17-Dec-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 Eighteen - Inside Vision
Part 44
Van felt a stab of fear that seemed to pierce his innermost soul. "No," he shook his head. His fists clenched and he forced himself to look down, while he mastered the flare of emotions. It had been so much easier once. Such a fear would have been soothed by rage, but it wasn't a balm he could afford any more.
"No," he repeated, looking up. "How the hell would I know if it were permanent or not?" He shook his head. "If it *had* worked before, we wouldn't be here now."
"A good bluff or two probably would do the trick to keep him in line," Dilandau smirked, "After all, your brother was enough of a prodigy at it that they'd give you a second glance."
The scowl on Van's face increased. He wanted to shout that it wasn't a risk he was prepared to take, but he knew the other boy well enough to know Dilandau would take the risk. "I'd sooner give you *my* body, if I knew how to do it," he muttered, "Than to have you submit to one of those creatures another time."
Dilandau returned the scowl, his temper rising in the wake of frustration. "I don't need this from both of you."
Van nodded. "I know," he said. He reached out and brushed fingertips along Dilandau's cheek. Then, with a tone that carried a hint of regal authority, he said quietly, "Serena... you have to stop... you'll kill him this way."
There was a flash, just briefly, of a foreign expression, but gone before the emotion was clear. Dilandau's eyelids dropped heavily and he took a half step back to lean on the doorframe. "She doesn't know how," he said. "But it's quieter now at least." He half smiled at that.
Van leaned a little closer, to tuck a strand of hair back into place. "I'm sorry," he murmured, a combination of regret, compassion and affection almost masking the thread of fear. "I'm going to find an answer for this." This time the fear was gone, and nothing remained but bedrock determination.
The Captain waved away the apologies. "It was my choice," he said. /And my consequence./ Dilandau pushed off of the doorframe and looked the Fanelian over, a trace of wariness in his expression. A fragment of the earlier conversation came to the surface of his memory. "So why here first?" Somehow, in light of things, he doubted it was for the privacy.
Van turned and looked at the white guymelef. "She said, 'violence begets violence.' Find what begets peace. I may not be Folken but even I can figure that one out. I want to see if we can begin to make a little peace."
"You're better off with her for that one," Dilandau grinned wryly.
The king shook his head. "Better off with you." He took Dilandau's hand and pulled him across the floor to stand in front of Escaflowne. "You have the history. Now, do you know what is remarkable about what you did?"
Dilandau gave the king a sideways glance. If he wasn't sure that Van had something specific in mind, he'd have normally given the boy a list. "Not a clue."
The hint of a grin shadowed the corners of the king's mouth. "You lived. There's a story about a man, an invader of the country, who tried to open the Guardian to get to his enemy, the king, who was unconscious inside. It was said that his body was blackened to a cinder, as if dragons had sprayed him with fire. You got a headache."
"Headache was a slight understatement." The flippancy of the remark was contradicted by the mortified look that the Captain had fixed on the machine. If it weren't for the fingers still around his wrist, he'd have given into the desire to take a step back.
Van looked up at the white melef and for the first time, he seemed to have found something of his own inner peace as he regarded the Guardian. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I've been blaming you. You did nothing I didn't ask. It's my own conscience I was not facing." His lips curved slightly.
Looking back at the Captain, the king said softly. "I think she knew. I think you lived because she knew. It's even possible she was... trying to show you... something you didn't remember."
"A dream. I... she," he corrected himself, darting a quick glance away from the Ispano machine to Van, "told you about that."
Van nodded. He looked at Dilandau. "It really doesn't make any sense otherwise," he said simply. "She must have sensed something... a connection. Or I swear you would not have survived the experience." He frowned slightly as a thought occurred to him, causing him to glance up once again at the melef. /No one knows how, but metal became scales and Jecture now swims as freely as it breaths.../ "You... perhaps you even have something in common," he whispered softly. "Neither one completely free..."
Van felt the arm beneath his hand tense. "I don't quite relish the idea of that thing's freedom," he stated. Garnet eyes narrowed in scrutiny, taking in every detail they could of Van profile. "And suddenly things change because of some half coherent nonsense?"
Van turned, meeting the look. "Her freedom from me is mine from her," he said simply. He turned back to the melef and reached up, pushing his fingers into the seemingly solid surface of the red energist jewel. After a moment, he withdrew the hand, now closed around a glowing red crystal.
"I took this from the breast of a dragon with my sword," he said, looking down into the fire.
"Fanelian rites," Dilandau offered, a little unsure of what was required, but unwilling to show it. He knew a little about the ascension... Folken had the attack planned so that it would happen while the prince was away and the dragon vulnerable. They were late, or he was early. Didn't matter in the end.
Van continued to gaze into the crystal. The similarity to the pendant was unmistakable, and in fact that smaller red sliver had begun to glow as if in answer to the presence of the dragon stone.
"The dragon... the light brought me to another world. The dragon came there too." Van murmured, remembering. "If not for that, the pendant... might not have returned to Gaea."
Looking up, he offered the energist to Dilandau, his fingers loosening the other boy's wrist to twine with his fingers.
Questions about the Mystic Moon died before voiced at Van's action. Making no move to accept, wide eyes locked with cinnamon, "You're kidding."
Van looked back. "I took it out for a reason. Escaflowne is designed to protect her master. But this is something... else. This is the magic of a living dragon. It will read your heart. I've already looked into your heart. I don't think it will hurt you."
"Last time it blew the hell out of three levels of steel and concrete and every energist on the entire fortress took two weeks to recharge or had to be replaced entirely," Dilandau said, then pointedly glanced around at the wooden walls of the airship. "Are you that sure?"
"Last time you didn't know what you were doing. You didn't know who you were. And you wanted to kill me." Van shrugged slightly. "I believe in you, and I think you can do it. If you don't want to, it's up to you." His mouth quirked a little to one side. "*Now* you get cautious on me."
Dilandau grinned in return. "It's just a lousy way to go," he explained. Not waiting for a reply, or second thoughts, his hand darted out to snatch the energist and froze at first contact.
The color within the facets of the energizes began to swirl churning rapidly for a moment before whatever power and consciousness lay coiled beneath the warming surface pushed outward. A burst of wind swirled through the expansive hold, strange enough to draw sound from the lighter chains.
Dilandau felt its power, like a liquid fire, surge up through his fingertips, coursing and splintering through his veins. For a single moment, a panic screamed at him to fight it, to pull away, stayed only by the memory that the explosion happened when he'd managed to free himself from the gemplate of Escaflowne. After the initial spike of adrenaline, it began to settle in that the presence permeating him wasn't painful as expected, there was only that heady rush of fire, dangerous and warm, without the deadly burn.
Through it all, the thrum of another heartbeat, edged at his senses. He didn't have time to wonder at whose before he felt his own slow itself, steadying and synchronizing to the one echoed in the crystal.
In rapid succession, a pull in his mind became a tug, the force of a separate running through his nerves like the energist through veins. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. The lines between Dilandau and Serena, blurred from contact, untangled, solidifying into two distinct and separate forms, leaving the Captain with only the vague and odd feeling of someone standing behind him. He could feel her contentment, but it was distinctly hers, and followed by her apology. Instinctively, he knew there was no need to voice the acceptance nor the return of sentiment.
It was like the completion of the focus that the pendant offered. /Pendant/.. He felt a secondary warmth almost drown out in the sheer enveloping heat of the energist as it responded to the recognition.
//A single flash in the eerie tone of the pendant's swing. The forests of Fanelia filled his senses for a moment, and the image of a man, wearing the colors and standard of the Schezar family was backpedaling, fumbling for his sword as, in some wanderings off the path, he came face to snout with one of the lands great guardians. Dilandau could not recognize either the man's face or bearings, but Serena knew him from a portrait -- one of the earliest of their line.
The dragon regarded the man, turning its massive head to stare at him with one unblinking, golden eye. Unaccountably, the dragon didn't attack, despite the fear radiating off of the man, but its gaze seemed to color with amusement before it turned and lumbered back into the forest. It took the man a good while to notice the single gem left behind on the forest floor.//
Fingers twined with the Captain's, Van watched and felt the explosion of energy and although from a distance, some of the subsequent turns, without sharing them. Nodding unconsciously as he sensed that some kind of accord was reached, he placed his hand on the other side of the red crystal now resting in Dilandau's palm.
There's a danger, he thought, directing the silent words towards the presence in the dragon stone. /Fanelia... we will protect... but could you... do you wish to become a free guardian, like Jecture? There has to be a better way for Fanelia than the slaughter of dragons.../
//The view now rests upon the turrets and seaside walls of the great city of Pallas. The crisp air flowing in over the water and shimmering glint of the sun upon the waves would have been a soothing site if not for the disruption in the distance. Ships of black and baring the standard of war and full sail seemed to rush towards the busy harbor, filled with antique and dated boats.
For a moment the wind stills entirely before howling, sweeping up the waves in its grip. The sky darkens above and seems to push out, gaining speed and strength in an unnatural interval. Just below the waves, a bright flash of blue and golden scales are caught by those watching for it. Though they seemed to shine more than natural, their sheen couldn't quite be called metal either.
As the storm condensed, the scrambling and terror of the invaders could be seen along the decks while they rushed to furl the sails in some desperate hope of preserving the masts. Whatever restraint had held the building maelstrom snapped and over the winds came the distinctive roar of a dragon's battle cry.
The vision faded, leaving behind an almost overwhelming wistfulness, before that too drained away.//
Van blinked moisture from his eyes, feeling muscles in his back ache. For a moment, he felt too vividly what it might be like to taste the wind only with pinions of metal and the pull of gravity always heavy, fighting each stroke, when somewhere within lived a forbidden dream of living wings.
/I'll find a way,/ he vowed silently, with the same determination as his vow of just before.
The indrawn breath Dilandau had taken before reaching out finally found its escape with a dizzy rush as the last of Escaflowne's presence seemed to withdraw mostly. There was still a vague hum of it in the very back of his mind, but nothing like the intoxicating flood. His hand clenched tightly on the energist it held, subconsciously wanting another taste, to be that close to the fire again.
*Figures.* A thought welled up with a distinct undertone of fond amusement. It was entirely separate, as if spoken out loud to him. Another level of tension disappeared. He could see how this could be irritating, but it could be tolerated much easier than always second guessing which thoughts and emotions were his.
/Don't even try to tell me you didn't enjoy it,/ he thought, a smirk curling his lips.
*I didn't try,* A pause. *Makes me wonder if Allen's a closet pyro too.*
Van found himself looking into Dilandau's face as they both held the energist. "That... didn't seem too bad," he said, voice a little husky.
"If that's what it's like for you every time," Dilandau said, "I can see why I had a hard time keeping all of your attention." He shift the energist fully into Van's grip with all signs of reluctance.
A curve turned into an almost shy smile. "Turn it around... you *did* keep my attention, have kept my attention, damn near all the time," he said, a spark of another kind of fire warming cinnamon eyes. He turned, still leaving his other hand twined with Dilandau's, and placed the energist back into the machine. /I'll find a way,/ he repeated silently, and turned back to the Captain. /For both of you./
It had been overcast and gloomy for the past few days in Fanelia. With the cooler winds buffeting up against the mountains, the monsoon had shown all signs of coming early to the region. The heavy clouds above had threatened impotently for a long enough period that everyone had given up on them actually letting any of their moisture free.
/It figured,/ Dryden thought wryly, taking a bit of immature pleasure in the puddle he tracked in, /That it would make good on its threat just when I decide to run a few errands personally./
Catching a warning look from one of the housemaids, the Regent gave a wide, sheepish grin before removing some of the heavier, sodden layers and let them hang in the stone-floored entranceway. "Anything come up while I was away, Fana?" he asked the headmistress.
The older woman shook her head, handing him a towel without comment. "What it is with all of you, some kind of new fad about getting wet and catching your deaths? I'd think you could set a better example for the young, Regent Fassa," she said, making a point of using the formal address, when she usually called him simply Dryden-sama.
Dryden pushed a wet lock of hair out of his face and gave the woman an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid this time fashion caught me, instead of having to chase it."
"Hmph," the headmistress clucked, neither seriously perturbed nor particularly placated. "I'll send some hot soup to your study. You drink it, and see to it that hoyden of a catgirl does the same. The healer doesn't want to see her back in the infirmary, you know."
"Oh, she was out as well?" Dryden asked, not particularly expecting much of an answer. "I'll see what I can manage in the way of persuasion, Madam." He smiled slightly, returning the favor of titles with a small bow.
Fana answered him with a soft snort and a vague swat of her dusting cloth in his direction, completing the ritual of Fanelian protocol.
He grinned lopsidedly in response and turned for the inner hallways, a little of his mood lightened by the prospect of hot food and dry clothes. On an impulse he paused before deciding on a quick change of course to check on Merle. Though a sodden catgirl was always a force to be reckoned with, there was, as Fana mentioned, the concern about her health -- and the general sanity of their hospice staff, aside that.
Finding said catgirl however was not always such an easy task. Either she was directly underfoot, or completely absent from any logical abode. And she had not been underfoot so much in the last few days. In fact he'd seen remarkably little of her. Her room was empty, likewise Van's, nor was she with the seamstress, or playing with the castle children in the nursery.
Dryden frowned a little, taking a moment to pull the tie out of his hair and give it a few good wrings before pulling his hair back again. There were a few other places to discount, the roof in this weather ... well, she'd hear a lecture from both Fana and himself if that were the case... and the study was locked while he was gone. Shaking his head, he turned back the way he came after a few other, idle destinations.
If she didn't want to be found, there was little he could do to help it, even if he was concerned for her lately, he mused, wandering back to his own quarters. /Concern? Yeah, just keep telling yourself that,/ the Regent berated himself mentally.
As he finished redressing in dry robes, a tiny sound caught his ear. It sounded like a sneeze. And it seemed to come from the direction of the window, which was covered with heavy drapes still undrawn, not unusual, he rarely opened them, leaving the room early and returning late.
He paused for a moment, trying to catch a second sound, in case the first was just a whim of the imagination. As nothing came, curiosity and a dawning suspicion won out. In two quick strides, the drapes were pulled back and the rainsteamed window pushed open to afford a better view out into the downpour.
A gasp greeted the sudden actions, and a wet and somewhat bedraggled figure almost fell from the wide stone sill before catching her balance. Merle sneezed a second time and glared at him reproachfully.
Caught between surprise and an aborted reflex to steady the girl, Dryden blinked at her and took a step back to allow her entrance. Pulling himself together, he shook his head. "I'm a little scared to ask," he began, "But come inside before that cold gets worse, Merle-chan."
The catgirl jumped into the room and stalked around him with her nose in the air. She sneezed a third time and then said, "I am *not* sick!" She helped herself to a large bath towel from the chest that held his fresh linens. Then she looked over her shoulder, large eyes not quite accusing. "You locked the study window."
"I would have left it open if I knew you were going out in the rain," he replied mildly. He crossed his arms and took on a teasing tone, "Allergies again?"
Merle refused the dignify the teasing with an answer. It was a known fact that wet cats had no sense of humor. Finding a spot on the rug in a corner, she sat and began attempting to dry herself. She was more than simply wet, however. Her smock was stained with brown and green and there were bits of forest debris in her hair and fur, which she began carefully removing.
The merchant prince watched the girl for a little while without commenting. With a slightly bemused look, he disappeared to the other side of the room, returning with another towel to replace the sodden one, and a cotton overshirt that was large on him and riding cloak. "I'm afraid I don't have anything suitable for a lady, but at least these are dry," he apologized, glancing a second time at the stains, but content to wait until or if she told him. Leaving them on a table beside her, he moved to leave the room to give her enough privacy to change.
She didn't wait, however, scrambling out of the wet smock and into the large shirt, her movements too rapid to give any full pictures, only tantalizing flashes. Taking up the second towel, she went over her hair one more time and then concentrated on cleaning bits of bark from her claws.
Dryden had turned to away quickly, though a distinct flush colored his ears. He cleared his throat awkwardly, fishing for some subject, then finally resigning his earlier resolution, "I imagine the last time we both stumbled back in looking this bedraggled, we had a stampede to lay blame on," he said, hopefully fishing for some reason and eyes still trained on the plain wall.
Noting the direction of his look, Merle sighed softly. It was hopeless. He didn't even want to look at her. Oh well.
"Been in the woods," she said unnecessarily. "I thought... I thought the dragons know things. Van... used to go out there with them. So I did too."
Hearing the movement still, Dryden let out and inaudible breath and turned back. He found a cross-legged seat on the floor not too far. "I'm certain they do, I just don't know if we can understand their language." It was his turn to give her a look that bordered on accusing. "So that's where you've been off to lately. Even if you didn't want me along, you could have let me know where."
She blinked at him. "I thought you would be busy," she said softly, and studied her paws. There might be some bit of bark left. Then she sighed again. "I would have, if I learned anything," she allowed a disgruntled expression to appear briefly. "I didn't think it was worth bothering you with to say that dragons are... big. And loud. And scary."
"You could bother me to tell me the sky was blue if you really wanted," he replied, sincerity lacing the bravado. He glanced out the open window and winced. "Or gray as the case may be. Whichever color anyway, I'm never /that/ busy."
Merle watched him quietly. Then she came over and touch his hair. Damp. "You went out," she commented. Getting to her feet, the shirt almost touching the floor, she said, "I'll get you some soup..."
"No need," he said, "There should be some sent to the study, if you don't mind a change of scenery. I'm also required, on pain of starched laundry, to make sure you have your portion as well."
"Okay," she agreed, still a bit subdued. "Better shut the window."
He glanced back at the now slightly damp floor under the window and grimaced. Scooping up one of the discarded towels, the floor was quickly covered and the pane rattled shut again. "Of course," he mumbled belatedly. Putting his back to the glass he looked down, face drawn with some concern. "You'd let me know if it was something I could help with?" he asked, much quieter than usual.
Tilting her head she said, "You help all the time. I just wanted to try and help you." Making a little exasperated noise, she added, "Besides making sure you eat and get some sleep sometimes. But I don't think I'm cut out to help with the brain stuff."
It wasn't quite what he was asking, but he decided it was enough of an answer. His expression brightened easily. "Neither do I most of the time," he remarked. "But I took enough time just getting here that we may lucky to still have a warm meal." Coming back over to he side, he offered Merle a hand.
Watching him, she placed her small hand in his large one. Her fingers curled around his, then suddenly leaned up on tiptoes to press a brief kiss to the side of his chin. Then she looked away, not relinquishing his hand, but studying the doorframe intently.
Dryden looked down slightly, a ghost of a smile surfacing briefly. Merle felt the fingers around hers give a gentle pressure before he opened the chamber door and gave a sweeping gesture with his free hand. "Ladies first."
"Princes next," Merle murmured almost inaudibly, but her whiskers twitched with almost hidden bit of humor.
He smiled at her back, following her into the hallway. "That, I'm afraid might not be as accurate as it was a letter or two ago, but good enough I suppose," he said, attempting to make light of what had, in the matter of correspondence become a rather complicated situation.
Merle attempted to keep her instinctive bristling to a minimum as she wandered to the study. "She has nothing to do with that," she managed, in a rather civilized tone, she thought.
"It always depends on who you ask," he replied, not offset at all by the tone. Fishing is keys from an inner pocket, he unlocked the study door as they came to it. He picked up the tray that rested beside it then looked a little helplessly at the door. "Could you get that?"
Merle was already opening the door, pulling a small table out to receive the tray. She glanced briefly over the array of materials covering the desk, recognizing several of them. She couldn't exactly read the different languages and scripts, but she was becoming familiar with the documents that pertained to the recent subjects of research.
He took one of the bowls after depositing the tray itself, and settled into his usual half-sprawl on the couch.
Before either could settle in, a sharp knock came at the door -- a quick warning before the handle was cautiously tested. The door eased open and a younger guard stepped in glancing around with an anxious relief. To his credit, he only stared a moment at the catgirl in only the Regent's shirt before composing himself.
"Dryden, Sir?" the young man asked, waiting for the Regent's nod before continuing. "There are a couple of callers waiting for attendance in the main chambers. They solidly won't leave, not even to see you here." The guard hesitated a few times before adding, "You should probably see these ones, they're a little not right, sir."
Merle scowled, but didn't make a comment.
Dryden put aside his bowl, still untouched, and sat up, taking in the posture of the guard. "Could you give a description?"
"Yessir.. They're all a little on the tall side. Too pale to be really healthy. They're dressed in Fanelian clothes, but I'd put my last giradu on that they're not from anywhere I've been."
Dryden stood up, smoothing out his robes out of habit. "Merle, this shouldn't take long. If you could wait for me here?"
The catgirl scowled a little more but nodded. However, once Dryden had followed the guard out the door, she slipped out herself and scampered to a staircase that led to the lamplighter's walkway around the top wall of the main chamber, where she could see the visitors, and proceedings, from relative concealment.
On his own, more conventional way, Dryden stopped a ways before the doors to the main audience, glancing over at the man in his wake. "If you could do me the favor of reporting to your captain that a few security increases might be of good use..."
"He's already seeing to it."
Dryden nodded his thanks and finished the distance to the doors. He stepped inside and onto the main dais from the back door and walked deliberately to the chair set beside the throne, taking the time to study the newcomers out of the corner of his eye.
The three men did fit the young guard's loose description, but stood in a small cluster in the cavernous room with the type of regality and pomp that usually clung more to those that fancied themselves royalty than those who true had the bloodlines. All three were pale and gaunt, and seemed ridiculously uncomfortable in the common garb of the countryside.
Taking the unfamiliar seat, Dryden let the men wait a few moments before addressing them. "I'm informed you have an order of business you'd like to bring before Fanelia."
The taller and most central figure in the group surveyed Dryden with an expression of cold calculation. "You are not the king," he stated in a tone lacking civility. However there was a slightly secretive air to him that hinted the words were simply the mouthing of lines in a play, by an unenthusiastic actor.
"I'm afraid that attending an audience is not the only duty of a king," Dryden said, still endeavoring to keep casually polite. "As he is seeing to one of those other duties, you'll have to state you matter with me, and if necessary, I will see it gets to his attention."
The tall strangers eyes glittered with a spark of cold triumph. "Will you indeed?" he said, thin lips curving in a travesty of a smile. "Dissembling is not a Fanelian trait. You are not a native. However, you will probably do." Removing his hands from the concealment of wide sleeves, he pointed a small object, like a metal tube with a gripping handle, towards the Regent's wide chest. "The room will be emptied, the doors locked, or you will experience pain and damage. If you are stupid, you will not understand the danger you are in. However, would that occur, your death will convince your retainers of the wisdom of obeying our instruction."
THE END OF PART 44!