Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Passing Time ❯ Chapter 1

“Passing Time”
By Viridian5
9/6/05

RATING: R.
SPOILERS: Major ones for the series.
SUMMARY: ...and Celena Schezar was never normal again.
ARCHIVAL/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you ask me first.
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com.
DISCLAIMERS: All things The Vision of Escaflowne belong to Hajime Yadate, Shoji Kawamori, TV Tokyo, and Sunrise, Inc. No infringement intended.
NOTES: Written because a show can’t do what it did to Dilandau and not have me wanting to do something with it.

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“Passing Time”
By Viridian5
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Laughing, I crushed another Fanelian under my guymelef’s foot. He hadn’t even been worth firing on. How glorious to finally be let off the leash to kill and destroy. Fanelia burned, and its warriors died screaming, easy prey for my Dragonslayers and me. These people had shown some cunning, but soon King Van and Escaflowne would be ours. I didn’t see how his antique guymelef could possibly be so important but didn’t care much either. It would be fun to take it just because we could.

The smell of fire and burning flesh filtered into my cockpit, and I breathed it deeply. I never felt as happy or as alive as I did here, nestled within my guymelef, with its sounds and vibrations running through my body. I never felt so aroused as I did while in battle. Zaibach’s tight uniform and armor only made it... harder to bear.

Too bad we couldn’t hunt down any of the women the Fanelians had sent to safety. Then again, in my current mood I’d probably break a woman, ending the fun early. Maybe I’d forego my servants and take on one of my Dragonslayers instead. One of them could withstand me and perhaps match me in force and ardor.

I awoke gasping, on fire, glad that I hadn’t made enough sound to bring Allen in. My brother had comforted me after the nightmares, when I sobbed and screamed the names of people I didn’t even know or begged the black-cloaked sorcerers for mercy or death, but I didn’t want him here for this one.

And it had hardly been a nightmare.

I was starting to remember everything, and in a way I had King Van to thank for it.

Too sensitive, I took off my undergarments and left only my nightgown on. Although I desperately wanted relief, my fingers alone felt so inadequate, and I didn’t quite know what else I could do with this female body of mine. Living in one wasn’t quite the same as using a body part I no longer possessed to fuck one, and I could hardly ask Allen’s advice.

I loved my brother, but part of me still hated him. He feared for me... and feared me. As the memories returned, I better came to understand why.

My name is Celena Schezar. I repeat that to myself once in a while. It hadn’t been “Celena Schezar” for many years. I had been a child, and then for a long time I was nothing, and then I returned to Allen, my body many years older. I returned to him for good on the battlefield, wearing a Zaibach uniform and armor that didn’t fit and getting out of a badly damaged guymelef.

My name is Dilandau Albatou, and I was a soldier of Zaibach. A pilot, a commander. Known for my rages and violence, I was feared by most and loved by my Dragonslayers. My most hated enemies were Allen Schezar and Van Fanel. Van scarred my face and slaughtered everyone I loved (making me alone), which had left me so unstable that the very bastards who’d made Celena into Dilandau took me back and started experimenting over again.

Now I’m Celena Schezar again, and I’m nothing. Gaea is at peace now. Zaibach has been defeated and disarmed. My guymelef was destroyed, not that Asturian women are allowed to do anything so unfeminine as fight, so I am grounded. Princess Millerna might have a medical education and sometimes walk about in leggings, but royalty could be allowed eccentricities that a mere knight’s sister couldn’t. Sometimes I feel such a desperation that I consider... borrowing Allen’s guymelef, but his is an antique that can’t even fly. No one talks about the war in front of me, Knight Allen’s poor, simple, damaged sister. I live in a gilded cage, in boredom. In despair, divided.

For a while I’d only known that I was Celena and a large part of my life was missing. I had been bored and dissatisfied but nearly content to be with my brother again. It might have been better if I’d stayed that way.

But Van Fanel had helped ruin that too. Allen Schezar had a guest these days: the king of Fanelia. Some Asturians thought it a great thing that a king would lower himself to visit a mere knight, even if they had fought together in the war. Others thought it very improper, almost scandalous. I simply knew that having Dilandau’s greatest enemy in the same house made the memories so much stronger.

I stood now in front of the mirror and looked at my shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and unmarked face, all wrong. But as I stood there I swore that I could see glints of red amongst the blue and strands of silver amidst the light blonde and that my shoulders strained my nightgown a little. Sometimes I felt as physically unstable as I did mentally. I ran my finger down the right cheek that should have the scar Van gave me but didn’t, then picked the lock on my door with a hairpin and left the room, drawn away.

I found him easily and simply walked into his bedroom. What need did he have for guards in this time of peace, in the home of a friend? He’d taken the heart out of Escaflowne, rendering it inoperable.... If Escaflowne had been mine, I would never have done that. I would rip my own heart out before depriving a guymelef of its reason for being.

In their own way, Allen and Van had ripped the fighting, living heart out of me.

In the heat of summer, he’d thrown the light sheets aside. As I looked down at him, I remembered him in Escaflowne killing Jajuka and my Dragonslayers and thwarting me at almost every turn. I remembered his sword laying open my face. He looked young and helpless now, his face slack and his messy black hair as messy as ever.

I hiked up my gown and came up to straddle him and grab his wrists. His instincts must have been really dulled by peace, while I knew no peace. The cotton of his sleep pants rubbed against sensitive places that welcomed the friction.

His eyes jerked open. “Celena?”

“Partly,” I answered, my voice deeper. I felt alive again now.

He knew instantly. I could feel it in his body beneath mine, and the moonlight let me see it in his eyes. “What do you want from me?” he answered in annoyance and defiance, refusing to say my other name.

What did I want? His pain, his death. “Satisfaction.” Could I even kill him barehanded in this body? For too long I hadn’t remembered my old exercises, not that Allen would have let me continue training in the martial arts. I was soft now. One more thing to hate them for.

Van could probably break my grip if he weren’t so afraid of hurting his friend Allen’s poor sister.

What would I do with him? Stupidly, I hadn’t planned this at all.

He squirmed beneath me, which felt wonderful, while my squirming atop him had started to make him hard. That had to gall him. Despite the peace, he’d kept in good shape, and he sweated under me now. A truly perverse part of my mind wished that I dared release his wrists for a moment to pull down his pants and take him, which would give me some small measure of satisfaction and drive quite a wedge between him and Allen.

I, who had been the terror of whole countries, had been reduced to this.

At my indrawn breath, he took on a look of horror. Maybe he realized. “Celena, don’t do this. The war is over.”

“Not for me.”

“Everyone thinks Dilandau is dead. If they knew about you, they might make you pay for his crimes.”

“Do you think I haven’t been paying?” Grounded, sequestered, imprisoned, coddled, condescended to, pitied.... “What would they do to me in this time of peace? Kill me?” It might be a blessing to die, although it would break poor Allen’s heart.

I was worrying about Allen? I hated him! He was....

He was my brother who’d fought Van off me and took care of me.

It was useless. I loved Allen too much to kill myself or kill Van. If I even could kill Van now, considering the way I am. I was trapped.

It was over. My side lost. I let go of his wrists and sat up, sighing at the feel of his pants rubbing against me, then got off him.

Part of me still refused defeat. Perhaps I could force my body to change completely back to a boy’s--at least to get through this fucking backward, sexist country--and run away to make something of myself somewhere no one knew me. There might not be much call for guymelef pilots or killers these days, but there had to be something I could do. I could leave Allen a note, if my tender sensibilities felt such concern for his feelings.

“Celena, if you’re so unhappy, tell Allen,” Van said. “He can help.” So generous Van was, and why not? What threat had I just been to him, really?

Better I’d died on a battlefield than lived to see my greatest enemy pitying me.

I tried to sound more like a Celena as I fled the room. “I’m sorry, King Van. I don’t know what came over me.” Fortunately, he didn’t follow.

Tell Allen. Allen already knew I was unhappy but kept telling me it would pass. Even the part of me that loved him knew he was delusional on this point.

The full extent of my total, impulsive idiocy tonight started to hit me. As Celena I was more patient, but tonight, in my mindless anger and need for revenge, I’d proven my instability to Van, who would have to tell Allen out of his tender concern for Celena and revulsion for Dilandau. My brother would have to react. I didn’t know if I could be caged in a more restrictive environment than I already was short of putting me in an actual dungeon but they would surely try to, completely out of concern for me and for anyone Dilandau might be unleashed on.

For my own, actual, good, I’d have to flee tonight. Let Van think I was returning to bed to sleep, while I actually got the hell out of here. Forever. Although I would probably leave some small note for Allen that wouldn’t give him any idea where I was going. It would hurt him but....

I had my excuse to go.

I felt sick. I felt high. I felt free.

I better start now in case Van decided not to wait ‘til morning to go to my brother.

Knowing where things were made it easier for me to slip through the halls to get things I needed to steal: pants, boots, a man’s shirt, a few kitchen knives. Allen had never let me see where he kept swords. I was Celena enough not to take more than a little money. I would pawn the jewelry I had, since it meant nothing to me, my circlet having been taken from me long ago. My jewelry as Celena wasn’t expensive, which meant that I’d get less money for it but also draw less attention to myself while pawning it.

I cut my hair short like it had once been, because that way my small shifts and inconsistencies in the boy form I intended to try for wouldn’t be as noticeable to passersby. I hadn’t been able to change back to full Dilandau, full male, since that last battlefield. I shifted as much as I could now, looking like a girlish boy. Then again, I’d looked girlish as Dilandau as well.

I felt so focused and clear right now, better, alive. It all suddenly seemed so easy. Had it always been this easy to go? I’d let them cage my mind, destroy my ability to make plans and act. I’d forgotten myself. The last few months had passed so slowly, but everything seemed fast now, exhilarating, a taste of how my life used to be.

I wrote my note to Allen, asking his forgiveness and speaking of my love but saying in clear, strong terms that I could no longer stay here. I knew he would look for me... and for Dilandau, but I didn’t intend to look quite like either of us. I hoped that neither he nor Van would set anyone to looking for Dilandau. I figured they wouldn’t, not with the questions that might be asked. I left the note on my pillow and closed the door, then ducked around a corner as I saw Van’s shadow approaching. Damn it. I had less time than I’d thought.

I’d wanted to see Allen one last time; I loved and hated him so much in that doubled, self-contradicting way I’d become accustomed to. But I couldn’t do that now. Even here Van ruined things.

I slipped out and onto the streets. People must have truly grown soft in this time of peace, because no one challenged me. They were fools, soft. Surely I could make a living off of fools like these. Breathing in the cool night air, I walked where I wanted, even as I remembered the vast distances my flying guymelef had easily covered. I had to remember that this was a different time, with different standards.

I may have just given myself the freedom to starve and die alone, but I refused to end up there without a fight. Too many people had risked too much to keep me alive. I would find a way and make a new life and person for myself. Anything would be better than the slow death I’d been living.

And, any way, we would never leave each other, so in many ways I would never be truly alone again.

  **********************THE END***********************     More Viridian5 stories can be found in The Green Room version 3.0 at http://viridian.shriftweb.org/   No-frames but no-frills access available at http://viridian.shriftweb.org/index2.htm