09-Jan-2002

Twisted Fortune - An Escaflowne Fanfiction
By Bonnejeanne and Nixers
Contact: bonnejeanne@yahoo.com and nixerchan@aol.com
Warnings: Spoilers
Notes: Set a little over one year after Vision of Escaflowne's end.

Chapter Nine - Overnight (cont)

Part 20

"What ties you to my charge?" the beastman asked in a low voice.

Van glanced again, almost unwillingly after the departed figure.

"Need," he said simply, and added in a soft, tormented voice, "...and love."

The king got up and went through the door. He expected to be yelled out of the room, and was prepared to leave but not without confirming for himself where the other boy had gone. He had to know. It wasn't a choice.

The beastman looked at the king with an expression first of disbelief and distrust, but slowly, eventually, a dawning wonder.

The room that Dilandau had chosen was not far, it took the king only two false entries before being met with startled, then narrowed red eyes. Dilandau had thrown his overcoat on top of the bed, resting next to it was the belt and sheath. The boy himself sat by the window, packet still in one hand, unopened, and the other fiddling with the pendant that rested on top of his tunic.

Dropping the sparkling gem at the other's entry, Dilandau asked, his voice growling, on the edge of a shout, "Your business here?"

"None at all," Van answered promptly, and somehow a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. He moved to retreat out the door and pull it closed behind him.

Just before the door closed entirely, Van could pick out a quiet request. "Wait," from inside.

He stopped in an instant and waited, looking up.

Dilandau took in the king's action, still confused and a bit wondering, but he made no comment, instead he shook his head. "Can you at least tell me where I got this," Dilandau asked, the earlier snarl gone. He hooked a finger through the chain and held up the pendant, almost casually. "It's familiar, but such pretty things don't seem to be Allen's style."

Perhaps it was the strain, or exhaustion, or lack of food, or even a remnant of the sorcerer's drugs in Van's system. It certainly wasn't common sense, logic, or even intuition that dictated his answer. He stepped inside the door and closed it softly, but did not move away from it. "It was Hitomi's," Van said. "The girl from the Phantom Moon. She gave it to me when she went back there, a year ago. And I gave it to you, the morning after we made love."

He didn't wait to see the reaction, but turned back to the door to leave.

Dilandau stared after the king a moment, too stunned at first to comment. Things began to suddenly and almost entirely make more sense. "Well," he said slowly, "At least I still had good taste, if a lack of sense..."

Van stopped, his back to the other boy, the door half open, and his hand on the doorframe gripped with enough force to turn the knuckles white. His shoulders started shaking but with suppressed laughter or sobs was not clear. "I don't know about the first, but the last was certainly true," he said, his voice low and almost harsh with whatever he was attempting to contain. He paused for only another moment, perhaps because he could not help himself. His skin felt suddenly hot but whether with humiliation, a resurgence of fever, or something else, something too overpowering to name, he had no way to tell. All he needed was stillness and silence to escape, just a moment of it.

Dilandau, unwittingly was not so merciful. "That explains..." He paused and shook his head, his voice cracking a bit on his words. "I can't hate you, you know. Not like I used to. I've tried, and tried to figure out why the hell not."

"I tried to hate you too," Van whispered, still not turning around. "Hate.. fear... anything but this..."

"Do you regret?" Dilandau asked slowly, letting the pendant drop again to rest on his tunic.

That got Van to turn around, so swiftly it might have been a battle move. His eyes were wide, and almost unable to contain the intensity of emotion in them. "No!" he said, his voice throbbing, as if someone had just said they were going to burn Fanelia for a second time. The single syllable held an adamancy beyond anything Dilandau had ever heard.

Dilandau blinked in shock for a moment, at the sheer force of the answer, before looking down and away, his eyes hidden by his bangs, but something resembling the first real smile Van had seen out of the boy just barely visible on his profile. For that split second, he resembled someone else. "Then neither will I."

Van gasped as if someone had landed a blow to his solar plexus. His eyes fastened on the pale, yes, delicate profile of the other, like someone too long away from water seeing a glimpse of a mountain stream. His chest moved, trying to take in the air that had been forced out of his lungs. It couldn't be that simple. It couldn't. Floundering, groping for a direction, Van licked his lips and took a step backwards, part of his mind trying to make him leave the room, but unable to turn back around to do so.

The step backwards had caught the other's attention. Distinct red eyes focused on Van as the Captain turned to regard him, the illusion broken. The albino lost the softer look on his face as he misinterpreted the retreat. With flash of a smirk, he turned back to the window, bringing up the packet to inspect it. "Close the door behind you if you are leaving," came the curt reply.

If it had been any other person on Gaea, it might have worked. The smirk was enough to draw Van's attention to the fact that what he was doing *was* a retreat. A moment later the door closed firmly, with Van on the inside of it. He had no idea what he was going to do next. The floor looked inviting, maybe in the corner where he could feel the illusion of something at his back, but he simply leaned against the closed portal and crossed his arms.

Dilandau had turned again, at the sound of the door closing, his eyes flicking over Van with something of surprise. Taking in the other's set posture he said, "There isn't a second bed here," he stated the obvious, "And I'm not taking the floor in my own room."

"I'll take the floor," Van said, surprised his voice actually worked.

Dilandau lapsed into silence, watching the other boy, whether the intent gaze was borne of uncertainty or curiosity it wasn't entirely clear, waiting for the other to make the first move. In the long pause, it seemed unlikely that Van was standing in the doorway for the sake of non-existent conversation.

Feeling a hint of challenge in the silence, Van answered it with the only gesture he could think of. He unleaned from the door, and looked around, selecting a spot on the floor, and then unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it to the ground next to the wall. Then he all but threw himself at the carpeted area, resting his head in his arms.

Dilandau reflectively winced at hearing the muffled thunk on the floor. "You can have some of the bedding you know," he said caught somewhere between amused and bemusement at the action.

Van gazed at the ceiling, feeling an odd sense of peace steal into him. He realized it was because he was going to be able to stay. "It doesn't matter to me," he said softly to the ceiling. There was only one comfort that he felt a desire for and he wasn't going to get it, so he contented himself with closing his eyes and remembering it. And his memory slipped easily from a recollection of waking in Serena's arms to a flash of resting, spent and aching, in the arms of the silver-haired boy who'd denied it as delirium.

Dilandau at first made no sign that he'd even heard Van as he opened the packet from General Adelphos. The harsh script of the General himself couldn't seem to sink in, though he was dully certain that he'd read the same paragraph over three times, and was still, upon glancing away, unable to bring to mind how it even began.

It just seemed to drown out in the rush of information he'd taken in today, no, not just today, there had been that flood since the start, all of it determined to pull out the rug from under him. He'd managed to keep upright by ignoring what he could and focusing on what he knew.

But it was hard to ignore when it was sleeping on the floor next to your bed. Dilandau folded the packet back up, setting it on the windowsill, and slumped onto one elbow. He regarded the other occupant of the room with lidded eyes.

It both made sense, and it didn't. /Van was obviously... devoted,/ Dilandau mused, pausing a moment to pin the right term to it, /to whoever I was. But it wasn't me or else I would remember it. Then why bother with this?/

Dilandau shook his head at himself, crossing his arms of his chest and kicking out his feet, the very pose of confused petulance. "Even now," he muttered, "I STILL don't get you."

Though his eyes were closed, Van was far from sleep. Without opening them he said softly, "I don't either. It doesn't matter. Get rest. Even you need it sometime."

Dilandau finally rose from his seat, feeling too distracted to argue. With an irritable glance, he shoved his overcoat and sword belt to the other side of the bed, letting them fall to the carpet without a second glance. With a glance at Van, he stripped the top cover from the bed and dropped it over the prone form before turning down the remaining coverlets to settle in.

"It matters," was Dilandau's only reply, as he slid into the bed, back turned away from Van. A shrug visible beneath the covers. "I don't think I would feel like I need to ask if it didn't."

Van sat up, pushing the cover aside absently. "Ask what? Have you asked something I haven't answered?"

"Why I was in Asturia, with Allen of all people," came the reply after a moment of silence. "I've never given a damn as to what's happened during... those times, and a year isn't the worst of them." Dilandau shifted slightly, something of a bitter laugh came from beneath the blanket, "Of all my faults, an excess of curiosity or even thought haven't been among them. I have to wonder if the sorcerers left something out this time."

Van rested his chin on his knees. "Jajuka... would be better to tell this. I don't know it except from hearsay. I was told," Van took a breath to clear his mind, "That the Zaibach sorcerers did things to 'subjects' to... uh, 'change their fate'. That these subjects were abducted, usually small children." Van paused, swallowing, trying to find a way to say it. "Allen Schezar had a younger sibling who disappeared many years ago. And during the Fate wars, this sibling appeared again, but only briefly. I am told that is you."

There was a long paused, while Dilandau, stiff-backed, mulled over the words, the strange inflection Van had on sibling caught his attention. "Allen Schezar," a slight shaking of his shoulders was the only signs of a silent laughter. "So I spent most of the Fate wars inadvertently trying to kill my family." He giggled audibly, "Would have been nice to know in advance."

Van sat, watching the figure on the bed, listening. He didn't know what else he could do. "I didn't know the Chief of Staff was my brother, and when I found out, I wanted to kill him even more."

Dilandau seemed to subside at that slightly, but a touch of hysteria still crept around the edges of his voice. "It would have been likely the same for me.... No, worse, I'd have hated him more than even you."

Van listened. The only thing he could think to answer was, "Your fate was changed. So was Folken's. So was mine."

"Changed.... No, I just have two." Dilandau laughed again at that. "I know, your damned dragon made me watch the other." Dilandau pushed off the covers to bunch across his stomach, he turned to stare at the sealing, both of his hands tucked behind his head. "Even Folken, for all his meddling with that machine couldn't claim that," he said, with a sort of dark satisfaction.

"What do you mean, my dragon made you watch?" Van asked.

Dilandau turned to look at Van, an edge of something in red eyes, almost the same as the glee that lit them during a battle, but with a darker tone to it. "I was curious as to what made that antique of yours so special, and how Folken got it to open up. I tried it myself." He grinned a bit too widely. "It was a mistake for me, and a godsend for you I'd imagine. The Crusade attacked right after."

"You touched... Escaflowne's energist?" Van guessed, suddenly getting a very clear vision of it in his mind.

Dilandau nodded turning back to look at the ceiling, "I don't think it liked me much," he said with another smirk.

Van closed his eyes, shuddering slightly. "It doesn't like anyone not in the Fanelian succession. To pilot it, requires a bond of blood."

Dilandau snorted at that. "I'm amazed that Folken's blood was still close enough to yours. He had an unusual policy for a sorcerer; he usually participated in his own experiments."

Van placed his head in his hands for a moment, trying to control the grief and anger that still moved in his heart when he thought of what had been done to his brother, and what he had become. "I don't know anything about that."

Dilandau made no comment, for once not inclined to bother with Folken, either in memory or in person as was in the past. "Which is the real one, I wonder," he said suddenly, voicing a random thought. He wasn't feeling entirely coherent at the moment and just didn't care enough to fight it. "Two fates along side, which one is the parody?" he asked, not expecting an answer. He seemed to have in the moment forgotten Van's presence not three feet away.

Van was silent, the question made his heart chill. I don't care, he thought suddenly. I won't care. It's not that simple.

The only sound that finally broke the silence that stretched afterward was a sigh and the small sounds of the bed shifting, as the other made himself more comfortable, having given up on a line of thought he'd deemed unproductive.

Van continued to sit, watching and listening. He was even further from sleep than before. He knew the other boy hadn't created the turmoil in him, just raised it. With the same miraculous ease that Serena had disarmed it. "Maybe I'm the parody," he whispered, more to himself than anyone. It was a Folken thought, not a Van one, but he couldn't help having it anyway.

"Of what?" Dilandau asked, without opening his eyes or even a twitch to show he planned to give up his attempt at sleep.

"Van Fanel," Van answered without needing to grope for it.

Dilandau's eyes opened halfway at that, accompanied by a small laugh. "If nothing else, we could possibly claim that a stranger pair had never shared a room."

The laugh that emerged from Van was startled and incredibly lacking in bitterness - free sounding. It surprised him into putting a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. He teetered for a moment on the edge of something even more uncontrolled but the poison seemed to be mostly out of his system and it didn't quite tip over the edge. "That's true!" he said, slightly muffled still by his hand. He felt something slide into his heart and give it a tiny bit of easement.

The other boy had watched, an unconscious and involuntary smile tugging his lips in response to Van's sudden good humor. With an amused snort, he loosened one hand from behind his head, and in a startlingly quick move had snagged a spare pillow and thrown it at Van.

Turning before he could see the others reaction he just said, "Get some sleep," in a light tone, before going back to attempting to take his own advice.

Wiping the corners of his eyes, Van saw the shape of the pillow flying and batted it away automatically. He saw the other boy settle, and lay down on his side, resting his head in the crook of his arm. "Yes, Captain," he answered softly. "I'll try. But for the record, I wasn't *that* delirious."

The satisfied him in some obscure way, enabling him to close his eyes.

In turn, it was almost every syllable of that short statement that kept Dilandau up.

/Yes, Captain. I'll try./

The tone was different. Van's voice around those words was laced with humor and a touch of sarcasm to his ears. But the words themselves. Echoes of the same spoken in a reverential tone.

Gatti, Dallet, Guimel, Chesta, Miguel, Viole, they were all too good for the deaths they received. They were all those taken, and broken by the sorcerers. He reformed them, made them strong, showed them what skills they had in exchange for their discipline and loyalty. It was his apology, his regret, his attempt to make up for their past, an echo of his own.

So why was he laying there, with a sword in easy reach and their killer laying unaware, complacent, had even invited Dilandau to end it more than once.

What was he seeing in Van that calmed his temper somehow? Was it the comforting devotion of a Dragonslayer, or some echo of what he felt during those times when his world ended and someone else... took over?

He sighed. His hand rubbing against his closed eyelids, trying to force sleep on the eyes behind them.

/No answer./

/But for the record, I wasn't *that* delirious./

So he knew who he was with, not just clutching at someone who was gone.

/You're the other half of something I need./

Dilandau gave a low hiss of frustration as his memories contradicted his assumptions. So maybe Van needed him, still needs. The devotion was for something he was trying to see in the albino. So was he finding it, or not? More a sense of detached curiosity colored his thoughts than any wistfulness. He didn't care for what could never be in his reach. How close was he to this other life, what was it like to live without training, without memories of blood and ashes?

That kind of pain, that kind of devotion didn't come from a quick fuck. Make love was the term Van had used. It was a foreign distinction to Dilandau, but somehow it seemed vital. How different was he, in this other life, as this other half that he'd managed to earn that affection, even knowing that the enemy that had caused him that much agony...?

Again, no answers came to his question.

/Allen Schezar had a younger sibling who disappeared many years ago. And during the Fate wars, this sibling appeared again, but only briefly. I am told that is you./
/I'd have hated him more than even you./

A bittersweet truth, ever since Escaflowne had forced him to see another's fate, his own, yet out of reach...

*****
A luminescent pendant, passed down through the generations, the fascination of a man, his father, their father. He'd come home, frostbitten and eyes alight with knowledge, it was only a matter of time before he wandered again, but the pendant was passed down, wrapped around his/her neck.

Fanelia was attacked, her pendant came to life, reacting with the new king's dragon. It was along that path that she found her wishes could come true, and had found love...
*****

The pendant was in the hands of the she-bitch, that Hitomi, Van talked about. A meddling woman who'd stolen his path, had the happiness he never would have, and lived out that dream with Van. At first he'd hated only Van for it, for still being able to dream, for having none of the cold reality...

It would have extended to Allen too. Even in Zaibach, he'd heard of the elder Schezar's behavior, a playboy, with whispered rumors of fathering a son then not standing by his lover and his child. He was banished in the process, by the king of Asturia, one of the three greatest swordsmen on Gaea, manning a backwoods fortress.

/This is Hitomi. She's my new lover from the East./

Could he have kept the rage down then, not struck the man there? Probably at the time, he hadn't seen the Dragon's heart yet... It would have been another target, distracting him from Van, from making him hurt as much as he did. He wouldn't have retreated at Pallas when Allen blocked his way, nor in Freid, when he'd literally torn the Scherehazade limb from limb.

But more than Van? Possibly. But Dilandau couldn't work up that rage about the boy lying on the floor, breathing evenly. All he had still for Allen was irritation and an admiration for his swordplay and skill with a mecha.

/No answers./

/Since I know of your great love for the sorcerers../

Tomorrow would be all business. His confusion pushed was pushed aside, leaving only frustration and pain, things he could use and focus with. He would take out every one of his questions on the sorcerer with a slow blade.

/My answers will be his blood./

Van woke with the wisp of a dream slipping out of his awareness like water running through his fingers. There was something... something warm in it, and something that left him aching... and something apprehensive... but none of the feelings would attach to images or any recollection of what he'd been dreaming.

It reminded him suddenly of the day he'd realized he cared for Hitomi... the first time, not the second. The day he went walking in the rain to find her, because he'd been stupid, and probably cruel, telling her he wanted her to stay with him because of her powers, instead of saying what he felt; that he wanted her because she made him feel more complete. He'd walked in the rain, searching, ready to tell her, and then had come into a courtyard and seen her on a high bridge, in the arms of Allen Schezar.

Even now the ache was as fresh as then, well, almost. Something had pushed it away a little. It was the day he'd experienced the pain of facing what he felt, and then finding that it was not returned. Would not be. Perhaps could not be. It had shut down his heart and even later, when he'd gone to get her from the Phantom Moon, it never entirely faded. Perhaps.... Van sat up slowly and suddenly realized that perhaps it was why he hadn't tried to hold on to her when she left the last time.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked around the room, drawn like a lodestone to seek the other person who had been there when he'd fallen asleep.

The other had been up, but quiet during that time. He sat on the edge of the bed, half dressed and inspecting his uniform intensely for any scratches or tears. There was no trace of the boy that had shared the room last night, Dilandau fairly radiated a focused energy. As if suddenly conscious of the other's eyes on him, red eyes snapped up to meet cinnamon.

"The packet is on the table if you want to go through it," he mentioned abruptly. Finally seeming to be satisfied with the state of his armor, he put it aside, to draw his sword and lay it flat, glaring at the blade critically.

Van stretched, showing no evidence of external reaction to the mood of his companion. He stood and began going through a short series of warming-up movements taught to him by Balgas. His body protested, but he could tell that he was recovering his strength, something for which he was grateful, given what they were about to attempt. Afterwards, he absently rubbed his thigh, having forgotten or unaware that it was the site of the wizard's injection, and went to the table to retrieve the packet, glancing through it quickly.

Dilandau had slid off the side of the bed to his feet and ran his sword through a series of quick movements. His eyes watched the gleaming metal cut through the space in front with a high pitched whine of air. His pleasure at its edge was visible.

With as quick a movement, the blade was sheathed and the boy had gathered up the rest of his supplies, briefly checking the immaculateness of his appearance with a quick once over, then set a hand on his hips.

"We'll need to act before the morning crews change shifts, to get the supplies discreetly," he said, an impatient fidget marking his eagerness to go. "And I imagine you want that message southbound," he added, a lilt to his voice.

Van inclined his head. He ran an impatient hand through his hair, retrieved his swordbelt and buckled it on. "Lead on, Captain."

Dilandau's eyes flashed at that, but he made no comment. He turned to depress the rooms intercom, "Jajuka. Meet in the foyer," he snapped. Releasing the button, he gathered the information from the General and a separate sheet in his own script. With only a sidelong glance at the other boy, he left the room with a purposeful stride.

Van followed on his heels, facing the day and the end of the very brief, very odd intimacy of the night before with characteristic stoicism.

Jajuka was waiting in the designated room when the two arrived.

Dilandau stopped sharply in front of the beastman. With a curt assessment and nod, he handed both the loose sheet and the bundle to Jajuka. "My instructions. We will be departing in an hour for our destination. The other you are to dispose of in whatever means are deemed safest."

Jajuka bowed crisply, receiving the items. He scanned the paper quickly.

"I'll have this in an hour," Jajuka acknowledged. "Do you remember the small mechanic's dock on the east side? It's not in use right now. I can assemble everything there."

Dilandau nodded. "See to it," he said.

The beastman saluted and left quickly.

"You have half an hour to do whatever you feel is necessary," he said addressing Van, before relaxing slightly. He was intent on finding the kitchen again, his own body finally reminding him of the last time he'd eaten anything substantial.

Dilandau was able to find the kitchen easily, and promptly noticed the young king was still with him. Looking around, the dark haired boy opened compartments until he found something resembling food, and helped himself, perching on the substantial cook's table.

"Whatever I feel is necessary," he repeated, between bites. "I've never done anything like this. I'm not sure what *is* necessary."

Dilandau, in the meantime, had found a hardcrust loaf of bread and some left over foodstuffs from a previous meal. With a suspicious glance at them, he shrugged and picked at both with utensils rummaged from a drawer. He spared Van a glance. "Never?" He asked, "So I suppose you fought for the sport of it?"

Van looked back. "I never fought in a real battle until you came to Fanelia. From there it was... you know what it was. Fighting for my life. Sometimes to protect others. No, that's not right. There was one real battle before. When I killed the dragon."

The albino laughed a bit at that, cracking the brittle shell of the bread. "Hmph, so we were both dragon hunters. Figures in some way."

Van slid off the table and went over to what he recognized as something like the knobs in the bathing room. He turned one and water came out of the metal tube. Cupping his hands, he drank several times from the stream before turning it off. He leaned against the counter, regarding Dilandau.

"You knew about that," he said. "You knew how my brother lost his arm. I had to succeed where he failed. I had no choice. No king of Fanelia has ever been coronated without it."

Dilandau tilted his head, considering the words before shrugging. "Probably," he said, finished off the last of the bread and brushed the crumbs off of his armored pants. "Never gave it any thought before."

"Dragons should not be hunted," Van said, his tone almost impersonal. He looked at Dilandau and then smiled suddenly.

The other boy, not having looked up from the rest of his meal, missed the expression that might have unsettled him. "I don't know why you are complaining," he muttered. "I haven't tried to kill you seriously yet."

"Not lately, anyway," Van agreed amiably, the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth, changing his normally solemn expression to something else.

"Aa," Dilandau agreed. Looking up at the other's unusual tone of voice, he froze for a moment before quirking an eyebrow. "What's so amusing?"

"Nothing," Van said, ducking his head slightly to let the dark mop of hair obscure his face. It was an unconscious gesture, and one he'd had since earliest childhood.

Dilandau regarded the other, fiddling with the kitchen knife a moment before pushing it and his plate aside. He leaned back, that edge of determined energy from this morning evident again. "I will figure you out one of these days," he stated, the resignation in his voice mixed with touches of curiosity and stubbornness.

"What's to figure out? Folken was the complex one," Van stated quietly, keeping a handle on the feelings thoughts of his brother provoked.

Dilandau smirked a bit at that. "Not really. He riled up as easily as anyone else. You just had to know what to push and where to look. So he was quiet, intelligent, I'll grant that," he shrugged. "I find you more interesting of the two."

The look from cinnamon eyes was visible behind the fringe. His expression clearly stated incomprehension. Then the fringe lowered again. "I guess it's convenient," he said. "Since I'm the one left alive."

The other made a noncommittal noise. Having nothing to offer on that subject, he asked instead, "So you can.... call... your guymelef?" He glanced at the king. "Rather advanced technology for an antique."

Van tried to settle the unease that rippled across his shoulders at the mention of what he knew was coming. He hadn't always felt this way. It seemed to happen during the time that had passed, the single year of a peace he's naively thought would last forever. He honored the guymelef - as a Fanelian and as king he could not do otherwise. But the prospect of returning to the feelings he associated with it chilled him to the core.

"We'll see," he said, taking refuge in a semblance of uncertainty.

The other gave Van a sidelong glance at that. With half lidded eyes, he considered challenging the statement, before deciding it would be counterproductive. He'd already resolved where and how to get his satisfaction. His expression lit up slightly as he imagined the feel of his hand wrapped around the grip of his sword; that moment of resistance before the blade slides in smoothly between the rib bones.

Breaking the train of thought, he gave the other an eager grin. "Time to go, or close enough."

Van saw the expression and almost nodded to himself. This was the boy he recognized... but at the same time, even that predatory expression could not pre-empt all the things he now associated with the other.

He didn't answer the remark, simply waited to follow, lapsing back into habitual silence.

Not bothering with further conversation, the albino stalked out of the room, taking the hallways quickly. He knew, by now instinctively, that the other would follow. A twinge of irrational, sourceless irritation welled up in him and he paused in his step to yank the other boy along side of him.

"Not behind me," was the only explanation he gave, before resuming their path to the transportation that would be waiting to bring them to the docks. Keeping half an eye on the other to make sure he didn't drift back again, he turned his thoughts to preparations, assured that Jajuka would have arranged a trustworthy escort.

A frown tugged his face again at that. Another bout of reluctance welling up. For even this short duration, he was loosing that dependability. /Not entirely,/ he admitted, taking another glance at Van from the corner of his eye.

Van's surprise when the albino yanked him forward was almost comical, and at the same time, his heart gave a sudden throb, as similar words and actions of recent days before were brought forcefully to mind. He kept up step obediently. He hadn't been consciously walking behind, just allowing the other boy to lead the way with his more aggressive energy, and truth to be told, not sure if he'd be tolerated at the other's side. It took two steps and suddenly he was locked into place there as if the two had never been any other way.

THE END OF PART 20!

Twisted Fortune - part 21

Twisted Fortune - Index