Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Behind Enemy Lines ❯ Let There Be Light ( Chapter 18 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Behind Enemy Lines

By: rainjewel

Chapter Seventeen: Let There Be Light

"Not everything looks as it seems

Is that so hard to believe

But you're just what I need"

~ "You're Just What I Need" Ben Folds Five

~*~

Van took a deep breath as he began his way through the woods. Celena, walking resolutely beside him, was struggling to keep her eyes open as she weakly walked along, cradling her injured hand. Van half thought about ordering a guard to simply pick her up, but knew that she wouldn't appreciate that. Celena, he had realized, was a lot more than she appeared.

Gritting his teeth, Van adjusted the unfamiliar weight of Dilandau's body across his shoulders. Dilandau outweighed him, but Van wasn't too keen on letting anyone else carrying him to the castle. No one in Fanelia, save him and Celena, were too fond of the ruby-eyed boy. Besides, none of his guards looked as if they wanted to carry Dilandau anyway.

They reached the edge of the forest, looking down into the city. There were throngs of people outside the castle. Though they stood far away, Van could hear the people screaming. He caught sound of Dilandau's name, and decided that it probably wasn't said in a nice manner.

"We'll go around the back way," he commanded, looking to the three guards accompanying him. "Make sure we're not seen."

They took the long way through town. Out through the poorest sections, around the main market, until they had to run right along the side of the mob. The going was slower than Van would have liked, but it couldn't be helped.

Van was almost staggering as he came up the back steps, but he tapped into his resolve and made his way to the small back door without a grimace. Verdi opened the door. She had already changed out of her lavender bridesmaid's dress and the look on her face told Van she was not happy with him in the least.

"The Asturian monarchy, Merle, and Lady Hitomi have already been taken to a secured room," she informed them in her usual factual manner. "The public is frightened and outraged."

"As to be expected," Van said. He looked to one of the guards. "You there, come with me. You two, take Celena to where Queen Millerna and the others are."

Verdi shot him a surprised look, but fell into step beside him as he began to walk down the halls. Van looked on with a grim determination. This was going to be a hard storm to weather.

They reached the door to Folken's old room, which, for all intensive purposes, was now his own. Van turned to the soldier.

"You are to stand outside this door and guard the room. You are going to make sure nothing happens to him," Van said, eyes dark, "Or the entire guard will suffer."

"Him?" Verdi all but screamed. "Your Majesty, what are you-"

"Verdi!" Van spat, silencing her. He turned and walked into the room. Gently he lay Dilandau down on the bed. Verdi stood, arms crossed, the door behind her closed. She was not going to give into him.

Now I remember why I appointed her. Van grinned on the inside.

She strode up to him. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" she began in a low hiss. She gestured wildly to the bed. "That man tried to kill you! Numerous times, I may add. Not to mention that he burned your entire country to the ground!"

Van said nothing, merely flung the door open to the bathroom and stomped in. Verdi caught the door with the heel of her hand, not letting up. Van pointedly ignored her and filled the sink full of cold water. He dipped a wash cloth in it and began cleaning off his face.

Verdi continued her rant. "He is nothing but a walking disaster! Now don't you dare tell me that you are going to allow him back here as if nothing has happened! If you-"

"I don't care," Van said quietly. Verdi paused, shock written on her features. "I don't care!" Van said again, this time his voice bellowing through the room.

He walked out of the bathroom, pushed past Verdi, and stuck his head out the door. The guard almost fell over in fright.

"Get me Queen Millerna! I want her in here this instant along with Celena Schezar!" he ordered. Van slammed the door.

Verdi's eyes were wide.

"The people will never accept this," she whispered.

Van rummaged around for a clean shirt. "I'll make them."

"How?"

"They trust me, don't they?"

"I…yes."

"If they trust me enough, they will let him stay."

Van took off his ragged dress shirt and put on one of Folken's old green tunics. It felt warm and familiar. Verdi looked away, her gaze landing on Dilandau.

"Why do you want to save him? He's a murderer," she said. Her brow wrinkled, and she snapped her head back to Van. "I'm not only your financial advisor, your Majesty. I am your chief advisor. Are you going to let me do my job or not? Do you want my advice?"

"I have a feeling that you're going to give it to me no matter what," Van said. He slipped on his usual pair of boots.

"Damn straight," Verdi said, a vague grin ghosting across her lips. "If you are going to come out of this situation alive, you'll get rid of him. Your people, Lord Van, want his blood spilled on the altar."

"He's my friend," Van said. "I'd no more do that then if it was your blood they wanted."

"If it was my blood they wanted," Verdi whispered, "I would beg for you to kill me."

Van went pale.

The door suddenly burst open, and a very annoyed Millerna walked through it. Verdi bowed, and Van raised a hand to scratch the back of his head anxiously. Celena slipped in behind her and the guard closed the door.

Millerna stood, hands on her hips. "What do you want?"

"Dilandau-chan!" Celena all but screamed. She ran to the side of the bed and took his hand in her own. Van winced, seeing the bloody bandage on her right hand.

"I want you to take care of him-make sure he's all right," Van said.

"What did you just say?" Millerna asked, blue eyes blinking.

"Please Millerna," Van pleaded. "I beg of you, please do this for me. And if not for me, then do it for Celena. If he doesn't get better, she doesn't get better. And if he doesn't get better and ends up dying…"

Millerna gave him a hard look, then nodded. "I'll do it because I trust you."

"Thank you," Van said, bowing.

"You're seriously going to keep him here," Verdi whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Van said nothing. He marched to the front of the room and opened the door. He gave the guard a stern glare, and then delivered his orders.

"You're to follow all of Queen Millerna's requests, got it?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, sir!"

"Good. Get someone to bring me my ceremonial armor," he said.

Van turned around and faced the pale Verdi. "It's time to make a statement."

~*~

Hitomi edged her way behind the curtains that usually covered the ballroom's balcony door. For one reason or another, he had decided to make his speech from the palace as opposed to the ceremonial courtyard. He was still wearing the royal armor, but this time it actually seemed to fit. He filled out the wide chest pads, and the helmet didn't slip down over his eyes.

She had long ago left Eries and Merle in her room. Eries had been her usual quiet self, saying nothing to either girls, only letting the occasional murmur escape her lips. As to what she was thinking, Hitomi had no clue. Merle had been pacing the length of the carpet, wearing a hole in the floor, while announcing 127 ways to "off Dilandau." Merle turned out to have a very creative and…sadistic imagination.

Hitomi let her eyes rest on Van's back. She wasn't particularly listening to what he had to say. Trust him, trust him, trust him. She had listened to the first half, then given up. His speech was flawless, despite the fact that it was totally impromptu. He promised punishment for Dilandau if the boy turned out to be a menace, but held fast to the belief that something had made Dilandau act the way he did.

Well, Hitomi thought, of course there is. He was created to be a maniacal bloodthirsty killer and he was trained to be damn good at it.

At first there had been a few outcries to Van's obvious support of Dilandau. But the black-haired young man had quickly laid down the charm (with frightening sincerity, Hitomi thought), and the audience had bought into it. Van was begging the people to let him rule as he saw fit-to trust him to be their guide. He was controlling the people with each word that fell from his lips, but they believed it was the populace who had the power.

He was, in every sense of the word, a great ruler. Van would give the public what it needed if the cry arose. But he would hold out for his own ideals. Ideals, Hitomi had noticed, that were usually dead on the mark.

She sighed. Absently she ran a hand down the dress she was wearing. It was one of her favorites, sea green and ended just above the knee. She had planned to wear it on the way to their honeymoon (wherever that may have been), but now it seemed she wasn't going to have one in the near future. In her heart of hearts, Hitomi thought she probably never would.

Quietly Hitomi retreated from the balcony, unseen by the world. She walked down into the maze of corridors that consisted of the living quarters until she came to Van's room. A soldier with weary brown eyes stood at the door, an obvious posted guard. Hitomi took a deep breath. Not stopping in her pace, she placed a hand on the door and tried to enter.

Quick as a flash, the guard reached up and caught her wrist. "I'm sorry Lady Hitomi, but his Majesty said I can't let anyone in the room without his permission."

"Do you think," Hitomi said carefully, letting a little danger edge her words, "That the Queen of Fanelia would need authorization to enter the bedroom of her husband?"

The guard broke out in a sweat. "Well, technically you're not-"

"What's your name, soldier?" Hitomi broke in, glaring.

"Toshio."

"Yes Toshio, you're right, I'm not Queen yet," Hitomi said. "But Toshio, I think I might remember your name. It's not that common, not here on Fanelia. And when I'm Queen, I might remember your name, and remember this day."

Even as she let the words pass from her mouth to the air, Hitomi was disgusted with herself. She was being cruel for reasons unclear to even her, but that didn't make them justified. A gray feeling had overcome her heart-non-descript, but ominous as the darkest storm cloud.

Toshio's red-rimmed eyes were pained. Without a sound or salute, the guard opened the door. Hitomi walked through, head high and eyes cold, but couldn't suppress a flinch when the door slammed behind her.

Hitomi looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. For some odd reason she felt as if she wouldn't see it again. The room had obviously belonged to Folken. There were dusty weights and measures on the shelves with various gadgets and gizmos. Star charts covered he ceiling and through the open close she could even see some of Folken's old clothes.

Above the fireplace rose a full portrait of the fallen Strategos, but back before the time of dark cloaks, mechanical limbs, and violet tears. No, this was a depiction of a heartbreakingly beautiful young man, standing in front of a forest glade wearing the simply tunic, pants and boots that Hitomi was so familiar with through Van. He stood before a tree, face serious and arms crossed, looking frighteningly young. But through the stern mask, Hitomi saw the glint of the compassion and affable nature Folken possessed. She was pleased to see that there were no weapons in the portrait-he had never been too fond of anything dealing with death. Folken, even then, was wise beyond his years.

The painting must have been done before the Dragon Rite, Hitomi thought. She missed Folken. They had gotten along splendidly at the end of the war, identifying with each other's personalities. Look at him then…fifteen years old and a breath away from gray hairs.

A breath away from death, Hitomi decided, was more appropriate. She sighed.

It was obvious Van had taken over his brother's room. He had royal documents strewn about the table and desk, and various articles of clothing covered the floor. Though Hitomi found more and more similarities between the Fanel brothers at every turn, there were noticeable differences. Van's chaos versus Folken's order, the rough way with words Van had compared to Folken's diplomatic suavity. Van had a tendency to solve more things violently whereas Folken had always been one for talk. Of course, there were always exceptions, things that never figured into the equation. Van's recent speech was one Folken would have applauded, perhaps somewhat enviously. Folken had flown into a rage with Dornkirk and lost his life.

And then there was the biggest exception to normalcy, the wild pitch Van had thrown and Hitomi hadn't been able to dodge quickly enough. No one had.

It was Van's most noticeable addition to the room. It came in the deceptively beautiful package of a certain silver-haired boy, currently passed out on the bed. A boy with rosy bandages and whose hand was resting against the cheek of a curly haired girl who sat on the floor beside the bed. Her blue eyes were closed, her golden curls mussed, but Celena looked completely at peace, her face cradled gently in Dilandau's supine hand.

Hitomi's eyes narrowed. With careful, quiet steps she approached the bed. She felt guilty for being in here, as if she was breaking the law. Well, she was going against Van's orders. And secretly, on a level buried deep inside, she wanted to hurt Dilandau while she was here. Hurt him like she'd never hurt anyone before.

Dilandau lay on his back, and for the first time Hitomi was struck by how innocent he was capable of looking. A crazy notion-it was no secret that Dilandau had never been innocent. But lying against the white sheets, wearing only leather pants and a soiled lavender undershirt, he looked surprisingly calm. With his starry hair falling across his slightly turned head and the occasional bloody bandage, he looked like a fallen saint.

She looked upon him and felt the cool hatred flowing through her veins. Hitomi had never hated anyone before. She longed to see Dilandau's life snuffed out, like a candle. She drew happiness from the knowledge that he was in pain. When he and Van were dueling, she had looked upon every blow Van had succeeded in making upon that fair skin and rejoiced.

And yet…and yet…

It exhausted her. Hitomi had never been much for hatred-it wasn't a part of her personality. Her strength had always been in trusting people, always looking for the good. During the war she had been the cockeyed optimist, sniffing out the better part of a person's soul and bringing it to light. She did it with Van, Folken, most memorably Naria. Her body ached to convince itself that Dilandau wasn't really all that bad.

Hitomi glanced away from Dilandau's body. This boy had killed thousands of people and relished it. He was a sadist hell-bent on bringing as much pain to Van's life as he could. He used to terrify her. He used to be the star of her nightmares, performing one gruesome act after another. But Dilandau didn't terrify her anymore. Her fear had given way to anger, and anger to hatred. A hatred, she vowed, she would sustain.

She wondered how long it would hold.

A small piece of parchment caught her eye. It was laying on the nightstand. Seeing it as an excuse to get closer to the bed (the guiltiness was clinging to her like a second skin), Hitomi stepped up and around and picked up the folded piece of paper. Van's name was written in curly, fine letters. Her guilt increasing, Hitomi opened the parchment and read it.

Van

I've been summoned to the dungeons. It seems a couple of suspicious prisoners were discovered in the woods, unconscious. They seem to be from Zaibach. The minute you get this note, I suggest you jiggle your butt on down there. And don't worry, I took care of Dilandau for you. You know, when he's inanimate he's not all that bad.

Millie

PS ~ Dryden is going back to Asturia to get in contact with our spies in Zaibach. Perhaps they have some idea as to what that silly country's planning.

Hitomi smiled, putting the parchment down. Millerna was really quite amusing.

She looked back at Dilandau. She knew she should move on, see Van end his speech, and best leave this sleeping demon alone. However, her most secret worries kept holding her back, threatening to confirm themselves. What if Van came to her and had those deadened eyes she'd noticed at the altar? Or maybe she'd hug him and realize, again, that it felt hollow and cold. What if…

Hitomi's hand crept out from her side and onto the crisp bed linens. After a quick glance to Celena, it settled on the silky shoulder of Dilandau Albatou.

Hitomi let out a small cry and fell to her knees.

***

She stands in a room that feels familiar to her, though she's never seen it before. The smell of a forgotten cologne hovers in the air, stale and sweet. It comforts her. She is standing in a darkened corner of the room, almost diagonally form a window and straight across from a single bed.

Gradually she becomes aware of movement in the room, as if she is waking from a dream. A few paces from the window, two figures are pressed close together. Her heart thumps as she recognizes the two forms as Van and Dilandau. The pale boy seems to be pinned against a wall, his arms entwined in a ripped white fabric-possibly a shirt, Hitomi thinks. Van is holding him there, a knife pressed against the other boy's throat. Suddenly Van shakes his head, lowers the knife. His lips move, but Hitomi hears nothing.

Dilandau looks furious. He struggles and looks as if he's yelling. Van shouts something back. And then the strangest thing happens. Looking smug and strangely pure for a moment, Dilandau leans forward and kisses Van full on the mouth. Hitomi gapes, touching the wall behind her for support.

The two boys break the kiss. Dilandau mumbles something, his eyes gleaming. Without warning, he throws the two boys out the window. Hitomi cries out, and the world begins to spin, black, white, and gray swirling about her.

The darkness break away, and a new scene lies before her. She smells pine trees, sweet and fresh. She looks up and sees two moons in the sky-Earth, her home, and its own moon. Hitomi holds out a hand and watches as the moonlight illuminates her skin. In the pale light, she can make out the forms of trees and concludes she is in a forest, undoubtedly that of Fanelia.

Hitomi feels a tremor of fear pass through her, and she knows it's not her own. It's like feeling someone else's terror she thinks, and finds it odd that she doesn't think of this as alarming. A compelling force seems to want her to turn around, a whisper of a voice streaming through her head.

A sudden vibration whips through her body, a harsh, shuddering sensation she recognizes as a loud sob-felt, and not heard. Alarmed, she whirls around.

On the grass in front of her, shrouded in the ethereal mists of the forest, are Van and Dilandau. Hitomi swallows and puts a hand to her mouth as she takes in the scene.

Dilandau is covered in blood, browning and sticky. Van is holding the boy as a mother would, head bowed and murmuring what looks like comforting whispers. Hitomi frowns-perhaps Dilandau is wounded. However, that doesn't explain Van's extremely nice demeanor.

And then, she realizes, Dilandau is crying.

Hitomi feels her heart twist and bleed within her chest as Dilandau's pained face sobs silently into the night, sparkling face pressed against Van's sweaty neck. The king's hands are running through Dilandau's hair, his lips kissing silver locks. She watches as Van cuddles the broken boy, holding him like….like…like a mother might.

In her mind's eye, Hitomi sees the shattered image of heart, torn and bloody muscle upon the black dirt of the forest floor. She wipes at her eyes, feeling tears. A cool, emphatic ache runs through her bones as she looks upon Dilandau's misery. She thinks she might feel sorry for him. Immediately, she dismisses the notion.

As she does so, the scene changes yet again, the world around her melting into air. Hitomi feels mildly disgusted with herself for pitying the albino boy.

The black and white spiral comes to an abrupt halt, leaving Hitomi on her knees. Beneath her is a soft, plush blue carpet. She blinks a few times, and a room comes into view. It is vast, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. It smells old and musty-comforting, like her old school. In front of her is a large red armchair, and folded up in it is a dark-haired boy.

Hitomi immediately recognizes the person to be Van. He is wearing a white tunic and pale blue pajama pants, looking wonderfully ruffled. Her heart skips, and Hitomi prays that this next event will not be anything like the past two.

Alas, she realizes, that is not to be. Van suddenly slams the book shut, and says something to the open air. Hitomi is directly in front of him and is confused-can he see her? There is a slight movement in the air, and she sees a pale white calf glide by, just on her right. Hitomi looks up, her gaze meeting the form of Dilandau, dressed in a ratty white tank top and boxers. The boy's red eyes are wide, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Hitomi looks to Van, wishing she could hear what he has said.

The black-haired boy rises to his feet and easily pads over to Dilandau, the expression on his face can only be described as one of understanding. With a small smile, Van slides reaches out and slides both his hands along Dilandau's hips and kisses the boy lightly on the mouth.

Hitomi can't help it; she screams. Neither of the boys seem to hear her. Her eyes fixate on the figures before her, unbelieving and unable to look away.

Words are exchanged, and Dilandau's body relaxes. Van runs a hand down the pale boy's face, tracing a scar Hitomi remembers so well. Dilandau's lips break into a smirk, and he kisses Van hungrily. The Fanelian leans into the kiss, his body arched and pressing against the other boy's. Hands begin to run amok, and the kiss leads to another, this one more feverish. Hitomi's eyes are full with tears, and as the two figures sink to the ground, she screams aloud again.

***

Hitomi pulled her hand away from Dilandau's shoulder, gasping as she did so. She shook her head to clear her vision, and also perhaps to try and wipe the images she had seen from her mind. She didn't want to believe them, but she knew her visions never lied.

She scowled down at Dilandau's figure, but couldn't maintain the hateful grimace. His pale face was troubled, his eyebrows knit and lips frowning, and…and tears were leaking from the corner of his eyes.

Hitomi suddenly realized she couldn't hate him. She couldn't understand why, but she couldn't hate him. But, she thought, I may not hate you, but I'm sure mad as hell.

Strangely angry and numb all at once, Hitomi turned her gaze away from the soldier. Taking a deep breath, she turned and began to walk out of the room.

As she opened the door to leave, her eyes met the intense stare of Folken's portrait. Her rage exploded at the canvas.

"You said that my power was that I believed in people, that I always sought out the good. You were wrong," she said aloud. "It's a curse."

~*~

Dilandau was standing in a gorge. Actually, he amended, it was more like a pit. Tall sandstone cliffs rose high above him, their brown tops kissing the cloudy sky. He had absolutely no clue where he was-he'd never seen a place like this before. The air was dry and cold, which surprised him. A place like this should be warmer.

Great. I'm stuck in a desert that's cold. And I'm in a pit with no way out. How did I even get here? Of course, this just had to happen to me. Oh happy friggin' day.

He sighed, rubbing his nose with a leather glove. Deciding that figuring a way out of the gorge was probably a good way to start dealing with his situation, Dilandau began walking a backwards, trying to see as much of his sandstone prison as possible.

Suddenly, his boot came down on something and made a horrid squishing sound. Dilandau recognized the smell and feel of decaying flesh.

Annoyed, he rolled his eyes towards the sky. The gods, he thought, must all be women, and they must be on the rag. He turned around to look at the body.

A black cape covered the decaying form. A pair of spectacles lay beside the corpse, glinting against the sandy dust. Feeling nauseous, Dilandau rolled the body over with his boot.

Dilandau couldn't stop himself-he jumped back as Zlain's greasy, rotted features came into view. He tasted blood and realized he'd bitten the inside of his lip.

Heart pounding, he backed away from the corpse. He cursed himself for being so irrational; it was just some stupid dead sorcerer. Sure, he'd never liked the guys, but there wasn't any logical reason to be afraid of them. With the exception of Folken, who in his mind didn't really count, it wasn't as if he'd ever really known any of them.

But, said a low voice in Dilandau's head, how'd you know his name was Zlain?

He winced at the notion. Continuing to backpedal, Dilandau heard a sharp crack and looked down to the ground once again.

A full human skeleton lay beneath his feet. Dilandau grimaced. Ew. He turned away.

Thunder suddenly boomed across the sky, following an unnerving flash of red lightening. Rain began to fall, black as midnight.

What is this place?

Dilandau held out a pale hand. A raindrop hit, obscuring his palm. The droplet was cool and wet, but it was dark as death, totally blocking out the sight of whatever it touched. If he were to stick his hand in a bucket of this rainwater, he would see nothing but blackness.

Well, thought Dilandau,this is certainly unnatural. He began to feel a little uncomfortable.

A sizzling sound reached his ears. His stomach instinctively dropped and a cold fear began to run through his body. Very slowly, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Gripping the weapon tightly, he whirled around.

Standing before him, knitting itself together, was the skeleton that had been on the ground moments before. Gray-white bones flew unexplainably through the air and fell into place. The speed of the reconfiguration was amazing. Veins, nerves, muscle, and finally skin quickly spread over the bony framework-and finally the dark uniform of a Madoushi sorcerer. The eye sockets remained hollow; black caverns that chilled to the bone.

Dilandau gave a yell that could have burst eardrums. In a flash his sword was out, the blade slicing through the newly made…creature.

The sorcerer fell to the ground, creating a splash in the rainwater, which was pooling on the floor of the gorge. Dilandau backed up away from the creature. The walls around him were black, the dark water spilling over the tops and raining from the sky. The thick feeling in his throat told him that he was in a very bad situation.

More sizzling.

Turning around, Dilandau was greeted with the vision of half a dozen more corpses rising to their feet. A glance behind him revealed that he sorcerer he had just slain was pulling itself back together.

The water level at his ankles, the creatures began to advance. Dilandau kicked into high gear, screaming like a banshee. He flew into the midst of the reincarnated Madoushi, blade whizzing through the air as if it were a holy scepter. He easily mowed down the sorcerers, but the minute he did so they rose again, and the numbers seemed to be increasing.

Dilandau frowned, lopping the head off of an advancing creature. The water was to his knees. It shouldn't be rising this quickly. He realized that if these animated corpses didn't kill him, the water would.

A cold hand gripped his shoulder. Dilandau twisted around and hacked the left arm off a body. As the thing fell, it's mouth opened and a low, echoing voice filled the pit.

"Come back, Dilandau. Come with us."

Dumbfounded, Dilandau almost dropped his sword. Another creature came at him, and he cut it down without thought. This one also spoke as it fell.

"Come back, we will take care of you."

Dilandau found his voice. "Fuck that."

"Dilandau, come back. You belong to us."

"I belong to no one, assholes," he spat. A bit panicked, Dilandau noticed that the black water had risen to his waist, slowing his movements considerably. He tried not to think about how tired he was.

A new voice cut through. "Please, Dilandau-sama, come back. We miss you."

Dilandau's heart stopped still. Before him rose the unmistakable figures of his Dragonslayers, eyeless as the Madoushi creatures, but their features recognizable and searing.

"This can't be happening!" he screamed, "You're all dead!"

"We're lost without you, Dilandau-sama."

Gatti reached for his shoulder. Feeling sick, Dilandau brought his sword down on the boy's-the thing's, head, cleaving the skull into. The corpse stumbled, splashing black water everywhere, then rose again. The flesh wove itself together effortlessly.

Dilandau began to scream, no longer answering the calls of the Madoushi and his Dragonslayers.

"I HATE YOU!" he yelled with all his might. The water was up to his chest and he could barely life his sword, but Dilandau swore to himself he would fight until his last breath.

"No you don't, Dilandau. You love us, remember?"

The word "remember" shot through his skull like lightening. Without reason, he paused and looked up to the top of the walls. Standing there, was a blurry figure, red shirt and black hair blowing in the wind. It was untouched by the rain.

Van? Dilandau frantically tried to understand the significance of the sight.

Cold hands latched onto his arms. A strand of Viole's ridiculously long hair brushed past his cheek. Whispers began to hammer their way into his head, but he blocked out all sound. Dilandau tore his eyes away from the top of the cliffs. With a surge of energy he began to flail against the corpses who held him, but with limited success. He realized he was too tired, the water too high, and the creatures too many.

Well shit.

Clarity struck him. He was going to die, drowned by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

Black water lapped at his chin.

"No!" he yelled, "I don't want this!"

"We're going back now. Come back with us."

Dilandau was suddenly pulled down under the water. No! I don't want to go back! I don't want to go back with them! I-go back…back…

The vision of a dark-haired boy with the wings of an angel suddenly burned into his mind. The features sharpened and bloomed, revealing the face of one Van Fanel. A sharp pain spread through his skull, and Dilandau suddenly realized what was happening. Realized what had happened.

Giving one last desperate struggle, he wrenched loose from the grip of his captors and fought for air.

Gasping, he broke the surface, blackness bleeding away from his vision. He looked up to the top of the wall, to the figure of Van standing at the edge.

"Van!" he screamed. "Van, I remember!"

Cold hands on his arms and legs, arms around his waist. Dilandau found himself yanked once again under the darkness. Water poured into his open mouth and filled his nose. He tried to break free of the fatal grip, but lost.

No! No no no no no nononono!

Heart breaking, he stopped his struggles. As his exhaustion gave way to defeat, Dilandau felt the pain of regret for the first time. It was numbed, however, as his life began to seep away into the greedy darkness.

He was just about to give into the easiness of death, when a sudden light broke through the black. Dilandau couldn't bring himself to move. He wanted to try and reach it, but found he was too weak for the struggle.

The icy grip of the monsters who held him vanished. It was replaced by the comfortable, soft light that was beginning to fill his vision. This must be what it's like to die. He felt warm arms slip around his waist, and he let himself give up.

Suddenly, the darkness broke. Dilandau found himself being pulled upwards, coughing and sputtering like an infant. On some inner level he realized that this was a good thing, but he was too tired to give much thought to it.

He felt ground beneath his feet. The light began to ebb and Dilandau resignedly stood, using whatever morsel of energy he had left. His vision pieced itself back together from the brightness and his world came into focus.

Or rather, the image of Van, wings spread wide behind him, came into focus.

And for once in his life, Dilandau couldn't think of one single way to deal with what that meant.

"You remembered," Van said, his voice breaking through the fogginess of Dilandau's mind like a knife through butter.

Unable to speak, Dilandau merely nodded in affirmation.

Van smiled, a beautiful phenomenon. He raised his arms out towards Dilandau.

"Welcome," he said softly, "To the beginning."

Reaching deep within himself, Dilandau managed a genuine smile. Van matched it and wound his arms around Dilandau, wrapping the boy in the safest embrace he'd ever known.

~*~

Leitken cursed inside his head. Why couldn't he be a Doppelganger and melt into walls whenever the need arose? He could waltz around in whatever form he wanted for the majority of the time, and then quickly escape into a nearby wall, fence, tree, small animal, etc. whenever the need arose.

Like now.

Before Leitken stood the mighty Fanelian king, the boy who had won the Great War, beaten the Caeli Knight Allen Schezar, traveled to other worlds, and was the only living person that ever beat Dilandau Albatou in swordplay.

And damn, he looked furious. He was wearing full ceremonial armor, arms crossed, eyes bearing down on Leitken as if he might kill him at any moment. And, the violet-haired boy noticed, the veins on his neck were bulging. This was probably not a good sign. Leitken pressed himself closer to the prison wall and prayed to the Gods for mercy.

"Let me get this straight," Van began after a moment. "You say that Dilandau was taken by the Madoushi and had his memory erased back to roughly the middle of the Great War."

"Yes," Leitken said. He was glad his voice was steady. "When you killed all the Dragonslayers."

I shouldn't have said that.

Van's eyes flashed. He leaned in and put a fist on the wall, right next to Leitken's left ear.

"And so after this little, 'induced amnesia,' you were sent by the sorcerers with a plausible explanation for the memory gaps," Van said, staring Leitken full in the face.

Leitken chose not to open his mouth. He nodded back, and made himself meet Van's gaze. He might not be the bravest individual on the planet, but he was made of pretty stern stuff.

"And so Dilandau was reinstated in the Zaibach army, in charge of a whole spanking new set of Dragonslayers. Wonderful. Dragonslayers, which he took out into the woods for a wacky camping trip and left them to come kill me," Van looked down at his feet and shook his head.

Leitken nodded. "Yes, but he had lapses, Your Majesty. The started after your visit to the country. After he destroyed the training center, he was unconscious for awhile, but sometimes he would wake up and he'd remembered what had happened. The sorcerers…they put a stop to that. And then he-"

"Stop!" Van commanded. His face snapped back to Leitken's, eyes dark with fury. His fist moved from the wall and grabbed a handful of Leitken's short purple curls. Van straightened up, pulling Leitken up so that the shorter boy was standing on tiptoe.

"So," Van said, voice dripping with malice, "All the while you knew what was going on, you saw, firsthand, the pain Dilandau was going through and you did nothing? Is that how care about your beloved commander?!"

"I take orders," was all Leitken could offer. He was disgusted with himself as well.

Van's hand moved from his hair to his throat, pinning Leitken to the wall and cutting off his air supply. Surprised, Leitken's eyes went wide and he raised his two hands to try and pry Van's fingers from his throat.

"Why didn't you help him if you knew what was going on? Why did you just leave him to those…those bastards! Why? Why!"

The fingers closed fully around his throat. Leitken's vision became hazy, Van's furious face outlined in fuzzy black. He clawed at the hand that held him, but as his oxygen levels dropped, so did his hands. As unconsciousness overtook him, the last thing he heard was Van shrieking the word "why" over and over again.

~*~

Dilandau awoke dazed. He felt groggy, a sensation that, while it wasn't completely alien, was certainly rare in his corner of the world. When Dilandau woke up, he usually woke up-as in jumping out of the bed, grabbing his sword, and off to massacring. But no, now he was bleary-eyed, suffering from a headache, and experiencing extreme confusion as to where he was.

The ceiling above him looked familiar, plain and well made, probably carved from human hands. He'd been here before…Dilandau waved away whatever thoughts he had entertaining the possibility of capture. No one got their hands on Dilandau Albatou twice. Actually, no one ever had captured him except-Van! This was Van's room!

Suddenly, everything came flooding back. Well, most of it.

Dilandau shot up into a sitting position, back ramrod straight and head swimming from the sudden change. How the heck had he gotten back to Fanelia? The last thing he remembered was leaving the Dragonslayers to come here…obviously he had made it.

Shit! Dilandau thought, don't tell me I'm starting to just become forgetful.

He was pleased to see that the effects of his special-ordered Madoushi brainfry had worn off. Gods, he had to get to Van and explain why he'd behaved so strangely at that meeting…and certainly clear up the reasons for being so late in getting away from the hellish country.

Dilandau sprang out from the bed and immediately noticed something different-under his undershirt he had a bandage covering his ribs and his shoulder. Gingerly he touched his ribs; they screamed in protest. That was odd in itself. He thought they were almost healed. And what the heck was wrong with his shoulder?

He felt himself get grumpy. Dilandau didn't like to be confused.

"I SAID, get back into that bed this instant!"

Dilandau knew that voice. Please, tell me I am dreaming this.

A flighty mass of blonde hair and a nauseating amount of pink flooded his vision. There, standing right in front of him, was Princess Millerna Sarah Aston, her blue eyes blazing and one long, manicured finger pointed at his chest.

"Excuse me?" Dilandau asked. He really did not have time for this. He had to find Van, now.

"Yes, excuse you! Get back in that bed right now!" Millerna yelled, poking his abused ribs with each word.

The discomfort and annoyance sharpened Dilandau's mind. Memory came bleeding in, as well did his rage. There had been a duel, he recalled…a duel with Van.

But why?

"You have got to be shitting me," he said. Millerna's eyes sparked. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to handle the situation. Trying his damndest not to get mean (hurting annoying fluffy women would not win him Brownie points with one king of Fanelia), Dilandau switched tactics. "Where's Van?"

"With a prisoner, but that doesn't concern you. GET BACK IN THAT BED THIS INSTANT BEFORE I GET UGLY!" Millerna screeched.

"Heh. Seems as if it's a little too late for that," Dilandau said with a very condescending tone. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. His anger flared with Millerna's screaming-he didn't take well to being yelled at. "Look Princess, I-"

"Queen!" Millerna interjected.

Dilandau's eyes darkened. "I don't give a shit if you're a Gaean God, girlie. I need to talk to Van and you're not going to stop me."

Quicker than thought, he reached out and pinned Millerna's arms to her sides, then picked her up. Immediately, he almost dropped her as pain exploded through his right hand. Damn, where did that come from?

And then his memory unwound itself a bit-Celena was at the duel. An image of a girl, skewering her own hand flashed through Dilandau's mind. Why the hell had she done that?

He quelled the pain by stubbornly ignoring it. Millerna's eyes grew to the size of saucers and she placed her hands on Dilandau's chest in protest, but thankfully didn't push down. Good, because he didn't want to hurt anyone.

Carefully, he set her down to the side of him and began walking to the door. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder to see the shocked expression of the Prin-Queen.

"Never forget who I am, Queen Millerna," he said, words poisoned, "And don't get in my way."

He was out the door before she had a chance to respond. And looky here: a guard.

Great.

Dilandau had to move fast, now that he was weaponless, charging straight at the man, he instantly had wrapped one hand around the soldier's throat and the other around the man's testicles. Effective, and if anyone saw what was going on it was always good for gossip.

"Drop your sword or you're never going to be much of a family man," he said.

Sound of metal clattering on the ground. Dilandau's skin broke out in goosebumps at the familiar sound. With a quick pinching movement of his lower hand, the guard's eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the ground, almost unconscious.

Dilandau picked up the sword. "Which way to the dungeons? Be quick."

"I…would…" The man was wheezing in the most annoying high-pitched voice. Dilandau ignored it as best he could. "…Rather die…than let a…bastard…like you hurt my…king."

Dilandau clucked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. "Why would I hurt him?"

The guard looked shocked. "It's what…you…do."

Dilandau felt his face crumble, but he couldn't help it. Pain rushed through him, and this time it wasn't the result of any injury. Without taking his eyes off of the guard's face, he backed away. Finally, he turned to his right and took off running.

As his steps pounded into the palace floor, he suddenly remembered it all. His tired, prodded and poked mind suddenly burst forth, and he understood everything that had transpired from the day he was born.

It made him feel old. It made him feel stupid. It made him feel used.

Worst of all, it made him hurt.

~*~

rainjewel: I am terrible. Absolutely terrible, aren't I? And you'd thought you'd get a reunion! HA! I'll show you all! Oh ff.net's back up, isn't it wonderful? I'm so happy! Time to upload all my ficcies I've been messing around with.

Ryan: Please, don't release that waste into the public. It's not a nice thing to do.

rainjewel: Oh whatever. You're my muse! If my stuff sucks it's YOU'RE fault.

Ryan: I do not take part in whatever drivel comes out of your head after two daiquiris and a couple of Coronas.

rainjewel: I lost my Internet connection and I had to result to watching CATS twenty-seven times a day. At the time I thought a fanfic would be interesting.

Ryan: At the time you could barely stand, yet you still managed to sing all the words to "Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat" at the top of your lungs. I call that mentally deranged.

rainjewel: Your point?

Ryan: *sighs* That's it. I'm going to go watch ALADDIN.