#all we're missing is Zel being taller but what's a few inches when his smol is 5'1

[nehswritesstuffs]

Sometimes All It Takes is A Song

A/N: I recently completed a (drawn-out, mind) rewatch of the Slayers TV anime (a first-complete-watch, in the case of REVOLUTION-R’s case, to my shock), and it should be no surprise to anyone that this means I’m back on my teenaged bullshit and writing Slayers fic again after nearly fifteen freaking years.. All I wanted was something light and fluffy, so this happened.

1454 words; takes place vaguely in the beginning of REVOLUTION, before Pokota actually becomes a member of the group, in a lull between explosions and Wizer’s antics; I likely have more up my sleeve but I have other active projects and wanted to slam something out real quick there

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Sometimes, all it takes is a song.

It was late and the group had long made camp and eaten dinner. Despite the fact she was being hunted via an arrest warrant, Lina was already asleep, snoring on the other side of the clearing, while Gourry was off finding firewood, Amelia was writing, and Zelgadis was cleaning and tuning his guitar. He enjoyed the instrument enough—it was one he had picked up during their adventures a while ago now—and it too needed a bit of care. Taking a worn string off, he tucked it in a pocket and produced a different one; he didn’t want it to snap prematurely while playing, after all. Even if his skin was stone, it wasn’t as though it didn’t hurt when it happened…

“What are you doing, Mister Zelgadis?” Not even lifting his head, he glanced over at Amelia, seeing she was watching him. “I thought you replaced the strings not that long ago now…”

“I did, but,” he held up his right hand and wiggled his fingers before getting back to work, “I tend to wear them out quickly.”

“Ah… that makes sense.”

It was quiet for a short while after that, the only noise between them being the popping in the fire. He finished the repair job and examined it in the wan light—looked good enough. Plucking a couple notes proved his theory correct and the clear tones reverberated through the night air.

“I don’t think I ever asked where you learned to play.”

Zelgadis looked at Amelia and found she her attention was still on him, her letter seemingly discarded. He shrugged nonchalantly and went back to idly playing a long-learned melody.

“Who are you writing?” Good, a change in subject; a decent enough distraction.

“Oh, just Uncle Christopher; my father’s letter is already done.”

He blinked. “What are you writing him?”

“He wanted to know about Ruvinagald separately from Daddy—if anything happens, he’d be the one to be sent, after all. I don’t think Uncle Christopher has been here since he was my age.”

“Then it’s been a bit,” he nodded. “He probably didn’t have to deal with exploding magic tanks and magic-casting stuffed animals.”

“I think he would have preferred that—he was here for a ball before he met my aunt, and because he was single, a Ruvinagalder noblewoman was a bit too friendly, if I remember the story correctly.”

“Sounds like a horror story.”

They both chuckled, then silence.

“You still didn’t answer my question, Mister Zelgadis.”

Damn.

“A long time ago.” He continued playing and tried to ignore the fact that she was beginning to move about the camp now. “It was Rodimus, if you’ll believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, Mister Zelgadis. I just didn’t know.” She put away her letters and pen in her pack and went to sit down next to him. “You play well.”

“I wouldn’t say well…”

“…well enough for me. Were you little when you first started learning? I can imagine how big the guitar was next to you.”

He let out a real laugh—not a chuckle or a smirk, but a genuine laugh—and stopped playing. “No… Rodimus thought I needed another outlet besides magic and swordsmanship and he was right. I was what… thirteen…? Fourteen? He said it would be relaxing for me.”

“Was it?”

“In a way.” Zelgadis went back to his song, feeling the weight of Amelia resting on his shoulder as he did so. Using her cape as a blanket, she was curled up against him, sharing warmth that the campfire could not entirely provide. He raised an eyebrow at her, anticipating her response. “It was how I got my first kiss.”

“What…?!” Amelia snapped to attention, sitting straight up as she stared at the chimera with wide eyes gone even wider. Lina snorted from the other side of camp and tossed inside her bedroll, which caused Amelia to lower her voice. “I didn’t know you’ve been kissed before.”

“When I was sixteen, playing for fun while my great-grandfather was out, going to the square and letting people listen,” he explained. “She kissed me,” he tapped his cheek, “right here. I couldn’t play for the rest of the day out of sheer nerves and hormones.”

“You made it sound more romantic than that,” she huffed. She glared at him out the corner of her eyes, watching as he made a slight tuning adjustment to the strings. “Who was she?”

“…someone in the village—about my age—thought the fact I could play guitar was cool.”

“I didn’t think you were that kind of man, Mister Zelgadis.”

“Maybe I fancied myself one as a kid, but you’re right… I’m not that kind of man. This body of mine ruined any chances of me going down that path.”

“I didn’t think it was your body…”

He blushed at that and attempted to play it off as though it weren’t there. “Still… that entire potential trajectory changed when I changed, and not for the better…”

Amelia knew he didn’t have to elaborate: his great-grandfather, Rezo the Red Priest, one of the greatest sages of the time and a man who led a profound life, had turned his life on its head by conducting a chimeric experiment on him. Even when they were alone, Zelgadis often had trouble saying his name in relation to himself… as a relation to himself, and it made her sad beyond measure. It was a sadness that reminded her of her Uncle Randionel and cousin Alfred… men who also betrayed their family in the search of power that ultimately destroyed them in the end…

…because of Randionel and Alfred, Seyruun nearly lost a future. Rezo, on the other hand, had a much different game he had been playing.

“Maybe… in the end…” she mentioned, “it wasn’t too bad. You met Miss Lina and Mister Gourry that way, after all.”

“…and I met you—don’t discount that, Amelia.”

“Never said I did.”

They didn’t say anything for a while after that, with Amelia sitting quietly, listening to Zelgadis play the guitar. She remained curled up against him, relishing in his warmth and that of her cloak-blanket; he was like a stone taken from the bottom of a hot spring and left to set—a low, lasting heat that seemed to melt her aches and pains away. He leaned against her just so—the gentle waft of her perfume reaching him as they sat there. It was a luxury for travelling as they did, that was for certain, but she insisted she take a bottle, considering her royal position and the fact they were at-risk to landing in some Ruvinagalder court.

The song ended, another was played in its entirety, and they were partway through a third when a very sleepy-looking Gourry shuffled back into the camp. He dropped his pile of kindling along the camp’s edge and made his way over to Lina’s side without a word, crumpling next to her and falling asleep before his head even hit his arm as he used it for a pillow. His other arm splayed out, draping over Lina, who unconsciously punched him, knocking him into a spread-eagle position where he kept on sleeping.

“Only those two idiots,” Zelgadis noted. He saw how closely Amelia was clung to him and smiled inwardly. “You cold?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s go to bed,” he offered.

After his guitar was put away and their cloaks folded neatly, they added more wood to the fire, laid out their bedrolls—hers closer to the fire, his on her other side—and laid down. Zelgadis was nearly settled when he felt something soft against his cheek and opened his eyes. Amelia was right there, her face so close to his that he knew precisely what happened.

“I think it is pretty neat that you play the guitar, Mister Zelgadis,” she admitted.

“Just neat?” he teased.

“Okay… it’s kind of cool too.” She laid back down and took his hand in both of hers, holding his forearm in place against her chest with her own, before closing her eyes. “Mmm… warm…”

“Good night, Amelia.”

“Good night, Zelgadis.”

“No ‘Mister’?”

“Not tonight.”

Morning was certain to come as others had: a smoldering ash heap in place of the fire, Lina and Gourry competing for how cranky and hungry they were, and a sense of urgency to make haste before Lina’s insistent pursuer caught up with them. Breakfast was quick and packing was quicker, yet that didn’t change how Amelia looked at Zelgadis’s guitar, or how he lifted it onto his shoulder before they set off.

It was a small change, but it was a start.