It Was Like A Little Light

By CrimsonStarbird

Ten – A New Home

"Ah, Tenrou Island."

The speaker gave an appreciative sigh, drinking deep of the warm air and the familiar magic of the land. His joints creaked as he stretched – the only ordinary indication of his advancing age, for the years were treating him differently than they would another man. Rather than wrinkling, the skin around his face and hands had hardened into bark-like natural armour. He was not balding, nor was his hair greying with age – as Makarov's had done more in the past few days than the rest of his life put together – but it curled more vigorously than ever before, a shade of mossy green.

Yet it was not nosiness with which the guild mages regarded this unusual man, but something akin to reverence: they would all have recognized the signs of someone so powerful that his magic was slowly mutating his outward appearance, even if they had not known this man by reputation. No sooner had they lowered the gangplank for him than the Fairy Tail mages stood aside, allowing Warrod Sequen to descend first onto the island.

"It's been too long," he remarked, gazing fondly up and down the rocky shelf, before turning towards the Tenrou Tree with the same wistful smile with which he would greet an old friend.

"So, this is Fairy Tail's holy ground?" marvelled a handsome, dark-haired man, coming to stand by Warrod's side. It had not been an argument that had led Bob to leave Fairy Tail and form his own guild, but a difference in style: the mages of Blue Pegasus were notoriously popular with male and female clients alike, and their Master more so than any of them. His eyes swept across their otherworldly surroundings, trying to take in all the exotic scenery in one go. "If I'd known Fairy Tail had its own private holiday resort, I'd have had second thoughts about leaving!"

"We're hardly here for the beaches, are we?" This unimpressed response came from a woman, whose hair was pulled into a tight bun, while a crimson cloak drawn around her shoulders formed a barrier between her and other people. Yet despite her reprimand of the laid-back man, she could not stop her own gaze from jumping to the most unusual of the plants in view, as if she itched to examine them closely – or perhaps add them to the bag of medicinal herbs already slung over her shoulder.

A short man, possibly even shorter than Makarov, patted her elbow; it was the highest part of her he could reach. "You say that, but not even you could resist a trip out to see old Tenrou Island, could you, Porlyusica?" Yajima grinned. She harrumphed and took two firm steps away from the growing crowd of mages, reinstating the minimum preferred distance between herself and other human beings.

There was another man staring just as intently as Porlyusica at the scenery, but where the healer was eyeing the vivid flowers and creeping vines and huge trees trampled by huger beasts with appraisal, he looked only fearful. In the bright light of day, his hair was as starkly ginger as that of his sister and nephew. "This is where he's been, on his own, for four whole days?" Uncle Robin whispered. "Oh, Gildarts, I'm so sorry…"

The man beside him would have clapped him supportively on the back, if not for the fact that Porlyusica had spent the entire journey snapping at anyone who so much as looked at the rune-covered sling supporting Robin's broken arm, let alone did anything to disturb it. Between his cool shades, questionably cool spiked collar, and distinctly uncool stack of arcane tomes held under one arm, Goldmine of Quatro Cerberus appeared rather odd, but his upbeat confidence had quickly endeared him to Robin.

"I know the island looks scary, but the magic here's strong and safe," Goldmine promised. "I know it's not so reassuring when you can't sense it yourself, but we do know a thing or two about magic, despite what you'd think from looking at us."

Indeed, they made a strange crowd. Some were Fairy Tail mages, some not, but all of them had growing reputations as powerful or knowledgeable practitioners of magic, and all were united here today by their friendship towards the man who had sought their help. They broke off their conversations and turned to watch as Makarov disembarked from the ship, Ivan at his side.

Unlike the others, Makarov did not comment on the wonders of the island. He stared at his hands and whispered, "But what if he's dead?"

It was not the first time he had asked that question. A few of the others exchanged glances behind his back – though he wouldn't have noticed if they had expressed their mingled concern and exasperation to his face. He continued to wring his hands, as if unaware that they had reached their destination.

Just as he had for the past ninety-nine times Makarov had spoken those words, Warrod placed a hand upon the Guild Master's shoulder. "He won't be," he said, in those deep, comforting tones of his. "The magic of the island will have kept him safe. Bringing him here was the right decision. Now, we just need to find him."

But the hundredth iteration of this response didn't reassure Makarov any more than the ninety-ninth had, or the ninety-eighth; the Guild Master was far too enveloped in horror to be swayed by the logic of those who had no reason to feel guilty.

Warrod took charge. "Locating the boy – Gildarts – is our top priority. Send a signal immediately if you find him, and convince him to come back here peacefully if you can. That being said, from what I've heard, there is a high chance he will be emotionally and magically unstable, so be on your guard. Understood?"

The mages nodded and scattered to systematically comb the island. Swallowing his trepidation, Robin followed Porlyusica's group into the jungle (several days as her patient had convinced him that she was scarier than anything the island had to offer). Warrod remained on the beach, at Makarov's side. He was clearly worried about the Guild Master's condition.

And although he might not have admitted it, Ivan was worried too; he cast more than one apprehensive glance at his father as he strode across the rocks. Makarov appeared to have aged five years in the past five days. Ivan had not once caught his father asleep during that time: whenever he wasn't writing to the kingdom's most powerful mages to request their help or scanning every single book in the library for information on wild magic, he was pacing back and forth, murmuring to himself, apologizing to ghosts, and praying for the boy's safety.

Ivan had felt annoyance at first, and perhaps even jealousy, that Makarov was pushing himself so hard for the sake of some kid that wasn't even part of the guild. But as the bags under his father's eyes had swollen, and his grief and regret had deepened, Ivan too had caught himself worrying about the boy's fate. He hoped that the whole situation would be resolved soon, if just to let things get back to normal around the guild. He didn't want to think about the consequences of finding the boy dead.

"Hey, dad!" he called, indicating the crates left in the cove: one which was a complete wreck, one that had held mushed food before it had been cleaned out by wild animals, and one whose contents had been emptied onto the ground and deliberately sorted through, leaving behind a pile of broken objects. "He's taken the useful things with him – that's a good sign, right?"

But the uncharacteristic despair, the hopelessness that had taken up permanent residence upon his own father's face, did not shift. "A wild beast could have done that," Makarov protested hollowly.

"What use would a wild beast have for a magical tent?" scowled Ivan. "Pull yourself together. We're going to need your protective magic for when we find him, so you'd better be ready."

Makarov did not seem to notice that his own son was telling him off. He just kept gazing out into the jungle, waiting for the sign that would prove once and for all that he was a failure of a Guild Master who couldn't even help one boy…

"Makarov. Makarov!"

He completely failed to process Warrod's words until the tree-mage gave his shoulder a vigorous shake. "Look," Warrod continued, a calm and stable counterpoint to the nightmares whirling in Makarov's mind. "Is that him?"

Makarov looked, shaded his eyes against the sun, and then looked again. He did not speak.

But even if he did not dare to acknowledge the figure running towards them, lest it turn out to be another hopeless mirage, Ivan and Warrod could see it clearly. The distinct form of a young boy emerged from the cliffs and hurtled towards them, bearing a rucksack almost as large as he was on his back and wildly waving a staff above his head.

He looked just as they remembered – small, thin, underfed, and dressed in mismatched clothes which all seemed to fail to fit him in different ways – but with one exception: he wasn't crying. In fact, as he drew close enough for them to make out the expression on his face, there was a moment when they could have sworn he looked joyful…

But the flash of happiness was gone, consumed by abject fear. The boy's panic-stricken screech reached them over the sound of the waves: "No, no, no!" And then he was skidding to a stop, clutching the staff tightly to his chest, panting, "I told him this would happen, I told him-!"

"He's alive…" Makarov breathed.

As the Guild Master clearly hadn't registered the danger in the boy's crackling magical presence, it was with Ivan that Warrod exchanged a worried glance. "Yeah, he's alive," Ivan said shortly. "But we won't be for much longer unless you get your act together-!"

His son's shout seemed to bring him to his senses. Makarov brought his hands together and called forth his immense power, and three stone monoliths rose out of the earth around the boy; a reverse-defensive spell sealing him within its impenetrable barrier. It wasn't a moment too soon – the boy gave another wordless shout and a tempest of white energy burst out of his body. His power raged against the shield but could not penetrate it-

And then the shield vanished. It didn't crack, it didn't break apart – it simply vanished. The Guild Master's strongest defensive magic was gone as though he had never cast it.

"Makarov!" Warrod exclaimed.

At the same time, Ivan was shouting, "What are you playing at? Don't lose control now!"

"I- I didn't!" Makarov gasped, his face white. "I didn't- it just-"

His protests were lost in the thundering crack of the boy's freed magic. It was someone else whose voice rose above the chaos in a firm shout: "Stop it!"

It was a long moment before any of them realized it was the boy who had spoken. He wasn't crying, he wasn't screaming, he hadn't slipped into the full panic attack of the last time they had seen him – he stood his ground with his arm out in front of him, all his attention focussed on his clenched fist, taking heavy but steady breaths, and looking utterly, utterly determined.

"No," he was saying to himself. "You can't hurt them. You can't."

And, acquiescing to that verbal command like a sentient being, the grid of white lines stopped spreading and collapsed back in on itself, shimmering upon the boy's skin and then disappearing for good. Only when there was no trace of erratic magic left did he look at the three mages gaping at him and offer them a relieved smile.

"…Okay," began Ivan, breaking the silence. "Would anyone care to tell me what just happened?"

Apparently the answer to that question was 'no', because rather than replying, Makarov dashed forward and pulled Gildarts into a tight hug, as if he were a lifelong friend rather than a boy he had met only briefly. "You're alive," he murmured. There might have been tears in his eyes. At this stage, it wouldn't have surprised anyone.

The boy seemed taken aback by this welcome. "I… I guess? You know, it's strange to be hugged by someone. It was always the other way round with him."

Then, without warning, the boy wriggled out of his grip and scrambled backwards, holding up his hands as if to ward him off. White sparks flickered around the boy's fingertips, and Makarov understood. "I can't fully control it yet," Gildarts offered apologetically. "So it's probably best to stay back for the time being…"

"But you can control it a little," Warrod observed. "You held your magic back from striking us just now. That's not what you told us, Makarov," he added, though his tone was more thoughtful than accusing.

"Yeah," Ivan seconded, and his tone certainly was accusing. He narrowed his eyes towards the boy. "If you can do that, why didn't you control it when it tried to kill us all back in Magnolia?"

"I couldn't!" the boy insisted. "I didn't know how! But I do now, because he taught me!"

"Who's 'he'?" inquired Makarov.

"The man who lives on the island!"

Makarov and Warrod exchanged glances. "No one lives on this island," remarked the Guild Master. "Do they?"

"No. It was abandoned decades ago, and the wards have been up ever since."

"He said he was the only one," the boy piped up helpfully. "He's right there- oh." He had turned to point at the clifftop he had come from, only to find it deserted. "That's odd. He was right there, I just checked. He said he'd wait in case you actually were here to kill me… Oh, I don't think you're going to do that any more, though!"

Makarov asked, "What was his name?"

"Dunno, he never told me," the boy shrugged. "I don't think he liked names much. He never used mine. Maybe he didn't have one. That's kind of sad, isn't it?"

"What was he like, then?"

"He was really weird. He knew loads about magic, and he never yelled at me even when I hurt him. And he hated getting up in the morning, and he kept throwing me in the sea, and he had this imaginary friend called Mavis-"

"Mavis?" Makarov interrupted, startled. Even Warrod was looking at the boy with renewed interest.

"Oh, do you know her too?" Gildarts asked conversationally.

"Mavis is… the name of the founder and First Master of my guild. Her final resting place is on this island."

The boy's eyes opened impossibly wide. "Mavis is a ghost!" And rather than being shocked or sad or confused by this news, he declared triumphantly, "That makes so much sense!"

"…It does?"

"Yeah! That must be why I couldn't see her or hear her! And no wonder he always looked so sad; it's because Mavis is dead! Oh, I hope I didn't hurt her feelings when I called her imaginary. It didn't occur to me that she might have been a ghost! Oh – what if they were both ghosts?"

He turned his bright gaze towards an utterly lost Makarov. "That would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" the boy chattered. Fortunately for the Guild Master, he seemed happy to assess the hypothesis himself. "That's how he vanished just now, and why he never got injured from my magic. But, hang on, he couldn't see Mavis either, could he? Can't ghosts see other ghosts?"

It took several seconds before Makarov realized that this one wasn't rhetorical. "I don't know…"

The boy clapped his hands together in sudden understanding. "Maybe, if someone is killed by a ghost, they can come back as a ghost that haunts other ghosts! Like a ghost-ghost! Can ghosts kill people?"

"I really have no idea…" Makarov said weakly.

"Maybe I'll find another one and ask them! Once I've learnt to use my power properly, like he said I'd be able to, I'll travel all over the world looking for ghosts- hey, are you alright?"

For Makarov had burst into tears. He dashed forwards and swept the astonished boy up in his arms once again, holding him close and sobbing all the while.

"Umm…" ventured the boy. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to-"

But the others understood. To the boy, Makarov was practically a stranger, but to Makarov, the boy was like a son. He had thought of nothing else for the past few days, and blamed himself for all that the boy was going through; he would never have forgiven himself if any harm had come to him. In a few short days the boy had become everything to him, and he loved him like he loved any member of his guild: as family. To see him here not only alive, but cheerful and inquisitive and brighter than anything… it was more than he could have hoped for, and he felt as though his heart might burst with it.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed to the boy. "I should never have left you alone on the island. I should have stayed with you… I should have done something… I shouldn't have abandoned you in a strange place…"

"But I liked it here!" Gildarts protested. "It's like being on holiday, and I've never been on holiday before. I got to explore the whole island and meet loads of monsters! And I loved the beaches, and the birds were so friendly, and the sky-! I've never seen anything so amazing. I'm happy that I could come here before I hurt anyone else."

"…You really mean that?" the Guild Master sniffed. "You don't… hate me?"

"Of course I don't! I'm really glad I came to this island. In fact, I don't really want to leave, but he said I had to and I think he might be right. Can I come on the boat with you?"

Mistaking Makarov's surprise as concern, Gildarts added, "I've been practising, and I think I'll be able to not destroy the boat. I managed to not destroy the coconuts – not until the very end, anyway – and I have this now." He pushed the staff he was carrying into Makarov's hand. The Guild Master took it without thinking; without even looking at it. "I'll try really hard not to put anyone in danger. You can even throw me in the sea again if you want-"

"Of course you can come on the boat!" Makarov burst out. "We'll take you home. Have you got everything that you want to bring with you?"

"Yeah! Well, I don't have the tent because I couldn't carry it, but… do you think we could leave it on the island for him? He seemed to like it quite a lot…"

"I suppose so," came the somewhat dazed response. "Ivan, take Gildarts onto the ship and find somewhere to store his belongings. Then start rounding up the others."

Ivan opened his mouth, probably to object to being used as an errand-boy, but it was at that moment that Gildarts beamed at him, and Ivan found himself just as disarmed by that honest gratitude as a certain Black Mage had been. "Okay, fine, come with me," he muttered, and set off with the boy trotting along at his heels.

Makarov and Warrod remained where they were, the former staring in puzzlement at the staff in his hands and the latter gazing out across the trees. Makarov ventured, "You don't think it's possible that there is someone on the island, do you?"

After a pause, the tree-mage shook his head. "The island was empty when we set the barriers up, and no one could have got through them since without a Guild Master's permission. Precht never let any strangers onto our holy ground, and you would know if you had, so it's simply impossible for anyone to be here."

"I know, but… I didn't lose control of my magic earlier, I swear it. It felt more like it had been deliberately countered… dispelled… as if someone had negated it intentionally so that the boy would be forced to control his magic himself."

"I don't think there's a mage alive with the skill to spontaneously counter your Three Pillar Gods."

"But I didn't lose control!"

"I'm not saying you did. Perhaps you lowered the barrier yourself without consciously realizing it, for the same reasons you just gave me. Or perhaps… well, the magic on this island has always been beyond my comprehension. Stranger things have happened here. I understand your concern, Makarov, but no one can be on this island without us knowing about it."

"The boy knew Mavis's name, though."

"Which he could have learned from her headstone, if he'd wandered down to the grave," Warrod reasoned gently.

"I know… I just don't think he was lying."

"About meeting a ghost?" Warrod chuckled. "Neither do I, but that doesn't mean he was right, per se. He was left alone in a bizarre and unfamiliar environment right after going through a traumatic experience. There's every chance that this ghost is a figment of his imagination, or perhaps some manifestation of the island's own magic, created so that he would not have to face this unknown place alone. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened here… you know the First Master's story as well as I."

He had thought that this logical theory would settle the matter, and yet Makarov countered, "And this figment of his imagination just happens to have a vast knowledge of ancient runes?"

"…What?"

Makarov passed the staff to Warrod, indicating the repairs that had been done to it. "This definitely did not look like that when we left it with the boy. It's been broken and fixed again."

"It might not be the same one you left him," the elder mage argued. "He could have found it in the ruins of the village on the island. I'm sure there are many magical treasures hidden here that we missed the first time round."

"It's too much of a coincidence. Look at this." Makarov ran his finger over a cluster of runes close to the bottom of the staff. "Does this do what I think it does?"

"It looks like it's been modified to repel the boy's magic." The two of them exchanged glances. "I wonder if it works. The boy seemed to think that it would."

Makarov spoke up, quietly, "I find the implication that the boy did this on his own even harder to believe than the idea of him being taught to control his magic by a ghost."

"Taught magic by a ghost…?" Warrod echoed. The relaxed humour had gone from his voice; there was a surprisingly intense look in those old eyes as he scanned their surroundings once again. "A ghost from the past, who avoids people, refuses to give his name, and speaks often of Mavis…? No, it couldn't be…"

"Warrod?" prompted the puzzled Guild Master. "What's wrong?"

"…Nothing." Warrod shook his head. Neither the Second nor the Third Master had lowered the barriers, but it wasn't impossible that one could pass through if they had the First Master's permission… "I think it may be best if we don't ask too many questions about what happened here. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms after Mavis's death…"

With a heavy sigh, Makarov yielded to the elder mage's decision. "Well, whatever happened here, I'm grateful for it. Though, it seems I've dragged you and the others all the way out here for nothing."

"Don't worry about it. I'm always happy for an excuse to visit dear old Tenrou Island. And I have no doubt that the others would gladly have spent a day sailing back and forth just for the sake of seeing you back to your old self again."

Makarov's response – whether emotional or haughty – was cut off by the sound of footsteps. They turned to see Robin hurtling across the beach towards them, pursued by a cross-looking Porlyusica. "Where is he?" the man was shouting. "Where's Gildarts?"

"UNCLE ROBIN!"

A delighted squeal tore through the air, closely followed by a sonic boom as a ball of black and orange energy tore down the gangplank faster than should have been humanly possible and flung himself towards his uncle. At the last possible moment, he caught sight of Robin's broken arm and stopped with a horrified gasp. "I did that, didn't I? I hurt you, and I destroyed your house… I'm so sorry…"

His uncle gave a firm shake of his head. "No, I'm sorry. I should have seen how they were treating you… I should never have let things get this far. I should have gone to a mage guild to get help for you years ago. I'm so sorry for letting you down."

"But you did get help for me," the boy sniffed. "You brought me to these people, even after everything I did…"

"None of that was your fault, kid. No one blames you for what happened."

"But I…"

"Come here." He crouched down, and when Gildarts shuffled forwards hesitantly, Robin pulled his nephew into a one-armed hug. Porlyusica glared daggers at them both for this recklessness, but when Makarov shook his head, she managed to refrain from pulling her patient away.

"Are we good?" Robin asked his nephew softly, and the boy nodded. "Good."

When the boy finally stepped away, hastily forcing inquisitive white magic back into his fingertips, Makarov, Warrod and Porlyusica were all stood watching him. He cast a hopeful glance back up to the top of the cliff, and only upon finding it just as empty as before did he turn his attention back to the adults present with a rueful smile. "So… what happens now?"

"We should leave as soon as possible," Warrod said, and Makarov knew that while the old mage had helped him adjust the barrier to bring his friends from other guilds onto the island, he was very much in favour of the strangers leaving before they could uncover more of Fairy Tail's secrets. When Makarov nodded his assent, he added, "I'll meet you back on the boat," and he strode towards the gangplank. Porlyusica went somewhat reluctantly to help round up the rest of the rescue party.

Gildarts, Robin and Makarov glanced awkwardly at each other. "We should get going as well," said the Guild Master. "If you still want to come with us, that is."

"I do!" the boy said immediately. "Though…" He cast one final glance over his shoulder, and then ventured, "But, what I really meant was… what happens when we get back? I don't have a home any more…"

"You're more than welcome to come and live with me," Robin jumped in at once. "Well, we're staying with Grandma and Grandpa until we can get our house rebuilt, but there's always room for one more, and your cousins would love to see you. There's a guild in our city, so we'll be able to get help for you if your magic starts acting up again. But…"

His voice tailed off. As Gildarts looked between the two men, confused, Robin gave Makarov an encouraging nod. The short Guild Master stepped forwards, clearing his throat nervously. "Well, if you wanted, Gildarts… you could always stay in my guild. We can teach you to use your magic properly, and to go on jobs and work as a mage… We have quite a lot of young members, and even Ivan said he wanted you to stay with us."

Well, Ivan's exact words had been after all this, he'd better prove to be a worthwhile asset for the guild, but Makarov thought he'd come round. Probably.

"Though," he added hurriedly, "I'd understand if you never wanted to use magic again in your life, let alone become a professional mage. And even if you did, you probably wouldn't want to stay in Fairy Tail to do it. I gave you the guild mark without your consent, and then I left you here on your own, so I'd completely understand if you wanted nothing to do with me or my guild ever again… I'm not sure I'm even fit to lead this guild, after what I did to you…"

"That's not true at all!" the boy burst out. "You saved Uncle Robin, and brought me to this awesome island, and gave me a really cool tent, and then you went and found all these people to come and help me, and you just offered to let me stay in your guild and teach me magic… you did all that for me, and I don't even know you! I think you're the best Guild Master ever!" The boy placed his hands on his hips and gazed resolutely at Makarov. "Oh, and Mavis thinks so too."

Makarov blinked. "She does?"

"Yes," came the stubborn response. "And if you can't hear her either, then you can't prove me wrong."

"I… I guess not, but…"

Robin came to the flummoxed Guild Master's rescue. "Kid, am I to take it that you want to stay with Master Makarov's guild?"

"I want to learn to use my magic properly. I want to explore the whole world and help the people I meet. I want to be a proper mage, and… and I want to be part of Mavis's guild. That way, it's like I'm not really saying goodbye." Suddenly anxious, he glanced up at his uncle. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. It's your decision, kid, and I think you're very brave. You'll make a great mage. I'll come and visit you all the time, I promise."

"And… it's okay with you, too?" he checked, turning to Makarov.

"Of course it's okay. It's more than okay. I'd love for you to be part of my guild."

And the two of them grinned at each other, the Guild Master with his exhaustion forgotten and the boy with his loneliness far behind him; almost complete strangers and yet somehow closer than family.

"If you're quite finished down there, we're ready to go," Ivan's irritated voice drifted down to them.

The three of them hurried on board, and the ship set sail. It was the first time Gildarts had ever been on a boat while in his right mind, and everything about it was new to him – the spray of the waves; the rush of the wind; the great unfurling sails; the energy in the air as the guild mages ran about the deck – and as he watched them in sheer wonder, his magic remained dormant.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red, and he turned to see two great crimson birds gliding alongside the ship. He gave a cry of joy, and they mimicked him, spiralling upwards with their wings outstretched and swooping low over the deck. The sailors scattered with shouts of surprise, but he held his hands out to them, and they swirled around him happily.

"Did he send you to say goodbye?" he whispered.

They gave non-committal caws and their wings flared, carrying them up into the sky as the boat pulled away, but a broad grin burst to life upon his face anyway. He ran to the back of the ship, waving both arms above his head, and he yelled at the top of his lungs towards the receding island, "Goodbye, Mister Ghost! Goodbye, Ghost Mavis! Thank you for everything!"

And he waved and he waved until the Tenrou Tree's silhouette had faded to nothing – one final farewell to the strangest and most wonderful place he had ever been and would ever go, and to the man who, for a handful of days, had made it feel like home.

Long after the ship had been swallowed by the horizon, Zeref remained stood at the top of his favourite cliff, looking out across the sea.

"He'll be fine," he sighed; a rebuttal to the doubts that had been pestering him nonstop since the boy had left. "He's with your guild, isn't he?"

And then he laughed. "If there's one thing to sum up just how backwards these past few days have been, I suppose it's me telling you to trust in Fairy Tail."

He didn't say anything for a long time, watching the sunlight dance like diamonds upon the crests of waves far below. There was something enchanting about it, something he had not noticed before, though he must have looked upon this view a thousand times.

"Well," said he, at last. "Things will be getting back to normal around here from now on. This doesn't change anything, Mavis. It was four days and nothing more. You knew that when you brought him to me."

The waves crashed against the rocks; the cicadas hummed; up in the branches of the Great Tenrou Tree, the birds sang their familiar chorus. Old sounds. Ordinary sounds. Sounds that had never been wondrous to him before the boy came along, and sounds that would no doubt cease to be wondrous again very soon, though he hoped they might remain this way for a little while longer.

He thought one final time about the boy who had been made to feel worthless by those who should have loved him, and about the certainty he had felt on that day: I can't do anything about this.

He remembered, too, the answer which had come to him from the island, or perhaps from himself; from the figurative little voice that other men might have called a conscience, but which he attributed to the one who had been all that was good in him, while she had lived. He had thought his heart had died when she had, but it had since proven itself to be merely hibernating, waiting for the most inappropriate moment to wake up and make life difficult for him again…

You don't need to do anything about it, she had said. You need only to be kind.

And the boy had been able to trust him anyway; to love him anyway; to pick himself up, face forwards, and find the reason and the strength to keep walking on.

"I know," he conceded softly. "For the boy, those four days may have changed everything. But for me, four unusual days – four days in which I was very much not acting as myself – make no difference whatsoever. You know me better than that."

If a reply came to him, he did not deem it worthy of a response. Two specks of crimson in the cloudless sky caught his attention: two of the boy's beloved birds, the departing boat's guard of honour, returning to their island home. "Oh?" he asked of their distant, wheeling forms. "You went to say goodbye?"

He was not expecting an answer, but he received one, of a sort; both birds dived towards him, wings flaring wide to cut short their breakneck fall only metres from the ground. They fluttered around him, always an inch or two out of reach, but no more than that. "This is unusual," he observed. "You never normally come this close to me."

One of them landed on the ground beside him and folded its wings. He noticed at once what the boy had not – the bird's magnificent peacock tail was crumpled and slightly bent, as if it had been trapped beneath something: this was the same bird that the boy had freed from the boulder. It trained one opalescent eye upon him and gave an expectant caw.

"Does this mean you've forgiven me, then?" he asked softly. "Well, I thought it would work out in the end, and it did, didn't it?"

The fire-red bird trilled its agreement, and craned its long neck towards him. He reached out obligingly, and then froze. Frowning, he withdrew his hand and took a sharp step back. "Still, you shouldn't be here. I'm not your friend." He shooed them away, and both birds took to the air. "Go on, get away from me. That kid would never forgive me if I hurt you."

Folding his arms, he watched as they soared towards the forest and disappeared into the canopy, twin rubies settling into a crown of emerald and gold.

"Good. Maybe now I can finally get some rest. And I don't know why you're looking so smug," he snapped, and with a ferocious glare to the empty air beside him, he strode off in search of some peace and quiet.

A/N: Aaaaand we're done. I was very conflicted over where to end this story. There are a lot of scenes that could be written if I went into canon material: a potential reunion during the Tenrou arc, Gildarts's conflict over learning his saviour's identity (and ultimately having to fight against him), Gildarts freaking out upon meeting the real Mavis, August completely losing it during their fight if he ever found out... but the problem is, none of those scenes are endings. They're all snapshots of a much larger story. Not one of them would provide a satisfactory conclusion to this story. So I'd prefer to leave it open with regard to the canon timeline than force it through several disconnected hoops to try and close it completely at the expense of its structure as a story. So, I am sorry to those of you who were hoping that this story would jump into the future... but this is the right place for me to end it.

Thank you to anyone who has read this odd little fic all the way through to the end! And a huge thank you to anyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story. Writing a cute story like this was a nice change of pace for me. I wanted a chance to explore the side of Zeref we don't get to see often enough: the man who could have fallen in love with Mavis, and still be in love with her after a hundred years; the man who refrained from mass destruction for a century after losing the one person he cared about, even though he had every right to rage against the world; the man who might have been moved to take in the lost child he happened across without any indication that they were related; the man who decided "the world has rejected me and forced me into this sad and lonely existence, but sure, I'll help with your plan to save it from Acnologia, no problem"... I had a lot of fun writing him like that. I truly hope you enjoyed reading it. ~CS