Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Beyond the Moon ❯ The Consummation of Regrets ( Chapter 25 )

Last chapter. If it ends funny, that's because there will be an epilogue. All the good stuff will be after that. ^_^

Beyond the Moon

Twenty-Five

Dilandau had never pleaded for anything in life.

Essentially, he wasn't.

But it was just as humiliating.

They stood in the main throne room. It was mid-afternoon, and bright sunlight filtered in through the large, Victorian, unveiled windows all around the gallery. Dilandau stood near the entryway, hands bound by ropes, two guards standing silently to either side of him. Celena stood not far ahead on the wide, red carpet, waving her arms in violent gestures. She now addressed King Fassa herself, with Millerna sitting to the side of him.

"It was a slight slip of sanity," Celena was saying. Dilandau cringed at the words, but didn't butt in. Such an action wouldn't help his cause in the least. "You must remember, he and Van had a life vendetta; those are not easily forgiven."

Dryden sighed, leaning on his chair. "Celena, you make a good case, but I just cannot let him go free-"

"Put him on parole! Probation! I'll be his guardian!" Celena interjected. Dilandau mentally yelled at her to stop and listen for a moment, but the woman was as stubborn as a donkey. Dryden glared at her, before continuing where he was so rudely interrupted.

"As novelty as that sounds to you, I just cannot let him go. He has committed the crime of murder; that is all that we have against him at this moment. All his previous crimes were detached from him as soon as we deemed him unable to return."

Celena let out a sigh, turning around and casting her sad, blue eyes on Dilandau. Unable to resist - as he had found himself to be more often than he liked - Dilandau nodded at her as the guards nudged his arms.

They stood in the dungeon not long after, having been excused from His Majesty's presence. The guards had left them to stand watch above, in case Dilandau made a dash for it.

"I'm sorry," Celena confessed, dropping her gaze to the floor. Dilandau shook his head and sighed lightly.

Taking her by the shoulders, Dilandau placed one hand lightly on her chin. His tenderness amazed even himself; but without her, he would be stuck in the dungeon for the rest of his life.

"Celena, I am a bad person. Stop trying to think otherwise," he said, his voice calm and gentle. Celena raised her eyes to his, her white, curly hair still hanging around her neck.

"I... I don't care what you were or what you've done," she replied quietly, placing her hands on his bared biceps. When she had first released him, he had been much of the same boy he was eight years before; he had caught up on his lost years in less than a week. Even his more defined chest muscles and wider shoulders could be seen beneath his loose white shirt.

Dilandau lifted his hands, placing them to either side of her face. Using his thumb, he tenderly wiped a small tear forming in her eye. Celena squeezed her blue orbs closed, fighting the tears springing valiantly to her long, dark lashes. A muffled sob escaped her throat as Dilandau lifted her face to his, pressing his lips to hers with excruciating gentleness.

Celena squeezed his biceps, tears streaming down her cheeks as she deepened the kiss. Dilandau held her face closely, reveling in the feeling of her tongue running along his lips. Granting her entrance, he passively let her roam his mouth before moving on the offensive.

When they drew apart, Celena was unable to open her eyes. Dilandau's hands moved to her waist, hugging her tightly to his chest.

"Promise you'll come to visit me every once in a while," he said, his voice almost on the brink of cracking. Though he would never cry, Dilandau was struck with the thought of her absence.

Celena opened her eyes slowly, her hands trembling as she cupped his chin. "I'll bring you breakfast and dinner every day," she replied, before suddenly wrapping her arms around him. She leaned her face against his chest, shaking as Dilandau squeezed her back.

"I'd like that," he acknowledged.

***

The ride back to Asturia had been long and silent. Hitomi was an emotional wreck, and Allen had not pried during the entire trip. They stayed at a small inn at their first stop: it was nicely hidden in the trees, and provided Hitomi many long, excruciating hours of thinking.

Was she doing the right thing? Whether or not she was, she had very little choice. Later in the night, she walked outside and tried again.

And just as before, she was disappointed.

Allen attempted to make conversation the next morning as they continued on their journey. He was only granted monosyllabic responses, and soon gave up. Hitomi wanted to reply, wanted to talk as if nothing was wrong and try to make the best of her situation, but it was impossible. She was destined for a life of quiet misery, and the thought was entirely unappealing. Every waking moment, her mind drifted to Van; what would he say? That she was weak for giving in? That she should be strong and fend for herself? Or that she was foolish for not trying harder to go home?

Upon thinking further, she knew he would have none of those responses. He would quietly comfort her, then go on his way.

Van was always that way. He was so outwardly accepting and nonchalant, but Hitomi knew that deep down he always suffered a little bit. It had been that obvious when he had inopportunely caught she and Allen kissing on the bridge.

Hitomi closed her eyes, lightly putting her hand on Allen's shoulder. The knight jumped, turning to face her curiously.

"I'm so sorry," Hitomi said quietly. Allen's face softened, and he lightly took her hand in his.

"Don't worry. I said all those years ago that I would protect you; I still will. It will be alright in the end," he assured her, hugging her lightly. Hitomi nodded, pushing back the tears rising to her eyes.

She wished that he was right. Looking out the window, Hitomi didn't notice when Allen turned guiltily back to the book he held and let his hair fall in front of his face.

***

Over the next two weeks, wedding preparations were made in earnest. Millerna seemed to have fully recovered; Hitomi had later been informed that the woman had spent two days in a room after locking herself inside. It had been the result of Dryden's bizarre behavior, and her own self-deprivation had caused the king to snap out of the power's control just as Hitomi had been making her wish.

Celena's demeanor seemed to have gotten better daily. She still spend much of her time in the dungeon, but she had also begun helping with the wedding. She went with Hitomi to pick out a dress, and had found a wonderful dress before the two were given an offer they couldn't refuse; Millerna had volunteered her old wedding dress, which had been mended and tailored to Hitomi's size.

For Hitomi, everything seemed to be a blur. The suggestions to hold the wedding outside in the palace gardens, Allen's daily visits and rides in the grassy parks, even Merle's regular angry fits that something wasn't going quite right... all of it began to blend together.

"Dilandau," Celena asked, sitting at her usual chair. Dilandau looked up from the sketchpad he now held; in her free time, Celena had volunteered to test her artistic skill on him as a real life model. He was incredibly impressed with her work.

"Last night, I went to Hitomi's room to ask her if she wanted to go for a walk. She was crying," she said quietly, fiddling with her fingers. Dilandau narrowed his eyes, closing the pad and placing it on the floor. He stood up, leaning against the bars.

"And..?"

"There must be something I can do," she said quietly, leaning her head on one elbow. Dilandau raised one eyebrow.

"What do you expect? She can't go home to the Mystic Moon and she's marrying that prissy pretty-boy brother of yours," he hissed, shrugging on a jacket that she had given. The temperatures had begun dropping, signaling the beginning of autumn. Celena sighed, taking the pad that he slipped beneath the bars.

Suddenly, Celena gasped. Dilandau jumped, giving her a quizzical look. "What.. what if Van weren't dead? Then Hitomi could be happy and you would be released on false accusations of murder!" Dilandau narrowed his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he asked skeptically. Celena looked at him with a wide smile, her blue eyes glittering.

"I'll have the guards bring you your dinner tonight. As you put it... I'm going dragon-hunting."

***

The day of the wedding had arrived. Engagements were known not to last long on Gaea; a few months at maximum. The Asturians were not a people of patience.

Hitomi woke early that morning, by a knock at her door. Before she could get out of bed, a very earnest Mr. Mole rushed into her room.

Hitomi let out a scream, holding her blanket up to her ears. Ignoring her, the mole man whipped a box out of his jacket and set it on her bedside table. Without a word, he unbolted the small treasure-box, opening it to reveal a horde of jewels.

"I found this for you," he said, withdrawing an elegant silver necklace from the box. He motioned for her to turn around, which she reluctantly did, and lifted her hair. Buckling the necklace, he offered her a small mirror.

Hitomi looked up gratefully, fingering the green-gemstone, silver-chained necklace. "Thank you," she said quietly. Mr. Mole shook his head.

"No thanks needed. The king will like that." Without another word, he left the room, leaving a very confused Hitomi behind.

***

The day was a rush of this, that, and the other thing. Everyone wanted a piece of me: the dress was refitted; the bouquet was made, criticized, remade, and placed outside; the entire garden was fitted with a live band and hordes of chairs; and not once did I hear anything but comforting, encouraging words. But none of them helped calm the painful butterflies that ruled my stomach, making me unable to eat anything until the time to walk down the aisle approached.

The gown looked gorgeous on me - as humble as I am to say. It looked very Egyptian, but hugged my figure in just the right places. I fixed my gloves as Millerna led me out to the garden, arm in arm. The castle was completely deserted, not only because it was noontime, but because everyone had already assembled outdoors.

The air was crisp and warm, and the large, beautiful trees scattered about the grounds fluttered in a light, drafty breeze. The flowers, which were carefully monitored and watered, seemed to be wilting in the fading warmth of autumn.

As we stepped out onto the path, I could see the beginnings of the sea of white chairs. We walked further, and I realized I was now clinging closely onto Millerna, as if she were a lifeline. She didn't mind, and now supported me heavily as we entered the huge mass of guests.

As was Asturian tradition, Allen took my arm from there. He was dressed very handsomely, I had to admit: his attire seemed to be very knightly, but much more formal - and almost romantic. Two locks of hair hung in front of his face, and the rest was tied back in a ponytail. As he took my arm, I noticed the Duke sitting in the crowd; his resemblance to his father was uncanny. The thought of the man I was going to marry already having a son made me shiver. I looked around for Celena, but found her to be absent. Was she still angry at Allen, irate enough to miss his wedding?

Allen nudged me, getting my attention. He whispered something in my ear which was merely a comforting phrase, and touched my arm with one hand in assurance. I nodded slowly in response as we neared the alter.

A large, white arch towered over the bishop-like man standing at the end of the red carpet that had been laid out for us. He held the Asturian scepter, which was formed by two gold dragons.

Dragons... Even on my wedding day, I was still thinking about Van. It was all about Van.

It would always be about Van.

As we stepped beneath the wooden arch, I heard a scream. I raised my eyes, thinking perhaps someone had dropped a glass of refreshment or a baby was crying.

On second look, I saw that almost half the crowd was standing up, letting out gasps and cries of alarm.

"It's just a bird!" one man said.

"It's a dragon!" a group of women cried.

"A dragon? In these parts?!"

"It's a guymelef!"

I almost fainted when I heard a small girl whisper, "It's an angel!"

I slowly raised my gaze heavenwards, regarding the vibrant blue sky with wide-eyed hope. The sun blinded me momentarily; I squinted, unconsciously letting go of Allen's arm.

Suddenly, I heard another round of screams from the now panicking crowd. Millerna dashed about, trying in vain to calm the people.

I felt my heart begin pounding as I caught a glimpse of a white wing from beneath the bright rays of the blinding, oppressing sun. Before I could stop myself, I let out a scream.

"VAN!" The wings moved, almost too small for me to see at such a distance. Before I could register the long, tan body between two immense stretches of ivory feathers, I saw his face.

Van's chocolate eyes were wide and desperate. He shot towards me, making a rush of white wind all around him as he plummeted.

I watched in knowing earnest as the round, green portal above me began to crack. He was coming for me. The orb shattered in a million pieces, but the clatter around me was completely irrelevant. Van shot through the debris, wings outstretched, diving right towards me.

I reached up, hoping against hope it wasn't an illusion.

I knew that he had come back for me when I felt his arms tightly wrap around me, pulling me close. I gripped his back, holding on with everything I was worth as I slowly looked up.

Van's eyes were soft and brown, just as I remembered them. His black hair was longer and stuck out in every direction as always. His tan arms were powerful and muscular, keeping my body in perfect mold against his as I felt his wings beat behind him.

I barely noted that we rose into the air, despite the loud objections from people below, especially Allen. My entire world was Van, and Van was my entire world. There was nothing else but him.

As if still disbelieving, I leaned my head lightly against his chest. His wings beat all around us, casting a sheen of white feathers over my head as we rose into the air. There was no room for words; he was with me.

Van had come back from the dead for me.