Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Behind Enemy Lines ❯ A Pyro Paints ( Chapter 1 )

Behind Enemy Lines

By: rainjewel

Chapter One: A Pyro Paints

Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne, you don't own Escaflowne, get over it. J

Author's Note: Hello! This is rainjewel, who is still without Internet and (for the moment) a house! I know that I promised you all a Dilandau x Van yaoi lemon…this might be it. I don't know. This is a story that is kind of going on when I'm not packing boxes or in cheerleading practice (don't laugh, I'll get you with my spiked pom-pom). I have no idea where this story is really going, but it's basically what has happened to Dilandau after he turned back into Celena at the end of Esca. It's about Dilandau, so it's going to be disturbing. Ratings will slowly climb higher and higher, I suppose. Anyway, this story won't be updated very frequently since it's hard for me to get online. Also, it has a lot of flashbacks and stuff, which I won't mark. I feel marking a section "flashback" kind of ruins the whole feeling of the story; it interrupts the flow, if you will. If you find this a problem, I will mark them. I'm so sorry about all this! But please, still review and I will try to reply. I promise! Thank you!

~*~

Dilandau Albatou sat in front of his vanity table in the Schezar Manor. He twirled his fingers in his curly, pale-gold locks and batted his thickly-lashed blue eyes. Then he giggled; a high soft sound that sounded like church bells. Gracefully he ran an innocent hand down his downy cheek. All these things were his, but not really.

Now, to one standing in the doorway, the scene would have been one of a beautiful young maiden admiring herself in a mirror.

But, what's that old saying? Ah yes, appearances can be deceiving.

Dilandau knew that this body was incredibly attractive. Not as attractive as his older, "other" body, but not bad for a female. Nevertheless, Dilandau hated it. The frame was so slender and tiny, the bones fragile. And the muscles-Dilandau traced his upper arm-were nonexistent. Nothing but smooth, supple skin.

As for the clothes, Dilandau couldn't be more disgusted. The gown of fine silk was nice (expensive), Dilandau acknowledged, but the fabric was flimsy and weak.

Have I mentioned that Dilandau does not like weakness?

Thin silk. Made by worms. Definitely not the leather jacket Dilandau preferred, nor the metal armor he adored. And the color of the dress: yellow. Dilandau narrowed his-her-sapphire eyes. Red. Dilandau wanted red. Red was him, Dilandau. Yellow was…yellow was Allen. If only he could change this yellow to red.

Yellow to red.

Yellow hair to red…blood red.

Dilandau laughed again, his tone sweet, his blue eyes merry. He stood up daintily and kissed the mirror, then turned to leave the room.

Dilandau wanted red.

And red he shall have.

~*~

Dilandau Albatou prowled the halls of the Vione as stealthily as he knew how. Tonight was not one of his infamous midnight romps, nor was it going to be a long night of discussing battle with the loathed Folken Strategos. This was something far more important. Dilandau smirked ruefully. There was something more important then battle to Dilandau Albatou? Of course there was:

Himself.

And something was wrong with him, he could feel it. He was more edgy then usual, more apt to lash out, trying to make up for a foreign uneasiness that seemed to be growing in his heart. Yes, Dilandau knew he was a brutal commander. He also knew that if he thought he was being more violent then usual, something was wrong.

It's all about that "something."

Dilandau stopped in front of a plain, unmarked door. The door, he knew, led to the bedroom. The bedroom of Zaibach's Strategos, to be precise. Dilandau liked precision. The commander allowed himself a small grin. He hoped Folken slept deeply tonight for the Fanelian man's own good. Slowly he lifted a pale hand and typed in the code to access the room. It was a long and involved sequence, as only Folken would have. Dilandau had only seen the man enter it twice, but twice was enough.

The door opened silently. Dilandau quickly stepped inside, ducking into the shadows immediately as the door closed again. Dilandau held his breath. He hadn't managed to turn off the lights in the halls due to lack of time. If the interruption had awakened the Strategos, he's have to just hide and wait for the man to succumb to slumber once more.

Or kill him. But that was more then a little messy and Dilandau considered himself a clean person.

Folken, luckily, did not awaken. Instead he sighed deeply and mumbled something in a foreign language Dilandau recognized as ancient Atlantean.

Dilandau translated quickly in his head: "ice cream."

He almost allowed himself a chuckle. Almost.

Silently he crept over to the desk. His bare feet made no sound. Dilandau had dressed for the occasion. He wore only his black pants and a thin black cloak to cover his alabaster skin. A ghost dressed like a shadow.

Dilandau ran his hand over the many drawers of Folken's personal desk. Knowing the older man's love for order, he suspected the drawers were probably alphabetized. Dilandau picked the first lock opened the drawer. He looked at the folders in dismay. Of course, only Folken would have done this.

The drawers were alphabetized in Fanelian.

Folken, Dilandau decided, knew too many different dialects. However, the captain for once was glad he'd paid attention to the lectures of his tutors. Dilandau quietly shut the drawer and skipped down to the fifth drawer and opened it. He thumbed through the folders until he found what he wanted. The divider labeled "Dragonslayers."

And there he found the folder labeled "Dilandau Albatou."

It was horrifyingly large. Dilandau found he didn't care. In a perverse way, he was kind of proud. He shut the drawer and stood up from his crouching position. Quickly he flipped through the papers until he recognized the documents with the insignia of the Madoushi. Only then did he close the folder and slip out the door, not caring if Folken awoke or not.

The minute the Dragonslayer captain left, Folken rolled over to face the side of the wall. He kept his eyes open until he heard the high-pitched scream he knew would come. Then the Strategos leaned over and switched his alarm clock for an hour later then usual. He knew he was going to need it.

~*~

Dilandau lightly stepped through Celena's bedroom door. He took small, ladylike steps, since that was all the dress would allow. That and he was wearing high heels. Dilandau had already come to the conclusion that learning how to walk in the foul footwear was harder then sword and guymelef training combined. But he had mastered it, for Dilandau strived to master everything. It was not an accomplishment he was delighted with, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

Dilandau Albatou had become the epitome of a lady.

So when the guard outside of Celena's room bowed to Dilandau when he stepped through the doorway, Dilandau smiled kindly (at least, what he thought was kindly) and then hit the man over the head, rendering the soldier unconscious.

Dilandau Albatou was not a barbarian. Neither, for that matter, was Celena Schezar.

The young lady picked up the heavy man and sat him in a chair by the door, so the swarthy fellow appeared to be asleep. Dilandau smiled delightedly. A few days ago, Celena's body wouldn't have been able to lift the soldier (a fact that had irked him considerably). He was getting stronger.

Perhaps tonight he could do it. Perhaps.

Dilandau grinned again, placed a kiss on the unconscious guard's cheek, and then continued on his way to Allen's chambers, his vision tinted red.

Red. Blood red.

~*~

Dilandau didn't know how long Celena had come to power after Jajuka had died. And Folken died. And the death of basically the entire Zaibach Army (and with it the Empire). All that Dilandau knew was that there was a large empty gap in his memory until he had "awoke" that night in Celena's subconscious.

Now that was a perfect 10 on Dilandau's Weird-Shit-O-Meter.

Dilandau opened his eyes and found himself in dark. Total blackness. He was standing on something he couldn't feel, and he was reaching out and touching something he couldn't see.

More of those damn "something's."

But he did know that he wasn't dead. That was it. He didn't know how he knew, and he didn't care if he ever found out. He was just relieved that he was alive.

If you could call his situation "alive."

After Dilandau had calmed himself down (that took a few minutes), he was suddenly thrown into the mind of Celena Schezar. At first he didn't know what was happening. Foreign images, sounds, and emotions assaulted him from every direction. Finally he connected the occurrences with the wonderful information from his folder (one of his many military talents was his ability to maintain a cool head in surprising situations). He was in Celena's memories. In them, surrounded by them, ensconced completely. Dilandau went through a complete "tutorial" of the young girl's experience. He felt her confusion, he childish wonder, her euphoria when Allen was near (that caused some major shuddering on Dilandau's behalf). Finally he came to her abduction, and fell prey to her feelings of fear and lack-of-control. The two emotions he hated the most.

That's when he had screamed. On the dark, abysmal plain that was Celena's subconscious, Dilandau covered his head, sank to his knees and screamed bloody murder.

Which is when he met her.

Dilandau opened his eyes, feeling a cool hand on his back. He shot forward, disliking the touch of a human hand (though he debated if it was really "human"). Dilandau fancied himself untouchable. The young captain spun around on his heel and cam face to face with his greatest enemy and closest friend:

Celena Schezar.

…Hold your friends close and your enemies even closer…

Dilandau didn't think he could get any closer.

She stood in front of him, her chin tilted to the side, like a small child studying an insect. She wore a billowy white nightgown, and her hair blew around her face from an invisible wind that Dilandau couldn't feel. In her hand was a bundle of daisy chains.

"Why are you in my dream?" she asked bluntly.

Dilandau's mind whirled, and for a frightening second he thought he just might fall over in shock. He couldn't reply; he couldn't even object when Celena reached out and touched his chest, as if she were testing to see if he was real. Absently Dilandau noted the fact that he was only wearing his lavender undershirt and black pants.

"You're that boy!" Celena exclaimed suddenly, her eyes-eyes he remembered so clearly from old nightmares-lighting up triumphantly. "You're that boy Brother told me about! He…" Celena furrowed her brow, "He said you were a bad person but I mustn't hate you."

Dilandau gave up on understanding his circumstances and grinned a true Dilandau grin.

"Your brother is an intellectually-impaired poor excuse for a man," he said slowly, testing out his voice in this strange realm. Dilandau was an honest (for the most part) person. And he certainly didn't deceive himself.

Yes, Celena was himself. Dilandau had accepted that fact a long time ago, and he had vowed to change that.

"Well, I don't know what that meant," Celena said with a roll of her eyes. "That's pretty!" she shouted, changing subjects with lightening speed. She was pointing to Dilandau's diadem. Dilandau noted her hands were perfectly manicured. Celena put a daisy chain on her head. "Now we're twins!" She exclaimed.

Dilandau laughed sardonically. If only you truly knew, little girl.

Celena didn't understand what Dilandau was laughing about, but she laughed along anyway. Dilandau had come to the conclusion that Celena hadn't progressed intellectually since her abduction, though her body had.

Celena reached out and put a daisy chain on Dilandau's silver head, thinking it would only make the situation funnier. Instead, he stopped laughing.

Dilandau Albatou did not wear daisy chains.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist, her hand hovering inches away from his head. Celena stopped her giggles and looked quizzically at Dilandau, then her blue eyes flicked to his other hand which was frozen in midair, preparing for one of his trademark slaps. But, for some reason neither of the two them knew, it wouldn't deliver the blow.

Dilandau began to think furiously. He didn't know how to deal with this situation. He couldn't hit Celena. He didn't know why at the moment, but he wanted to find out. If he could figure his predicament out, he could beat it. And if he could beat it…Dilandau smiled. He would put aside his usual way of finding things out (beat, burn, kill, etc.) and play along even though he knew he would hate it. This wasn't a "usual" situation, he conceded. He would play the cat; waiting patiently and then springing when the time was optimal.

Dilandau sighed resignedly and lowered his tensed hand. He took the hand that held Celena's wrist and slipped his fingers back so that they clasped her hand.

"A most beautiful chain, milady. I think thee for such a divine gift," Dilandau said with a charming smile. He felt a lump of disgust slide down his throat. He then brought Celena's hand to his lips and kissed it. With his free hand, his balled it into a fist and closed it tightly, squeezing it so hard that his fingernails dug into the palm of his hands until he felt blood run down his fingers. It was reassuring to know that one could bleed in this surreal universe.

In contrast, Celena was delighted. She blushed and laughed gaily. Dilandau ignored the nausea he felt, and grinned with her. Celena then grabbed his other, bloody hand. She frowned at it for a second, then kissed the palm. Dilandau gasped and wrenched his hand away. His palm felt warm and tingly. He looked at it, and saw that there were no nail marks, and certainly no blood.

"How did you do that?" Dilandau asked with surprise, looking once again to Celena. She smiled enigmatically and took his hand again. She stepped backwards, and he allowed her to pull him along. Dilandau was going to have his answer. "How did you heal me?" he repeated.

"Because it's my dream," Celena said with childish pride. "Come play." Suddenly the darkness brightened and Dilandau held back a gasp as warm sunlight broke through, warming him. Grass suddenly sprouted under his bare feet and a tree grew right in front of his eyes. He finally felt the silky breeze that made Celena's golden hair dance.

Celena had allowed him into her dream.

Allowed him.

Dilandau vowed he would change that. Until then…

Celena thrust a bunch of red roses into his hands.

…He would pick flowers.

And so every night Dilandau was thrust into Celena's dreams. He reluctantly played alongside her; picked too many flowers, rode frilly ponies, and danced endless waltzes. That was it. Celena lacked in the imagination department.

In other words, Celena Schezar gained a new best friend (who taught her lots of "neat!" stuff) and Dilandau Albatou was given the childhood he was robbed.

Dilandau hated every minute of it. As he taught Celena (the girl was so ill educated that Dilandau felt he had to teach her at least something) and influenced the girl, he felt his power over her grow. Instead of the blackness that used to enfold Dilandau during the day while Celena was awake, he began to see through her eyes. After a while, he could choose to wake up with Celena or not. Sometimes he stayed in the darkness, getting some much-needed sleep and planning his next move. But besides all this new power, he felt something else.

Celena tempered him.

That's when Dilandau decided he had to not wake up with Celena, but wake up as Celena.

And one day, he did.

~*~

Dilandau eased the door to Allen's room open. First he allowed his-her-eyes to adjust to the dimly lit bedroom, and then he looked for the famous Caeli Knight. He found Allen already in his bed (in all actuality it was a large lump in the bed he assumed was Allen). Dilandau smiled. Perfect. It was only 10:00 at night, but the sleeping potion he had been slipping into Allen's food like clockwork was working wonderfully. It kept the man out of Dilandau's hair for the most part.

"Brother?" Celena's voice rang out. Dilandau missed his own voice.

"Celena?" Allen's doped voice replied. The bulge on the bed moved, and Allen's yellow head popped up. Dilandau almost reeled from its brightness and felt his bloodlust surge. Mentally he patted himself on the back, and then turned on his best acting skills (which, like most everything he did, were superb). As of now, everything he did was extremely critical.

"I…I had another nightmare," Dilandau began feebly. He walked to the bed, stepping out of his abhorred shoes and making sure to shake severely. "They're getting worse." He sat down on the bed next to the bleary-eyed Allen.

"Oh Celena. Why don't you tell me about it?" Allen asked lovingly, putting an arm around his sister's shoulders. Dilandau resisted his instinct to recoil, and turned into Allen's touch, hugging him tightly around the waist. He buried his face in Allen's chest and forced himself to cry.

"It was about him again," Dilandau sobbed. He felt Allen's arms encircle his shoulders and he bit his bottom lip to keep from screaming. His mouth filled with blood, which he swallowed gratefully.

Blood is red. Dilandau concentrated on that fact.

"Shh, it will be alright, Celena," Allen whispered tiredly into Dilandau's ear. His hand flew to Celena's head, stroking the girl's pale blonde locks.

Dilandau flexed his calf and felt the dagger he had concealed in the ruffles of his stupid dress. Tonight was the night.

Oh yes Allen, it will be all right. Very soon.

~*~

The day Dilandau woke up in Celena's body was one of the most exhilarating, confusing, and terrifying (thought he'd never admit it) moments of Dilandau's life.

Exhilarating because he was in control again. He breathed in real air. There wasn't any murky blackness that swallowed him, just the Schezar Manor. Dilandau had triumphed.

Confusing, since Dilandau didn't know exactly how to act around Allen and Gaddes (the sergeant had decided to stay with Allen during their military leave. He said he hadn't wanted to go home). Celena's intellect was light years lower then Dilandau's so he had to watch himself very carefully.

Terrifying, because Dilandau discovered he had breasts.

And he couldn't get rid of them.

For some reason, Dilandau couldn't revert back to his own body. No matter what happened, what he tried, he couldn't complete his revision. The closest he could get was a flicker of red in Celena's blue eyes, and that only happened when he was severely pissed (and, Dilandau made sure to note, it hurt like hell).

After an hour of deliberation, Dilandau finally realized that he had bonded too closely with Celena. As he was conquering the girl's mind, he had overlooked the fact that he-Dilandau shuddered-had come to love Celena.

It was fitting, Dilandau supposed. He was a vain, self-absorbed person. He loved Celena because she was him; the small part of Dilandau where his gentleness and compassion were buried.

But Dilandau would rather eat rusty nails then admit to that.

So he was left with only one option: separation.

When Dilandau had read the file he had stolen from Folken, he had a) screamed, b) drank a whole bottle of vino, c) smashed the bottle, and d) memorized the folder's contents. During the second reading, he had come across a few documents discussing separation.

It was a process that had been done on 10 "subjects" and only two had been successful. Dilandau did not like these odds, but he was not going to stay in the current form he was in. besides, this made it more challenging, and Dilandau did not take the easy way out. The process was usually done on full-grown adults and a lot of preparation (via the Madoushi) had to be used on the "subject" to lessen the negative effects of the operation. Dilandau had neither the time to achieve adulthood or Madoushi. And there was that messy business of Fate. Dilandau had only one option of hoping to harness the power of Fate Alteration. The man who had the last of the power Hitomi Kanzaki had left on Gaea.

Van Fanel.

Which made the game even more interesting.

~*~

Last night was really what had prompted it all.

When Dilandau had taken over Celena's consciousness, he took over her subconscious as well. Celena was there of course, but the dreams that the two were submerged in were Dilandau's.

Needless to say, Dilandau's dreams did not have flowers, ponies, or dancing. The former soldier bathed himself in warfare the minute he got the chance. He burned entire countries and had a jolly good time slaughtering the masses. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep Celena out of the subconscious that was rightfully hers, and she was terrified out of her mind. At first Dilandau truly didn't give a damn, but Celena grew so frightened that she became desperate and cried and clung to him, begging him to comfort her. Her desperate gave rise to power, and Dilandau began to feel her terror. During the day Celena was there, in the back of his mind, reminding him of her fear.

So Dilandau relented. He gave up his fierce control of his own dreamland. He made sure Celena had a sense of security and that he didn't have to pick flowers. Instead he would educate Celena in the areas that he deemed important. He taught her the art of sword fighting and how to pilot a guymelef. He even went as far as to create harmless tourneys where Celena and he could battle faceless opponents (thought when the girl wasn't looking, Dilandau's opponent seemed to have an incredible amount of long blonde hair). He never fought her. Dilandau was good to those he cared about. In return he was adored. Adoration gave way to power. Power is everything.

But with Dilandau's slackening in his subconscious reign, the nightmares came. Vivid depictions of Dragonslayers bathed in their own blood and visions of Jajuka's demise. The latter terrified both of them, though only Celena would ever know of Dilandau's fear.

Sometimes during these nightmares, Dilandau simply lost control. Celena would disappear completely, leaving him utterly alone. He would run after her, vainly trying to regain control of his emotions; Celena was his one sense of security. Before her there was the Dragonslayers and then Jajuka. If he lost her, he wouldn't make it.

Eventually he would find her, but most often she found him first. She'd come back to him, always. Celena would be calm then, the eye of the storm despite the fact that the two were still in the throes of the dream. She'd grab Dilandau's hand, perhaps give him a soothing hug (being touched Celena was no longer a problem. It was Dilandau's way of giving himself a hug) and whisper comforting things in his ear while he trembled.

And the nightmares would end.

But Dilandau was then left with the cold, hard truth that he needed Celena. Needed her badly. He wondered if that was more frightening then the nightmares. Nightmares he could beat (and he did, make no mistake).

He would usually wake up then, not wanting to accept the facts. The minute those dreams were gone Dilandau snapped into control.

To find himself in Allen's bed.

The first time it happened, Dilandau had quite a shock to say the least. The second time he figured it out. Celena awoke the minute he let go during those horrifying and ran to Allen for help. After her "wonderful" big brother had calmed her, she then fell asleep and came back to him, all the time in Allen's safe and secure embrace.

None of this pleased Dilandau.

Which brings us back to the mishap of the previous evening.

After a week free of nightmares, Dilandau experienced the most frightening nightmare yet. Celena didn't appear in his subconscious. She was gone. He couldn't find her anywhere. He searched every corner of his-her-mind, but came up empty.

He woke up screaming. Which (in retrospect) Dilandau found to be a good thing. The minute he awoke, he felt Celena stir in the back of his mind like a drugged animal. Dilandau immediately regained control of himself. Celena was still there, and there was probably a good explanation for the entire mess.

That night, Dilandau realized just how much he depended on Celena. He was merging with her. If she wasn't there, Dilandau couldn't function. He had had such a tight grip on everything, but now it was crumbling around him.

Dilandau had lost his edge.

And he'd be damned if he was going to lose anymore.

~*~

Dilandau allowed himself to be cradled in Allen's arms, though his tears had stopped. He just couldn't cry that long. It was easier to tremble, but Dilandau had stopped that a little while ago.

Time to get to work. Dilandau smiled.

"Brother?" Dilandau questioned, Celena's voice fragile-sounding. He pulled away to look at Allen with huge, puppy-dog eyes that he knew Celena could pull off so well.

"Yes?"

Dilandau put aside his disgust. Swiftly he rose up, reaching with his hands to draw in fistfuls of Allen's hair. Yellow to red. Then Dilandau parted his lips ever-so-slightly, closed his eyes, and locked the Knight in a full kiss, letting his own bitten lip bleed into Allen's mouth. Yellow to red, yellow to red.

Dilandau felt giddy. He began to chuckle into Allen's stunned lips. He pulled away, making sure his face at least looked halfway-make that a third-innocent.

Allen opened his eyes, a look of horror painted on his face. Dilandau wished for a shadow-graph.

"C-Celena?" Allen questioned, his eyes searching.

Dilandau didn't answer. Instead he threw all of his weight into Celena's arms and upper body and pressed Allen backwards so that the knight fell on the bed. Dilandau fell with him, moving his hands to Allen's shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist in what he supposed was a most unladylike manner. He didn't really give a damn.

Dilandau dipped his head again, kissing Allen hard, Celena's teeth clacking against her brother's. He bit Allen's lip, letting the blood the two shared mingle openly in their mouths. Dilandau then broke away abruptly.

"Just like I thought, you even kiss like a woman," Dilandau said, twisting Celena's voice with his very own mannerisms, making it sound like a ghost of his true voice.

"No," Allen stated, his eyes widening. Sleeve-boy had caught on to what was happening. Dilandau chuckled once, a hard and mocking sound.

"Oh yes. Did you miss me?" Dilandau asked, tilting his head to the side, putting on a mask of innocence that Celena (due to Dilandau) had lost a long time ago.

"I can't kill you," Allen said plainly.

"No shit," Dilandau said, feeling irritation with Allen's need for stating the obvious. "But I can kill you."

Allen's eyes bulged. "Celena!"

"She can't help you," Dilandau said. He smirked, but then he felt Celena push against him. She wanted to rise up, to help her beloved brother.

"Celena, fight him! You ca-"

Dilandau cut off Allen's cry by smacking him the across the jaw with two fists. It broke Allen's jaw, and Dilandau winced and grunted as he felt Celena's left hand crack and fracture. The time was now. He reached down and ripped the dagger from Celena's yellow dress. Allen rose up, his pain giving him even more strength then usual. Dilandau couldn't hold him down with a broken hand, so he had to end his fun prematurely.

The hand that held the dagger flashed out.

Allen fell backwards on his huge bed. Dilandau fell with him once again, Celena's blue eyes huge and filled with malicious glee. Allen's eyes flared once, then fell shut, never to open again. Dilandau watched as blood ran from Allen's throat. It spilled out from his jugular, coating Allen's collarbone and shoulder. The blood slid off his neck and fell on Allen's yellow hair, mingling with the strands so that it appeared the man had hideous, sticky red highlights. Yellow to red.

Dilandau smiled from ear to ear. He dipped a hand down and touched the gash across Allen's throat, coating his hand in blood. He smiled.

Now the blood was on Celena's hands.

Dilandau laughed in his phantom voice and with a severe, jerking motion he raised the dagger and plunged it into Allen's heart. He leaned down and gave Allen one more detestable kiss and then turned on his heel. He then proceeded to walk out the door and never looked back, leaving Allen Crusade Schezar VIII to lie slain in his bed, killed by his own sister.

Perfect.

~*~