Chapter Text
Once Upon A Time
If you asked the people of his kingdom, they would tell you that King Dreyar was a kind and just king. Where many kings in bordering lands ruled their kingdoms with cold disregard to those considered beneath them, Fiore’s king listened to his subjects. He believed a king whose people were suffering while he sat on his throne was no king at all. Yes, he was a well respected king, which was why when the rumors that the King had an illegitimate daughter started to spread, they were widely disregarded by his people, for King Dreyar loved his wife, Queen Kearia Dreyar. What his people didn’t know that he had a first love.
As a prince, Makarov Dreyar was of the rambunctious sort. It seemed as if it were everyday that the young man would go missing from the castle just to be dragged back by his guard Metalicana to receive his lashings from his father. The servants often gossiped amongst themselves, wondering if the prince was a bit thick in the head, or if he just got some sick satisfaction out of driving the king crazy. They tried fruitlessly to get Metalicana to tell them. They’d bribe him with extra portions of dinner, offered him money, and on the odd occasion offered him a daughter to be his future wife, and yet Metalicana kept tight lipped about what it was his charge was doing when he disappeared from the castle. All they could get out of him was that he answered to the king and Prince Makarov alone.
What the servants didn’t know was that even the king himself couldn’t get Metalicana to tell him where the prince ran off to. The knight had been the youngest to come through the ranks, becoming a part of the royal guard at the tender age of 17, and was often referred to as the Iron Dragon. He was used to being regarded with contempt and fear, and yet the prince had welcomed him as an equal. While it may have only been because Metalicana was the only other person the same age as Makarov in the castle, it led the knight to pledge his whole allegiance to the prince.
This meant that everyday when Makarov slipped out of the castle with his horse and rode to the forest on the outskirts of town to meet with the blue haired girl named Ileana McGarden, the Iron Dragon would wait until as late in the day as he could to go and bring him back. Everyday the knight would ask the prince if it was worth the beating he received, and each day the prince would simply respond that love was worth any punishment.
This continued until just before Makarov’s 21st birthday, when his father fell gravely ill. The ailing king’s final wish, was for his son to marry Lady Kearia Blackthorn of Vistarion and to see his son take over the throne. The day before the wedding was the only time Metalicana did not bring the prince home.
***
Ten years later, the Iron Dragon was killed, leaving behind his son Gajeel to be raised by the King. He followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming Makarov’s most trusted knight by the time he was 18 years old.
“Do you wish me to come with you?” Gajeel asked, his wild black hair falling over the black iron of his armor that mimicked his father’s. His mouth was set in a scowl that the king was all too familiar worth. He really was just like his father.
“No, Gajeel, I can do this alone,” Makarov said dismissively as he pulled his cloak on over his own armor. He’d received the message from an inky black raven, which could only mean that it was from the oracle, and she preferred to meet alone.
“But sir,” the knight started to protest before the king raised his hand to silence him.
“Even your father didn’t keep such a tight leash on me, my boy,” he chuckled. “If your old man could trust me enough to let me meet with the oracle, you can too. Besides, don’t you ever take a break?” It was a rhetorical question. He of all people knew that Gajeel didn’t ever take any time off. Gajeel laughed humorlessly.
“Fine, but your better let the queen know that this was what you wanted before you go so if you get killed she knows it wasn’t because I didn’t try.” This elicited a bark of laughter from the king. Fucking smartass, he thought to himself as he pushed his way through the door, letting it shut behind him and ending his conversation with the knight.
***
It was impossibly quiet in the forest as Makarov tied his horse to a tree just outside of the clearing he knew the oracle would be waiting for him. He’d learned quite some time ago to not bring his horse any closer, and he had the scar through his eyebrow to remind him just in case he ever forgot. Carefully stepping through the trees and trying his best to avoid making too much noise, he finally reached the clearing. There was a 50-foot radius that had been cleared of any forest and left nothing but a twisted metal stand holding a black marble basin. Standing at the basin, was the oracle. Her skin was a pale, almost translucent white and her silver hair glittered in the moonlight and fell down the back of the simple black dress that hung loosely from her body. A milky film covered her eyes, leaving her blinded, though Makarov often wondered if that were true. At the current moment in time, he’d swear she was staring right through him.
“Makarov,” she greeted. Her voice echoed around them, filling the space and suddenly making him feel small.
“Oracle,” he said back, stepping further into the clearing until he was in front of her and the basin she stood at. Without another word, she reached her hands towards him and gently place them both on his face.
“It’s good to see you, old friend.” A small smile touched her lips. At least, Makarov thought he saw a hint of a smile. He’d never actually seen her show any emotions in all the years he’d known her.
“What is it you need to show me?” Her hands fell away from his face and returned to either side of the basin. A ripple caused the surface of the black liquid inside it to dance.
“Death.” The single word she uttered was electric and the forest around them rustled with a sudden gust of wind. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen death in his future, and yet an ominous feeling had started to work its way through his body. There was something different about this time.
“Whose death?” The question nearly choked him as he forced it out. She started to slowly pass her hands over the liquid, causing the black to fade away into a pearly white.
“Your daughter’s,” she whispered as she looked up from the liquid, her stare cutting him to the bone. Ice started to run through his veins as he struggled to breathe.
“I… I don’t have a daughter,” he struggled to say. Try as they might, he and the queen had been unable to have a child. It weighed on them both but he was able to bury himself in his work as king. Not to mention Gajeel was like a son to him. But they did not have any children.
“You do, Makarov,” the seer’s voice said forcefully as she slammed her hands down on the sides of the basin. Suddenly, he was transported back to that day all those years ago when he had seen Ileana for the last time. The memory caused a sharp pain of sorrow to erupt through his chest as he saw Ileana crying in his arms. The vision melted away as his past self leaned down to kiss away her tears. A tear fell down his face and landed in the liquid before he even had the chance to realize it was there.
“Show me,” was all he said, his voice breaking slightly.
The oracle returned to waving her hands over the deep basin between them, causing the liquid to start to spin into a milky white whirlpool. Makarov watched intently, mesmerized by the swirling liquid that spun faster and faster. Colors started to bleed from the outside edges of the basin and suddenly, it came to a stop with one crystal clear image reflected in the surface. The face of a blue haired young woman with honey colored eyes stared back at him. He felt himself reach towards the image, unable to look away from the woman’s image in the basin.
“She looks just like her mother,” he managed to breathe. His chest was throbbing with pain as he took her in. All this time, and he’d never known. Reaching his hand forward, his fingers ghosted across the top of the liquid, barely disrupting the surface. The touch caused image to fall away, leaving nothing but the inky black liquid it had originally been. “Who knows about this?” Makarov demanded. His tears had dried and his eyes now burned. The seer returned his glare with her own blind one. She placed a hand on the side of the basin and paused as if she were listening to someone speak.
“No one yet,” she finally said, her hollow voice echoing through the forest around them. Makarov was infinitely aware of the final word. The sound of it sent a shot of cold fear unlike anything he’d ever felt down his spine. There was a finality in that word. Someone would find out about the blue haired woman in the forest, and they would kill her.
What neither the seer or the king noticed, was the pair of purple eyes that watched them from the shadows.