Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Behind Enemy Lines ❯ Past, Present, and--Oh Shit. ( Chapter 11 )

Behind Enemy Lines

By: rainjewel

Chapter Ten: Past, Present, and-Oh Shit.

~*~

Dilandau hummed while he walked to Fanelian Royal Family's shrine. He wasn't a particularly musical individual and usually did not sing, whistle, or play an instrument of any kind. And dancing was certainly not his favorite pastime, though with his natural grace and flexibility he could probably challenge any professional Asturian ballet dancer and win. Remember, Dilandau Albatou always strove to excel in everything, whether he liked it or not.

The tune he was humming had no name, for he simply made it up as he went along. It had no obvious rhythm, no pattern, and certainly no repetition, for that would have been too easy. The song was also neither happy nor sad, nor angered or peaceful; a little melody derived from pure improvisation. Absently Dilandau wondered if it was a tune appropriate for one attending a gravesite. But then again, he had never really bothered with "appropriateness" before, so why start now?

"Besides," Dilandau whispered, now standing at the foot of the shrine, "We never got along anyway." He turned away, distracted by the great hulking guymelef that sat silent against a great tree. Escaflowne. Slowly he approached the mecha, noting the absence of a flame-thrower, liquid metal weaponry, and a stealth cloak. The thing was ancient, yet it had managed to beat every opponent thrown at it, no matter how advanced his or her tactics and arsenal had been.

But Escaflowne, are you as great without the pilot? Or is it the other way around…did you make Van the fantastic warrior he is today?

He wanted to reach out and touch the ivory guymelef, but he remembered the painful experience he had underwent when he had first tried that. Involuntarily he ran a hand down his scar. That had happened on the very same day.

"Hey Folken," he said, looking back towards the burial site, "I caught the Dragon for you." He laughed bitterly and walked to the ground where his former commander lay, sitting down at the base of the shrine. Time to talk; to say what had always remained unsaid.

"I brought you flowers," Dilandau began, laying the dark pink blossoms down beside him. "They're bleeding hearts. I thought you would appreciate that." He laughed again, then grew silent once more, thinking. As he looked over the shrine, he noticed bundles of red roses in various stages of decay. "Ah, so Celena's been here. I didn't think she would remember you. After all, she was only a 5-year-old when she met you."

Dilandau lay down on his back. "But I would probably remember the man that delivered me to the Madoushi. I bet you never knew that she was the one from whom I was created. I doubt you even knew what they were going to use her for. You were probably quite the naïve thing; thought they were going to take her under their wing just like they had with you. Ha, ha-jokes on you, pal."

"But then again, there was a lot you don't know. I bet you're wondering, Strategos, why your baby brother hasn't annihilated my ass," Dilandau paused and smiled. He felt a sense of peace flowing through him. "Well, that's because he decided that he rather liked it. Yes, dearest Van has decided against trying to kill me and has rather…well, decided instead to try to love me. However, I don't know if anyone can love me."

Dilandau fell silent. He closed his eyes, drinking in the smell of Fanelia's forests and the sound of the far-off marketplace. His thoughts drifted back to a past time when he was the commander of the elite Dragonslayers (all alive and accounted for), Folken was his most despised head officer, and his face was flawless. The comforting nostalgia of those three and a half years soothed him. He had come today to pay respects that he thought he owed, despite the fact that him and Folken had been at each other's throats for most of their time together. And besides that, he had come to ask advice from his Strategos once again. In the past, no matter how much animosity was between the two, Dilandau had always asked Folken for his opinion.

"I am to rebuild the Fanelian Army, Strategos. What do you think of that?" Dilandau began, opening his eyes. Lazily his hand ran across the gritty stone steps. "I see you're as talkative as always…But I came here not to ask you how to build an army, for you should know as well as I that I can and will make the best damn military on the planet. No, I have a letter to read to you, Folken."

With a painful sigh Dilandau sat up. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a letter from it. It was addressed to Van, and the sender was the Zaibach Empire. He had almost laughed, seeing one monarch sending a letter to another. It seemed absurd. Then he had read the note, and his laughter was all but gone.

"It's a letter from Zaibach," Dilandau said. He took the letter out of the envelope but made no attempt to read the parchment. He had it memorized.

"Adelphos has told Van to hand me over to them for the death of all the Madoushi. If Fanelia hands me over, Zaibach will not attack and Adelphos will dismiss all rumors concerning Van's involvement in the massacre. However, if Fanelia decides to protect me, Zaibach will invade and Van could be captured and executed for crimes that he truly didn't commit. There will be no compromise…Zaibach wants me and nothing else. I'm sure Adelphos has no intention of killing me; I'm to be his puppet. He wants me back to help his skeleton army," Dilandau said in the same old matter-of-fact voice he'd always used with Folken.

He sighed and put the letter back in his pocket. "Zaibach's army is not a good one, but Fanelia doesn't even have an army. At least, not one that could be ready in time to defeat hardened Zaibach soldiers from the Great War. And I'm sure that no country would like to fight to keep a person such as me. Though, isn't ironic that I used to be the most despised person on the planet, hell probably still am, and now I'm more valuable then all the gold and energists in the world."

"But don't worry, Strategos," Dilandau said, slowly standing up. "I will give Van the letter and make my decision soon. I assure you that you won't agree with it…you never did."

As he began to walk away from the gravesite, Dilandau paused and looked back over his shoulder. After a moment's consideration he turned around fully and bowed before Folken, as he had never done when the man was alive.

"Folken, I was never fond of your pussy-footed ways to approaching a battle, but I do appreciate everything you did for me. I thank you," Dilandau whispered, daring to speak what he had hardly ever allowed himself to acknowledge. He knew his words were a little too late, but he felt that Folken would understand. Hadn't he always?

And so Dilandau rose and walked away from his commander's grave. He would never return, and he would never look back.

~*~

Stress was not an emotion that Dilandau was accustomed too.

Pressure in battle he could handle. The pressure to do well would forever be with him, ever since he was birthed into the battle arena. It had never fazed him, for he had always conquered. He had an uncanny ability to believe in himself unwaveringly. He held no religious beliefs and had faith only in himself. He could be ordered to bring the entire planet of Gaea to its knees before him, and he would never doubt that it was beyond his power. And then he would have lunch.

"But it's different now," Dilandau whispered, staring at his bedroom's ceiling. He had the first day of training tomorrow. All of the men in Fanelia, the survivors of his massacre, would turn out tomorrow and be tested by him. They would have to accomplish feats that only he could do. At least, that's how it was supposed to be.

Now Dilandau wondered if he still had the punch.

"I have been tempered," Dilandau whispered to the ceiling. "I have been broken. I have been tamed. I am…I am nice."

How utterly disgusting.

The selection of the Dragonslayers had been ten times easier then this. He had received orders to construct a squadron of fifteen soldiers. Dilandau had decided to recruit boys that were his age, give or take a year or two. If he went to the older ones, then he would have problems with authority at first. Though, no one could ever really tell him off.

He had found a lot of them in the boot camps. Viole Kharin was the perfect example: he showed promise, yearned for military glory, and was one of the more violent soldiers. Dilandau liked this. Luckily for him the boot camps seemed to be teeming with these bloodthirsty youths. Hell, it almost seemed like some of them were hatched. Perhaps some were. But even though Dilandau had endless soldiers-in-training to choose from, he found some of his best soldiers by chance.

For instance, he had found Guimel Erish in a parsonage he was burning to the ground in the middle of a conquest. The boy had been clothed in altar robes as he had tried to defend his church from Zaibach. Dilandau had beaten him in a few quick strokes, but had recognized the potential and utter loyalty the boy possessed. He had captured him on the spot, and changed him from altar boy to assassin in a few short weeks.

Dalet was discovered in the gutter behind a bar. Folken (such a compassionate fellow) had told Dilandau not to consume too much alcohol at such a young age. Dilandau had promptly told him to shove it (guess where) and spent as much time off the Vione as possible. On one of these excursions, he had found the brown-haired boy and, as cheesy as it sounds, simply thought that he would make a great soldier. He had. Dalet Harliel was one of the best guymelef pilots in the Dragonslayers.

Dilandau had come across Chesta Daliente in the kitchen. He had been a personal servant of some rich family, but had run off to join the army in hopes of better things. "Better things" turned out to be making nutrient-rich gruel that the soldiers downed everyday. Dilandau had been wandering around late one night and had found Chesta practicing in one of the training rooms. After whacking the boy across the head for being so insolent, Dilandau had taken him in. Chesta was one of his favorites. The boy wasn't the best guymelef pilot or swordsman, but he was logical. The little blonde slayer managed to talk Dilandau out of (most) his destructive impulses and restrain him from randomly torching "those incompetent servants."

Gatti Ferdinand was the rich kid. Dilandau admitted that he had promise; a decent swordsman and an even better guymelef pilot. But still, the aristocracy seeped out sometimes. The way he held his silverware like a woman, how he occasionally tried the chivalry card on Refina (who promptly knocked him unconscious). Dilandau made him the second in command of his Dragonslayers because Gatti always wanted to lead people. The aristocracy is forever trying to vie for political power, and the boy would always do whatever he could to gain favor from Dilandau. Fine, let the boy try.

But the most memorable was Refina. The girl had come to him late at night when he was at a bar, returning from a top secret meeting in the capital. After flirting with him annoyingly for a couple of drinks or two, she had led him upstairs to her bedroom. Dilandau had followed, though his intentions were not revolving around sex at all. Her irritating chatter had pissed him off enough that all he wanted to do was kill the wench and satisfy his insatiable bloodlust. He hadn't been on the Vione in days, and Dilandau had "The Itch." However, the minute Refina closed the door, her bubble-headed demeanor immediately vanished. She had pushed herself off the door and flung herself at him. Taken by complete surprise, Dilandau made no move as she plowed into him and knocked him to the ground. The little blonde thing had then pulled his own sword from his hilt and placed it to his throat.

"Give me all your money," she had then ordered in a wonderfully low and sexy voice.

Dilandau cocked an eyebrow, interested. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"A high-ranking officer in the Zaibach military, which is why I've chosen you to rob. Ordinary soldiers don't make much. Judging by your armor, I'd say you do," Refina had said with a knowing smile.

"Intelligent little thing. Here, I'll tell you what," Dilandau paused and whipped out the dagger he had in his boot and held it against Refina's surprised throat. "You tell me your name, and I'll let you join my army."

"Why would I do that?" Refina asked.

"Because if you don't I'll kill you," Dilandau replied smugly. With his other hand he grabbed the blade of his sword and wrenched it to the ground. The sword was razor-sharp, and the leather of his gloves didn't help him much.

"Whatever you say, cutie," Refina had replied. Then she had driven her knee into his crotch. Dilandau gritted his teeth and curled upward, wondering why all the oxygen in the room had suddenly left. Using his strength and his leverage, he heaved himself up off the ground and knocked Refina against a wall, dazing her so that she dropped the sword and relieved Dilandau the worry of having to protect his manhood.

"Last chance," He said, holding the blade to her neck, pressing just enough to shallowly cut her throat so a thin red line of blood appeared across her jugular. His other hand hung at his side, spilling his own blood all over the floor.

"Refina. My name's Refina Morlan," the girl said, her voice still strong. Dilandau grinned, and then smacked her across the head with the hilt of his dagger, knocking her unconscious.

"Welcome to the Dragonslayers," he said. He then slung her over his back and headed to the Vione.

Yes, that was quite the experience. Dilandau had never thought that he would ever accept a girl into his Dragonslayers, but Refina was good. She was only 5'2", and Dilandau doubted she made a hundred pounds, but she packed a whole lot of punch. She could beat practically any opponent put in front of her (besides him, of course). Her main problem was that she couldn't compete in hand-to-hand combat due to her size. The minute she lost her sword, she was done for.

And finally, there was Migel Lavariel.

Migel was the best present Dilandau had ever received. Folken, actually, had given him to Dilandau. At first he had been wary of the boy…Folken had a habit of bringing in the scum of society, and Dilandau was curious as to why the Strategos would feed another soul to the war's bloody appetite. Migel, Dilandau learned, had been captured from a Fanelian wolf pack. Usually any wolfman or wolfwoman was nearly impossible to catch, and it was highly unusual that the wolves would have taken the boy into their pack in the first place. The tall chestnut-haired boy was an unknown element.

Dilandau had seen to it personally that he train him. Folken told him that Migel had killed off most of the men who had tried to bring him in, and he was probably older then the captain by a year or two. Fine with him-Dilandau liked a challenge. At first Migel was mostly unresponsive to everything around him when he arrived on the Vione. He wouldn't answer to Dilandau when the captain had questioned him, and had made no move to defend himself when he was beaten for doing so. Dilandau had then promptly went out in his Alseides unit and captured a couple of wolf-cubs from the pack he was told Migel had belonged too. He had marched into Migel's room with the snarling pups under either arm and had threatened to slit the young wolves' throats if Migel didn't cooperate. Anger and hatred had then risen up in Migel's eyes, and Dilandau knew that he had him. The two had then went directly to a training room and hacked at each other violently until one had triumphed.

A guess as to who the winner was?

Dilandau was actually surprised at how good Migel was with the sword. He hadn't expected such a wild boy to know how to dance with a blade as exquisitely as Migel did. However, Dilandau knew this waltz better then anyone and relieved the silver-eyed boy of his sword in the beginning of the duel. Migel then resorted to what he did best: wrestling. Fanelians, Dilandau had decided, liked this type of fighting method. As he and Migel rolled around on the cold cement floor, Dilandau kept reminding the boy that this fight was for the lives of the wolf-cubs whenever Migel showed signs of slowing down. Each time he uttered such threats, the older boy renewed his energy and became more ferocious then before. Dilandau was delighted.

But Dilandau was not the commander of the Dragonslayers because of his good looks. Eventually he tired of the fight and finally pinned Migel so that there was no chance of escape. Then he had told the brunette that he had a choice: he could either swear utter loyalty to the Dragonslayers and the pups would be spared, or death for wolf-cubs and himself.

Migel made his choice. Dilandau gave the cubs to Folken so that they could play with his kitties.

He knew that Migel would resent him for being forced to join the Dragonslayers, but Dilandau also knew he had a knack for squeezing the loyalty out of people. He broke Migel, just like he had broken the other reluctant recruits.

He should have made Migel second in command; the boy could kick Gatti's ass any day. But Migel was the enigma of the Dragonslayers. He didn't socialize with the other boys, and he hardly spoke. Dilandau occasionally wondered if he had a thing going with Refina, but that chick had taken one look at Folken and had never looked at another man again. Dilandau would bet his life that Folken never knew about it either.

"No, that guy wouldn't know what romance was even if it came up and took a bite of his ass," Dilandau laughed to his ceiling, breaking into the present. Same goddamn stressful present.

"Who wouldn't?" asked a voice. Dilandau heard the door slide shut and then Van's footsteps as he approached the bed.

"No one, Pigeon. Just reminiscing," Dilandau said, sitting up. Van leaned against the bedpost.

"About what?"

"My Dragonslayers."

"Oh…what were they like?" Van asked. His eyes shown with the guilt he still felt over their deaths.

"Loyal incompetent devoted morons," Dilandau replied. "And I suppose I loved every single one of them." He stood up and began pacing. His walk down memory lane had soothed him momentarily, but now he felt his stress more keenly than before. Van followed his moves with his eyes.

"What's wrong Angel?" he asked.

"Fanelia will be completely reconstructed in a few moons, correct?" Dilandau asked, still pacing.

Van nodded.

"And there is to be a celebration?"

Another nod.

"You will have an army by then." Dilandau stopped and walked directly up to Van and then kissed him hungrily on the lips. Then he reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the letter from Zaibach.

"I have a letter for you."

~*~

Three dates.

One fainting episode.

Ten hugs.

Seven kisses.

Hitomi wondered what Van's kisses would taste like. Kevin's tasted oddly like apple pie.

On the first "date" Hitomi had the majority of her time (once she regained consciousness) repeatedly telling her friends that she was fine, and assuring Amano for the bizillionth time that she was not anemic. They stayed at Amano's house the entire time, watching some movie Hitomi couldn't remember and having wonderful popcorn fights. Hitomi had barely been able to look Kevin in the eye. However, despite their rather…dramatic introduction, Kevin had asked her to go out with him again. Hitomi (after a lot of needling from Yukari) had agreed.

And agreed the next time as well.

Tonight would be the fourth date. The last two dates had been just Kevin and Hitomi, but tonight they were going to rendezvous once again with Yukari and Amano. It would be the happy couple's last outing before Amano left for England.

It also, Yukari had said, was the last day she spent a virgin. Yes, you heard right.

And for some odd reason, that didn't surprise or bother Hitomi. Be careful, she had said, You don't have too, she had said; grounded, levelheaded Hitomi said things like that. But in reality Hitomi was glad for her best friend, perhaps even a little jealous. After all, Yukari saw what a good thing she and Amano had and was going to revel in every minute of it…Hitomi had seen the same thing with Van and had done what she'd always done best-run.

But not to worry, not to worry! Everything was all right, okie dokie, goin' great, just fan-fucking-tastic! Kevin, her darling Kevin was here. It didn't matter to him that Hitomi saw black hair instead of red; brown eyes instead of green. And even though Hitomi swore she sometimes called him "Van" it seemed as if Kevin only heard his name.

Gee golly, ain't that just swell?

No, said levelheaded Hitomi, that's downright unhealthy. But Hitomi didn't care as long as it kept the pain at bay. Darling Kevin was the sweetest guy she'd ever met, and she knew that she didn't want him, didn't love him, didn't even like him; but she knew that if Kevin ever wanted to jump in the sack with her it would be just A-Okay. Follow in Yukari's footsteps and just jump on the train.

"Tonight, even," Hitomi said to herself, slipping on a short black dress. Tonight was a big possibility. She slicked on a pouty lipstick and walked downstairs. Her mother and father weren't home tonight, but far away visiting a sick aunt at the hospital. Tonight she could wear, do, and be whatever she wanted.

Hitomi looked at herself in the mirror just before walking outside and saw a jaded, lost, and unhealthy girl and just for a second, one small moment, thought: I need help.

Then she quickly dismissed the idea and walked through the threshold, becoming falsely merry once again. Darling Kevin (it was never "Kevin," but "Darling Kevin" or just "Darling") was waiting for her on the steps, his hand raised to knock. Hitomi had seen him drive up and had decided to beat him to the punch.

"Hey sugar, lookin' good," he said good-naturedly. Hitomi smiled at her Fanelian king and kissed him fully on the mouth before even shutting the door. Kevin, a little surprised and probably a tad embarrassed, swatted the door shut while trying to kiss her back.

As Hitomi pulled away she looked at Kevin with wet eyes and said, "I already miss him terribly."

"Me too," Kevin said, thinking of Amano. He gently smoothed her hair and then slipped an arm around her waist as they walked to down to where a motorcycle stood. She looked at the bike apprehensively. She knew Kevin had a motorcycle, but he had always picked her up in a car.

"Sorry about the ride, but the car's in the shop. Will this do?" Kevin asked, placing his hand on a handlebar. Levelheaded Hitomi said Hell no, I'm not riding that death machine.

"Sure," Hitomi said perkily. "Where do I sit?"

Kevin smiled. "Right behind me. All you have to do is hold on tight. Oh, yeah," he paused and grabbed a helmet that had been suspended from the handlebars, "You can wear this. Can't have my girl unprotected."

"Don't you have one?" Hitomi asked. But no, of course not. Van was always brash and never did anything safely or logically. Neither, she realized, did she anymore.

As Kevin hopped on the bike and Hitomi carefully climbed on behind, she noticed that her brother was standing in the front window. Upon his young face was a frown, not the usual immature smile he had when he watched her drive off on other dates. He was worried.

On some forgotten level, that worried Hitomi.

After about ten minutes of riding and 11 attempts to try and talk, Hitomi simply shut her mouth and gave up. One cannot talk very well while blazing through town at some ungodly speed. Kevin was a good driver, however, and was being extra cautious now that he had a passenger on his motorcycle. He was polite and courteous to other people, never ran a red light, and never exceeded the speed limit…squared.

But, it doesn't matter how fast or slow you're going when some moron runs a red light and sideswipes your motorcycle with their car.

Hitomi would realize later that Kevin's helmet saved her life. It did not, however, help save his in the slightest. When the motorcycle was blindsided by some (undoubtedly drunk…those goddamn kids are always drunk nowadays) stranger's minivan, Kevin Littleton was thrown up onto the windshield of the vehicle. His head split wide open, and he became nothing but a large and messy grease spot when the glass broke and millions of fragile daggers skewered him.

Hitomi herself was not thrown up onto the windshield. Instead she was tossed to the side like a discarded rag doll. She landed on her stomach, vainly trying to catch herself with her hands. She rolled over once, twice, and then came finally to a stop in front of some car's screeching tires. When Hitomi rolled her last turn she immediately pushed herself off the ground, surprised as hell that her legs weren't broken. Van was hurt, probably fatally, and she had to go and help him. She would go back to the horrid, gray Land of the Dead if need be.

However, her ragged body could not fathom this illogical idea and she fell to her knees. Screaming his name, she desperately reached out towards her fallen king with skinned, bloody hands, trying to crawl on raw legs. But God would not give her that second chance and Hitomi fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding.

Though, as a column of light (which every one at that doomed intersection saw but none remembered) slowly descended on the girl's battered frame, it seemed that God did believe in second chances, and perhaps she was going to get hers.

Perhaps.

~*~

rainjewel: I always feel I owe an apology to my reader(s) when I write these short, crappy chapters.

Dilandau: Apology to the readers!? What about an apology to the characters?

Kevin: No kidding! This was not the role I wanted!

rainjewel: Kev, you wanted to be the ceiling. There isn't a part for the ceiling.

Duo: And damn it Heero, you can't fix a Gundam if you don't have the parts!

Heero: But I am Heero Yuy, the guy who can do anything and everything! Including lying in a bed for a month and not having to pee.

rainjewel: Yeah, well kudos to you. Now shut up and go back to staring at yourself in the mirror, perfecting the Yuy Death Glare.

~*~