26-Apr-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 Fourteen - Rites of Passage (cont)
Part 35
He hurt.
No, he amended. Hurt didn't begin to cover the headache that lanced from the front to the back of his head at the slightest movement. Breathing didn't even feel particularly safe.
/Must have been really drunk./ Dilandau finally pulled enough awareness around him to realize the source of the headache wasn't due to being stomped by a stampeding dragon. /I hope I enjoyed it./
It took a few more moments of fuzzy consciousness to even begin to take in his surroundings. But warmth was the first thing, both the warmth of contact, and the single most odd covering he'd ever encountered. Opening his eyes, the white blanket of wings and the figure of Van next to him came into immediate focus. Making a noise, he slunk back deeper into the pillow and hard mattress. /Okay, it was worth it./
The soft white covering moved a little, as if disturbed ever so slightly by a non-existent breeze. With a low murmur, the boy curled against his side shifted, and then turned his face deeper into Dilandau's shoulder as a second sound, of low protest, was muffled against him.
After a moment of stillness, another muffled sound, definitely complaint.
"Don't even," Dilandau mumbled, even the half groaned words hurt his head. "Was your bottle." He shifted just enough to cover his eyes from the overhead lights.
The mumbled words slowly penetrated the fog of vino-induced headache, and Van began to come awake. He lifted his head, blinking, eyes a bit red-rimmed, and then fastened on the pale face beside him. He blinked, wincing slightly but paying less attention to the physical discomforts as he took in his surroundings. Very slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Settling back, he belatedly became aware of a few other things about his physical state and glanced at his wings with an air of slight puzzlement. As he noticed, they fluttered slightly, brushing the bare skin of the other boy with... feather touches.
Dilandau's eyes opened completely, fixing on Van's before he smirked slightly. "If I didn't have such a headache," he mumbled, "I'd take that as an invitation."
Van blinked, and then quickly smothered a laugh, wincing again. He closed his eyes for a few moments and then leaned up a bit more on his side, reaching up slowly and carefully. His fingers gently penetrated the other boy's cap of silverwhite hair and began a gentle massage.
The other didn't jerk away like the last time, merely seemed to relax again. Despite it all he still managed to work up a vague semblance of a more typical arrogant expression. "Before you try and get on my good side, I should warn you that I don't have one," he said in an agreeable tone.
Van snorted softly. "Think I didn't know that?" he murmured, and yawned widely. He massaged the throbbing boy beside him, easing congested blood in constricted veins and arteries, then withdrew his hands and began slowly, and quite stiffly sitting up, changing his mind somewhat abruptly about the direction and ending up more leaning on his side on one elbow.
The albino watched Van a bit blearily. One long fingered hand reached out and trailed along one of the pristine wings. "Might be easier without the weight," he offered reluctantly. "They look better without the blood."
Van shifted again, with another slight grimace. "That's not... ouch..." he began and then shifted again. "And I will when I remember *how*," he finished obscurely.
Red eyes widened, then winced as the other boy realized what that likely was. The albino murmured something inaudible, but held a strong note of apology.
Van looked up at the mumbled comment and then frowned... no, scowled. " 'M not sorry, you better not be," he said grumpily. Then he snorted softly at a thought he didn't bother to share with the other.
Dilandau grimaced slightly. "Good. Don't have much practice with sorry anyway."
Van snorted again. Then his lips curved almost involuntarily. He ducked his head, covering behind ever-convenient dark hair and slowly eased himself up a bit further. "That's your story," he murmured.
The other boy shrugged, wincing a bit at the ill thought-out movement. Another thought managed to vie for the boy's attention belatedly. "What do you mean, can't remember how?" Dilandau pressed a hand against the wall behind him, using it as a means of pushing himself into an upright, if supported position.
Van flickered a look at the other boy as his cheeks darkened slightly. This time he mumbled something inaudible. As if to spite him, the great white wings unfurled a bit and stirred the air.
Dilandau shook his head, slowly. There was nothing he could particularly think of to help, and at the moment he was having slight difficulty remembering why Van would want them hidden anyway.
Rather abruptly, the young king clenched his jaw as his eyes widened, and he rather quickly managed to get to his feet, although none too gracefully. Stumbling, he made for the open door of the bathing recess and disappeared. Subsequent sounds and then running water left little to the imagination.
Dilandau winced in sympathy, glad at least for an empty stomach the night before. Standing unsteadily, he moved to pick up from the discarded clothes, leaving his own to one side and Van's on the bed, unfolded, near the door.
A little while later Van emerged from the recess, his expression almost comically relieved. His hair was damp and he looked as if he felt a great deal more human, though the wings trailed behind him in an obvious dispute of that status.
The albino gave Van an applicative once over before gathering up a few articles and walking past him to the receded door. A single finger pointed towards the bed with the grumpy tone of someone realizing that eventually they DID have to move. "Clothes are there."
Van managed a nod, but his mind was elsewhere. Since the room was now empty save for himself, he stood in the middle and stretched his wings, not really able to do that fully in the confined space but certainly moreso. After closing his eyes with a slight scowl, the feathered appendages suddenly retracted, disappearing into his back and leaving nothing but the slightest of traces, marks left more from the sorcerers' tampering than any natural indication.
Feeling an odd sort of triumph, he glanced at the clothes on the bed, but found his attention drawn by the sound of water, and turned, leaning in the doorway of the recess to watch.
The figure within was half obscured, pale skin blending almost too well with the steam of hot water and clinically white walls. The faucet turned off a moment later, and the worst of the white vapors dissipated. Van remained mostly unseen as the slight but muscular boy groped for a towel in the adjacent counterspace of the small room.
Van remained where he was, arms folded comfortably, not bothering to help with the towel, which was in easy reach. He was preoccupied with watching. Studying. Memorizing. Even puzzling a little.
The other boy cursed fluently as he pushed wet face-length bangs out of his eyes. He blinked and glanced around, looking from Van to the towel. Without a word he snatched it from Van's side. The boy looked if nothing else in better spirits. Unselfconscious, he toweled down quickly. "Finally got them to work?" he commented, glancing at the air a little above Van's shoulders.
Van blinked. Then he smiled slightly. "Seems so."
Dilandau smirked in reply, letting his gaze rake over the other boy's before stretching and sitting on the edge of the counter, to work his way into his pants, made more difficult by half damp skin. The boy hooked a finger around the chain still around his neck after successfully getting the garment on. "Will have to get to work today," he said, without the normal predatory eagerness that came with such a statement.
Van shrugged. Then he nodded. "Finish it," he mentioned succinctly. He turned and moved to the bed to start dressing.
"Hmmph," was the only commentary, as a pale violet tunic and circlet followed the pants. The edges of the morning after were still hovering like distant thundercloud, but were ignored for other matters. /Finish it,/ he complained to himself darkly. /Easy for him to say. So fine, I kill the rest./ He smiled a it viciously at that thought, picking up his swordbelt and overcoat. /Then what?/
Van looked up, his expression startled, as if he'd heard something in the quiet room. He was half dressed, reaching for his shirt, and his eyes pinned Dilandau. His expression was suddenly quite open and lost.
Dilandau paused in the doorway, struck suddenly by the expression on the Fanelian's face. "What?" he asked, eyebrows drawing together.
Van dropped his eyes, shaking his head. He turned around, feeling his throat close. Well this was familiar. The sense of being out of control again. "Then I go to Freid," he said, in a controlled voice. "Come with me."
Dilandau blinked at Van, getting the uneasy feeling that Van had was answering what he hadn't said aloud. The answer to the second statement was simple enough. "Might not be here," he said. It was getting easier to accept the idea, to the point where saying it sounded almost natural. "Either way, she wouldn't forgive me if I didn't," he finished.
Van whirled around, his eyes glaring at the other boy. "Oh right," he bit off. "I should have known..." he swallowed the rest of what he was going to say. "Next you'll say the vino was to blame." He pulled his shirt on with a curse and looked around for the borrowed blade he'd been dragging around, his face darkened in a scowl, trying to get control of his emotions.
The pale boy's expression darkened to match Van's as Dilandau stiffened. "You said you weren't that delirious," he said, the growl making a slight sting of the previous headache return. "But I wasn't *that* drunk."
Van reached up to his head, massaging his own headache. "I guess that's something," he muttered. "All that's left would be to have you say that you might come with me because you'd chose to, not because..." he clamped his mouth shut, trying to figure out why he could not seem to put a leash on his own tongue.
"I would have said no if I didn't choose to," Dilandau said. The other boy's attention seemed to be fixed on the fixings and buttons of the familiar red and black overcoat.
Van finally put his hand on the borrowed sword, clenching it as he lifted it from the floor, a bit tighter than necessary. Then he dropped it again. Turning his back on the Captain, he tried to summon self control from somewhere. The effort made his head throb and his shoulders shake a little.
The clatter of the metal against the floor set the other to grinding his teeth. "I'm not going to kill you, but do that again and it's going to be a temptation again."
Van did not turn around but there was a sound like a smothered, slightly hysterical laugh. "As you wish."
"Hmph," Dilandau mumbled again, he raked his fingers through his still damp hair, letting it settle into it's customary style. "I'll save my wishes for something more important," he replied a bit peevishly.
Van's back stiffened and then he looked over his shoulder, eyes wide. Ducking his head to cover the unguarded expression, he picked up the sword and stuck in into his belt.
Dilandau studied Van openly, leaning back just slightly before grinning. "You're strange when you're hung over. I'll have to remember that," he commented, brushing past the other. The tips of gloved fingers brushed down Van's arm in too smooth of a line to be accidental before the pale boy had moved on towards the door leading to the hall.
Van reached out with fast reflexes and caught the trailing hand as the other boy went by. Just inside the door, he pulled the Captain against him quickly and planted a swift, but still passionate kiss on his lips, then released him, moving back. "Yes, you remember," he said distinctly. Some of the darkness has cleared from his eyes replaced by an odd kind of hope.
The Captain licked his lips before smirking and voicing the thought that had been persistent on the edge of his mind most of the night and the entire morning. "I could get used to this," and palmed open the door.
Van tilted his head, tucking the words away carefully. There were so many obstacles in the way that he could not see anything approximating a future, but it seemed to tease at him nonetheless, and he gave up trying to talk himself out of it and caught up with the Captain in the hall, settling into his place at the other boy's side.
The ceiling to the room Gaddes woke up in was different. Usually this would not have been a big deal, but it was compounded by the fact that he held every miserable sign of drinking more than his share last night. For any veteran of vino, a headache, an upset stomach and an unfamiliar ceiling generally caused full body paralysis while the one in question frantically tried to remember what he'd done last night, who with, where he was, and if anything 'multiple' lingered.
Bad point, he was pretty sure this was the Captain's room, and without daring to look, he was sure he wasn't alone in bed, good point, his clothes were still on. Death might not be immediate.
It was also worth noting that trying to sneak out of bed with a migrane-level headache is rather difficult.
Allen came awake to the feeling of movement, slight movement, shifting the surface on which he was resting and translating as the stomping of dragon feet on his raw nerves. He didn't manage to suppress a muffled groan nor still the reflexes that caused one hand to shoot out, gripping the source of the movement to make it stop.
He realized belatedly he had hold of a solid shoulder, and opened his eyes slowly, trying to prepare for the inevitable pain light would bring.
The first firm touch on Gaddes' shoulder effectively froze the first mate. Halfway towards sitting up, and stomach flip-flopping uncomfortably at both the action and suddenly increased nervousness, he turned wide, if bloodshot eyes, and a sheepish grin on his Captain. "Morning boss," he said weakly.
Reddened blue eyes widened as Allen fastened on the face of his second in command. He groaned again more softly, and relaxed, releasing his grip and sinking back. "Mmmm," he managed. "Where the hell are you going? Has someone declared war or something?"
Gaddes, weighing the options available decided on the less painful and simply shifted and slumped slightly against the wall that the bunk was tucked into the corner of. "Hope not," he muttered, avoiding the first question neatly. "Would be just the luck though."
Allen snorted softly, closing his eyes for a few moments. He sighed. Then he chuckled softly. "I feel like shit," he said.
The other man looked at Allen with a small snort. "'Magine so, sure as hell drank more than I did and I ain't up for no morning stroll."
Allen shuddered slightly. He rubbed his forehead and then glanced at the dark haired soldier. "Mmmm," he agreed, at least it was probably an agreement. "Still... was better than sitting in my cabin alone brooding. Thanks..."
Eyes that had half drifted shut snapped open, into a wince and somewhat mixed stare. "'S nothing," he replied indistinctly, waving away the gratitude with one hand before the arm dropped limply to the man's side. "Mornings like these make me wish I was religious. I'd have someone to cuss at then."
Allen chuckled softly. "Don't even *think* of cussing at me," he warned, mock-seriously. Stretching slightly to ease the ache of cramped muscles, the swordsman realized he was actually far more relaxed than he'd expected, or probably had any right to be. For some unfathomable reason the weight that had been dragging at his heart the night before had lifted of its own, a bit. No accounting for it.
"Mmph, who died and made you a god then," Gaddes said, a smirk quirking his lips despite the headache. "Sides I figure I have a few safe hours no matter what. If you can wave that damned sword around right now, I might consider starting a religion anyway."
The remark earned him a pillow in the face. "The thought hadn't crossed my mind..." the blond growled, unable to keep the tone from lapsing into at least a touch of humor. He'd always been lucky when overindulging and that power of recovery hadn't completely deserted him, though it would take a little time.
The simple, reflexive effort of attempting to block the pillow was enough to elicit a from-the-bottom-of-the-gut groan from the dark-haired man. Cursing quietly, he half-curled enough to cradle his head in his hands. He could swear that he could feel his forehead pulse beneath his fingertips. With no such luck as Allen's he simply waited for the worst to dull down a bit.
Allen found a slight smile pulling the corner of his mouth as he glanced at the dark haired man. He'd take almost any excuse to drink, and then have the same reaction the next day. He needed a woman to take care of him... but it was something Allen found hard to picture.
After a few moments, the swordsman sighed and pulled himself up off the bunk, and began fumbling with the fastenings of his clothes, shedding the rumpled jerkin and then the crushed white shirt. It was only a few steps to a basin, next to which hung a skin of water.
"Show off," Gaddes mumbled, glancing at the man who'd managed to get upright, walk, and still look good doing it. With no such concerns about appearance, he let himself slide down the wall and fully sink back into the bunk's mattress. "Whatever witchcraft that is, you've got to introduce me to the witch," he said, gazing blearily up at the unfamiliar ceiling.
After splashing water on his face and rinsing his mouth to relieve the thick, sticky feeling, Allen glanced over his shoulder at the bunk. "What this time?" He began peeling the his trousers off, turning to rummage in a chest for a fresh outfit, all but identical to the one he'd removed.
"Hn," Gaddes started, "A good, full binge and still wake up with looks that'd knock 'em dead. Should be laws gainst that."
Allen threw the other man a look. "That's right, you said you liked blondes," he remarked dryly, rather pleased with his own joke.
Gaddes blinked slightly, a little too fuzzy around the edges to fully recognize the tone of humor. He raised both hands in surrender without lifting his head. "Would like to take this time to point out that we both woke up fully dressed."
The laugh from Allen was surprised. He turned, the fresh clothes over his arm, and looked at the bunk, tilting his head. He didn't say anything but some odd thoughts were chasing around in his admittedly still fuzzy head.
Oblivious to the regard, Gaddes went on. "Mind you, got that rich plus going, but not so sure you qualify as a hellcat exactly," he said, working on a muzzy defense, considering.
"Gaddes!" Allen barked, half laugh and half shock. He shook his head, wondering if he weren't more hung over than he thought. He started to say something, then some shred of common sense cut the words off before then could get out. "Funny," he managed instead. "Ha ha."
Snorting at the dry tone in the blonde's retort, Gaddes finally began working up enough determination to sit up. Dangling his legs off the edge of the bed, and looking slightly greenish from the effort, he half slumped over his knees. "Gonna be a long day," he muttered the glance at Allen was very brief, before his eyes were fixed very steadily and pointedly on the floor. "Swear there should have been a few more hours of night."
Allen watched the dark haired man, with an odd and newfound curiosity as he pulled on the clean shirt. Nahhhh.... Leaving the shirt open, and dropping the pants and tunic onto a chair, he moved deliberately into the space in front of the other man, and after a moment, reached out and tipped his head up, wondering what he was going to see there.
The look there was one firmly of shock and nervous curiosity. The dark haired man started and stopped a few times, trying to figure out something to say in the awkward feeling situation, before simply setting on a wide, if pained grin, and a half shrug.
Allen's pale brows drew together slightly as he let his hand drop. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then shook his head. "How many years have you been my friend?" he said finally.
Gaddes scratched his temple. "After that whole territorial thing when you first came to the castle?" He half-grinned at that, "Eh, bout three years now, maybe little more."
Allen nodded. "Seems like longer," he said absently. "Was just..." he said, realizing he wasn't quite reacting as he might without the after effects of the binge. "Wondering... what I don't know about you..." Shrugging, with a slight, odd smile, he walked back to the chair and began pulling on the uniform pants.
Gaddes, who'd been carefully staring over the Captain's shoulder during the strange, short conversation, flicked back to him as he walked away, then back to the floor, a red color flushing his cheeks that might be explained away as another bad effect of overindulgence. "Oi oi, Careful with that kinda talk," he muttered, trying to ignore the heat on his face. "Anything like that could right get me gutted."
Allen stopped, tucking in the shirt and looked at the other man. "How?"
The first mate blinked at that, before shrugging. "Some ain't so keen on the eh... more off color ideas." Gaddes finally looked up, giving Allen a rakish grin before shrugging. "Alla us were assigned to the backwaters for one reason or another, ya know."
Allen's eyes widened and his jaw sagged slightly for a second. Then his lips curved. "Ideas? *Ideas*??" He pulled on the tunic and belted it. "That settles it... when things settle down... and they damn well better... you owe me an explanation over another bottle... I'll buy. I must hear about these... ideas..."
Feeling distinctly off balance, he was certain things were going horribly just a second ago, Gaddes began to chalk things up to some before-this-very-moment unknown hangover symptom that decided to visit him. "Well, if you're buying..." he replied, a semblance of the earlier humor hanging at the edges of his voice.
Snorting softly, Allen pulled on his scarf and tied it. He took a wide toothed comb from a drawer and pulled it through the lengths of yellow hair with the deftness of long practice. That done, he picked up the sword and added that belt to the ensemble. Going to the door, he looked back for a moment. In a soft voice, he said, "You've never let me down, Gaddes. Nothing will change that." He smiled with a somewhat self-mocking expression. "I'm to go see if I can discover anything about this fool's errand we've come on. Keep the crew ready. I wish I could say what to expect, but I've no idea."
Wide eyes regarded the swordsman with a fair degree of shock, before the expression melted into something of an embarrassed but honest gratitude. "Boss," he confirmed nodding, and slightly relieved when that gesture didn't cause quite as much discomfort as it had. Levering himself slowly to his feet he nodded again as Allen finished. "You've got it," he answered.
Allen nodded, his face reflecting a brief, almost curious expression before he opened the door and left his second in command to seek out what answers he could find in the fortress.
Dilandau paused outside what Van recognized as the dining area they had spent the last evening at. The Captain's face took on a distinct look of distaste before he stepped back again, one hand on his hip and shooting Van what seemed to be a casual look. "I'm not in the mood," he declared, the previous expression had smoothed over to something of a more cocky look. "And no use waiting." Dilandau looked Van up and down before smirking. "Practice then?"
Van blinked as he realized Dilandau was referring to the possibility of eating, something he wasn't interested in at all. "Practice?" He shrugged. "If you want." His hand fell to his belt and he grimaced slightly, still with the borrowed sword.
The other nodded, feeling somehow better at the prospect, and the avoidance of a repeat of the scene last night. Besides, it wasn't entirely clear if anything would stay down anyway, he decided with a little sourness. "I want," he confirmed, a bit of a grin returning again.
The way there took a few false starts as the training area was across part of the fortress that had to have been rebuilt due to the most dramatic entrance at the end of the Fate wars. The destination itself was not much, lacking both the clean geometrics of the military and the tattered opulence of the work and play areas of the former nobility of the country.
The floors were off a roughened tiling, set to emulate the precious wood so common in Fanelia. Across the surface of it were markings, to delineate field of combat. The walls were bare accept for the farthest, holding a rack of wooden swords, bokkens, and other practice weapons common. And a few steel benches to either side of it. The room itself was empty, but held the faintest traces of recent use.
Van looked around, walking in a circle to survey the room. He pulled on his gloves and then turned to look at the other boy, waiting for the next cue. In his training with Vargas, they always began a session with a bow, but he was slightly curious to see what the Captain would do.
Dilandau watched the other boy's small circuit, seemingly with as much interest. The Fanelian took a ready stance, he noted, without a second glance at practice weapons. He smirked and shrugged slightly, more to himself than anything. The Captain unhooked his own belt and sheath, drawing the Asturian blade, before discarding both hindrances.
Van simply pulled the borrowed blade from his belt and lifted it in some hint of a salute.
Dilandau returned the salute simply by drawing the blade up to chest level, at ready. A simple easy pace to the left, with no regard to the set boundaries was intended to give the opponent the weakness of an odd angle, but he didn't put to much faith in the advantage. Reversing the curved blade to the flat, Dilandau began the offensive, a quick slash aimed high.
Van paid no attention to boundaries painted on the floor. He circled to keep his opponent in front of him and accepted the attack, parrying automatically. He watched the movements of the other boy and almost nodded to himself. The style was much different but he saw hints of Allen's skill in the quickness and clean response. As they moved apart, he turned and quickly made his own attack, a straight, powerful body thrust.
A second gloved hand joined the first in a smooth motion on the grip of the blade, needing the full force of muscles to divert the speed and force behind the simple oncoming thrust. A wide grin spread across the albino's face as Dilandau pushed back and to the side, immediately moving in fast. There was no debilitating and clouding emotion that usually held him back, even in the last few fights he'd had with Van. He wasn't sure where the strange... cleanness of the battle came from, but didn't have time to ponder it.
Unconsciously, Van's mouth pulled slightly into a grin as well, as he batted back the immediate return and flipped the other's blade over, putting him off balance for a brief moment. He realized that this wasn't going to be like the tournament with Kaerin. His opponent had some technique, but was mostly raw talent and speed, and a mind that saw openings a moment before they happened. A series of exchanges followed, so quick they were hard to follow, making a bit of music as blade bounced off blade.
Dilandau had a thought somewhat similar. The exchange was nothing like the instructors he'd had and surpassed easily, nor the Dragonslayers who he more trained than fought. Perhaps something along the lines of the first fights with Allen, the excitement and admiration. /You're strong. I like that!/ No, it wasn't a fight really. A conversation... the high tang of the well folded blade was echoed and answered by the tempered Ziabach steel, the deeper resonance of the sound. He found himself entering more easily countered strikes, just to hear it above the scuffle of bootheels and barely noticed hard breathing.
Van circled in, then back out. He followed Vargas' instruction and kept his eyes on the other boy's eyes, not his weaving sword tip. He had a sudden flash of looking into those eyes once before, over a flash of steel, and knew that on that brief previous occasion, he'd seen a weakness there that he didn't see now. After a moment or two, he recognized that the match could go on for hours. Shrugging inwardly, he committed himself to a full-out attack, stepping forward strongly as his experiences and the words of his teachers had taught him.
The Zaibach Captain half turned, putting his body out of the way of the fast heavy slash, even as the upward deflection of the blade caused a pained vibration even through the protection of the gloves. The resulting clash had covered the noise of an entrance, but the deliberate clearing of a throat was heard clearly as both had pulled back to recover the wide stance that had resulted.
Van heard the sound but ignored it, keeping his concentration focused on those garnet eyes.
"Nice... sword..." Allen commented dryly, leaning against the wall by the entrance, folding his arms. "And I thought you two were getting along..."
The shift in the Captain was subtle, a slightest of pause in the counter, a few inches of space, as if to be ready for a second attack from another angle, but much more obvious was a narrowing and hardening of the eyes, the return of a rage that had been missing from the encounter before. The next attack when it came, was harder, forsaking speed for a reckless strength. Dilandau pushed back a moment, not turning form Van. "Isn't it though," he growled, the only outward sign that he even noticed the blonde's sudden presence.
Because he saw the change in the other boy's eyes, Van was prepared for the change in attack, and turned the blade away with equal force. He realized suddenly that he could exploit this, but instead of doing so, he attacked in a sudden, swift flurry, not aiming to get through the other boy's guard, just to forcing him to parry a fast series of blows, hoping perhaps to return his attention to Van himself.
Dilandau was forced back onto his heels, taking one step backwards after another to gain precious space. The strength of Van's sword made it too dangerous to keep in close, the mark across his cheek was a testament. A touch of a snarl crossed and disappeared as the Captain sidestepped an attack instead of parrying it. The move was twofold, to get the annoying ... bright... the yellows, clean whites, and blues of the Knight out of his line of sight, and to push for, if not an opening, than a moment to regain himself. Even with Allen out of his sight, he felt he could almost feel the blue eyes on his back.
The distraction was infuriating.
Van shrugged mentally, seeing two possible courses. He chose instantly. The next time the other boy came at him, he dropped his sword, bracing for a hit.
The red eyes he'd been watching widened, but the momentum was too strong and the combat to close to reverse. Instead, inches from unprotected skin, the blade was turned flat, and slowed slightly. The bite of the blade was merely a sting of a slap of the broadside, but was enough to stagger both.
Van didn't try to keep his feet but let the momentum knock him to a seat on the floor. The pain was no worse that many such slaps he'd gotten from Vargas. He looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"You win."
Dilandau had taken more than a few steps back, working for balance where the other had given into momentum. Somewhere unheeded, the long, curved sword had struck the ground and rested unglanced at. The expression on the albino's face was incredulous, but he didn't give any denial or confirmation.
The next moment he seemed to compose himself with effort. Moving a gloved hand over his face, he stopped sharply by Van's side, the other offered down in an unusual if stiff gesture.
Van took the offered hand immediately and got to his feet. He kept his eyes on the other boy's. His expression was closed to any other observer, but open to the red eyes looking into his own.
The other reacted with a brief flicker of shock, which disappeared under a quick expression of understanding. A half smile crossed the other's face before he turned, without the abrupt speed more customary, and picked up the sword. "You're up early," he commented, calmly, a brief flicker of red eyes to Schezar's blue.
Allen's blue eyes were a bit bloodshot, in truth and he seemed to have a few of the same symptoms the other two had experienced, covered by practice and determination.
"I'm offering terms for a truce," Allen said wryly. His eyes flickered from on to the other. "You know why I'm here. One reason, at least. The other is to learn."
Dilandau during this had recovered his belt, and almost absently returned to Van's side. He pushed a hand through his hair and settled into a stance that managed to seem casual even at attention. "State your terms then."
"I'll stay out of your way. You make sure I know what I need to know."
The other seemed to consider this, garnet eyes flickering down and then back, steadily. "That depends on what you believe you need to know."
Allen studied the other for a moment and then something in his eyes softened.
"You don't know, do you?" he said aloud. "You don't know who you are going to be from one day to the next..."
Dilandau stiffened, the flash of defensive anger showing a solid hit. He crossed his arms, eyelids dropping halfway. "Does this matter?" he growled.
Van stepped slightly closer, his shoulder behind the taller boy's as if silently covering his back.
Allen watched the slight movement, and the reaction of the albino.
After a moment he said softly, "Of course it does. To you more than to me, and perhaps..." his eyes flickered again, briefly, to the king. He shrugged. He unleaned from the wall and dropped his arms. "I'm sorry. I've been told I can be thickheaded. I'll be with my crew. If you need our help with the sorcerers, I suggest you take it. We'll stay until the matter is resolved... probably. Van," he said briefly, nodding to the king with an expression of dawning understanding.
The anger in the albino's posture had been replaced by a very obvious look of confusion. Of everything he'd expected, neither an apology nor help were anywhere on the list. The first, almost overwhelming, instinct was to refuse it flat out, suspiciously. Nothing was given that freely. The acknowledgment, however inadvertent it was, to Van, gave just enough doubt to old principles. "Fine," he said, voice still on the edge of curt.
Allen's response would probably be more confusing still. He smiled. Then he bowed slightly, with a touch of his legendary grace. "Captain." Turning, he left the room.
Dilandau stood, staring at the quietly closed door a moment after the Knight had left, before shaking his head, taking a few steps and folding onto one of the metal benches. He turned a sardonic glance up at Van. "What's it with you hero types anyway?"
Van shrugged with a tug at the corner of his mouth. "What? That we're slow?"
A split second Dilandau looked as if he was going to say something else before shrugging and returning the slight smile with a smirk. "That's probably it."
Van smiled. Then he shrugged. "It makes things easier in this case. He'll be as good as his word."
"Some damned honor involved I'm sure," Dilandau replied, the normal irritation washed slightly out by the warmth of a steady exercise. It had been far too long.
Van tilted his head down, brushing some dust from the floor off his pants. "You let him distract you," he mentioned.
Dilandau glanced up at Van sharply. "And you threw the fight," he replied. "Not to mention got rather unaggressive rather quickly."
"It was that or hurt you," Van said simply. He shrugged. Then he looked up with a glint in his cinnamon eyes. "I don't like sharing your attention."
Dilandau had shrugged at the first statement, unconcerned. The second had earned another glance followed quickly by a quick smirk. "I don't think that's much of a worry," he grinned, a bit of a dark glitter to his expression. "I'm told I'm very single-minded about what's mine."
The glint became a flicker and a matching smile, almost as dark, answered. Van nodded. "You were.. so this was a fluke... I guess that's okay. Once."
A flash of doubt passed quickly over the sharp features of the sitting boy. The swordsman with almost no effort had always seemed, even during the war, to know exactly what got under his skin and often persisted with it. With a mental shake of his head he pushed it aside, maybe this 'word' would make a difference. He shrugged at Van, before a considering look was fixed on the Fanelian. "And what's the punishment for a second offense?"
Van's eyes widened and then he scowled, crossing to the bench. He reached down and took the pale boy's chin in his hand and kissed him with brief but intense heat. Then he threw himself on the bench beside the other.
"I don't know," he growled. "But I'll think of something if I have to."
Dilandau leaned back, the corners of his lips twitching in an effort to keep a straight face. "If it's anything like that, I'm going to have to make up more rules to break."
Van threw an irritated look at the other boy but when thier eyes met, his lips suddenly curved in a smile. It was uncontrollable and spontaneous. He dropped his eyes trying to get the scowl back on his face and having a hard time of it.
"Bastard," he muttered but there was a note of suppressed laughter as well as genuine longing under the curse.
"With pride," the other responded, letting a touch of arrogance and matching affection color the tone.
Van flashed another glare that was marred by the smile that went with it. "Yes, of course," he said. His eyes narrowed. "You let your anger beat you," he said in a more serious tone. "It's a weakness. You should overcome it."
It was the pale boy's turn to shoot a look of irritation. The stare relented into almost a grumpy turning back to face the far doorway, arms crossed. "So is not taking an advantage when offered."
"Granted," Van agreed easily. Then he smiled. "You get one. Next time, no."
The glance this time was measuring. The seriousness of it melted awake under a subtly less manic smirk. "Fair enough," he said. After a pause, he looked at Van out of the corner of his eye. "You sound like your brother when you lecture you know."
Van looked up, startled, a combination of sorrow and old resentment flashing quickly across his face. His expression shut down into a scowl easily this time. With an effort, he shrugged it off. "I didn't know him very well."
Having watched the brief play of emotions, Dilandau deigned to answer. "It wasn't an insult this time," he said instead.
The scowl lifted slightly as Van glanced up, an unguarded look. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the other boy more about what his brother had been like, but he swallowed the question, not ready for it if he ever would be. "Hn," he managed instead. He looked around the room restlessly. "I'm hungry," he announced.
Dilandau looked at the other a moment longer, impulsively taking advantage of the rare and now fleeting privacy, returning the earlier gesture of a kiss. His tongue briefly darted out to taste the salt on the other's lips before breaking off and moving to his feet. "Fine," he said again, a much milder tone than used with his brother.
Van looked up, breath stolen in an instant with that momentary gesture. He realized his mouth was open and closed it. He got to his feet, conscious of a flush having stolen over his cheeks again. Taking a breath, he gave his clothes a last, absent brush. If the albino had set out deliberately to seal the king to him, he could not have followed a more effective path.
THE END OF PART 35!