Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Ashes and Remembrance ❯ Chapter Twenty-Five ( Chapter 25 )

TWENTY-FIVE

Folken managed to get to the bottom of the steps before he started shaking. Taking several deep breaths, he quickly walked down the main hall until he came to a junction with one of the lesser used corridors. Bearing off, he made it to one of the small window alcoves before he finally broke down. Bracing his hands against the wall, he leaned his forehead on the cool stone. Sucking in deep painful gulps of air, he slid down to the floor as his knees finally gave out. His skin felt hot and his clothing was soaked with sweat, but yet he still shivered as if he were freezing. He felt sick to his stomach and was unable to stop the heaves when they came. But I didn't - I didn't tell him . . .

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Just as he had thought, the tower guards had been watching for him; and Folken had found himself surrounded on all sides within seconds of passing through the west gate. Without a word, he had let himself be led away. As he walked, Folken thought about what would happen when he and his escort reached the tower. He knew that Dornkirk would be furious, and the possibilities of the emperor's wrath finally began to sink in. I shouldn't be thinking about this - I need to keep a clear head. I need to think about what I'm going to tell him . . . he'll know if I'm lying . . . I don't have to tell him the whole truth, just enough to convince him that I was alone . . .

When the party finally reached the tower, Folken felt a sense of dread growing within him despite his best efforts to the contrary. As the group passed through the halls, he tried to keep his head high and his eyes straight ahead; but he was aware of the looks and whispers as he passed by. He was taken directly to the emperor's throne room, just as he had expected; but he had been puzzled when two of the guards escorted him into the darkened chamber. With a rough hand, one of them had pushed him forward. Surprised by the man's action, Folken had almost stumbled; and after straightening himself up, he had given the man a hard look. The guard had made no acknowledgement as he positioned himself next to one of the large closed double doors.

Folken had taken several deep breaths to try and quell the nervousness that was creeping though him. He had felt the sweat as it rolled down his back and his mouth suddenly became very dry. Willing himself to stay still, he had waited for Dornkirk to appear. The room had seemed even darker and more oppressive then before, and it had taken all of the strength that he had not to tremble. He's doing this on purpose - making me wait. I hate these stupid mind games! Folken had been surprised by his own anger, especially when he knew that he should have been cowering in fear.

"So . . . you have returned to us." Dornkirk's deep voice resonated throughout the chamber.

Folken had gathered some of his new-found courage and elegantly dropped to one knee, his head bowed to the man before him. "I have, my emperor."

"Do you really think your courtly manners impress me? If I want boot-licking sycophants, there are quite a number more suited to the task than you." Dornkirk loomed about him in the shadowed room.

"I had no wish to offend you, my emperor." Folken had raised his head a little, but his eyes were still on the floor in front of him. "I merely wanted to show you the respect that I have for you."

"Respect - and just what respect have you shown me, Folken? I saved your life . . . gave you a home . . . shared my knowledge with you . . . and you would show me your respect by running away?"

"Y-Your majesty . . . I didn't run away . . . It was always my intention to return . . . "Folken had tried to keep himself from stammering, but to no avail.

"Did you really believe that you could just walk back into the tower - my tower - without having to face the consequences of your actions, Folken?" Dornkirk's voice seethed with anger.

The young man had tried to keep his voice steady as he replied. "No . . . no, your majesty . . . I am quite prepared to accept whatever punishment you render. All I ask is that you allow me to explain the circumstances before you pass judgment on me."

"Ask?" Dornkirk had laughed, and Folken had felt his skin crawl from the sound. "What makes you think that you are in a position to ask for anything, my errant student?" The emperor's voice had held a menacing tone and the apprentice had felt his bravado slipping away.

Swallowing hard, Folken had tried again. "Except for this one indiscretion, I have done all that you have asked of me - and more, your majesty. I would hope that such dedication would be worth something. If I could be allowed to explain what happened . . ."

As if they had received some unspoken signal, the two guards had moved towards Folken and positioned themselves on both sides of his kneeling form. Folken had been startled when his arms were ceremoniously gripped and he was forced down on both knees. Feeling panicked, he had tried to struggle, but the men had held him in an iron grip. Then just as silently, a third man had appeared and stood next to him, facing the emperor.

Dornkirk had smiled down at him. "Have no fear Folken; you will have the opportunity to tell me everything that I wish to know - and more. You will cry and grovel at my feet as you beg for mercy before I am finished with you this night."

As he had moved closer to the prostrate figure on the floor, the emperor's voice had been low and cold. "First, I wish to know how you were able to leave the tower without being seen. Pray that I find your answer satisfactory, Folken; otherwise, I fear that it could prove to be quite . . . painful."

The questioning then began.

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Folken had told Dornkirk what he wanted to know - for the most part. But he had managed to keep any mention of Jindra, the lodge; and most importantly, his secret passage out of the tower just that - a secret. The story that he had told the emperor had contained enough of the truth that it certainly sounded plausible, but Folken knew that Dornkirk had not been entirely convinced. But the emperor knew that he would get nothing more out of Folken and had finally allowed him to be released.

Lying on the cold stone floor of the throne room, it had been quite sometime before Folken had found the strength to get up. Struggling to his knees, he had needed to wait for several minutes before he could stand upright. His whole body had hurt, and it had been painful to even draw a breath. The guards had departed soon after releasing him, and the doors to the chamber had been opened. Steadying himself, Folken had gingerly walked out of the throne room and painfully descended the stairs to the main hall.

As he crouched on his knees in the window alcove trying not to be sick, Folken felt a small measure of satisfaction and triumph. I didn't tell him . . . I didn't let him break me . . . you're safe Jin - safe. I won't let him hurt you . . . I didn't tell him . . .

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Folken eventually found his way back to his quarters amidst the hushed whispers and stares of the hallways. After closing the door, he bolted the lock and quickly turned to scan the front room. Someone's been here. With a painful shrug of his shoulders, he walked to the small washroom and very slowly began to peel off his clothes.

Wincing whenever he found a particularly tender spot, he bit his already split lip and tasted blood in his mouth more than once. After removing his shirt, Folken stood back a little and looked at himself in the small wall mirror. He could see the blossoming bruises and welts that covered his chest. Without trying to look, he knew that this back probably looked very similar. Turning to his life side a little bit, he could see the bruises on his arm from the unwavering grip of the guard. But except for the split lip, his face was unmarked. Closing his eyes, Folken slowly exhaled and then drew in a deep, painful breath. Without another glance in the mirror, he finished undressing.

Clad in a clean pair of trousers, Folken pulled on a robe and tied it loosely around his waist. Picking up the damp drying cloth from the bed, he added it to the pile of dirty clothes on the washroom floor. As he went out into the front room, he ran his fingers through his damp hair and winced at the pain in his shoulder when he raised his arm.

Bathing had been an ordeal in itself. The hot water had burned like a fire on his bruised and lacerated skin; and he had quickly discovered that the use of soap could wait until another day. But after soaking for a while, the pain seemed to have eased a bit, and Folken had let his body relax until he was lightly dozing in the cooling water. The bath had gone quite cold by the time he woke up - shivering slightly as he emerged from the tub.

Going to the sideboard, he poured himself a small glass of wine and was about to sit down when someone pounded on his door. "Lacour - c'mon, open up! Folken?

Puzzled, Folken thought that he recognized the voice. Unbolting the look, he opened the door and found a dark-haired man raising his fist to pound again. "Marco?" Folken didn't want to see anyone and he tried to show his annoyance at the other man's intrusion. "What do you want Dimetra?"

"Folken! Where in the nine hells have you been? Juri and I have been looking all over for you since last night." Looking at the man opposite him, Marco's eyes widened as he glimpsed Folken's bare and bruised chest through the loosely belted robe. "Gods above and below . . . what the hell happened to you?"

"Nothing . . . it's nothing." Angrily, Folken pulled his robe closed. "Look Marco, I'm really not in the mood for . . ."

The dark-haired man cut him off, "Don't you know? I can't believe you haven't heard about it yet!"

Folken arched an eyebrow as he gave Marco a puzzled look. "Heard about what?"

Marco looked at him in disbelief. "The 'melef prototypes - there was some kind of accident, an explosion. I can't believe you haven't heard about - it's all over the tower! Juri wants to see us right away - he's in his quarters waiting; so c'mon and finishing dressing so we can go."

Folken held the door open and the other man followed him in. "What kind of accident? What happened?" Turning the pale-haired apprentice went to the wardrobe and pulled out a clean shirt. Untying his robe, he lit it fall to the floor and gingerly put the shirt on.

"I - I don't know all of it. Be sure to bring your copies of the plans." Folken heard Marco's sharp intake of break at the sight of his back. "Good gods Folken! How did . . ."

Trying to divert the other man's attention away from his injuries, Folken interrupted him. "What kind of accident, Marco?"

Slowly wrenching his dark eyes away from the sight of his companion's battered body, Marco stammered. "Uh . . . uh . . . some kind of, uh - some kind of weapons accident; we don't know if it was some kind of miscue with the pilots or a mechanical problem. When we couldn't find you last night, Garufo went up to the training center to get a first-hand look. He should be back here tonight or first thing in the morning. Hopefully he'll have what's left of the 'melefs with him."

Finishing with the buttons on his shirt, Folken turned around. "There was more than one?" Marco nodded his head and opened his mouth as if to speak; but then he seemed to reconsider.

"What else?" Folken tried to read the expression on the other man's face. Marco looked down at the floor and Folken could see him bite down on his bottom lip. "What else, Marco? What don't you want to tell me?" The younger man's voice was quite firm.

Still worrying his lip, the dark-haired man looked up. "There's going to be an investigation by - by the military. Two . . . two of the pilots were injured, and - and one of them died. The other one might make it, but I dunno . . . it'll be a miracle if he does." Marco saw Folken's eyes widen as he spoke. "But they're trying to say it was our fault Folken - that it was a problem with the design. Damn the military . . . they want the technology and the weapons, but they blame up whenever they screw up."

Folken could see the anger in Marco's eyes as he finished speaking. He also had a nagging feeling that there was a lot more to the story then the other man was telling him, but he let it go for now. "Gods . . ." Folken breathed as he went into the bedroom. "Just let me put my boots on . . . my copies of the plans are on the worktable. Can you grab them for me? I'll be right out."

Marco went to the scarred wooden table and reached for the rolled sheets lying on top. Looking up at the wall, he noticed a framed painting hanging there. It was positioned in such a way that if Folken were sitting at the table, he would see it as soon as he looked up. Turning around to look at the rest of the front room, Marco noticed that there were no other pictures, personal mementos, or even knick knacks to be seen. Weird . . . so why this one picture? What's so special about it?

Moving closer, the dark-haired man studied it. The ocean . . . I bet its Palas . . . hmmmm, its pretty good - watercolor by the look of it. I wonder where he got it. He noticed small letters in the lower right-hand corner. Looking closer, he saw initials or possibly what could have been a name; J-I-N . . . Jin?

Folken came back out and saw Marco looking at Jindra's drawing, "I'm ready, let's go."

Marco turned towards him and gestured with his thumb, "Nice work - where'd you get it?"

Folken felt a sudden pang of jealousy and his manner was rather curt. "Just something I picked up - it caught me eye." Moving towards the door, he opened it. "We better go, Juri is waiting." Holding the door, he let Marco pass and then Folken shut the door behind himself.