Chapter III: A Fairy Tail Wedding - Part One
The guildhall had not yet finished processing the announcement.
This was hardly unusual. Fairy Tail processed news the way it processed everything else—loudly, collectively, and with a staggering amount of physical collateral damage. The revelation that Gildarts Clive was getting married was the kind of information that required a serious volume of ambient noise to digest properly.
Conversations were firing off in six directions at once. Someone near the back was weeping into a mug—whether from overwhelming joy or sheer existential shock remained unclear. Wakaba had tried to sit down, missed his stool by a good four inches, hit the floorboards, and was now casually leaning back on his elbows as if he had planned the entire maneuver.
Teilanne stood beside Gildarts, watching the bedlam with a faint, amused curve at the corner of her lips. Yes, she thought, this is going to take some getting used to.
Then she turned slightly, looking down into the shadow behind her skirt. "It's alright," she said softly, her voice carrying a calm, maternal warmth. "You can come out now."
The ambient noise pulled back slightly—that collective instinct people have when they sense an unannounced player stepping onto the board.
A small shape slipped out from behind her legs.
He was about six or seven years old, built with the sturdy solidity of a child who was well-fed, deeply loved, and possessed the unshakable confidence of someone who had never once doubted his place in the world. His hair was a shock of distinct, unruly red—unmistakably Gildarts'—though softer with childhood. But his eyes were dark, almost black, pulled straight from Teilanne. His skin held a faint tan, and his frame was still deciding whether it was going to settle on his father's broad build or his mother's lean athleticism.
He wore practical, slightly mismatched clothes—a black and brown shirt, blue trousers, and white bandages wrapped around his wrists and shins in a subtle imitation of his older brothers.
And curling nervously close to his side was a furry brown tail, its tip twitching with the hesitant curiosity of a child determined not to look intimidated.
A fresh silence fell across the hall. It wasn't the silence of shock, but the quiet of dozens of wizards simultaneously connecting the dots and realizing they needed a moment to absorb the picture.
The resemblance was undeniable. He was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, Gildarts and Teilanne's child.
Makarov sank down into a slow, unhurried crouch until he was at eye level with the boy.
"Well, hello there, little one," Makarov said gently, his tone shifting into the warm, grandfatherly register he saved for the youngest members of his flock. "And what might your name be?"
The boy glanced up at his mother. Teilanne gave him a reassuring nod—It's okay, I'm right here.
The boy looked back at Makarov, squaring his small shoulders. "Cumber."
"Cumber," Makarov repeated, testing the name with thoughtful deliberation. "A strong name. It's very nice to meet you, Cumber."
The strict, watchful tension in Cumber's posture relaxed. With the lightning-fast intuition children possess, he decided this tiny old man was entirely safe. His dark eyes brightened, and a broad grin cracked across his face.
"Nice to meet you too, Gramps."
Teilanne caught her breath. "Cumber, he's Master—"
"No, no," Makarov interjected, raising a small hand, a look of unadulterated delight shining in his eyes. "Leave it be. I don't mind one bit." He looked at the boy with the fond warmth of a man who missed having little ones running around his knees. "'Gramps' suits me just fine."
Cumber beamed, his tail unwinding from his waist to swish openly through the air.
Teilanne looked between the old master and her youngest son, quietly accepting that this was simply her reality now. She had adapted to far stranger things.
Makarov straightened back up, looking between Gildarts, Teilanne, and the red-haired boy currently using up a surprising amount of floor space with his relaxed tail.
"So then," Makarov asked, "when are you two planning on getting hitched?"
Teilanne blinked, pausing as she translated the local slang in her head. "Hitched?"
"Married," Gildarts supplied quietly beside her.
"Ah." Realization dawned on her face. "In a few weeks, we hope. Several months have passed since we first discussed it, and we feel the sooner, the better."
Makarov stroked his thick mustache thoughtfully. "A few weeks. That's brisk. We'll have plenty to prepare." He glanced down at Cumber, who was staring up at the Master's magnificent white mustache with pure, scientific wonder. "And I take it you plan to introduce this young man to his siblings and the rest of his family here soon?"
"Yes," Teilanne said carefully. "Though not too soon. I would rather not create an awkward situation before we've had the chance to lay the proper groundwork, given the nature of the situation."
"Understood completely," Makarov agreed, giving a firm, decisive nod. "You have my word. The secret remains between us until you decide the time is right."
Gildarts and Teilanne offered their thanks—hers quiet and sincere, his carrying the slightly awkward warmth of a man still wrapping his head around being a father all over again.
Before the guild could swarm them, they quietly ushered Cumber out through a side door, finding him a safe, secure nook behind the building. After leaving him with a generous plate of food and a very clear set of instructions to stay put, they returned to the guildhall with the careful composure of people who were absolutely not keeping a secret from anyone.
Left to himself in his cozy hiding spot, Cumber spent a very productive half-hour munching on roasted meat, practicing complex tail flicks, and giving serious thought to Makarov's mustache.
One week later.
The summons went out first thing in the morning—brief, non-specific, the exact kind of notice that the guild had learned over the years meant get here now, we'll explain when you arrive. By mid-morning, the guildhall was packed, which in Fairy Tail terms meant comfortably crowded enough to generate a loud, buzzing hum of speculation.
The usual suspects were out in full force. Natsu had arrived already worked up about something tangentially related to his morning walk. Gray was present and had managed to lose his shirt somewhere between the front doors and the bar counter—a feat Sala noted with an expression of weary resignation before pointedly looking literally anywhere else. Erza stood straight-backed near the center of the hall, her posture carrying the sharp alertness of a knight treating an assembly like a pre-battle tactical briefing. Nearby, the Strauss siblings had taken up their customary formation: Mirajane near the front with a serene smile, Elfman beside her with his arms crossed to prove he was Prepared For Whatever This Was, and Lisanna tucked cheerfully into the space between them.
Over near the left wall, the three Saiyan kids had staked out their own corner. Kizuna stood with his arms folded over his chest, Uruk kept his hands loose at his sides, and Sala stood between them, her furry tail wound tightly around her waist the way she wore it whenever she was paying close attention. All three had a pretty solid theory about what was happening, built on twelve years of living with their mother and knowing the exact look she gave when sitting on a major secret. They were roughly seventy percent sure they knew what was coming.
Makarov cleared his throat, his deep voice effortlessly cutting through the ambient roar.
"Thank you all for coming on short notice," he began, resting his hands on his staff. "I know you're all wondering what this is about. Rather than drag it out, I'll hand things directly over to Gildarts and Teilanne. They have an announcement to make."
He took a step back.
Teilanne stepped up to the front of the room. For a split second, she looked out at the hall, marveling at the strange, impossible path that had brought her here—to this world, this guild, surrounded by these loud, bizarre people. She tucked the thought away for later, drew a steady breath, and spoke.
"This has been a long time coming," she said softly.
She paused, and Gildarts stepped up beside her, carrying the easy, grounded confidence of a man who had made up his mind and saw no point in dancing around it.
"This remarkable woman," Gildarts said, his directness bringing an immediate hush over the entire room, "has given me the chance to be a father again. She asked me to marry her." He turned to look at Teilanne, a warmth shining in his eyes that few in the guild had ever seen. "I had my doubts at first—not about her, but about myself. Whether I was ready. Whether I actually deserved something this good."
His gaze drifted past the crowd, finding the left wall where his new family stood watching. "And then I thought about a certain young girl whose mother told me she's wanted me to be her dad for a very long time. When I held that thought up against my doubts... the doubts didn't really stand a chance." He looked back down at Teilanne. "So I'm marrying this woman, and those wonderful kids are going to be my family. That's all there is to it."
For a full second, nobody moved. Then, the guildhall produced a sound.
It wasn't a word. It was the combined, high-decibel noise of dozens of people hitting peak surprise all at once.
"Ehh?! EHHHHHHHHH?!"
"Congratulations, Gildarts," Erza said, recovering first with her usual swift efficiency. She stepped forward, straight-backed and deeply sincere. "Truly. To both of you."
Mirajane pressed both hands to her mouth, her blue eyes shining. "I—this is quite the surprise." Her smile widened into something radiant. "A wonderful, incredible surprise."
Lisanna clapped her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels. "What brought this on? What finally—"
"Sala, Uruk, and Kizuna," Gildarts said simply. "Their feelings. Teilanne's feelings. Laid out plainly and honestly, with more care than most people put into anything in this life." He shook his head, a faint, disbelieving laugh slipping out. "How could I have looked at that and done nothing?"
Over by the left wall, a small, muffled sound escaped.
Sala had both hands clamped tightly over her mouth. Her tail had unwound from her waist and was sweeping through the air in wild, involuntary wags that she wasn't even attempting to control. Above her hands, her eyes were swimming with bright, glossy tears.
Beside her, Kizuna was staring intensely at the wooden ceiling, deeply committed to preserving his cool composure. Uruk was staring off into the middle distance, his neutral face working overtime to keep from breaking.
"When are you planning the ceremony?" Erza asked, seamlessly transitioning to logistics.
"A few weeks from now," Teilanne replied. "We thought something quiet and small—"
"No."
The voice came from the shadowy hallway near the back—dry, matter-of-fact, carrying the absolute authority of someone who never needed to raise her voice to be obeyed. Porlyusica stepped into the sunlight with unhurried certainty. Her face wore its usual look of mild irritation at the general existence of other people, but beneath the scowl sat something undeniably warm.
"Not small," the old healer stated flatly. "Not when you've brought it to your family."
"She's right," Erza agreed instantly. "This is not a minor event. This is something to be celebrated properly."
Mirajane glanced at Erza, her mouth curving into a sweet, teasing smirk. "I don't say this often, Erza, and I hope you truly appreciate the significance of this moment—but the tin can is actually right."
"'Tin can,'" Erza repeated flatly, her eye twitching slightly. "We will address that phrasing later."
"Later, Erza."
"Much later," Erza agreed under her breath.
Before the bickering could escalate, Makarov drew in a massive breath—a clear warning sign to everyone nearby that a guild-shaking proclamation was imminent.
"ALRIGHT, BRATS!" the Master boomed, his voice echoing off the rafters. "WE HAVE A WEDDING TO PLAN! LET'S SHOW MAGNOLIA WHAT A FAIRY TAIL CELEBRATION LOOKS LIKE!"
The guild answered with a deafening roar—a wave of pure energy that likely rattled windows three streets over.
Teilanne stood in the center of the storm, feeling the undeniable force of something massive taking on a life of its own. She looked over at Gildarts, who was already being swallowed up by an impromptu planning committee that had formed with terrifying speed.
He caught her eye over the chaotic sea of shouting wizards and offered a rueful, deeply affectionate shrug—this is what we signed up for.
"You'll get used to it!" he shouted over the noise. "It's always like this!"
Teilanne looked around the hall—at the flying mugs, the enthusiastic shouting, the people already arguing heatedly over flower arrangements—and thought back to Planet Vegeta. On her home world, matings were cold, functional matters acknowledged with a brief nod before returning to war. Saiyans were warriors first, second, and always.
It wasn't like this at home, she thought softly to herself. Then, a genuine, quiet warmth settled into her chest. I think I could get used to this.
The weeks that followed were, in a word, relentless.
Fairy Tail in full event-prep mode was a force of nature unlike anything Teilanne had ever witnessed. The wedding preparations generated a perpetual state of productive chaos that pulled in everyone from the S-class veterans to the newest recruits. Everyone contributed according to their specific skill set and opinions—and Fairy Tail wizards held their opinions very strongly.
Natsu, who approached everything at maximum intensity and seemed perpetually surprised by the outcome, threw himself into the heavy lifting. He carried beams, rearranged tables, and hauled heavy crates that should have required a team. But beneath his frantic helpfulness, he was clearly processing the reality of it all. The concept of Gildarts—the invincible, wandering powerhouse—actually settling down was a puzzle piece that didn't fit neatly into Natsu's worldview, and he kept circling back to it like a dog investigating a strange rock.
Gray found Natsu's existential confusion utterly hilarious and made sure to tell him so at every available opportunity. Erza managed this dynamic with terrifying efficiency: drafting wedding schedules with one hand while physically dragging Gray away from Natsu with the other to keep productivity moving.
Without question, Sala was the single most enthusiastic person in the kingdom.
She didn't just help with the preparations; she lived in them. She was everywhere at once—consulting on floral arrangements with the absolute authority of someone who had been mentally designing this day for half her life, offering surprisingly sharp takes on color palettes, and radiating the unbridled joy of a young girl watching her fondest dream become real. Her tail swished constantly. It hadn't stopped moving for days.
Cana, who had quietly appointed herself Sala's designated shadow during the larger preparations, watched her friend's feverish happiness with a gentle, slightly awed expression.
"You really, really wanted this, didn't you?" Cana asked one afternoon, leaning back against a wooden barrel as Sala frantically sorted flower bundles by shade.
Sala paused, looking up with a look of complete, unfiltered vulnerability that made her look every bit her twelve years. "More than almost anything," she admitted softly. "Is that weird?"
"No," Cana said quietly, her voice carrying a heavy, subtle weight that hinted at something deeper. "It's really, really not."
Something in Cana's tone made Sala look at her a little closer. But she didn't push. In the short time they had been friends, Sala had learned that Cana kept certain feelings locked away in a private room—a room she only opened from the inside. The best thing Sala could do was simply let her know she'd be waiting outside whenever she was ready.
Sala went back to sorting her flowers. Cana took a slow sip from her cup. And between the two girls, a quiet, lasting bond took root in the noise of the hall.
Kizuna and Uruk handled the whole affair with their characteristic composure—which was to say they expressed their feelings entirely through practical labor and an extraordinarily high tolerance for being asked to move heavy furniture. They had known, with the quiet intuition of observant children, that this was where things were headed. The arrival of the actual wedding wasn't a shock so much as the satisfying click of a missing piece dropping into place.
"You knew," Uruk said to Kizuna, setting down a heavy oak bench near the back wall.
"We both knew," Kizuna replied, adjusting his end.
"Yeah." A brief pause. "Good, though."
"Very good."
That was the entirety of the conversation. It covered every single thing that needed to be said.
It was a quiet afternoon, three days before the wedding, when Mirajane found Kizuna.
Or perhaps he found her. The exact logistics of who arrived first was something either of them might have argued differently, but the result was the same: they ended up in a shaded, slightly set-back corner of the hall, sheltered from the relentless pace of the decorations. It was the kind of pocket quiet that only forms when the ambient noise around you is constant enough to function as white noise.
She had been watching him for a while—not in an overt way that demanded acknowledgment, but with the subtle patience of someone waiting for the right moment to say what was on her mind.
"So," she said lightly, settling onto the wooden bench beside him. "How does it feel? Getting a new father?"
Kizuna took his time with the question, bringing the same unhurried focus he applied to everything that deserved a real answer.
"Good," he said quietly after a moment. "A quiet kind of good." He looked toward the opposite wall. "I don't remember much about my birth father. Most of what I know comes from my mother, and she keeps some of it guarded, just for herself." He paused, choosing his words. "But Gildarts reminds me of him in the ways that count. They aren't the same man, obviously. But they're the same shape, if that makes sense."
Mirajane looked at him, her blue eyes softening. "It makes sense."
"He's a good man," Kizuna said, his tone simple and absolute. "He didn't have to take us in. He didn't have to become what he became to us. He just did." He cast a quick sideways glance at her. "The guild being this loud about the whole thing is... energetic. But it's nice. It means something when people who don't have to care about your life choose to care anyway."
Mirajane fell quiet.
Across the hall, the preparation chaos hummed along. Elfman's booming voice carried over the din as he passionately argued that arranging banquet tables in straight rows was the only truly manly way to do it.
"Can I ask you something?" Kizuna asked.
"You can try," Mirajane replied. It wasn't a yes, but it certainly wasn't a no.
"Why did you want to know? About how I felt having Gildarts as a father."
She opened her mouth, closed it, and her expression did something complex before settling into something far more candid than she usually permitted herself to show. "No particular reason."
"Mira."
"I said—"
"I heard what you said." His voice wasn't harsh, but it held a steady, patient weight that made it clear he wasn't going to be brushed off. "And I know that's not the real answer."
A long silence stretched between them. Around them, the guildhall moved and laughed. Somewhere near the floral arrangements, Sala's bright, ringing laugh sounded out like a bell.
Mirajane looked down at her hands resting in her lap. "Fine," she murmured, letting out the quiet exhale of someone laying down a heavy pack. "But I'm saying this once, and you are never allowed to bring it up again."
"On my honor."
"I was thinking about my father," she said softly, her voice remarkably steady—the kind of steady that only comes from years of practice holding back a specific kind of grief. "I don't remember much about him either, and that's... hard in its own way. You lose people, and you want to hold onto them properly, but the memories fade, and that almost feels worse." She watched the dust motes dancing in a sunbeam. "I was just wondering how he felt when he found out he was going to be a father. If he was ready. If he wanted us." She paused, her voice dropping a fraction. "If he was proud of us."
Kizuna remained quiet for a long moment, letting her words settle.
"I think," he said carefully, "that any man worth his salt would be extraordinarily proud of who you've become. All three of you. Anyone who can look at you, Elfman, and Lisanna—look at what you've survived and what you build for each other every day—and not feel proud... well, that's not a man I'd have much respect for." He met her gaze as she looked up. "And I don't think your father was that kind of man."
Mirajane stared at him, her lips parted slightly.
She quickly looked away, her expression carrying something too private to name. Sensing it, Kizuna refrained from pushing, letting the silence protect her.
"You know," she said finally, staring off into the middle distance, "you're really not so bad, Kizuna."
"High praise," he chuckled dryly.
"Don't get used to it." The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "You're also..." She cut herself off.
"Also what?"
"Nothing. Never mind. We should get back to work." She stood up smoothly, reclaiming her usual composure like a worn cloak. "Besides, we're going to settle this properly one day, you and I. Once we've both trained up." Her eyes flashed with that familiar spark—the one reserved purely for the prospect of a good fight. "I want to see what this Ki of yours can actually do when you aren't holding back."
"Whenever you're ready," Kizuna said smoothly.
"You should probably look a little more worried than that."
"I'll work on it."
She turned and strolled back toward the main floor.
Kizuna sat on the bench for a few seconds longer. Then, without turning his head, he focused on the heavy wooden pillar about ten feet to his left. He had been aware of approximately eight distinct energy signatures crammed behind it for the last ten minutes.
"I know you're there," Kizuna said to the wood grain.
The faint rustling behind the pillar abruptly stopped.
"I've known you were there the entire time."
Total silence.
"You can come out."
They filed out from behind the post with varying degrees of embarrassment. Natsu didn't look embarrassed at all; Gray looked slightly more uncomfortable than usual; Uruk wore the perfectly blank expression of someone claiming plausible deniability; Sala looked thoroughly caught; Elfman was already puffing out his chest to deliver a defense about manly recon; Happy was aggressively staring at the ceiling; and Lisanna was wearing a broad, knowing smile that had clearly been growing for the past ten minutes.
Kizuna looked over the group, his gaze eventually settling on Lisanna, who met his eyes with absolute, unbothered satisfaction.
"Your sister only talks to me because she wants to spar," Kizuna stated flatly.
"Oh, absolutely," Lisanna agreed, her tone warm, bright, and completely unconvinced. As someone who had watched Mirajane her entire life, she knew the exact subtle difference between her sister's 'I want to fight you' face and her other, far more complicated faces.
Kizuna looked at her, realized he was entirely outmatched in this particular arena, and stood up from the bench.
"Three days," he said, dusting off his trousers. "We have a wedding in three days. Some of us should probably get back to helping."
He turned and walked back toward the bustling center of the guildhall. Behind him, Lisanna watched his retreat with the quiet, cheerful patience of someone who was perfectly content to let things unfold naturally, entirely certain of how the story was going to turn out anyway.
Three days remained.
Fairy Tail had always possessed a unique talent for building momentum toward a spectacle. In the cobblestone streets of Magnolia, word of the upcoming event had rippled outward—quietly at first, and then blooming into a full town affair. Flower deliveries arrived at the front doors in steady streams, cheerfully redirected by whichever wizard happened to be standing nearest the entrance. The fresh, bright scent of cut lilies and sweet clover had settled deep into the guildhall's aging stonework.
Somewhere deeper in the building, Sala was still animatedly debating floral arrangements with Cana over a table covered in ribbon samples. Uruk, having finally finished moving the last of the heavy wooden benches, was engaged in a quiet, civil conversation with Gray that had, against all reasonable expectations, not yet devolved into a fistfight. Even Natsu had processed his initial confusion about Gildarts settling down, emerging on the other side with an explosive level of enthusiasm that functioned effectively as peace.
And up on the quiet balcony of the second floor—where the noise of the main hall faded into a gentle, ambient hum—Teilanne stood by the window, looking out over Magnolia as the evening light softened into amber and violet.
She remembered the day she had arrived on this world: crammed into a tiny space pod with three infants and a hastily packed bag. She remembered climbing out of a scorched crater with no map, no plan, and no idea whether they would survive the week.
Twelve years.
Three infants had grown from fragile lives she carried against her chest into strong, capable young people who could stand beside her—or carry her, if it ever came to that.
A strange, magical town had slowly, eventually, made room for them.
A rowdy, chaotic guild had found them, taking them in and claiming them in every way that truly mattered.
And in three days, she would marry the man who had given them a home.
Teilanne pressed her palm against the cool glass of the windowpane.
Somewhere across the stars, Planet Vegeta was nothing more than cosmic ash. The man she had first loved was gone. The friends she had watched smile through pod viewports had passed beyond any horizon she could ever reach.
Yet she was alive. Her children were alive, whole, and thriving.
Sala was down below, laughing over wedding colors. Kizuna was quietly opening his heart to new friends. Uruk was... well, likely still moving furniture, because that was simply who Uruk was.
And Cumber, her youngest joy and her little red-haired secret, was tucked away safely in a warm room nearby, waiting patiently for the morning he could stop hiding and step into the sun.
Three days, she thought, watching the lantern lights flicker to life along the streets of Magnolia.
She let out a long, quiet breath, a faint smile touching her lips.
"I can do three more days."
Next Time — Chapter 4: A Fairy Tail Wedding - Part Two