The Winter General sighed heavily, “If you are to go through with this version of the plan to thwart the council, then you will both be required to be on proper behaviour around each other.” It was not that either of the imperial couple had been sighted doing anything all that inappropriate, but it remained true that their lengthy separation… had made them rather inseparable. “None of the… telepathic flirting, nor hand-holding under the table - which you both seem so incapable of resisting here - will be remotely acceptable during the discussions” Invel emphasised, and gave the pair a pointed look for good measure, as he rose to his feet to instruct the kitchen staff to begin serving.

“Yes, we know”, they both replied unenthusiastically. But, beneath all the personal struggles of never quite being able to sufficiently make up for all the years they’d spent apart, the point was understood perfectly well. So much relied on this plan going right, and when the time came they would not allow such frustrations to put it in any jeopardy.

It was only later that morning, as Mavis watched Zeref requip into the orthosis and visibly struggle with the step up into the carriage, which would take them to Mercurius Palace, that it really hit home to her how difficult his injuries must have been to live with. In the settings she’d seen him since their reunion, he’d mostly not needed to transfer himself from place to place… or he’d ended up doing it whilst her back was turned. Which, she realised belatedly, might have been deliberate.

Unlike yesterday, when she’d sat around at the embassy doing her own thing, today she too was going to be involved in the proceedings. Hisui had requested a personal meeting, sovereign to sovereign, and Mavis had been included by extension of her position as Empress Consort. It was, Mavis had to admit, a little daunting that her first step into the empire’s diplomatic affairs included an incredibly important meeting with the Queen of Fiore… who could have every reason to be upset about having found out about Mavis’ connection to the empire so suddenly at the ball…

But for now, Mavis cast all those worries aside and got into the carriage before anyone complained she had dawdled. “Are you ok?” she asked, having seen the sheer volume of effort it had taken Zeref to do the same a few moments earlier, as she slid onto the seat beside him and put her arm around him comfortingly. “That looked uncomfortable.”

“It is”, he admitted as one of the embassy staff shut the carriage door with a loud click, “But it’s less embarrassing than having to be carried around by other people, so I’ll put up with it.”

“Did you used to be less… able to move, then?” she hadn’t really thought about that either, what the path of recovery might have been like... Mavis had to admit she’d let herself get quite caught up in the romantic and emotional high of their reunion. So much so, that thoughts of how Zeref’s life might have been for the past eleven months… had not been very frequent.

“When I first woke after the war… after the coma…”, Zeref told her quietly, in a way which was so clearly infused with memories of the distress such things had once caused. “I couldn’t get up, or move myself, anywhere.” The true horror of the experience hadn’t even been the feeling of helplessness instilled by the reliance on external support. Rather, it had been the realisation that his initial inability to move properly, and by extension complete basic tasks like washing and dressing… had required someone else to do them for him. Which had been… embarrassing, certainly, but also instilled abject terror into a man who had not adjusted to being able to safely spend time with other people. All in all, Zeref had been relieved beyond words when his physical abilities began to improve enough to reclaim the majority of his independence.

Mavis leant further into his side, such that her head rested gently upon his near shoulder. He relaxed slightly at the contact, ever at peace merely in her company. “I’m sorry”, she murmured, “Especially since I…” Mavis tailed off, unable to quite voice a thought she’d had several times amidst her grief but now felt must have been horribly insensitive.

“Hm?” he prompted as he tilted his own head to nudge gently against hers.

“Well, I… sometimes I thought, when I’d thought you’d died, that it would have been better if it were ‘just’ a severe lifelong injury… and now…” She paused, her mouth suddenly dry as she tried to voice it, “Those thoughts feel horribly insensitive. Considering how difficult this is for you.”

Zeref made a noise of indifference, “I wouldn’t rather have died. There’s still too many things I want to do with my life, now that I can live a somewhat normal one.” He understood why she might have felt guilty about it, but with the curse consigned to the past he was certain it was better to live injured than to have died forever estranged from society. “Although I do admit that if you’d said that right after Noriko tried to assassinate me, I probably would have given a completely different answer” he conceded with a hint of humour. “But now I’m just glad that by living I’ve had chance to reunite with you and Natsu.” As he played with a loose curl of her soft blonde hair, he added softly, “You guilt yourself too easily over things you shouldn’t.”

“So do you!” she insisted, and all Zeref could do in reply was laugh awkwardly.

Hisui looked anxious when they arrived. She appeared to try and smooth the look over, to neutralise her face, but even so an anxious air clearly remained. However, for Zeref, Hisui’s face had not been the first indication she felt unsettled. That, came from the silencing enchantment which ran around the room’s perimeter.

Whatever her worries were, Fiore’s Queen hurriedly swept them aside in favour of something else. “Mav… Empress Anthousai…” she corrected, only for Mavis to promptly assure her that her name was fine. “I must apologise for my original words to you on the night of the ball. With further context… I realise they were most insensitive.”

The knowledge that, as accidental and unknowing as it had been, she had still essentially thanked Mavis for her role in Zeref’s then-assumed demise… had haunted Hisui’s mind ever since. More than anything else, it had been a stark reminder to Fiore’s Queen that despite how many in Ishgar saw him only as representation of a terrifying legend… Zeref was still a human man, and by extension, family to somebody.

“It’s alright”, Mavis replied quietly, “You had no reason to know.” She did not really wish to talk about such things yet, but neither did she want Hisui to carry guilt for what was simply an innocent mistake. Zeref gave Mavis a quizzical look, and she subtly mouthed a ‘tell you later’ as Hisui nervously rearranged a couple of papers on the table.

“You seem…” Zeref hesitated, unsure how to put such things when speaking to a foreign head of state, “…troubled.” In truth, he’d had precious little to do with most empire negotiations in previous years. Other nations had long taken it as the empire’s ruler seeing them as ‘beneath him’, when in truth it had been little more than Zeref’s attempts to minimise his contact with people. The downside to that now, however, was that too much of his diplomatic role involved learning on the job.

“It’s the council” Hisui stated anxiously, with little indication she’d noticed Zeref’s own hesitancy. She’d felt so sure of her conviction to kick them out of her country, and although that particular conviction had not wavered… her certainty that Fiore could ‘weather any storm the council tried to stir up’ had grown shakier by the day.

“They’ve… again… threatened to remove my family from power”, she admitted in a tone which barely concealed the storm of emotions and worries brewing beneath her attempt at a calm façade. The council’s ‘diplomats’ had been pushing to curry new favour ever since she formally kicked them out, but it seemed Hisui’s plan to openly ally with the empire had – instead of protecting her - pushed the council from uttering empty ‘apologies’ into outright antagonism.

The council had tried to oust the royal family once before, namely after they’d used the Eclipse Gate, when it had been claimed that ‘use of Zeref’s technology’ meant they couldn’t be trusted. Even when on otherwise good terms with them, her father had just barely escaped the council’s wrath. As absurd as such a threat had felt even then… Hisui had supposed it made some sense when the technology in question was a time-travel gate which might have destroyed the world as they knew it. It could not, however, be justified when the only ‘crime’ was a severing of diplomatic ties.

Speaking of Eclipse, given that the whole point of the eclipse plan had been to go to the past and kill Zeref before he became immortal… it felt rather ironic who she was now asking for aid, or at least advice, as she faced down another such threat.

“Surely the council can’t do that?!” Mavis questioned confusedly. She’d started reading up on the council’s legal powers after the incident with the exploding shed, and was quite, quite, certain that such an act would be illegal. “To remove a head of state would contravene their own charter of responsibilities! Which states they govern only the conduct of wizards where it pertains to use of magic… As well as three international treaties on the maintained right to independent rule which belongs to all countries allied with the council!”

It wasn’t that Mavis didn’t know the full extent of the council’s behaviour in recent months, but she’d assumed it all ultimately came back to society’s collective vendetta against Zeref’s legacy. Or, more correctly, the rumours of debatable accuracy which surrounded said legacy. To try and remove someone other than him from power… indicated that the council was far more than just ‘anti-Zeref’… and had instead hurtled towards becoming a dictatorship.

Zeref sighed, “Considering the unrest they have created in Alvarez where they have no jurisdiction whatsoever… I am of the belief they do not care what their stated legal remits are.”

“Even before things got this serious”, Hisui admitted worriedly, “I am unsure how we would manage to try in court, much less imprison, the number of mages suggested by their projections on future crime rates.” Hisui’s knowledge of magic-related crimes was… small. Mostly because it was never expected that responsibility for it would fall under her remit. Though, even to one ‘in the know’ on magic-related crimes, surely figures of many thousands of crimes per year related to possession or use of illegal magic would be enough to make anyone pale at the thought of where to build all those prison cells…

“Define magic-related crimes…”, Zeref slowly suggested, “I believe the council has very different definitions of ‘illegal magic’ to what we use in Alvarez.” Having noticed the perhaps understandable look of scepticism and concern on Hisui’s face, he added, “I realise that probably sounds unsettling coming from myself, but I can assure you that things which should be illegal on moral grounds remain so.”

As they continued to converse, and Hisui heard out the reasonings for Zeref’s suggestions on which things to decriminalise now it was to come under her jurisdiction… Fiore’s Queen concluded that the ‘Black Wizard’ was a far more reasonable man than the council had always painted him. By the end of that conversation, almost half the ‘banned magics’ listed on the papers from the council were to be completely removed from the list, with around twenty percent of those remaining to be decriminalised in particular circumstances.

There was no reason to ban sleep magic outright, when it could be of use aiding the recovery of critically-ill patients. It’s use only needed to be a criminal offence where it was used to facilitate harm, burglary, kidnap, or other such things. The MNMC sought to control magic, to restrict it, to stamp out any form of it which held the tiniest chance it could – in their eyes - be ‘misused’.

Zeref, on the other hand, valued freedom and innovation. As a mage himself, he understood that the applications for most forms of magic were as limitless as the caster’s imagination. So he stood firm in the belief that what made a magic ‘bad’ was not usually the spell itself, but the choices of the wizard who wielded it.

“Do you think showing I have a clear plan to house, or free, the imprisoned wizards they are to hand over next week… will stave off their attempts to remove me from power?” Hisui asked, despite doubting the answer would be positive.

“No” Zeref stated, firm and confident. “They’ve tried to assassinate me twice with the goal of getting their claws into the empire. I suspect that nothing but putting an end to the council is going to stop them at this point.” Zeref sighed heavily, then concluded, “As an empire, we have been working on a plan for that. With Fiore’s aid, as it is not something one nation can do alone, I hope it may help to restore the balance of power back to each nation’s own rightful governance.”

Hisui nodded to encourage him to continue. So, after Zeref had further reinforced the silencing enchantment which surrounded them, the details of the plan were at last able to be discussed.

It was late that evening, long after Zeref had considered himself free from further social engagements for the day, when one of the embassy staff unexpectedly strode into the drawing room.

“Your Majesties” the smartly dressed man began, but waited for a moment as the pair looked up from the game of chess they’d been playing. “You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Zeref repeated, somewhat incredulously. He simply couldn’t fathom who would come to visit, especially so late into the evening. Natsu had gone back to Magnolia just yesterday, so had no reason to be back again so quickly… and Zeref could not think of anyone else who would be classed as a ‘visitor’. Anyone who required his attention at this hour was likely to be his own diplomats, embassy staff, or perhaps Irene when she got back from wherever she’d wandered off to again.

The man stated that the visitor was apparently from the Magic Council, and both of them shrank back slightly with concern but felt there was no way to decline such a thing. It did not bypass Zeref’s notice how Mavis placed herself incrementally closer to him yet also slightly in front as if to act as a barrier between him and any incoming threat.

However it soon emerged that they needn’t have worried, as the mystery visitor revealed itself to be in the shape of a certain tree-like plant wizard.

“I must say, you’re quite a convincing ghost” Warrod uttered as he approached where Zeref was sat on one of the velvety settees. The tree-like man hummed as he appeared to consider the situation, “Indeed, I’d almost believe you were really sat here.”

“What?” uttered the Black Wizard, confused beyond measure at why what he knew was a wise and intelligent man was making such an obviously untrue statement. Warrod’s tone was stark serious, and as a result Zeref had yet to realise there was a joke afoot. Mavis opened her mouth as if to say something, but she did not get chance to before Warrod started to chuckle.

“Of course, I’m only joking” he said whilst he placatingly wafted one hand. Not that there was anything remotely ‘of course’ about it, at least as far as Zeref was concerned. Despite his teaching them all magic, and the incident with the potato essay, Zeref had escaped knowledge of just how prevalent Warrod’s jokey behaviour really was.

Upon the realisation that this was not going to end well if she let it drag on, Mavis intervened. “What brought you here?” she enquired with an air of genuine curiosity, and cheerful enthusiasm, the latter of which Warrod had feared was gone forever the last time they’d spoken.

Unlike then, when she’d sat at his table looking sullen and depressed, now Mavis had regained her usual immutable sunny personality. It was quite clear indeed, just how much of a difference Zeref’s presence made to her. “Well, I thought I’d come see the happy couple for myself. Seeing as I unfortunately missed the wedding.” Warrod explained as he sat down on a chair opposite. The unfinished game of chess occupying one end of the rectangular table did not escape his notice, but neither did he comment on their prior occupation.

Zeref had felt quite touched by Warrod’s efforts to ensure he and Mavis were reunited, even if the plant wizard had done so in an incredibly infuriating way. Yet, despite the knowledge that Warrod clearly did not view their relationship in a negative light… Zeref felt anxiety spike sharply at the thought of being scrutinised by such a dear friend of Mavis’.

After all, their peculiar circumstances as cursed immortals had spared Zeref ever ‘meeting the family’, much less seeking their approval as would have been usual for a fiancé even out of courtesy rather than formal need. Although he knew Mavis hadn’t any living blood relations, even back then, Warrod was perhaps the closest thing to one. He was older than Mavis, had been a close friend to her for many years, and had known her longer than Zeref. So, by extension… it was important that Warrod’s prior positive opinion on their relationship was not shattered by some foolish act on Zeref’s part.

“I’ll go make some teas!” Mavis declared enthusiastically as she sprinted from the room, oblivious to Zeref’s rising panic and the fact the Embassy’s kitchen staff were unlikely to appreciate their Empress trying to personally make tea for guests. Zeref himself had experienced enough trouble the other day just trying – and mostly failing - to convince someone that no he did not need someone else to cook everything for him and that he would much rather do it himself …and by extension know that it had been made how he preferred it.

As Mavis’ silhouette vanished through the doorway, Zeref’s panic set in ever deeper. With her gone, all of Warrod’s attention would be focused on him… which in turn increased the chances of making some egregious mistake…

The tree-like man settled into his chair, then spoke with an air of curiosity, “You like her then, our Mavis?”

“I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t”, he found himself answering, only to internally cringe a second later as his mind finally caught up with what it had decided to throw out as words.

Zeref soon started to utter further words about Mavis in attempt to distract from his prior failure. He hadn’t seen this conversation coming until a couple of minutes prior, so hadn’t even the beginnings of a plan on what to say. As a result, and despite his best efforts not to sound like a complete fool, Zeref felt that continued speech was only making things worse.

“Her personality is so warm and infectious, she’s so interesting to talk to, I just… I love talking to her… I could go on… probably…” he finally tailed off as his mind’s command to shut up at last took effect. Well that was a disastrous explanation, he mentally reprimanded himself the moment he finished speaking. If Warrod hadn’t been put off already, that disjointed ramble of words was sure to have been the ‘final nail in the coffin’, so to speak.

“No, no, that’s fine”, Warrod assured, “The fact that you could told me all I needed to know.” He hadn’t really suspected the ‘Black Wizard’ of malintent, but a few less willing members of the guild had agreed to Lucy and Brandish’s reunion plan only if Warrod promised to ensure Mavis was in safe hands by checking on her afterwards. So on account of smoothing those worries over, as well as a personal desire to see the pair, Warrod had made it his business to visit.

Ever-uncertain of his accuracy in reading other people, Zeref asked uncertainly, “Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?”

“Ah, I’m not doubting your love for her.” Warrod replied, then added with a shrug, “A few people in the guild wanted confirmation she was safe, that’s all.”

Zeref was visibly relieved. He’d feared disappointing the doubtless high standards Mavis’ guildmates surely would have for anyone who wished to take her hand. Not that he could blame them, Mavis was truly amazing and deserved only the best. Indeed it often seemed undeserved that he, a formerly cursed murderer with much blood dripping from his hands, should be deemed fitting for such a task…

Even despite his tendency to feel inadequate to be the recipient of love from such a beautiful fairy-like woman, Zeref would never willingly give her up. Mavis made just as much difference to his mental state as he did to hers, and emotionally speaking he relied upon her for a great many things. Not to mention that it wouldn’t be impossible for her to already be pregnant again…

Oblivious to all of that, Warrod spoke up, “It’s nice to see her happy. She hasn’t been, for quite a long time.”

Zeref knew well what Warrod was speaking of. Both from the report sent across by the diplomats all those weeks ago, and from his conversations with her since the ball. He knew that Mavis had suffered greatly from his apparent passing. She was much happier now, of course, but still every so often he’d caught a glimpse of her not-yet-healed emotional wounds and made a point to pull her close in reassurance.

They had exchanged a few more serious words, before Warrod’s tone predictably shifted back towards jest. “I must say, when I mused on what type of man might ultimately steal Mavis’ heart I did not expect it to be the same one who taught her magic when she was thirteen, much less an immortal dark wizard.”

Mavis chose that precise moment to return with a tray of drinks, which much to her irritation she had not been allowed to prepare. The couple exchanged slightly awkward looks as both recalled a further point to which Warrod was thankfully not privy. The detail of also being the man a thirteen year old Mavis had accidentally caught bathing in a lake… was one that would stay only between themselves.

Warrod wafted one hand vaguely upon noticing how the pair watched him warily like startled rabbits, “Don’t take it so seriously! Of course I only want you to be content together.” Warrod did find the strange circle of their lives to be mildly amusing, but he held no real issue with it. Mavis was more than old enough to decide for herself what she wanted, so there was no reason to interfere in what seemed to be a stable and happy marriage. “Although I myself have never been married, I do know from many friends during my life that such relationships require a great deal of commitment” he commented, then added in compliment, “I’m glad it’s worked out for you both.”

Having set the tray of drinks onto the table, Mavis slid onto the settee beside her husband. “Mmm” she agreed, unable to find anything more articulate to reply. The emotional rollercoaster of the last verging on forty-eight hours was far from being fully processed. Large parts of her mind still stalled on the news that Zeref lived, that he was right there, with a tangible form she could reach out and touch whenever she wished.

Mavis’ head was soon leant into her usual comfy spot atop his shoulder, and Warrod spotted the momentary smile which crossed Zeref’s face as he instinctively moved one arm to pull her ever so slightly closer against his side.

Whatever the world at large might have liked to think about their relationship, it was quite clear to Warrod that the deep love which flowed between them was real and genuine. He needn’t worry so much about whether Mavis would be okay anymore, as with the Black Wizard at her side he had every confidence that she would be.

Chapter Text

The peace treaty, and a further one outlining a cooperative relationship allied on trade and security, were due to be signed on the second Thursday of the talks. Even more importantly, the signing was due to be broadcast live for citizens of both countries to watch. Given how significant a marker this turn in relationship between the two nations was, it was also likely that heads of state of other Ishgar nations would tune in to see it happen.

The ceremony was as much a declaration about the future, as it was a necessary formality to finally close the chapter on years of tense diplomacy and fears of conflict. To further ‘prove’ that the two nations had now become trusted allies, both sovereigns had elected to go without specific personal bodyguards which could have been seen as ‘protection against each other’. Instead they were to rely on a combined platoon of soldiers from both nations, which would surround the room to protect them both.

Though important, the ceremony would also have to be kept short and succinct. Very soon afterwards, thanks to the council’s deliberately inflexible schedules, Hisui was scheduled to meet with the Chairman of the International Governance Board. It was a vital meeting, to formally begin the handover of all MNMC prisoners into Fiorean hands, so despite her reluctance to curtail prior proceedings… Hisui had been left with little choice.

The broadcast flickered into life five minutes before the assigned time for the signing, just soon enough to let the people catch a closer view of the two sovereigns, and in Alvarez’s case the Empress Consort too, as they entered the room.

Then, to maintain the confidentiality of some elements of the treaties, the view of the room zoomed out to a more distant angle. The camera had been mounted high on the wall, and looked down over an empty expanse of floor immediately below with the signing table still clearly visible on the far side of the room. Any closer, and certain types of visual magic would likely have still managed to decode the words on the treaty papers.

The crowds watched, enthralled by what was so clearly the dawn of a new era, as Fiore’s Queen picked up a quill to place her signature on the page. She completed her part of the proceedings with a few delicate strokes so fluid they were almost an instinct.

In a show of unity, she passed the pen to Emperor Spriggan, who took it with a light nod of acknowledgement.

Then, just before he could touch pen to paper, some dark shadowy shapes emerged from a servants’ door barely visible in the camera view. As the shapes entered the room, it became clear they were not mere shadows… but a group of masked men… carrying a large Lacrima! Without wasting a moment, they threw it towards the table.

The lacrima exploded as it hit the floor, and the camera view was rapidly obscured by the explosion and the clouds of smoke which followed. People in towns across both nations gasped in horror as the sound of the explosion came through on their displays… and they lost sight of their beloved sovereigns amidst the horrifying blast.

The large doors at the far end of the room burst open, just barely visible through the clouds of smoke filling the broadcast screens, and in ran the chairman of the International Governance Board. “Your Majesties! I heard an explo-” the man began, only to cut himself off as he shrieked in an overly dramatic expression of shock. “Such tragedy!”, he sobbed, “To lose two heads of state when they were so close to a peace treaty!”

As he spoke those words, the shimmering line of a defensive enchantment appeared to the right of the cloud of smoke from the explosion. Despite the smoke which still partially obscured the scene, the table and everyone around it also came back into view. Entirely unharmed, albeit Emperor Spriggan had dropped the quill in order to use both hands casting the enchantment, as they were on the protected side of the enchantment. There had, after all, always been rumours that the ‘political extremists’ and ‘dissatisfied citizens’ might try to jeopardise the signing…

The remnants of the Lacrima, now scattered far and wide through the room beyond the defensive wall, still burned with excess power. Hisui looked at it in concern that the patches of flame beginning to singe the floors might ultimately set the entire palace alight. There was, unfortunately, not a single water-wielding mage in the room…

Emperor Spriggan’s gaze followed hers and he suggested, with a calmness only one who had lived for so many centuries could achieve in such circumstances, “I believe I can nullify all of the embers at once, albeit at the sacrifice of the defensive enchantment… if that is permissible?”

Hisui approved his suggestion with a simple nod and an exchange of glances. Although the masked men were still present, the Lacrima seemed to have been their only tactic… which left the would-be assassins rather ‘high and dry’ now their targets had evaded their initial crude strike.

Magic swirled around the Emperor’s fingertips as he cast his left arm out to the side, “Totalis Irritatio!”

And with that, every spell in the room flickered out of existence. Most notably, including the transformation magic of the assassins. With that gone, the ‘unidentifiable masked rebels’ looked shockingly like… Magic Council Custody Enforcement soldiers.

Hisui immediately rose to her feet, “Arrest them! For attempted assassination of two heads of state!” At that moment taking either sovereign’s word equally as an order, a combination of soldiers from both sides charged forwards to restrain the men who threw the Lacrima. They tried to run, or to escape, but they were so far outnumbered that escape was quite futile.

Not liking his chances against the guards and the Black Mage, the International Governance Board’s Chairman decided to run back the way he’d come, out of the room’s door and away into the palace’s many corridors. There, amidst a maze whose pattern was only well known to the palace guards, he hoped to slip away back to Era… and maybe take on a new identity.

However, as he ran out into the corridor he found himself immediately under attack.

Swords fell from the sky, in a barrage he struggled to dodge even after using magic to shrink himself. He’d hoped that as the initial barrage thinned, he’d find an opening to escape before the other party could charge up a new spell. However, such thoughts only represented a dire underestimation of his opponent.

“Heaven’s Wheel: Circle Sword!” Erza yelled as she closed in from behind him. The Chairman managed to dodge the attack, but she immediately spun in the air to alter course and land in front of him. She pointed the sword still in her hand towards him and declared, “Surrender! You must be punished for your attempts to harm our First Master!”

Erza had long taken issue with some of the council’s policies, but this was a new low even for them. Such bloodthirst towards those they disliked could not go unpunished! So, even despite their tentative relationship, when Irene had suggested she could be of help… Erza had been more than willing to take part. To defend a member of her guild, as well as the freedom and safety of mages everywhere.

The chairman laughed, “I will not be lectured on proper conduct by the likes of you! It is those fools who would ally themselves with this world’s enemy… with Zeref…”, the Chairman spat the name with nothing short of malice, “They are the ones who should be punished!” He moved his arms in a circular motion, in evident preparation to cast a spell, as Erza also took on a battle stance.

“Nemesis” he uttered, as shadowy tendrils extended outwards from Erza’s fallen swords… and the jelly-like shapes of magical monsters formed around them. It was beyond ironic that this man, who apparently hated Zeref’s legacy so much, was also using one of Zeref’s spells in battle.

Once, on Tenrou Island, these creatures had troubled her. But by now Erza had vanquished far mightier foes, so if this man thought he would win… simply by wheeling out a complicated spell… then he was sure to be disappointed!

The Chairman, having activated some speed magic, ducked into a room off to the side, thinking he could perhaps climb out of a window and use air spells to float away whilst Erza was distracted by the creatures he’d left behind. He shivered fearfully as he crossed the threshold, his spell had already begun to fade from existence as it was subsumed by a blast of light from Erza’s Morning Star Armour.

However, as he refocused on the room before him, what he found was not a free exit… but two very uncompromising dragon slayers.

“I suggest you come quietly”, Irene told him as she stalked forwards with a pair of seal-stone handcuffs. She knew this man’s abilities well from intelligence reports, and there was no circumstance in which he was going to get past her…

…or the other one.

“Or I’ll burn you to a crisp!” Natsu yelled a second later. He had not originally been involved in the plan, but when it became clear that even without an invite he was likely to involve himself by default… Zeref had taken the decision to have some control over Natsu’s input.

The Chairman was caught between two situations he had no chance of winning in. In front, he faced two dragon slayers. Whilst the other way was blocked by a woman throwing swords, the world’s most feared dark mage, and an unbeatable tactician… as well as an army of guards. Unable to think of any way out, the man collapsed in terror. Natsu poked the man’s collapsed form disappointedly as Irene put the seal-stone cuffs on him. “Well that was a disappointment.”, he grumbled, “I didn’t get to throw a single punch!”

Thanks to Irene’s foresight with defensive enchantments, Erza had also managed not to destroy the corridor. Quite an achievement, for a Fairy Tail mage.

Despite having known of this plan beforehand, Hisui couldn’t deny that she still felt shaken by it all. The only positive, was it made her ‘worried state’ less of an act as she gave some post-incident interviews and called for an internationally backed investigation into the MNMC’s conduct.

Once the public broadcast was over, Irene strode into the room used for the signing and deposited the unconscious chairman into the hands of the guards. Who wasted no time in hauling him off to the dungeons.

Jacob, who was officially not in the country, and only arrived last minute as an ‘undetected stowaway’ within an airship of supplies, collapsed into a chair. “I think I need a long sleep after that”, he uttered exhaustedly. ‘Vanishing’ people with his stealth magic was one thing, but it turned out that enabling a projection of the ‘vanished’ to remain visible was… draining. Their plan, to fool the council into attacking nothing, using a projection of the table on the opposite side of the room whilst Jacob’s magic ‘vanished’ the real one had been entirely successful. It was just unfortunate that it took so much out of the man who had made it possible.

“You should rest then, I believe we can take it from here” Zeref kindly assured him. Now the MNMC’s chairman was in Fiorean custody… and considering another prominent member was already in an Alvarez prison… there was little chance any of those left would have the courage to cause more trouble. “However, I wish to say that I greatly appreciated your willingness to help, especially at such short notice.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Jacob acknowledged despite his evident weariness, “We cannot have the council thinking they can do as they please.” However he did not get up from the chair, as his magic reserves would need to recover for a while before he could manage that.

Hisui added her own thanks, “I must thank all of you as well, I doubt I’d have survived this by myself.” Although technically a mage, Hisui’s use and knowledge of magic – as well as that of her close bodyguards – paled in comparison to that of the Alvarez team. By themselves, Fiore would have stood no chance of defending itself against the organisation which had held control of Ishgar’s magical knowhow for decades.

That was, in part, likely what had let the MNMC push things so far. They’d taken knowledge of magic away from the ordinary governments, and in turn left them too dependent on having their hands held by the council when it came to magic-related policies.

Mavis managed only a vague noise of acknowledgement of Hisui’s thanks as she too tried very hard not to collapse where she stood. Casting an illusion of something ‘invisible’  - particularly where it included several people who all needed to seem to move naturally - took far more energy than a normal projection. She leant heavily against her husband’s shoulder, as she finally allowed exhaustion to set in now the cameras were gone.

It would be a few hours before those who exhausted their magic recovered fully, and probably almost as long for everyone else to get over the still-significant shock of the experience even having known of the plan. However, they had achieved their goal: to indisputably expose the council’s corruption.

To no one’s surprise, now their treachery had been put on full display, the afternoon’s news was filled with reports of Ishgar’s nations retaliating against the MNMC. From temporary suspensions to allow for ‘thorough investigations’, to outright declarations of all MNMC personal as persona non grata, it was clear the council was about to be out of a job.

The question of how else to deal with magical crime was a big one, and many would have thought the fear of taking on that burden might have caused other nations to hesitate. However, Fiore’s new approach had gained significant interest from the wider international community, and disdain from the MNMC, after it was deliberately publicised during the talks. That, in tandem with an increasing awareness of Alvarez’s similar system, meant the other nations no longer felt that council rule was the ‘only option’.

Earthland had managed without them for many years before their inception, and it would now do so again. As nations realised that the solution to policing magic wasn’t to run from the task in fear due to lack of magical knowledge, but to place the responsibility for magical crimes on the person who committed them, rather than the tools they used.

Once most of the initial fallout had settled, on the final day before the Alvarez contingent was due to depart for home, several of its most important members made a stop off in a certain town en-route to Hargeon.

Although they had definitely been warned about this, the guildhall still fell deathly silent as Irene shoved the double doors open… in a manner only slightly more elegant than Natsu’s typical kick-to-enter strategy.

Erza was the first to approach the group, and whilst She and Irene still had a long way to go before they could be considered anything remotely ‘close’, they had certainly begun to cross the bridge of reconciliation. In addition, Erza had played a large role in getting the rest of the guild to agree (albeit probably with her usual brand of forceful encouragement) to this visit, so it made sense she would try to ‘lead by example’ and come to say hello.

Erza and Irene exchanged a brief greeting before the former dragged the latter away stating something about Magnolia’s bakeries being ‘unmatched’ in producing excellent strawberry cake. Irene’s complete lack of resistance to being dragged away suggested that she too apparently had a taste for such things. Seemingly, despite having partially organised it, Erza was not there to lead by example. Because if people followed that example the guildhall would soon be empty as people collected their immediate family and ran off to do something else entirely.

“This is such a hassle.” Brandish unequivocally decided as she made a bee line for the table at which Lucy was sat. The fact that she hadn’t simply headed straight for Hargeon indicated that clearly it was not so, but for some reason Brandish liked to keep up appearances that she couldn’t care less. Zeref’s best guess on why she did it related to how people tended not to bother her with small inane requests due to the low likelihood of Brandish ever doing them.

It took all of five seconds for Natsu to yell some form of greeting and enthusiastically wave the remaining three over to the same table. Mavis skipped cheerfully across the hall, with an occasional backwards glance to check she hadn’t left Zeref behind, whilst Invel apprehensively followed the pair looking most ill at ease. Some of it was regret, for his own actions during the war, but a rambunctious guild such as Fairy Tail… was also counter to everything Invel was as a person.

Natsu grinned in apparent happiness as he declared, “You actually showed up!”

“You say that as though you thought I wasn’t going to…” Zeref complained as he wheeled over to the table… only to realise that the benches along the long sides, and awkward low wooden bars to hold the table together on the short ends… meant he couldn’t really sit at it in his wheelchair. It was rather unfortunate how many designers of furniture, tables especially, had a knack for putting support bars right where a wheelchair user wished to put their knees or feet.

Natsu noticed the issue almost immediately, and jumped up from the bench he’d been sat on to drag said bench out of alignment with the table to make room. The bench squeaked horribly against the floor, and Lucy shrieked in terror as it was yanked along with her still sat on it. Once her seat had stopped moving, she merely sighed in resignation having by now been too used to the guild’s shenanigans to give anything more potent as a reaction. Especially since Natsu apologised unprompted when he realised the terror his impulsive actions had caused her.

Mavis slid onto the opposite end of the now-misaligned bench, and flopped upon it in a manner which still earned a horrified gasp from Invel even in such a casual setting.

“It’s good to be back”, she uttered as she stretched, “Being formal all the time is hard.” Zeref just barely managed to avoid laughing, if Mavis thought Invel’s rigidity was annoying after just two weeks… well… he could firmly attest that it did not become any less so after an entire year. Invel was, however, incredible at his job and that far outweighed the annoyance of his… rigid opinions on the proper way to do things.

Someone asked Mavis how she was doing, and the immutable happiness which saturated her reply left no one in any doubt of how much things had changed.

Gray, who had been more than a little hesitant about both the plan in general and this visit, turned his gaze towards Zeref. Despite his personal reluctance, he couldn’t deny the factual evidence before his eyes, “Credit where its due, she’s-”, he pointed at Mavis, “-not depressed anymore. But otherwise, I still don’t like you very much.”

“That’s fair”, Zeref agreed easily, “I cannot deny that I have been responsible for many tragedies. Deliora’s destruction of your hometown being one of them.” He understood perfectly well why the other man had despised him all these years, and to an extent Zeref could hardly fault him for it.

“I don’t know that ‘responsible’ is the right word for it”, Mavis corrected, “The very nature of the curse ensured bloodshed whether by accident or madness. It was not, as ‘responsible’ might imply, a deliberate choice on your part.” Although she had not suffered its effects long enough to experience the latter of those two states, Mavis knew well the hopelessness of a curse which doomed one to kill no matter what.

Gray, who had at first appeared primed to say something back in complaint, instead looked away awkwardly. It was often too easy for Mavis’ guild to forget that the only difference between her ‘seemingly insignificant’ actions whilst cursed, and Zeref’s ‘horrific track record’ was, quite simply, time. The curse sunk its claws into its victim’s mind slowly, Zeref had known that all too well, and his decision to seek her out back then had spared her from the unending despair which so easily sped up that process.

Thinking about the curse, even a little, still distressed them both greatly. It was… something to normally be avoided as a topic of discussion. Such feelings were evidenced by the subtle way they leant closer to one another, to seek safety with the only other person who could truly understand.

“Anyway” Levy piped up deliberately, in order to change topics, as she placed onto the table. a large tome she’d just been reading about the culture of an obscure ancient civilisation. “What are your plans now, Mavis? I’m guessing things will be different?”

Levy, who was just recently engaged to Gajeel, now understood at a personal level that planning to merge one’s life with someone else’s was… complicated to plan. That said, maybe it was easier when the other person wasn’t an iron dragon slayer with a ridiculous collection of scrap metal…

“I’m going back to Alvarez” Mavis answered, and in turn confirmed a fear many in the guild had felt in recent days – that soon, she’d be gone. “But I’ll definitely come and visit!”, she added cheerfully, “I’m not going to leave the guild, and it’s possible to teleport intercontinentally. I’m just not going to live in Magnolia, mostly because I can’t.”

“Why not?”, Gray questioned sceptically, “Does Alvarez have some law that states it’s Empress Consort must live within its territory or something?”

“No…”, Mavis began slowly, “But then I’d have to live apart from my husband!” Without a word of warning, she promptly flung her arms around the aforementioned man, who visibly tensed with shock at the sudden contact. “I can’t do that! It would be so lonely!” Mavis insisted as she continued to cuddle him.

From a nearby table, Richard yelled something about ‘the power of love’ and ‘cannot be kept apart’. As part of the sweeping reforms to magical crime laws, Hisui had also pardoned all of Crime Sorcière’s members on account of their bravery and selfless efforts in opposing problematic dark guilds. Many of the guild’s members, owing to the friendships they had with the members there, had then come to Fairy Tail. Most of them were even in the building at present, although Jellal had taken a job request late yesterday which many suspected may have been deliberately timed… to miss today’s visit.

“Juvia agrees!” declared the water mage who was not being at all subtle about her feelings in the way she was partially draped over Gray, “The power of true love is without equal!”

Invel coughed awkwardly, perhaps to get someone’s attention, as he registered anew the fact that Gray and Juvia were both sat at the large table. “I… must apologise for my actions during the war.”

The gaggle of mages were rather floored by this sudden apology, and sat with their mouths open like gaping fish for several moments afterwards. “I once saw connections between people as nothing more than useful intelligence to exploit in battle… but as I have come to understand the true value of such connections… I also deeply regret my prior behaviour.” He bowed apologetically, before awkwardly straightening after several seconds. It was, from Invel, quite an admission indeed.

“Uh… thanks? I guess…” Gray muttered in equal awkwardness as Juvia spoke something about being glad Invel had ‘learnt the power of love’. Then – before Gray could get his thoughts together sufficiently to respond further - there was the sound of someone strumming a guitar, and all eyes turned apprehensively towards the stage.

“If we’re going to talk about love…” Gajeel declared into a microphone as he continued to strum the instrument, “Then I think it’s time for a musical number!” He strummed the guitar faster, then began to ‘sing’, “Shoobe-do-ba!” yelled the iron dragon slayer in a way which hardly deserved to be called singing. It was a terrible racket, but by now, most of the guild had learnt it was best to try and ignore it. Levy picked her book up once more, and used it to hide her face and pretend she had nothing at all to do with the man.

Natsu, who was sat between Mavis and Lucy, and apparently taking no notice whatsoever of Gajeel, sniffed the former confusedly. “You smell weird” he told her casually.

“I… what?” Mavis replied, and disentangled herself from her husband so she could direct a very confused look in Natsu’s direction. He leaned closer to her, presumably to get another whiff of her scent, and perhaps ultimately expand on his prior statement. Then in apparent epiphany he asked, rather loudly, “Are you pregnant? You kinda smell like two people at once, it’s weird.”

Mavis stammered uncertainly, “I… uh… I don’t know!” Then, with more force, she shrieked, “It’s much too early to know that!!”

Natsu shrugged, and returned to leaning against Lucy, “Well, I think you smell like you are.”

Then, after a moment of silence, the chaos started.

“It’s been two weeks, Zeref!”, Gray yelled, “Two weeks! If you’ve been depriving Mavis of sleep because you don’t know how to control yourself, I will freeze you in place permanently myself!”

For a moment, Zeref looked genuinely terrified. He glanced at Mavis for help, who seemed equally out of her depth, but did at least put her arm around his shoulders in a show of solidarity.

“Because he’s a real man!” Elfman yelled predictably, probably having overheard Natsu’s comments. Gray disentangled himself from a startled Juvia – who nearly slid onto the floor having been so suddenly released - and stomped over to Elfman. “Do you even realise the situation we’re dealing with here?!” he complained, with a gesture back to the table he’d just left behind.

“Real men don’t get jealous, Gray.”, Elfman replied as he folded his arms, “Just because you’re not ready to be a father yet doesn’t mean other people can’t be.”

“That’s not why I’m angry! …and like you’re about to be a father either!” Gray yelled back, then promptly lost his temper and resorted to magic, “Ice-Make Lance!”

“Takeover: Beast Arm!”

Gray’s Ice-Make spell knocked over Cana’s drink, and the card mage stood up angrily, “Is it seriously asking too much to be able to drink in peace around here?!” and with that, she threw some magic cards towards the fighting pair and jumped into the fray herself. Followed by Fried and Bickslow, whose table had been knocked into by the fighting, Gajeel who had abandoned his guitar having decided a fight was more fun… and ultimately Natsu when he decided Gray’s comments had strayed too close to insulting his brother.

“Sorry about this”, Lucy uttered awkwardly as she put her head in her hands in response to the chaos. This might be a ‘casual visit’, seeing as he was married to their First Master, but Lucy would really have liked her friends to at least try to behave when there was an emperor in the room… Although, on second thought, it was probably asking too much for Fairy Tail mages to ‘behave’ for anyone…

Zeref looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, or maybe even teleport straight back to Alvarez. “I don’t know what to be more worried by…”, he uttered as he watched the growing brawl steadily absorb more and more guild members into its chaos. “The fact they’re all fighting because Mavis might be pregnant… or that Natsu’s dragon senses are unlikely to be wrong.”

Mavis sniffed emotionally as her mind struggled to handle the unceremonious revelation amidst the general chaos. “I know I said I didn’t want to hang around having more children… because I wanted August to see his siblings grow up for as long as possible…”, she uttered between sobs, “But this is not how I wanted to find out about it!!” Then, she descended into a tearful blob lolled against Zeref’s shoulder.

The worry of August ‘missing out’ on ever knowing his own siblings had been a significant part of her motivation to start thinking about more children as soon as possible… but, in hindsight, maybe this was a little too soon… She certainly didn’t want August to feel replaced, or that she cared more about potential younger siblings than she did about him… which was a possible reaction, given that this had happened before they’d even met for the first time.

Once again, Mavis supposed she’d let herself get too caught up in the romantic high of it all. It did not help that she was still unsure what to do with the knowledge she had a son just a few years older than Makarov. One who even despite the extended lifespans of some mages – Warrod being a prime example – was likely to have limited time left…

Even beyond that some part of her mourned the fact she’d not known… and would never know… what it was like to anticipate the arrival of her first child. Even now, with this apparent development, it would all be tinged with her preexisting responsibilities to August. Responsibilities, which Mavis had to admit she felt far from ready for. She’d wanted to be a mother for many years, but had always – quite reasonably – assumed that such developments would come with nine months in which to mentally prepare for it…

It was all so complicated it made her head spin, and perhaps to her detriment, she’d responded to that head-spinning confusion by not thinking about it more than she had to. As much as she’d definitely thought about him, with August miles away in Alvarez it had been easy to periodically forget… that every decision she took still potentially impacted him.

Oblivious to the depth of Mavis’ worries, Zeref found himself absently wondering how the guild would survive learning about August, given that they’d gone this insane over the possibility of a normal-circumstances pregnancy. Natsu and Lucy knew about August already, as he and Mavis had opted to share that information in the privacy of the embassy… on the grounds the pair were sworn to secrecy until further notice.

Lucy’s reaction had been of understandable pure shock and confusion, and whilst Natsu’s was the same at first, he’d ultimately declared that it ‘sort of made sense’ because ‘August did smell a bit like you two’. He’d expected far worse reactions, which had given him some hope that the entire guild might have managed not to explode when they found out… but the current brawl indicated quite the opposite.

Then, from across the room, approached a certain poison dragon slayer… who also had the unfortunate idea to speak up. “What’s this about already having an adult child? I can hear that you’re thinking about it” Erik stated as he slunk over to their table, and at those words the entire brawl stilled.

At last Mavis forcibly dragged her thoughts away from their trail of worry about how August would react to the news, and lifted her head slightly off Zeref’s shoulder as she belatedly registered what was happening. A second passed in tense silence, then she began to awkwardly explain, “You might remember August of the Twelve?” The crowd, which had rapidly gathered around the table, nodded in unison. “Well… he’s ours.”

People yelled. Mostly insults towards Zeref on the automatic assumption he’d done something wrong. What exactly was supposed to be so criminal about fathering a child with his own wife, he really did not know. Although… like with what he assumed Precht may have thought… Zeref supposed the awkward circumstances would have seemed rather suspect to those without the full details…

“It’s not like that!” Mavis cried, horrified at the various accusations which were hurled towards her darling husband. “We didn’t know, alright! Zeref’s curse put me in a stasis right after August was conceived, and until August told him about it the only other person who knew was Precht…” She paused, in attempt to reign in her potent emotions, yet found herself unable to prevent the anguished cry. “Who senselessly abandoned him to his potential death!”

That knowledge hurt so much, because once… Precht had been a friend. Yet in the end… he’d abandoned her son, fed the very rumours that had caused her husband to be hated so much by society, and ultimately tried to destroy her guild.

Erik turned to the rest of the mages. “It seems fine to me”, he told them with a shrug. “Her thoughts about it don’t show any sign of pain except for this Precht guy.” Erik hadn’t exactly planned on being an arbiter for Mavis’ safety, especially since he barely knew her having only just joined from Crime Sorcière… but his ability to hear thoughts was strangely useful for such things. Warrod’s report last week had reassured most people, but a few within the guild had remained sceptical that Zeref might ‘keep up appearances until the attention was off him’.

“Stop reading my thoughts!”, Mavis cried indignantly, “They’re private!”

“Fine by me”, declared the poison dragon slayer as he once more rose to his feet, “It’s not like I want to hear you swoon over your husband anyway.”

Mavis’ face rapidly reddened, and as if she hadn’t been embarrassed enough already, Happy chose that moment to fly very close to Zeref’s face and teasingly yell “She loooooves you!”

Mavis squeaked in further embarrassment, whilst Zeref just rolled his eyes and patted Mavis’ shoulder comfortingly. He was too old for this.

“He’s broken! He didn’t react!”, Happy screeched in apparent horror. Then the exceed began to shake Zeref’s left shoulder with as much force as his tiny paws could muster, “You have to react!”

“Umm…”, The Black Wizard stalled uncertainly. “…Oh no?”

“You could try to sound more worried!” Happy complained as he landed droopily on the table.

“Happy, she’s my wife. I would sincerely hope that she does love me.” Zeref could sort of understand that Happy’s comments might have worked against a not-yet-dating couple too embarrassed to admit to their obvious feelings… but it seemed utterly ridiculous to think a married man was going to act embarrassed about the idea of his own wife being in love with him.

“looooove you” Happy corrected, but rather than reply, Zeref simply shrugged indifferently.

The exceed was… well… exceedingly cute and fluffy. At least, he was when not teasing people …but earlier on Happy had been across the other side of the guildhall.

“Happy…” Brandish addressed hopefully as she lifted something from the bag she’d brought with her.

“Yummy fishies!” yelled the exceed as he caught sight of what Brandish had put on the table, and soon his prior joke was completely forgotten. Happy settled down near Brandish to chomp on the ‘yummy fishies’, and the green-haired woman stroked the exceed as a contented smile formed on her face.

The participants of the still-stalled brawl looked between each other confusedly, perhaps contemplating if they should sit back down now there was nothing to fight about. “Even if the prior argument is over…”, Fried began as he shifted some stray strands of hair out of his vision. “I don’t see anything wrong with continuing to let off some steam…”

A second later, Natsu shoved him out of the way as he yelled, “Gray!! I’m not finished with you! How dare you insult my brother!”

“You want to fight, Pyro?!” Gray yelled back. A flaming punch soon connected with his shoulder, which knocked him backwards, and the pair rolled around on the floor as neither side gained an upper hand. Predictably, once those two got started… so the rest of the brawl’s participants also resumed fighting.

Invel sighed heavily, and at last decided to sit down at the table. His head dropped into his hands in a rare loss of professionalism as he spoke wearily. “Next time either of you wish to visit this guild… Please choose someone else to accompany you. I fear my sanity will not survive repeat exposure to this accursed place…” and that was before the Winter General even started to think about what the cause of this chaos was going to mean for the empire’s future. …beyond His Majesty’s certain distraction in worrying about his expectant Empress.

Chapter Text

The next day dawned bright and sunny, which felt especially pleasant after several days of dull cloudy skies. Mavis bounded to the front of the imperial ship, which they’d boarded just over an hour ago, as it began to sail away from Hargeon Port. She pushed up on her tiptoes and gazed excitedly out across the ocean, unbothered even as the wind ruffled her long hair significantly. The journey back was to be a long one, with multiple days spent at sea, but still… she found herself unable to quell the excitement at the thought of what lay ahead.

She was dressed in an elegant lilac dress with a ruffle-embellished skirt with a plain bodice which rose up in a heart shape before connecting to a lacey ‘modesty panel’ which went up over her shoulders to make it fit like a normal dress. Mavis loved it, as it was very rare she found dresses which not only fitted her physically but also made her look acceptably grown up. Since she was stuck with a body almost unchanged since being a teenage girl, the clothes which fitted her were typically designed… well, for teenage girls.

Once, she hadn’t minded. Even as a thought projection, she’d been content to appear to her guild in the same borderline-childish outfits she’d worn in the years before her ‘death’. Yet now, as she set out into the world as an adult, a wife, and a mother… it was far more important to her that people saw something other than an energetic teenager when they looked at her.

The dress was, in short, testament to how well Zeref knew her. Even though their romance ninety-six years prior had perhaps been a little ‘whirlwind’ in nature… he had understood her as a person well enough to make a near-perfect choice in balancing her love of pretty pastel tones and flowy dresses, with an equal desire to look like a grown up adult woman. Although the lovely dress, namely her wedding present, had been in her possession for over a week, she had insisted on saving it for ‘a special occasion’ because it had felt too pretty, and too special, to wear first whilst merely idling at the embassy.

“Someone’s full of the joys of spring” Irene commented as she leant against the outer wall of the bridge.

“It’s August”, Zeref answered exasperatedly as he finally managed to ascend the final step onto the deck. In fact, it was nearly September, and certainly not ‘spring’ however one looked at it. Steps were a good way of improving leg strength, and so practising them was firmly encouraged by his physio, but that did not mean they were easy.

He could technically have walked down the large flight of steps into the Fiorean ballroom that night, but walking with an orthosis was not… elegant. Far from it, in fact. Thus, he had concluded it would be best for everyone if the international community remained oblivious that it were even possible.

Irene laughed annoyingly, “That’s clearly not August.”

“Oh for goodness sake, Irene!” he groaned as he leant against the wall using the arm not encumbered with a crutch and struggled to find good balance given the slight movement caused by the waves.

The Scarlet Despair grinned, “I do not exist to give you an easy life, Your Majesty.”

“I noticed, unfortunately.”

“Will he be waiting for us at the port?” Mavis enquired, having apparently ceased staring into the distance at some point and rejoined the conversation. Much emotion brewed beneath those words. Excitement, anticipation, and apprehension too as she wondered how it would actually be in practice to meet him.

“August? Possibly.” Zeref answered. He hadn’t actually agreed anything in particular with his sons before he left for Fiore. Mostly on account of the only thing either of them had wanted to do in those final hours was shoo him out the door of the palace. Most notably with a cheesy enchantment of ‘encouragement’ which had shimmered into life as he’d opened the imperial suite’s front door. The atrocious sparkly thing had August’s fingerprints all over its construction… and Rahkeid’s all over the wording.

“I suppose I shall also find out if Rahkeid has driven him into insanity in my absence..”, he mused. It was certainly possible, as despite how they got along these days… Rahkeid was more than capable of winding people up. Usually deliberately.

The sea crossing was long, and in other circumstances they might have used an airship to cut down on the travel time, but airship docks were far from level and posed too many practical issues for one who regularly relied on use of a wheelchair.

The days at sea passed in relative peace, although by the end it had become somewhat obvious that Mavis’ patience with being ‘cooped up’ in the ship was wearing rather thin. Alvarez was several hours behind Fiore, and although back in Magnolia the sky would be full of stars by now, it was instead just barely the golden hour as they approached the port town on the final day of the voyage. It was nice to be almost home, even if Zeref was still dreading the feeling of being out of sync with the time zone again.

He might have tried to adjust en-route… but Mavis had displayed an annoyingly prohibitive habit of waking at dawn and rapidly disturbing him too. Also, the last thing he wanted was to be out of sync with her and miss out on precious hours of Mavis’ delightful company.

The long anticipated disembarking of the imperial ship passed in a flurry of people movements. Irene floated her bags along behind her with an enchantment as she refused to let others handle their ‘precious contents’ (rumoured to be Magnolia’s ‘famous’ strawberry cakes) whilst Invel insisted that’s ‘what we have porters for!’, and Mavis almost had to be physically dragged away from the view at the bow of the ship so she wasn’t left behind.

As the imperial couple entered a little room full of chairs, in which they’d be waiting until the staff had loaded the various packages and belongings onto land transport to the capital… assuming Irene was ever persuaded to let anyone but herself touch hers. It seemed there were two people already in there.

Right in view as they came in through the doorway, Rahkeid was… draped… across a chair and waving his feet in the air in a way which would definitely have earned him a lecture on etiquette from Invel. Meanwhile August, who was sat up normally in a chair almost as far from the other man as was physically possible, had his nose buried in a book in an attempt to not seem nervous.

Mavis took all of three seconds to abandon the door she’d been holding open – which as a result nearly closed right onto Zeref – and skid to a halt in front of August.

“Hi” she greeted awkwardly, despite the enthusiasm from a moment prior, having suddenly found herself unsure what else there was to say.

August apprehensively closed the book, and set it down on his lap. Slowly, he raised his gaze to meet that of his mother, and stared in surprise at how it looked like she too seemed stuck between being nervous, and being about to burst with sheer happiness.

A moment later, the latter won out as she clambered onto the chair to his left and tackled her much taller son into a hug. Then, more softly, she spoke against his shoulder, “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be a mother to you all these years, August.”

He placed his larger hand over one of her small ones, “It’s alright. I’m just glad I get to meet you now.” For many, many years he’d assumed that being loved – as their son – by either of his parents was out of the question. So, even though it was very, very, late in his life… August could not feel anything but happiness about finally being with his family.

Now Mavis was seeing him close to, it became increasingly obvious that they were related. In August’s face she could see clear traces of herself, features she’d seen in the mirror every day as she brushed out her long hair. Though it had not been quite so obvious at first, she soon realised there were clear traces of Zeref in August’s appearance too. Such as the near-identical dark eyes with which August apprehensively beheld her.

“There’s so many things I want to ask you!” Mavis enthused. “So many… that I don’t even know where to start…” she concluded, dejectedly.

“You are staying… aren’t you?” August asked, unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. She seemed happy, certainly, and had appeared in the broadcast of the signing… but August had been too nervous to ask anyone if they knew whether or not his parents were intending to stay together or not.

“Of course! Why would I go anywhere else?” she asked, seemingly in genuine confusion.

“Then perhaps…”, August tried despite the tears which had begun to form, “…you shall have time to ask all of them.”

She was really staying… which meant, after all these years… the family he’d assumed would be scattered forever… would at last be whole again.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Mavis uttered as she flung her arms back around her son’s shoulders.

August tried to form a reply, but the only thing his mind seemed capable of producing was more emotion. He did not often get emotional these days, life experience had taught him how to remain calm and diplomatic… at least on the surface. But the moment was too important, too significant, and too all-encompassing for such illusions of self-control.

Amidst it all, he felt a hand touch his knee. Having finally finished battling the door Mavis had so helpfully left to close in his face, Zeref had ultimately made it inside the room. He had no idea what to say either, so simply settled for being present.

Footsteps were heard against the carpet, and August vaguely registered the chair to his left being occupied by his not-actually-brother, who leant against him in some gesture of care. Despite everything which had happened, and all the complicated circumstances, they were, for a moment, just a simple family… reunited at last.

Once the emotional moment had faded, the etherious returned to his usual annoying ways. “So…” Rahkeid began casually, having not bothered to greet either of his not-quite-parents, and found a new way to ‘sit’ in an equally weird position, “You two managed to inflict us with a sibling yet?”

The two parents looked at each other awkwardly, it was not confirmed… but Natsu’s words…

Apparently, their silence, and startled looks, had been deemed an answer in themselves. The etherious laughed, and his still-raised feet flailed out of a need to something with the large amount of amusement he was deriving from the situation. “Already?!”, he managed to utter despite his laughter, “I thought it would be soon… But this?!”

August on the other hand, who had eventually been released from Mavis’ hug-attack, nodded politely. “Congratulations, Mother, Father.”

“It’s not actually confirmed…”, Zeref explained tiredly, “Natsu just suspects it based on Mavis’ scent.”

“Which means it’s basically confirmed!” Rahkeid cheered. “Oh I am so going to tease you both over this!” he added, gleefully.

“I thought you already were” Zeref grumbled. “And if you want to act like you’re part of this family then at least sit on a chair like a normal person!” Unfortunately, after he’d spoken those words, Zeref noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Namely, the fact that Mavis had at some point decided to copy the position.

Awkwardly, she attempted to defend the action as she righted herself, “I was just curious whether it was comfortable…”

“Ugh, the two of you are going to drive me to insanity…” Zeref began to complain, having worryingly concluded that the pair might get along rather well, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“Your Majesties, the carriage is-” Invel started calmly, only to suddenly change tone, “Rahkeid Dragneel remove yourself from that position immediately! That is no way for a supposed imperial prince to behave!”

The etherious shrugged disinterestedly, but stood up all the same as the room’s occupants all left to begin the final leg of their journey back to the capital. That in itself would entail another few hours of travel but in comparison to the days at sea, now behind them, it really wasn’t going to be all that long.

The time it took to get from the ‘waiting room’ to beside the carriages was apparently more than enough for Mavis and August to get into an animated discussion about types of magic. Rahkeid hovered awkwardly behind them. He… wouldn’t be all that surprised if Mavis forgot his existence. He was, after all, not really her son. His claim to being Zeref’s son was itself based on a misunderstanding, but since Zeref had written the magic which brought him into existence… it still held some amount of truth.

To Mavis, though, he was really naught but a thing her husband had once created.

Then, without warning, a short entity practically dragged him towards the carriage. “Come on!”, Mavis warmly insisted, “I have so many things to ask you as well!”

He blinked, confused, then wordlessly gave in to her incessant tugging. Perhaps, he had misjudged how this ‘family’ thing worked.

“Mavis, sit down” Zeref told her firmly as he heard the telltale sounds of the carriage preparing to set off. She’d been so enthusiastic in her conversation that she’d simply stood in the middle of the carriage floor the entire time. At last she settled down beside him, mildly embarrassed by having forgotten to do so earlier.

“I assume things are stable?” Zeref asked their two sons, in reference to the empire, as he sought something to distract him from the annoying sounds of carriage travel which drifted in from outside.

“Pretty much” Rahkeid replied as he gazed out of the window into the rapidly darkening night. Public mood in the empire was fairly positive these days, a far cry from the despond and chaos he’d seen when Brandish dragged him back from the mountains almost a year ago. With the threat from the council finally extinguished, they all hoped it would stay that way in the future too.

By the end of the carriage ride, the four were so caught up in an animated discussion that only upon Invel opening the door did any of them realise they had arrived at the palace. Things had been a little awkward at first, but the ice had melted rapidly and soon it was almost as if things had always been that way.

“Wow” Mavis breathed as she stepped out into the night, with a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and gazed up at the huge silhouette of Vistarion palace. Its illuminated windows glowed bright against the dark of the night, and something about it felt inexplicably like home. “It’s so much bigger than it used to be!” she exclaimed, having taken a moment to compare the present version of the building with the smaller one she’d arrived at ninety-six years prior.

Zeref uttered only a vague grunt in acknowledgement as he slowly stepped down from the carriage and tiredly settled into the waiting wheelchair one of the staff had brought round for him. Travelling, and transferring himself around from one place to another, all took a significant toll on his energy.

“Umm…” Mavis began, with obvious hesitation, as she hovered somewhere behind him.

“Yes?” he asked, in evident exhaustion, as he desperately hoped she’d get whatever it was said quickly so he could get inside and go to sleep.

“Would it help if I… pushed you?” she offered, quietly. She’d been hesitant to ask, having found that various other attempts to ‘make things easier’ by offering to do things for him… had quickly fallen flat.

Relief seemed to flood Zeref’s system as his hands, which had been hovering near the push rims, were instead folded in his lap. “Please”, he acknowledged gratefully, “All the travelling has been a bit much, I think.”

He felt her take hold of the rarely used handles on the wheelchair’s backrest, and allowed his eyes to drift shut in exhaustion. Even if it meant there was a high likelihood Mavis would have to wake him again once they made it past the slightly inconvenient chain of different lifts required to reach the imperial chambers.

Mavis smiled softly as she noticed Zeref’s breathing even out into the soft pattern of sleep. She doubted a wheelchair was a particularly comfortable place for it, but clearly the emotional comfort of being surrounded by his family far outweighed any physical discomfort. He’d probably be grumpy when she did ultimately have to disturb him, but after all the stress he’d surely endured over the last year she didn’t have the heart to try and wake him.

After that, life went on in relative peace as everyone adjusted to the new normal. With time, Fairy Tail would grow used to the idea their First Master was married to Alvarez’s Emperor. So too, with time, would the various scattered Dragneels begin to feel more like a family who belonged together, rather than a group of strangers.

A couple of months later, Zeref was sat at his desk quietly working. As part of new agreements around the teaching of magic, he had a particularly long task to complete in going through reams of Fiorean curriculum – handed to Hisui by the remnants of the council – and marking all the plagiarised bits so they could be correctly attributed. It was very vindicating, to finally have a chance to hold the MNMC accountable for stealing parts of his research and reprinting them verbatim, but it was also an awful lot of work.

So, to get a break from all of that, he’d decided to sort through the day’s selection of incoming post and paperwork. Most of it was basic things requiring a signature, or more rarely a meeting with Invel or August to discuss an issue further, but there were a few more pressing things too. Like an intelligence report based on cases which had passed through Fiore’s new National Office for Magical Practice and Conduct. The document contained records of a certain level of magic-related incident, and although it was a double sided document, none of the incidents looked all that worrying. Just the usual issues of dark guilds committing various low to mid-level crimes, really.

Good. That meant that last month’s sentencings, of both Noriko and the MNMC’s Chairman, had not triggered a sudden outburst from any council sympathisers. As Zeref scanned the final lines of the document he noticed some extra words, added by hand, below the final line of print on the report.

‘Having checked official databases, it has been confirmed that the ‘Liaty-riaf Dor Rawmorf’ variety of Encanian Retro Potatoes do not have any criminal convictions. On an unrelated note, there have been isolated reports of black and white flowered potato varieties crossbreeding. Truly remarkable.’

Once his mind finally recalled what in earthland that had to do with incidents around magical crime – nothing, except that Warrod Sequen sent the report - Zeref let out a cry of frustration, promptly threw the paper across the room, and slumped in his chair as he wondered if he was to be subjected to reiterations of this for as long as Warrod still lived. Which, owing to how he’d fused with his plant magic over the years… was likely to be rather a while.

The door to his study squeaked open, and Zeref was once again reminded of how badly it needed to be oiled. Mavis, who by now was bordering on visibly pregnant, stepped into the room.

“Is everything alright…?” she questioned, having presumably heard his frustrated yell from moments’ prior. Clearly, he’d been so caught up in his work he’d failed to notice the spike of magic when she’d teleported back after a couple of days in Fiore…

Mostly she only visited Magnolia for a few hours, but her roots were in the life of a guild mage and it was always likely she’d want to tag along on job requests every so often. He didn’t mind much, although Zeref was fairly sure his patience with her teleporting hundreds of miles away would lessen in tandem with the progression of her pregnancy.

He sighed heavily, “That piece of paper on the floor. The hand-written bit.” Warrod’s first claim was wrong anyway. He’d committed one very serious crime – that of being annoying.

Mavis picked it up and immediately recognised the handwriting. Having read those hand-written words at the bottom of the report, she walked over to the desk and placed it down. “I know you find him annoying”, she commented as she draped her arms over Zeref’s shoulders, “But he does genuinely care about you.” Warrod was her friend in origin, but the tree-like man seemed to have deemed himself an honorary part of their extended family. She didn’t mind. He was, Zeref and her children aside, the closest thing Mavis had to a living relative.

Zeref sighed, “I know.” He did, really. Warrod had been nothing but understanding towards him, even despite Zeref’s undeniably harmful actions during the war. Warrod was, for all the ways he was annoying, one of those rare open-minded people. One who chose to understand, rather than to jump to conclusions. “I’d just prefer it if he could show that in… more normal ways.”

Mavis laughed, “and since when have any of our friends or allies been ‘normal’?” Fairy Tail was frequently nothing short of chaos incarnate, and after a couple of months living in Alvarez Mavis was inclined to the belief that the Twelve were only a step removed from that.

Zeref laughed too, and leant into her hold. “Normal in itself is a flawed concept”, he declared. Then, after a momentary silence, launched into a further explanation, “It relies upon the notion that the middle of the bell curve is ‘all the same’ even though the very nature of a bell curve indicates that cannot be true.”

“You know”, Mavis started, “I think there are people who would find your inclination to talk like that just as annoying as Warrod.” It had certainly happened a few times, usually at Fairy Tail, where someone would ask a simple question about something Zeref had a strong opinion on and quickly find themselves in receipt of a very long explanation.

“Luckily for me, you aren’t one of them” he answered as he turned to look at her.

“Nope!”, she cheerfully agreed as she squeezed him even tighter, “I love you so, so, so much! Scientific ramblings and all!” Then, all of a sudden, she disentangled herself from him and made a bee line for the doorway.

Zeref, who had been rather startled by the sudden loss of Mavis’ delightfully warm embrace, gave her a look of annoyance.

“I said I was cooking tonight”, she explained, “and I can’t do that from in here.”

Zeref cast a distasteful glance towards his semi-forgotten paperwork, and promptly decided it could wait. He wanted a chance to talk with Mavis properly before August and Rahkeid descended on them for an evening as a family.

“You could wait!” Zeref called after her, having noticed that Mavis was no longer in the room.

“You’re just slow!” she called back teasingly.

“I have a spinal cord injury! I have every reason to be slow!” he complained, as he made his own way to the kitchen.