incendium, a fairy tail fanfic

notes: basically i just really love dishonored and wanted an au with lord protector natsu and empress lucy. with a side of nobleman gray and lady juvia.
dedication: to late nights spent on this and the sleep i've lost.
disclaimer: i wish.

(i can fly like a bird not in the sky, which can always swim and always dry, i say goodbye at night and morning hi,
i'm a part of you—)

"Hey dad, who's that?"

Igneel follows the five-year-old's fixed gaze and pointing finger to a portrait hanging in the long hall. There are three people displayed, all sharing some of the same features, but his son is locked on the smallest in the painting. The huge frame is probably four times the boy's size, and his neck is craned at almost an unnatural angle just to see it. It must be quite uncomfortable, but he's still looking anyway, Igneel realizes with some humor.

Everything around the palace is grand and extravagant, but of course, that's only fitting for royalty. It's a lot for a kid who's only ever seen countryside before to take in. Being raised in a clearing in the middle of the forest, hidden away in a cottage, free to run around barefoot without a care in the world—he feels a bit remorseful, because all of that is about to change.

Natsu shifts uncomfortably in his new boots and tugs on his confining shirt collar. Igneel is sure that he's probably curling his toes under the leather. He presses a hand to his son's head, ruffles his wildly-colored hair, and smiles.

"That is the princess."

The girl in the frame is still a child, with sparkling eyes and a smile that isn't supposed to be there. Igneel knows this because he's had his own portrait painted before, and it's normal to keep a firm expression. She's different though, in her pretty blue dress. In fact, she almost always has a smile on her face. Perhaps the painter thought it wouldn't be right to portray her otherwise.

Igneel glances down at his son, whose brows are drawn together. There's a frown on his face as he studies the girl in the picture. Natsu huffs and crosses his arms.

"Princess, huh? Dragons are cooler."

He looks at the girl in the portrait and then back down at his indignant son and thinks, heaven help us all.

"That may be, but she is still the princess. And you, my son, will be her Lord Protector."

Yes, heaven help them all.

"Do I have to wear this?"

Natsu stress as he flails a hand in the general direction of the tie around his neck. He's eleven, honestly, not twenty. It's like one of those boa constrictors from her books, wrapping around his throat and crushing his windpipe. He'll never say it aloud because it sounds dumb, but he's extremely grateful they don't have those in Acalypha. Or in Fiore, period.

Lucy huffs and straightens the cursed piece of fabric around his neck. "Yes, you do. This is a gala and as my Lord Protector, I order you to look presentable. Also, I'll beat you up if you try to take it off."

Alright so, she may not be able to best him completely, but she would still be more than able to land a few less than pleasurably hits.

"But Lucy," he whines, dragging out the 'u' in her name, "it's strangling me! How am I supposed to protect you if I blackout and suffocate because I can't breathe!"

The princess turns on her heel, blonde curls tossing behind her. "Well then, at least you'll look nice when you die."

She purses her lips at the bouquet of white roses on her bureau and twines her gloved fingers together. She looks extra pretty tonight, in her sunny sky dress with capped sleeves and a frilly skirt that falls to her ankles. Cream-colored gloves and bouncy golden curls, all she's missing is her crown.

It's been six years, and although he's grown accustomed to wearing shoes on a daily basis, he does not appreciate being forced into a stifling black coat and starchy white shirt. Or a demonic necktie, of all things. He likes his pants loose and tucked into his boots, and waistcoats that don't smother him. At least he doesn't have to wear gloves, because that would just go over the line. The necktie is pushing it already. And all the food at the gala is sort of a consolation for the hours of dancing and socializing he's forced to endure.

Lucy turns to him and smiles, which is one of the prettiest things he's ever seen. Aside from her and some other things, of course. You witness quite a bit when you live in a castle, but. Back to the matter at hand. "Now, are you ready to go, Lord Protector?"

"You mean walk downstairs," he snorts, "and it's Natsu. Geez."

She stomps her foot in a very unladylike manner. "We've been over this like, what—a thousand and one times! During galas or social events, you're supposed to address me as 'my lady' or 'princess' or even 'your highness,' and I'm supposed to address you as 'Lord Protector'! It's the rules! Natsu, seriously. Do you much prefer 'manservant'?"

Much to her dismay, he cackles, but bows. "Sorry m'lady, won't happen again."

"Yeah right," she deadpans, but smiles. "That's a lie if I've ever heard one."

Igneel opens the door and peers in at them. "Did you two decide to stop and pick flowers? You're lucky I came to check on you instead of one of the maids. They're more frantic tonight than I've ever seen them. Come along, Princess, Natsu. We must be on our way."

"Downstairs," Lucy mumbles under her breath to Natsu, and they laugh.

Later, he steals some baby's breath from the garden on the balcony and weaves a crown for her.

A month after, the Empress becomes ill.

"It's just a cold," Layla Heartfilia insists. "There's no need to worry or fuss, really. I'll be fine in a few days."

Lucy loves her mother more than anything else in the world.

A few days turns into a few weeks, and in that period of time, the Empress' condition grows progressively worse. A slight sore throat becomes coughing up dangerous amounts of blood, minor headaches become blinding pain, and Layla's fair complexion has deteriorated into a ghostly pale pallor.

"I'm fine," she coughs one morning, as Lucy sits by her bed and holds her hand, stacks of fairy tale books beside them. Natsu is there too, because wherever Lucy goes, he goes. "Honestly darling, in just a few days we'll have that tea party we've been planning. The gardens are so pretty when the flowers are just beginning to bloom."

Lucy squeezes her hand and nods her head. "Yes mama," she says through swallowed back tears and sniffles that aren't there, "of course."

"Natsu will be there too, you know. We should also invite your father and Igneel. They've both been so busy and worried lately, and I—"

She breaks off into a particularly violent coughing spell, and Lucy is undone by the amount of red staining the pristine white throw and silken sheets. The children are ushered away—"you can visit the Empress later, after she's rested"—by the nurses and the door is shut. Natsu leads Lucy outside to the gardens where he doesn't let go of her hand until she stops crying hours later.

There are whispers around the castle the next day, and he hears them because he's so good at listening. He has to be, to protect the future Empress.

Words like 'poison', 'gala', and 'fatal' are thrown around like knives, and they make his stomach churn. His father is so angry these days—not at Natsu, maybe at the words, definitely himself—and doesn't smile at all anymore. Neither does Lucy's father, who barely pays her any attention now.

There isn't an empty seat at the Empress' funeral.

Natsu shakes the excess water off his hood and sighs as he enters the tavern. It seems like it's always raining these days. Kind of a downer, if you ask him. But the city doesn't seem to be faring much better, either.

His sword feesl heavier than usual today, and he wonders why. Especially since it hasn't left its sheath since he put it on this morning. Ah, this morning. It reminds him of sleeping, and how much he likes sleeping, and—

"Can I help you, sir?"

He hasn't been called sir in a while, so this should be good.

(Well, that's not entirely true. People tended to call him 'sir' most of the time; but that's because they knew his identity. Right now he's incognito, so.)

Natsu slides onto a stool and eyes the bartender from under his hood. There's still a few annoying droplets of water on his cheek and his overcoat feels soaked. Great. He ignores this in favor of drumming his fingers against the counter. "I'm looking for a girl."

Something humorous crosses the man's face, but it's gone so soon, like it wasn't even there in the first place. He sets down the glass he'd been cleaning in front of Natsu and picks up another. "Aren't we all?"

A rather rugged-looking man a few seats down seems to have a suggestion, no matter how crude. "Could just go to the place down the street."

"Well, see, this is a special girl. She's different. Doesn't work in a brothel, for one thing."

Does he look like the type of guy who frequents pleasure houses? He sure hopes not. Isn't he dressed too well for that? Isn't the sword hanging at his side any indication that he has better things to be doing? Sure, he's been in brothels before, but not actually for the usual intent of entering one.

The bartender grabs a bottle off the shelf behind him and pours something dark golden into Natsu's glass. "Pray tell, what type of girl is she then?"

Natsu picks up the drink and turns it around in his fingers. "Annoying. Nags worse than an old horse, gets herself into trouble more times than I can count, is constantly running away, pushed me into a river on my sixteenth birthday. Pretty. Oh, and blonde."

"Seems like a keeper," the man chuckles. "Haven't seen her mate. But she almost sounds like more trouble than she's worth."

Natsu downs the contents of the glass in one swallow and slams it back down on the counter. "Yeah, sometimes I think so too."

He rises, black tailcoats swaying behind him, and leaves a few jewels on the wood before waving. "Well, thanks anyway. If you see her, let me know. She owes me at least five more drinks."

He ducks his head on his way out the door and is instantly assaulted with the cold air. His breath materializes in front of him and he sighs. Closing his eyes, he thinks back seven years to a starry spring night and a girl wearing a pretty blue dress who scolded him for stepping on her toes when they danced. A less complicated time, back before dead Empresses, dead and missing fathers, before everlasting bitterbone winters and storms, before everything went wrong.

Natsu fingers the locket in his coat pocket before stepping out into the torrential downpour. He doesn't look like he belongs here—in the inner village—what with his billowing black coat with gold trim and buttons, light pants that are forever tucked into his boots, the red sash tied around his waist, and the sheathed sword hanging at his hip. The hood of his coat is pulled up over his dead giveaway hair, and it serves a double purpose of keeping out the rain and keeping his identity a secret.

He decides to follow the canal for a while. She's always liked walking alongside it, and maybe a part of him hopes to find her there. He can almost picture her, waiting for him with not a drop of water soaking her through despite the storm raging around her. She's magic like that, he thinks. But honestly every part of him is hoping to even find her at all.

The coldness of the evening seeps through the thick fabric of his coat and into his bones in an uncomfortable way, and he watches his breath cloud up as he exhales. The air smells like gasoline and a winter storm, and it tastes even worse. He can hear the gulls screaming by the bay, even though it's several streets over. From somewhere in the port, a whaling barge blows its horn, either signaling its entry into the docking area, or alerting its crew that it will be departing shortly.

So this is Acalypha now, a dying city without its mighty and precious Empress. The Lord Regent has no idea what he's doing—or perhaps he does, according to The Outsider. Everything is in chaos, and it honestly wouldn't surprise him if that has been the plan all along.

To his right, the gas lamps begin to flicker on one by one. Ah, so curfew will begin shortly. Not like it matters to him, he's never followed those stupid rules since they were instated, anyway.

A scuffling sound catches Natsu's attention, and he ducks behind a corner before peering back out into the street. It's empty, save for the shadow stretching out of an alley. He raises a brow, wondering who could be dumb enough to be out at this late hour. It's obviously not an overseer—whoever it is walks too noisily and carries himself in a different manner.

Natsu decides to be a "good citizen"—at least that's what all the posters plastered over the city say, "a model citizen reports and suspicious activity," he calls bullshit, and that propaganda is plastered everywhere—and follow them. The least he can do is help them inside if the poor fool is drunk off his ass and lost or something; he's not a complete scoundrel. But he might just pickpocket them. Maybe.

What Lucy doesn't know won't kill her.

(And he absolutely refuses to believe that she's anything but alive, alright. She's more stubborn than a pack mule, she'll be fine.)

He slips down an adjoining alley—as he knows this city almost more than anything—and keeps to the shadows. It's not a very hard thing to do when you've been at it most of your life; and, on the offchance that he's wrong and it is an overseer searching through back alleyways for drunks and whatever else, he doesn't feel like a fight right now. Which is crazy, really, because he's usually always up for a brawl.

He finally spots the figure and confirms that yes, his original assumption was correct. It's not an overseer at all, just that brothel guy from the tavern heading to—what do you know—a brothel. Natsu squints up at the swaying and worn wooden sign through the rain. It reads The Mermaid Heel, which he finds to be an interesting name for such a place. Too nice, almost. But then, he wouldn't know anything about naming a pleasure house.

Does he really look like a guy that frequents brothels?

Lucy is having a very bad day—actually, she's been having a series of bad days, and they just keep getting worse. She's not even sure how that's possible, since it all started with her probable and apparent kidnapping after being locked in a tower for six months, only to wake up in a dingy room that stinks of cigars and awful perfume, with no escape. Then come to find out that it is indeed the attic of a local brothel—which is beyond disgusting—and that she's apparently being kept here "until further notice," or, in other words, probably forever.

She regrets so many things already.

And, to top it all off, Natsu is still missing.

Almost eight months of no contact—of course, it's not like she was receiving post while being locked up in the castle tower for more than half of that time, but still—and her hopes have long since dwindled. They're beginning to die out completely, if she's honest. She hates herself for that, tries to stay as positive as she can, because she's always believed in him.

Then again, she doesn't know who or what to believe in anymore. Except for the obvious fact that she's going to be living in a brothel attic until they kill her, or worse—just leave and forget about her.

In the two weeks she's been kept here, she's thought up a hundred different ways to escape. She's examined them from every angle, analyzed each detail, pointed out all the flaws in her own plans, and has concluded that even if she did make it, she'd be damned. After all, she didn't go "missing" for no reason, and the Lord Regent himself played a very important role in her impromptu disappearance via treason and kidnapping.

Besides, there are overseers and Loyalists who are frequent patrons of this place—she could recognize them by their voices sometimes. The floorboards are thin in some places, and she's always been good at listening, and a stickler for details. The Lord Regent could have her killed at any time he pleased, so long as he had them under his control and more importantly, on his payroll. She clenches her fists and falls back against her bed—two haphazardly stacked mattresses and a mess of blankets and pillows. If only she'd known about the corruption before.

Instead, Lucy thinks to herself, she is here.

She misses Natsu and his stupid grin. Or the disgusting way he eats despite having a proper upbringing in the castle, for pity's sake. She misses secretly watching him train and duel with his father while she was supposed to be studying, and him teaching her how to fence. She's really improved, maybe even enough to take him on. Lucy sighs and lets her chin fall into her scraped palms. Some of her limp blonde hair slips into her eyes and she huffs it away. It hasn't been cut in months, and has grown at least a couple inches. She wrinkles her nose and decides to braid it. Maybe that will help pass the time until they bring her dinner. It's not a lot, but at least they do feed her.

The rain beats gently against the shuttered and boarded up windows outside, and it's a nice change from the high-pitched and whatever else emanating from the floors below. She's always liked the rain and the things it brings with it: spring, flowers, fresh air. She hasn't seen or had any of that in what seems like ages.

Lucy smiles to herself and buries her nose in the scarf wrapped around her neck. It hasn't smelled like him since before she was first imprisoned, but tonight it smells like memories and rainwater. It's enough to take her mind off the grit and grime surrounding her, and she doesn't even notice when the downpour outside lulls her into a quiet sleep.

"Don't I know you?" the man from the bar questions, starting at Natsu as seriously as a drunk man can, and looking quite inquisitive.

Natsu's not really up for any chit-chat, but he also genuinely doesn't recognize the guy even though he's asked the same question five times over the past two minutes. "No, I don't think so."

Bora—that's the tavern man's name, he's learned after one of the brothel girls crooned at him the moment he staggered through the door—shakes his head and ponders over this 'new' piece pf information. "Bu' I was sure I'd seen you before som'where."

"Sorry mate, can't remember you from anywhere," Natsu insists, because he honestly doesn't aside from seeing him at the bar earlier. And it's not like he's a particularly recognizable person right now anyway.

"But—"

One of the girls saunters over and effectively cuts Bora off by draping herself all over him like she's wet laundry and he's a drying rack. Natsu feels awkward here, and especially witnessing this sight—or a woman in barely anything at all in general. "Bora," she trills, pressing everything against him, "come on. You didn't just come here to talk to one of your boring old confidantes, did you? Let's have some fun!"

Natsu's lip curls in disgust as Bora proceeds to fulfill her wishes—on the dingy sofa right in front of him. He rises to leave, wanting to get away and burn his eyes out as fast as humanly possible, but something stops him. There's a nagging feeling at the back of his mind—Bora, Bora, he has heard that name somewhere before. Where, where, where? Bora, as in the fisherman? No, he's too well-dressed for that. But the water part gets him thinking even more. Bora and water, Bora and boats, Bora and whaling—no, wait, yes.

He wheels around and thrusts an accusing finger at the man. "I take it back, I do remember you. Bora the Prominence, right? The whaler who made thousands in jewels on illegal oil. Still whaling, Michael, or have you moved onto another line of work? I think I recall something about The Prominence trafficking girls and taking up illegal deals."

Bora is fuming, face redder than the brothel girl's corset, and makes a lunge for Natsu—who easily dodges. Partly because he's sober, mostly because he's well-trained. "Who the hell are you?! The masked miscreant that's been sneaking around and committing crimes against the Lord Regent?!"

Natsu holds up his hands and sidesteps Bor—Michael as he makes another go at him. "What criminal answers to the Lord Regent? Isn't that defying the whole point of being a criminal?"

Michael grabs at his sword and Natsu sighs, before wondering if this is just what he needs right now. It's always helped to vent frustration by beating the crap out of people, so why not give it a shot this time? The whaler makes a sloppy jab at Natsu, who sighs and grabs the blade, using it to tug Michael closer before punching him in the face. There's a sickening crack, and blood is instantly gushing out of the other man's nose, while Natsu's is burning in his veins. He feels better already, truly alive again, and grins.

"I'm all fired up!"

Lucy is startled awake by horrified screams and the sound of things breaking beneath her. Strangely enough, she's not terrified, just a bit peeved that what is possibly the best rest she's had in months has been interrupted. Also, now that she's awake, her stomach has decided to painfully remind her that she hasn't had dinner yet.

She drags herself off the mattresses and almost jumps when something—presumably glass, from the sound of it—shatters right underneath her. It's followed by enraged shouts and manic laughing, and she begins to feel a little wary. This is not usual for a Friday night, and it scares her. Especially when the hellish screaming suddenly stops and everything becomes quiet. Is that good? Or is it bad? Should she—

Lucy trips over one of the many loose floorboards and flails, falling and knocking an unlit oil lamp off the stack of crates serving as her night stand. In the time it takes to shatter into thousands of tiny pieces with an earthshaking clatter, her entire life flashes before her eyes. Then all is quiet once again and that's great except for the fact that she cannot breathe—and that's when the footfalls start.

"Oh no," she mumbles, scrambling to her feet and away from the danger zone of glass—which is everywhere. "Oh no, oh no. I'm going to die."

She presses up against the wall behind the door, nails digging into the rough wood, and waits. By the sound of the steps headed her way, it's just one person, and he's male. If she's lucky, she can take him; of course, then she'd have to make a run for it as well, and while that thought certainly is welcome, it's also terrifying.

The footsteps stop outside her door—locked from the outside, and she still can't breathe. It's a wonder she hasn't fainted yet. Take that, all you pansy princesses—

Her thought process immediately comes to a halt when the lock clicks, and the door swings open. Careful Lucy, remember not to tuck your thumb into your fist, keep your arm steady, it's not about the force but the swing.

She clocks her would-be assailant right under the jaw, and he stumbles backward with a muffled cry of pain. He's unsteady on his feet and now's as good a chance as ever, so she bolts. Unfortunately she barely even makes it out the door before he's dragging her back, biting down the pain and grunting as she fights.

Her legs bicycle uselessly and her arms flail everywhere but he dumps her back on the makeshift bed and looms down upon her like he's a wolf and she's his prey. If only she had a sword, if only—

"What the hell was that for, you crazy harpy?!"

Lucy immediately stops flailing, limbs akimbo, and stares up at the dark figure with wide eyes. She knows that voice. After all, she's only been putting up with it for the past thirteen years. She squeaks. It's rather embarrassing.

"L...lord pro—Natsu?!"

Natsu squints down at the girl sprawled out on the bed. Some of her long blonde hair has escaped her messy braid and is feathered across her face, tucked into her scarf and—

Her scarf?

He stumbles backward again, holding his chin and glaring down at the girl who's taken him by surprise twice. Her left hook is fucking /brutal/, and her undercut is even worse. She reminds him of—"what the hell?! Get off me!"

After punching him again—because how dare he, how dare he let her think he's been dead all this time, let her barely dare to believe he couldn't have been—Lucy throws herself at him, tugging at his hood just to make sure. The light filtering in from below is sparse, but it's just enough. She'd recognize that jawline and those dark eyes anywhere. She wraps her arms around his neck and starts to cry. It's terribly embarrassing, because she's better than this, she is. To add to it, she pulls back and starts to beat his chest, which is pathetic, and she knows this too. But he's alive and she never knew and she's angry and sad and happy all at once. It's not a feeling she knows how to handle.

"How dare you—how dare you leave me alone all this time! They told me you were dead! They even brought me your stupid scarf! Then they imprisoned me in that godforsaken tower for months, all the while lying to me about everything! I thought it was for my own good! I thought...I thought...you never..."

Natsu stares at the tear tracks down her grimy face and raises his thumbs to brush them away. "Princess," he breathes, because after all this time he's finally found her, alive. Angry and crying, but alive. "Lucy."

She gives a watery laugh and clenches her jaw in an attempt to stop her crying. "They told me you were dead. That you were killed."

He scoffs. "And you believed them? Since when?"

"No! I didn't," Lucy protests. "At least, not at first. I have faith in you, idiot. I always have. So I waited—for months. I sat up in that tower with your scarf on my lap, the proof that something awful had happened to you they said, and waited for you to show up and prove them wrong. You'd never let anyone get the best of you."

He sets his jaw. "Damn straight."

"But after three months, you still weren't here and I knew they were lying to me but...I couldn't..." she glances away. "It was your scarf, Natsu. You never went anywhere without this thing. So I thought maybe you'd gone looking for your father, and I never completely lost hope, but," she swallows and looks up at him. "I hate you, you know. You left without me and I was behind you, just like I've always been."

Natsu knows she doesn't mean it. Not the part about hating him anyway. He pulls her close and buries his face in her long hair. "I didn't want to leave," he tells her, "but I didn't have much of a choice either. It's a long story—which I will be happy to explain, but later. There's a drunk whaler and several Loyalists and possibly overseers downstairs that won't be very happy with me when they wake up. Also, what's this about you being locked in a tower and why the hell are you in the attic of a brothel?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she huffs, "and speaking of long stories..."

He grins at her, then pulls a rather frightening mask out of his coat. It looks somewhat like a patched metal version of a skull, in a way. "We can swap 'em after dinner, then."

She watches as he slips the mask over his face and lifts the hood of his coat over his hair. Natsu offers her a hand, and for the first time she realizes that she isn't even wearing shoes. "Shall we go, m'lady? The city awaits."

Lucy doesn't like the way his voice unsettles her—actually, there's just something different about him, something that wasn't there before—in more ways than one. But she places her much smaller hand in his and lifts her head. "We shall," she smiles at him, "Lord Protector."

(what am i?)

end notes: i can never write anything angsty why.