Twisted Fortune - An Escaflowne Fanfiction
By Bonnejeanne and Nixers
Contact: bonnejeanne@yahoo.com and nixerchan@aol.com
Warnings: Spoilers, mild violence
Notes: Set a little over one year after Vision of Escaflowne's end.
Chapter Seven - Red Feathers and DragonFire
Part 14
Outside his room, a soft sound from the shadows disturbed Dilandau's mental debates. In an instant all thought was pushed aside and his sword was drawn. The man fell easily into a fighting stance, despite the mild complaints from his muscles.
"Peace, Captain," Jajuka said, coming into the light.
Dilandau straightened again, shoving his sword back into its place with a perfunctory air. He looked at the beastman with impatience. "How long have you been there?"
"Not long," the beastman held up a folded packet of papers. "The list of ... subjects, and the summary of their conditions. I came to leave this with you. And this," he said, holding up the sword of the Fanelian king. "I didn't want them on my person longer than need be."
The Captain nodded, gratitude apparent if unvocalized. He tucked the sword under one arm and accepted the papers. A moment of looking around revealed a slightly lost feeling. "Is there any room empty right now?" Dilandau frowned. He looked over the beastman, noticing again the eyepatch and scarring, more reminders of how much has changed. "I need to know how much I've missed." He stated as much as asked.
"My room is here," Jajuka said, indicating a room a few doors down the hall.
Dilandau turned entering the room indicated, looking slightly ill at ease. He paused inside, not taking the seat provided.
Jajuka entered behind him closing the door. He saw the boy standing and pulled the chair over next to a small table and then pulled a bottle and a cup from somewhere and poured some of the dark liquid into the cup. "Please, Captain, sit." The beastman remembered a time when he'd have taken the boy by his shoulders and guided him to the chair, but he sensed that Dilandau needed some space, so he left the cup, bottle and chair and turned to unfasten his heavy half-cloak, dropping it to the bed.
Dilandau's gaze flicked from the beastman to the table before relenting. He set the papers and sword aside as he took a seat, and down the liquid in one gulp, blinking off the sting of it. Putting the cup down with deliberate care, he turned back to the other man, feeling artificially fortified.
Jajuka sat on his heels, resting his arms on his knees, a position he actually found more comfortable than sitting in a chair. "Shall I begin with the last battle?"
Considering, Dilandau nodded. "How did it end?"
Jajuka began to describe the end of the last battle, much of which he'd learned afterwards as did most of the survivors. He described the energist bomb wiping out the Zaibach army all but to a man, including the three generals. Then he described how the allies had begun to turn on each other. The end of that battle was harder to describe, from the Zaibach side; the rumors had become wilder and wilder in the days afterwards. He spoke of men seeing the flight of a white dragon in the sky, and then how that dragon fell, but a white winged figure seemed to spring from it, and the commonest story what that this was the dragon's spirit. The winged shape had flown unerringly for the Fortune Redirecting Device and somehow entered it, leaving it shattered. Then he described what was found when survivors finally entered the Device chamber: the all but unrecognizable body of the Master of Fates, the broken device, and the body of Folken.
Dilandau listened to the story quietly, troubled by the news. He'd gone cold at the idea of one of the allies having such power to wipe out their army so quickly and brutally. He had a strong appreciation for efficiency and power, but what was implied held none of the admirable cunning usually behind those traits. His scowl deepened at the confusing stories of the dragon's spirit.
"Folken, too... I'd thought he'd stepped out of that game. I'd heard he was dying anyway, mostly rumors," he commented at last. "The dragon that fell... was it recovered?"
Jajuka tilted his head. "No... it was not."
"So Escaflowne remains as well," Dilandau wondered a bit at that. He knew that Van was captured, but where was his guymelef then? Irritably he push his bangs back, shifting in his seat. "What's the status of things now... it doesn't sound to me like we are capable of doing much," Dilandau commented, biting off the last part.
The beastman nodded. "Adelphos survived the battle, and it was he who took up leadership. To his credit, he kept the allied nations from occupying our soil for more than a few weeks, but he had to take crippling concessions to ensure that. All weapons were ordered destroyed or delivered and the general made sure they were destroyed. Only a handful of guymelefs were saved and hidden, and we only use them for extreme situations and always under the stealth mantaeux. Yet, we build more in secret, but it's slow - materials are scarce and difficult to transport without arousing suspicion. There have been economic penalties laid on the country that bleed what little remains to us. The consolation is that the allied countries were also hurt by the war, some all but destroyed, therefore they have been content to watch us... but not too closely."
"Adelphos must be counting on that... for them to just keep watching while he takes them one by one." Dilandau shook his head, not commenting on the strategy further. "How tightly bound are the allied nations together?"
Jajuka lifted his lip in a half smile. "Not too," he said. "Considering how they turned on each other. All retreated to their nations to lick their wounds and mend relations, but the suspicion remains." He watched the Captain shrewdly.
Fingers drummed a beat against the table's surface while Dilandau considered. "Even occupying and forcing conscriptions... I remember seeing Asturia's banner, but the force was small at the battle... they couldn't have been hit hard. Even as it is, the plan is foolish without more manpower and weaponry..." He grinned ruefully, "Which is why he needs me; fast, coordinated attacks and retreats."
Jajuka's one eye gleamed with appreciation for the boy's intelligence. "He has his eye on Basram, I've heard. It might be that the other nations would turn a blind eye there. And there's the bomb..."
Dilandau's distaste was obvious on his expressive face. "A fast grab for power. They might turn a blind eye to the attack, but he'd need to be prepared for their reactions when they realize that we'd now possess that capability. It's a gamble.... but the wrong time for it. Zaibach wouldn't survive if he misstepped." Dilandau stopped looking at the empty glass without really seeing it. "Jajuka.... I made a promise that I think I will keep." He looked at the beastman seriously. "You might want to leave... the repercussion..."
The beastman watched his Captain soberly. There were changes in the boy. There was a depth to him, something that reminded Jajuka of the little girl he'd known. "Captain... if we part company, may I ask one question, for the loyalty I've given you?"
Dilandau hesitated a moment, forcing down old instincts ingrained in him to flatly refuse... that a subordinate shouldn't question him. He reminded himself that by his own admittance, he'd circumspectly abandoned his rank, an idea he didn't want to contemplate. "Go ahead," he said finally.
Jajuka watched the boy's face, and after a moment, lowered his gaze respectfully. "Forgive me, Captain. I said *if*. I'll wait until then. So you have a promise. I stand ready to assist you, my Captain," he said, adding the possessive as a way of saying that he was choosing allegiances.
Sharp eyes focused on the golden beastman for a moment before they closed. "...thank you," he said, almost below audibility. The Captain reached for the sword and papers, he'd go through the latter and burn them before returning to his quarters, but to do so here would leave evidence that would damn Jajuka father than simple flight might be able to remedy.
He stood and made to leave the other's presence.
Jajuka came to his feet in respect but did not move to stay the young man. He watched, feeling an odd excitement as he continued to ponder what he was seeing in Dilandau.
The rough opening of the door brought Van out of his short rest. Dilandau stood in the doorway, looking a bit haggard around the edges. Almost slamming the door behind him, he moved from the portal to sit rigidly in the one chair offered by the room.
He stared at Van for a moment before throwing a familiar blue sheath and sword to the ground below the bed. "Take it."
Van had leaned up on one elbow as the albino entered the room. He reached up unconsciously to wipe at his face and wince, as the dried blood around his wrist cracked. His tongue felt thick, his throat raw, and there was something crusted on the back of his head that continued to throb dully. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed, and forced his body up to a sitting position. Somehow he'd gotten cold, resting on the bed's surface, and a slight tremor or shiver moved through his limbs, although his face felt hot. Ignoring these things, he blinked, taking in Dilandau's expression, and bent to pick up the sheath.
Dilandau watched the boy's movement with approval, though the injuries were stirring some worry in him. Van wasn't moving well. "There are armed soldiers looking for you. It's a matter of time before they come here," he informed the Fanelian king curtly.
Van regarded the other boy steadily. "Then you want me to go?" he said, or started to say. It took a second try to get his vocal cords to work properly. He licked his lips. He needed water badly but the idea of asking for it hadn't occurred to him.
"No, I *want* to know what they are so frantic about. They aren't the sorcerer's men, a different loyalty all together. I'd imagine the General wants you." Dilandau shrugged, his face still impassive, though a gloved hand had found the hilt of his sword. "Leaving may be necessary... sooner than we had expected."
Van bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. He continued to watch Dilandau, as if he was unable to look away from the Zaibach soldier.
There was a tap at the door. "Captain."
"And here's where it all falls down," Dilandau hummed to himself, a smile growing as he calculated strategies. Audible to whoever was on the other side of the door he merely called, "Enter."
Van was on his feet, though the first step was almost a misstep, and he moved to the wall beside the door, on the hinge side, where he would be hidden when the door opened. He held the sheathed sword as if ready to use it.
The door opened and a man in the uniform of Adelphos' guard entered, standing just inside. "Captain. I'm to extend the General's welcome back. I'm also looking for a prisoner who has gone missing from the sorcerer's wing. You were just there, were you not?"
Dilandau hadn't bothered to stand up, merely watching the other man with a dark glower and a smirk. "If I had found such a prisoner, do you think they'd survive the encounter?" he said, a sort of amusement coloring the statement.
The guard scanned the room quickly, and his eyes returned to Dilandau. The expression was not lost upon him. "No sir," the man said. He bowed slightly and saluted. "I apologize for disturbing you, sir."
"See that it does not reoccur. And inform Adelphos that I accept his... welcoming." He nodded in a dismissal.
The guard saluted again, and left, closing the door behind him.
Van stayed where he was for a moment, leaning back against the wall for support.
The other man looked at Van, his lips curving downwards. "Can you still walk... or fight?"
The king threw Dilandau the ghost of a fierce look under his bangs. "I can do what you need," he said, swallowing again.
The Captain stood. "The hangar will be too well guarded, we might have to go on foot."
Van nodded wearily. "As you say."
Dilandau noticed that inside the door, there was a bundle sitting on top of a chest, that hadn't been there when he left. Part of it appeared to be a folded uniform.
He smiled slightly, mentally thanking Jajuka. This would make things simpler. Perhaps the hanger would be easier than he expected.
Stooping over he picked up the bundle and handed it to Van. "Do you require anything else?" he asked, obviously expecting Van to follow the unspoken order.
The king took the bundle and grimaced slightly as he unrolled it. However he began stripping, to put on the new clothes. His tanned body had a slight, almost unhealthy pallor that suggested that the king might be in the first stages of exposure or illness. There were bruises on his body and an angry red mark on one thigh that Dilandau recognized from unpleasant personal experiences as an injection. Van began pulling on the uniform, looking up briefly. After a momentary internal struggle, he answered the Captain's question with a single word.
"Water?" there was tinge of hope to it, but also a sense of resignation to a negative answer.
Dilandau had watched the boy with no sense of shame or discomfort, interested and rather enjoying the view until the hidden "injury" had made itself known. The expression on his face was almost murderous. Instead of commenting, he pointed to what before had seemed a man sized, rectangular indentation in the wall. "Through that door, just open the faucet," he remarked distantly.
Van looked at Dilandau, fastening the pants and slipping into the boots, picking up the tunic in one hand. He looked where the other boy pointed, trying to see what he was supposed to see. He walked up to the indentation and reached out to push against it.
The door hissed open suddenly, sliding into the wall and revealing a small room. Inside, there seemed to be a washbasin with strange metal appendages and another bowl, already filled with water, but lower than hand level. Its design was similarly as baffling.
Van looked around the small room, noting the basin and looking at the low bowl of water. It seemed a bit odd to have water there, and he puzzled how one was supposed to get the water to the basin, since both appeared to be fastened down.
Dilandau noticed Van's confusion and gave a loud sigh, muttering about "backwards countries," and slipped past him to wrench a knob on the higher basin with irritation plain. He was anxious to go, now with the new information.
In his experience, Van was holding up remarkably for a first time, but a collapse would be inevitable. He needed to make sure it wasn't in the middle of a dangerous situation. With disappointment he noted that they wouldn't have the time to spill any of the sorcerer's blood, no matter how much more he suddenly wanted to.
Van blinked as water rushed out of the curved metal pipe and into the basin. He reached his hands under it, just letting it wash over them for a moment and then cupping them to bring some of the liquid to his face. He drank thirstily, once, then again, then a third time. The water collecting in the basin was starting to stain reddish brown as the dried blood around his wrists loosened. Van reached up tentatively and turned the knob the other way from the direction Dilandau had done it. The water stopped. A small opening at the bottom of the basin allowed the now unclear water to run away.
Van shook his head, and his shoulders started shaking slightly. The shaking increased until he finally slipped to his knees by the basin, all the strength leaving his limbs for a moment. "This... was here... all night..." he gasped, between silent, hysterical laughter.
Dilandau nodded, his eyes wide. "I thought you'd have discovered it..." he stared, wondering if the boy was all there at the moment.
The fit of hysterical laughter subsided, leaving Van drained. After a moment, he put a great effort into getting back to his feet. He opened the faucet once more and drank a fourth time, then almost reverently held his wrists under the flow until most of the blood was washed away, revealing deep bruises and closed cuts. He turned the water off, reached up, feeling the matted hair behind his head, but after looking at the magical water device longingly for a moment, he couldn't figure out an easy way to clean the back of his head. Besides, the water was cold and his hands were starting to shake again. Leaning against the basin, he turned a look at the taller boy.
"Chamber pot?"
Dilandau pointed to the lower basin. "Push the lever when your done," Dilandau said, leaving the room and the door hissed shut behind him, afford Van at least that much privacy.
Outside, Dilandau paced. Van wasn't going to make it, he decided, not before whatever backlash struck. If he had any idea of what the sorcerers did to his rival he'd be better prepared for whatever it was. He glanced at the closed door, then grinned. An idea struck him.
The door opened and Van came out, pulling the tunic on and fumbling with the unfamiliar fastenings. He actually looked a little better. The hours without water had caused some of the suffering. Going back to the bed, he picked up his sword and settled the scabbard into the leather belt that came with the uniform.
Dilandau watched for a moment before asking, "Do you happen to remember any sorcerers talking about adjustments?"
Van looked up sharply, his eyes locking to those garnet ones. "Yes," he said in a low voice.
"What exactly? It's important."
Van ducked his head. "They were talking about..." His eyes flashed up, and the pure grief in them was startling for its depth. "...you."
Dilandau's eyes flashed, a briefest look of terror coming and going in his eyes. "No, anything else," he said in a clipped tone, with obvious effort.
Van closed his eyes, as much to give him a moment to master his emotions as to try and remember. Finally he said, "I don't know. He said something about pain and trauma... my eyes... and looked at my back. Then... I don't remember what happened after that... until you came."
Dilandau listened carefully, before deciding it wasn't enough, it could have been anything and there were no outward changes beside the usual indications. He picked up Van's shirt from where it had been discarded and tore the red cloth into strips, before handing them to Van. "Tie these around your wrists tightly, as if staunching a major wound."
Van looked slightly puzzled but he did as instructed.
"There is.... was.. last time I was here, a ward off base for suicide and trauma. I'll carry you out, with your skin tone and appearance right now, it shouldn't be hard to pull off."
Van blinked. From the idea of a... 'ward' for people who tried to kill themselves, a fairly unheard of action in his country, to the idea of being carried by... He stared at the other boy for a moment, and then shrugged.
Dilandau swallowed a rising feeling of irritation. He'd expected to get a fight over that. He resolved to mention it later. "Maybe you're more like Folken than I thought," he said, indistinctly. Then looking at Van directly, "Let's go,"
Van's eyes did flash briefly at the mention of his brother's name, but he bit back any comment. He lifted an eyebrow as if to ask, fine, I walk or what? Lead on...
The albino entertained the idea of simply sending a fist into the other boy's solar plexus and carrying him, unconscious, though as satisfying as it would be, another more reasonable voice mentioned that he'd probably need Van's assistance. With impatience and a little roughly, he pulled Van over by one arm, slinging that arm over his shoulder and wrapping his own around Van's waist, as if supporting him that way while dragging the boy.
Dilandau stiffened a bit at the touch that he had initiated, finding it both alien and familiar. With a slight shudder, he glanced at Van, "You'll have to dangle or at least act half conscious."
Van was dealing with his own reactions. The arm Dilandau had thrown so casually around his own shoulders settled there, not a dead weight but very much alive, and not shrinking away but tightening over so slightly. Van felt an arm settle around his waist and was hit with an irrational an almost overwhelming desire to turn into the other boy and complete the embrace. He licked his lips, and then his eyes lidded, and he made his body slump a little, appearing to put more weight on the albino's shoulders than he was really doing.
"It'll do," Van could hear the other man mutter. The mixed feelings were strikingly apparent. Before there was any time to think about it, Dilandau had opened the door and was half pulling Van down the hall, his pace nearly at a run.
Van did his best not to stumble on his feet, look too alert, or in any other way cause the ruse to be exposed.
Those soldiers they passed didn't stop them, but watched the pair with curious eyes. Some with more attentiveness than others. Dilandau winced inwardly, while keeping his expression at a mix of irritation and schooled disgust and his pace brisk. If he'd had thought to stop Van from washing his hands, the illusion would have been more complete.
"Slump completely," he hissed to Van, too quietly for his voice to carry in the hallways. He slowed behind a corner, before taking his bearings. The signs, written in the common language of the northern lands told him what he needed to know. It was still there.
Van swallowed and obeyed the instruction. In truth, he was starting to fade a bit after the reviving drink and the limited wash. One good thing was that he found the uniform was warmer than his own clothes, which helped when what he was be was beginning to recognize as a cycle of chills followed by a flash of heat came back.
Glancing down at Van one time quickly, Dilandau pushed forward suddenly, barking orders to the men who were guarding the doors of the hanger.
"You there, get on the com and tell the ST Ward that there is an incoming, first priority. I will be escorting him there for treatment. The little shit tried it on my watch." He growled, attempting to push past the two men to the transport unit. He growled at both of them when they hesitated.
Van suddenly groaned, and began struggling as if he were trying to get free of the support, though he didn't make it much of a struggle. He looked up, his eyes only slightly open. "Lemme go.." he muttered. "He wants to save me so he can kill me later!"
Dilandau let loose another curse as the guards looked at the captain's uniform and up to Dilandau. "The sorcerers have been messing with him, probably why he knifed himself." He tightened his grip around Van, trying to still the struggles.
The guards exchanged looks of distaste and stepped out of the way, trying to avoid contact with the dark-haired boy.
Dilandau took the opening quickly, moving towards the familiar machines within. The idea of other transportation was foreign to him by nature. He only regretted that none of them were red. As they were deeper within, he stopped by the metal stairway, leading up to one of the machine's loading scaffolding. He pulled Van up slightly, almost with care.
"Are you coherent?" he asked, without much hope.
Van's shoulders shook silently and then in a partially muffled voice, he said, "As coherent as you are..."
"Hmp," Dilandau responded, letting Van drop to the ground. "Stay very still," without any further explanation, the boy gracefully ran up the steps, ascending for the cockpit of an older model Alseides.
Van wrapped his arms around his knees and waited.
Silence drew out in the hangar for a moment, only broken by random bits of the guards' conversation. A loud blast of air and the grinding of metal on metal seemed to roar through the stillness as the giant guymelef suddenly came to life at once. The machine turned slightly to rip away the scaffolding and toss it aside, much to the alarm of the guards watching.
Liquid metal shot down around Van, breaking the concrete and metal with a rending noise, before wrapping around him giving him barely a foot of space any way around him.
Mental images of the spy Zongi, being wrapped and then crushed by the liquid metal, flashed through Van's mind and his heart pounded painfully but he remained still.
The metal itself was surprisingly cool, and the walls buckled slightly closing a bit as there was a strange vertigo of being lifted. Muffled outside, there were calls of an alarm and through the opening near the top of the almost cocoon, a red light flashed in time with some siren.
The jostling movement sent the stones he'd been captured with bounding against the metal walls as the Guymelef began to move at a rapid pace.
Inside the controls of the Alseides, Dilandau happily sent the free hand of the mecha through the hangar doors, rending the barrier with hardly any taxing on the system. Hazily, through the coolant liquids his armor was designed to keep him safe from, he could see his hands working at the controls below, navigating by feel and familiarity.
A quick pressure and a shift to the left, there was a jolt and a buoyant feeling as the machine shifted to flight mode. He pressed forward, they needed to get to cover before the others mobilized and tracked the suit. Only his troupes were ready at a moments notice... had been... he gripped the joystick a bit convulsively at that, glancing through the viewer at the malformed bundle of crimina metal that the guymelef was supporting.
To his own frustration he found that he couldn't force himself to add the extra heat and pressure, to end it right here, in the same fashion he'd disposed of the other who'd dared to hurt one of his boys. Trembling with frustration and undercurrents of emotion he didn't understand, he put a dangerous amount of power towards speed. They needed to make distance.
Sealed in the metal cocoon. Van wrapped his arms around his body and kept tucked in a ball, weathering the slight jostling that translated into vibrations that rocked him against the walls and the concrete block.
It was nearly half an hour of flight before Dilandau's viewer spotted something sufficient. The barren lands below offered no cover of trees, but the craggy landscape offered on formation of boulders near what seemed to be a small source of water. Bringing the Alseides around he dropped to the ground behind the outcropping, only remembering to gentle his decent at the last moment.
Lowering the machine's arm so that it touched the ground, he retracted the metal, releasing Van on a clear patch of ground.
Van lifted his head and looked around, then carefully stood, his movements a little stiff. He looked up at the metal giant standing next to him and waited, wondering obscurely how he'd made it through that trip alive. Surely the temptation must have been great.
Dilandau sat silently in the liquid embrace of the machine. The temptation to go back was overwhelming, to just leave, knowing that his rival would recover on his own and would eventually come around to seeing things the right way again... and challenge Dilandau.
But, he admitted, there was no going back was there. Even if they hadn't known who he was in the halls, only he and a perhaps fifteen other people could manipulate the guymelef crimina claws so well, and the others were dead. He hissed, bitterly at that.
Growling, he set the machine into motion, its massive steps taking it quickly some distance away. After that it was simple to overload the energist. Setting the core temperature to ridiculous levels, he opened the hatch and jumped from the landing offered, seeming to take the distance to the ground with inhuman ease. Behind him, the blue Alseides shook, then slowly crumbled within itself as it melted down.
Van watched the metal giant move off, feeling the bite of momentary terror - Don't leave! When the machine stopped, he felt his heart ease slightly and waited further, watching as Dilandau set the device to self-destruct and escaped from it.
For another minute he waited, and then began walking towards the Captain.
As he got close enough, the eyes that turned toward him held, for a second, a mix of terror and confusion, before cold arrogance filled them. "A pity," he said, turning to look away from Van, finding the remains of the melef to be somehow safer. "They are good machines."
Van had no answer for that comment. He watched the other boy, noting how his eyes seemed to slide away. "You didn't kill me," he said.
"No, I didn't," Dilandau responded, still not looking at Van. "I could remedy that if you like."
Van shrugged, a slight, odd smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "As you wish," he said softly.
A look of pain crossed Dilandau's face at the phrase, though it appeared more of a physical reaction. "I don't get you," he growled, shoving Van out of his way before stalking back to where he'd set the boy down in the first place, settling down, with his sword at ready and back to the rock face.
Van followed Dilandau with his eyes, feeling an odd sense of euphoria pass through him, followed by a wave of heat. Another in a succession of hot and cold spells, this one lasted longer that the last one, causing sweat to break out on his upper lip and forehead. Brushing at it absently, Van fumbled for the fastenings on the tunic, feeling suffocated. He managed to get the garment open and slid it off his shoulders as he let himself slide to the ground, ending up on his knees.
Sounds and sensations began whirling through him, and he frowned, wanting them to go away. He pulled at the tight bindings around his wrists, suddenly feeling that they were cutting off his circulation. His chest began almost to flutter as his breathing became rapid and shallow.
Distantly, Van could hear the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Some uncountable time later, a hand was steadying him. A cool, damp cloth touching his fevered skin at his brow.
From somewhere, amidst the confusion, he could hear a familiar voice, strangely calm and soothing. "Relax but don't give in."
Van leaned into the cool touch, focusing on the words with all his will. Then he felt a sudden, incredibly tearing sensation that seemed to come from inside. He gasped and doubled over, reaching out blindly to brace his hands on the ground. The first pain was followed by another, and then another, each one increasing in strength, leaving him unable to even scream, so powerful were they. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, blindly crawling 'away' from the pain. A final attack wracked his body, and at last the scream was allowed to find an exit from his throat, as something seemed to tear his back and shoulders apart, or so it felt like. Van wasn't truly aware of the wings that forced themselves out of his body, obeying the edict of whatever drug the wizard had injected him with. Foruma would have been pleased. All Van knew was a red cloud of pain as the wings reached out, spreading to their full extent. Feathers filled the air, floating around the two boys. Most of the feathers that fell to the ground were tinged with stains of red, and the wings too seemed oddly stained. Van collapsed onto his face in the dirt and laid there, eyes closed.
Dilandau stared as red tinted feathers made their way slowly to the ground. He'd been moments from pulling the boy towards him, offering contact that seemed to ease the worst at times, when the transformation had happened. He stared at the boy unconscious on the ground, wings still spread but settled around the figure in the dirt.
"Impossible," he breathed, moving beside the boy. Mindful of the wings, he gently lifted him upwards, long enough to place Van's own tunic beneath him for some degree of comfort. "They turned you into a Draconian..."
Watching the boy for a second, Dilandau took off his gloved overcoat, touching his now bare hands against Van's forehead. It seemed that the fever had broken, but he'd still need watching most likely. Turning his attention elsewhere he caught a floating feather in a fast movement, snapping it out of the air.
The feather was as white as a cloud, except where it was stained along one edge with fresh blood. It was soft. It seemed to glow in his hand for a moment, giving the impression of something fine and pure, stained by agony and sacrifice.
Dilandau dropped the feather, letting it resume its slow flight to the ground. It spun one moment, giving erratic flight by its heavy impurity before burying its tip in the ground beside Van. A dark wave of regret passed through him, that'd he'd not been able to gut at least one of the sorcerers before leaving. Long fingers, especially cool against flushed skin, reach down, brushing dark bangs to the side. It was an achingly familiar gesture.
Unnoticed by the unconscious boy, Dilandau fingered the hair a moment before dropping the lock to fall back over the side of his face. "Too long," he mumbled. He set back, preparing to hold a vigil tonight, feeling a bit helpless. Some of the Dragonslayers, when he'd found them, had been in terrible condition, but how was he supposed to help someone who'd changed races?
Sometime later, an hour, perhaps two, Van became restless, trying to move. His skin cooled until it was clammy. His wings moved restlessly, and he pushed at the tunic and the ground beneath him, mumbling without opening his eyes. ".... no, Mother... no, don't leave me.... I can find Folken... please, Mother don't leave... don't...."
Red eyes watched with curiosity and an inexplicable sense of sympathy. "Folken returned to you," he said quietly, after fishing his memory.
Van pushed harder at the ground and his wings suddenly beat once, twice, creating a powerful movement of air. "Hitomi... reach up, I'll catch you..."
Frowning now, Dilandau chalked off the confusing statement to delirium, but his concern was elsewhere, if the boy kept doing that, or with any more strength, he was likely to break bones in what seemed delicate extensions. Seeing no other choice, beside breaking the sleep the boy would desperately need, he slid forward slightly, slowly and carefully lifting the unconscious boy, arranging him so that he was sitting up, if leaning against Dilandau, chin tucked on his shoulder.
At first, Van pushed at the body holding him, but after a moment his arms moved around it, clinging instinctively. He began shaking a little, and then Dilandau felt hot tears against his neck. "Serena..."
Dilandau stiffened slightly, his own confused and pain-laced memory springing up, standing in a graveyard, someone else saying that same name, then Jajuka.... Closing his eyes involuntarily, he wrapped his own arms around the distraught boy's shoulders, trying to convince himself he was just doing it to keep Van from slowing him down later.
Van's wings beat again, and then curved around, encircling them both. After a while, the shaking stopped. Then slowly the other boy's head lifted from where it was resting.
Turning his head, Van's eyes opened, and he looked into garnet eyes from inches away, his own still dilated with pain and stained with drying tears.
Dilandau's eyes widened with shock and embarrassment. The arms around his shoulders released and dropped to the taller boy's side. "You were going to hurt yourself.... the sorcerers..." His eyes darted to the wings, still surrounding them.
Van continued to look into the other boy's face, his own expression exhausted and vulnerable. And his arms around Dilandau's body did not drop away.
Taking a deep breath, then another, Van closed his eyes for a moment and a spasm of deep agony crossed his face, and his grip on the other boy tightened reflexively. Then he shuddered, and the white wings spread, beat once, and then seemed to disappear into his back. The effort caused another spasm of pain to shake his body and he clung to his support, head dropping forward.
Hesitantly, the hands returned, holding Van to him tightly, as the worst of the shudders passed. "It should be over soon," Dilandau said into the other boy's ear.
As his arms moved back around Van, bracing him, he felt smooth skin under his touch that almost seemed to ripple for a moment. The only thing left were fresh, parallel welts in the skin, slowly weeping red tears.
Van took one deep breath after another and then raised his head again. "Thank... you." The words were barely audible.
Dilandau nodded, somewhat stiffly. "I don't have anything to bind your back," he said, trying to break away from the subject.
Van seemed a little unfocused, whether from exhaustion, or the remains of the drug-induced attack hardly mattered. "Never hurt before," he mumbled softly.
The other boy blinked, but seemed in no hurry to break the embrace. "This has happened before?" a touch of incredulity colored his voice.
Van continued to lean on Dilandau. "Mmmm. But never when I wasn't trying..." He shuddered and closed his eyes in remembered pain too recent to have dulled.
Dilandau's eyes swept over the boy's back, focusing on the two welts. He gave a slight tremble. /No wonder..... I'd only thought I'd been chasing one dragon../
"You should get some sleep," Dilandau said firmly. "You'll need rest after this."
Cinnamon eyes opened and fastened on garnet. "Don't leave..."
Dilandau returned the gaze, a little startled, a sharp internal twist bringing with it an urge to just hold the other boy closely. "I'm right here," he answered slowly.
There was a clear flash of relief before those eyes closed and Van began to relax.
Realizing he was, in effect, pinned where he was, Dilandau leaned back, settling in to rest a while himself and unwilling to break that promise.
THE END OF PART 14!