Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Return To Innocence ❯ O Philosopher! ( Chapter 7 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Angry Blood Sister 
Van struggles with the pressures of being king.
Dryden tries to decipher the Avalon prophecies.
Anime/Manga: Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Adventure / Action / Drama / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.20.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 268 | Status: Completed
Van struggles with the pressures of being king.
Dryden tries to decipher the Avalon prophecies.
Anime/Manga: Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Adventure / Action / Drama / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.20.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 268 | Status: Completed
The day was coming to a close. After the initial shock and excitement of the reappearance of the Mystic Moon, the excavation of Velleese continued. Captain Nairva had shown Van around the camp, his friends having gone off on their own. Although he had caught a few glimpses of Merle, up to nothing but mischief one could assume. That had made Van smile. All day he had tried to keep his mind occupied. He had visited the quarry, the actual site where his guarding fortress would be built, and he even visited the makeshift barracks.
The men and women had been astounded that their King would come to their ever so humble lodgings, and even more so when he asked if he could join them at lunch, and then again supper. They took a great deal of comfort that King Van of Fanelia was so humble and kind-hearted. He seemed nothing like the blood thirsty warrior he was rumored to be. But of course that had all been in wartime's, and circumstances were different then. One either rises to the occasion or is destroyed. In peacetime however, he was the King, but not just any king, he was a king of the people. A humble Royal, as impossible as that concept may seem.
The workers had at first said as little as possible to Van, and when they did speak, it was polite and with the proper words you use when addressing someone of such stature. But Van soon made them feel at ease with his calm smile and charismatic demeanor. Soon enough he was laughing and joking as if he truly was one of them, and they told him their thoughts. Van accepted these musings and compliments and carried on talking, completely at home just being one of them.
Now Van was tense and brimming with something akin to anger. He hated being King. He hated being raised up above everyone else where he was left alone and in utter despair. And he knew of only one way to vent this feeling that was building up inside.
The sun had just sunk below the short mountain range, leaving a pale orange afterglow. The two moons, casting their soft white and blue light, stood silent to witness. Metal clashed, gleaming in the sparse light. The sparring pair fought furiously against one another. No one was around, so there were no distractions. Blonde hair flew as the taller man held off an attack with one arm, though it was harder now than it has been three years ago. His opponent had grown stronger, faster, but he still lacked focus.
His body moved swiftly to avoid being hit by the downward arc of his opponents katana. He smiled down at the much younger and very angry man he was fighting. His black hair mussed, brown eyes glaring at him. He's still fighting with his anger, the older man thought.
"Van, why so angry?" he chided the young man. He was only answered by several rushed, yet very strong angled swipes which he himself hurriedly blocked. His form is much improved, but he's still a bit clumsy, his anger is throwing him off.
"Van stop." The man dropped his sword arm to his side, stopping the fight on his part. Van took advantage of this and lunged forward, the very tip of his curved blade grazing the man's neck. All he did was just stand there, looking into those brown eyes which betrayed the victorious pride inside.
"Van, really. Do you still think that you could beat me?"
Van withdrew his sword from the man's neck, looking incredulously at him, mouth set in a perfectly formed scowl.
"Van, you are a great swordsman, I will give you that, but you lack focus. You still fight with your anger. Now what have you to be angry about?"
Van opened his mouth to answer, but every reason that he had been dwelling on escaped him when he needed them most. He looked like a fool. No, even worse, he looked like a child, mouth agape like he was about to yell and through a tantrum. He close his mouth.
"I don't know Allen. I-" he paused, thinking this over again. "I just can't seem to get used to being this public figure. I hate the fact that I can't just be normal, like during the war. I just want to be a man, not a king." he sighed as he sheathed his sword and ran a hand through his ragged black locks.
"Well then why don't you renounce your throne and title, then you will be just a man." Allen said calmly, following Van, he slid his sword back into its scabbard. Van looked at him surprise, momentarily entertaining the thought, but quickly pushing it aside and shaking his head sadly.
"You know I can't do that Allen. Who would take over and treat Fanelia the way she should be?"
Allen cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, then smiled.
"It is quite a canundrum." and then he chuckled slightly. "And even if you did denounce your royal blood and become a commoner, you still wouldn't be normal." Van too smiled and said jokingly.
"You do know that I could have you arrested for that little remark, General Shezar." He smiled at his friend. He knew to what Allen was referring when he said that Van wasn't 'normal'. Allen laughed, patting Van on the shoulder. Then looking at him with a sly smirk and amused look, said.
"You know, after three years you think you'd be taller than me." he stood up straight looking in Van's eyes. He was only an inch or two shorter, but it was still amusing.
"And you'd think that you wouldn't be so damn cocky." The two laughed as they walked back into the camp, the wind picking up and pushing at their backs.
*********************************************************** *********************
The scrolls were in remarkable condition, considering they had been buried in a mountainside for millennia. He had to get his hands on them, the bookworm in him couldn't resist these
ancient mysteries.
"Mr. Dryden, have an interest in these have we?" said a soft old voice. Dryden looked up and saw Savelle Clant. The man who had read the prophecies of the Black Dragon Clan and the Wing Goddess. The historian and philosopher of Velleese.
"Yes sir, I do. But I can't for the life of me read the blasted things. What language is this?" he asked of the elderly man.
"It is written in Avolae. The tongue of Ancient Gaea." he smiled knowingly.
"Ah, I see." Dryden looked back at the scrolls. The script was so similar to many other languages on Gaea, but he still couldn't quite read it.
"I don't suppose you could read this for me? You can read it can't you?" then it occurred to him the Savelle had read directly from the scrolls earlier that day. Of course he could read it.
"Of course I can, I'd be honored." the man smiled, his small eyes beaming.
Savelle took the the scroll from Dryden's hands and lay it out in front of the man in the chair. He began to read, speaking in the common tongue.
"Poor Soul.
Filled with jealousy,
Consumed by emptiness.
Fire to make way.
Blood to pave his path.
In the Holy City,
Where the mighty fortress
Is nestled in the clouds,
He will find his answer.
But answers aren't always what we expect them to be.
A childlike cry will reach him,
But Time was never on his side."
"That was beautiful. A prophecy was it?" Dryden asked of the short old man. Savelle took a seat as well now, across the table from Dryden.
"Yes it is, but this has already happened, and at a great cost."
Dryden stared at the elderly scholar. His small eyes and bushy eyebrows gave him a knowing yet ultimately humorous look.
"Folken." he breathed out the word, like it was something his body had the expel in haste.
Savelle did nothing. Dryden remembered after Van had come back to his home with Hitomi, how he had been so overwhelmed with sorrow at the loss of his brothers life. Apparently Folken had, at the moment of his death, saw the proverbial 'light'. But he put those thoughts back into the recesses of his mind and concentrated on the present.
"May I hear another?" Savelle nodded.
"In the Holy City,
Where Dragons fought and fell,
Is where the Lost will find what they seek.
On great wings,
Bone and sinew,
And feather alike,
Gaea's Champion will fly onward towards Evil.
A purpose once again driving him.
In the midst of battle
The Beast will be awakened,
But only a gentle hand can guide it.
And only a stern hand can calm the wary and worn.
In the End,
In order to find victory, one must first find peace.
Only this will keep the Darkness from surfacing."
Dryden pondered on these words. Where was this 'Holy City'? A beast? Wings? A gentle hand? A stern hand?
"This is all so very cryptic, Savelle." Dryden admitted to the elderly man, resting his forehead in his hand.
"That it is." Savelle answered.
He's not going to offer up any useful information is he, Dryden thought to himself. After a polite amount of time, Savelle spoke.
"I believe I should leave you with this." He reached into the folds of his garments and pulled out a book, handing it over to Dryden. Dryden looked at in fascination. He looked up questioningly at the man who had now stood up and was smiling down at him.
"It is a translation of all the prophecies relevant to this new evil and even the Wing Goddess." he told the amazed brown-eyed man. At that, Savelle turned and left Dryden to the book, who greedily opened it and started pouring over the pages, enthralled.
The men and women had been astounded that their King would come to their ever so humble lodgings, and even more so when he asked if he could join them at lunch, and then again supper. They took a great deal of comfort that King Van of Fanelia was so humble and kind-hearted. He seemed nothing like the blood thirsty warrior he was rumored to be. But of course that had all been in wartime's, and circumstances were different then. One either rises to the occasion or is destroyed. In peacetime however, he was the King, but not just any king, he was a king of the people. A humble Royal, as impossible as that concept may seem.
The workers had at first said as little as possible to Van, and when they did speak, it was polite and with the proper words you use when addressing someone of such stature. But Van soon made them feel at ease with his calm smile and charismatic demeanor. Soon enough he was laughing and joking as if he truly was one of them, and they told him their thoughts. Van accepted these musings and compliments and carried on talking, completely at home just being one of them.
Now Van was tense and brimming with something akin to anger. He hated being King. He hated being raised up above everyone else where he was left alone and in utter despair. And he knew of only one way to vent this feeling that was building up inside.
The sun had just sunk below the short mountain range, leaving a pale orange afterglow. The two moons, casting their soft white and blue light, stood silent to witness. Metal clashed, gleaming in the sparse light. The sparring pair fought furiously against one another. No one was around, so there were no distractions. Blonde hair flew as the taller man held off an attack with one arm, though it was harder now than it has been three years ago. His opponent had grown stronger, faster, but he still lacked focus.
His body moved swiftly to avoid being hit by the downward arc of his opponents katana. He smiled down at the much younger and very angry man he was fighting. His black hair mussed, brown eyes glaring at him. He's still fighting with his anger, the older man thought.
"Van, why so angry?" he chided the young man. He was only answered by several rushed, yet very strong angled swipes which he himself hurriedly blocked. His form is much improved, but he's still a bit clumsy, his anger is throwing him off.
"Van stop." The man dropped his sword arm to his side, stopping the fight on his part. Van took advantage of this and lunged forward, the very tip of his curved blade grazing the man's neck. All he did was just stand there, looking into those brown eyes which betrayed the victorious pride inside.
"Van, really. Do you still think that you could beat me?"
Van withdrew his sword from the man's neck, looking incredulously at him, mouth set in a perfectly formed scowl.
"Van, you are a great swordsman, I will give you that, but you lack focus. You still fight with your anger. Now what have you to be angry about?"
Van opened his mouth to answer, but every reason that he had been dwelling on escaped him when he needed them most. He looked like a fool. No, even worse, he looked like a child, mouth agape like he was about to yell and through a tantrum. He close his mouth.
"I don't know Allen. I-" he paused, thinking this over again. "I just can't seem to get used to being this public figure. I hate the fact that I can't just be normal, like during the war. I just want to be a man, not a king." he sighed as he sheathed his sword and ran a hand through his ragged black locks.
"Well then why don't you renounce your throne and title, then you will be just a man." Allen said calmly, following Van, he slid his sword back into its scabbard. Van looked at him surprise, momentarily entertaining the thought, but quickly pushing it aside and shaking his head sadly.
"You know I can't do that Allen. Who would take over and treat Fanelia the way she should be?"
Allen cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, then smiled.
"It is quite a canundrum." and then he chuckled slightly. "And even if you did denounce your royal blood and become a commoner, you still wouldn't be normal." Van too smiled and said jokingly.
"You do know that I could have you arrested for that little remark, General Shezar." He smiled at his friend. He knew to what Allen was referring when he said that Van wasn't 'normal'. Allen laughed, patting Van on the shoulder. Then looking at him with a sly smirk and amused look, said.
"You know, after three years you think you'd be taller than me." he stood up straight looking in Van's eyes. He was only an inch or two shorter, but it was still amusing.
"And you'd think that you wouldn't be so damn cocky." The two laughed as they walked back into the camp, the wind picking up and pushing at their backs.
*********************************************************** *********************
The scrolls were in remarkable condition, considering they had been buried in a mountainside for millennia. He had to get his hands on them, the bookworm in him couldn't resist these
ancient mysteries.
"Mr. Dryden, have an interest in these have we?" said a soft old voice. Dryden looked up and saw Savelle Clant. The man who had read the prophecies of the Black Dragon Clan and the Wing Goddess. The historian and philosopher of Velleese.
"Yes sir, I do. But I can't for the life of me read the blasted things. What language is this?" he asked of the elderly man.
"It is written in Avolae. The tongue of Ancient Gaea." he smiled knowingly.
"Ah, I see." Dryden looked back at the scrolls. The script was so similar to many other languages on Gaea, but he still couldn't quite read it.
"I don't suppose you could read this for me? You can read it can't you?" then it occurred to him the Savelle had read directly from the scrolls earlier that day. Of course he could read it.
"Of course I can, I'd be honored." the man smiled, his small eyes beaming.
Savelle took the the scroll from Dryden's hands and lay it out in front of the man in the chair. He began to read, speaking in the common tongue.
"Poor Soul.
Filled with jealousy,
Consumed by emptiness.
Fire to make way.
Blood to pave his path.
In the Holy City,
Where the mighty fortress
Is nestled in the clouds,
He will find his answer.
But answers aren't always what we expect them to be.
A childlike cry will reach him,
But Time was never on his side."
"That was beautiful. A prophecy was it?" Dryden asked of the short old man. Savelle took a seat as well now, across the table from Dryden.
"Yes it is, but this has already happened, and at a great cost."
Dryden stared at the elderly scholar. His small eyes and bushy eyebrows gave him a knowing yet ultimately humorous look.
"Folken." he breathed out the word, like it was something his body had the expel in haste.
Savelle did nothing. Dryden remembered after Van had come back to his home with Hitomi, how he had been so overwhelmed with sorrow at the loss of his brothers life. Apparently Folken had, at the moment of his death, saw the proverbial 'light'. But he put those thoughts back into the recesses of his mind and concentrated on the present.
"May I hear another?" Savelle nodded.
"In the Holy City,
Where Dragons fought and fell,
Is where the Lost will find what they seek.
On great wings,
Bone and sinew,
And feather alike,
Gaea's Champion will fly onward towards Evil.
A purpose once again driving him.
In the midst of battle
The Beast will be awakened,
But only a gentle hand can guide it.
And only a stern hand can calm the wary and worn.
In the End,
In order to find victory, one must first find peace.
Only this will keep the Darkness from surfacing."
Dryden pondered on these words. Where was this 'Holy City'? A beast? Wings? A gentle hand? A stern hand?
"This is all so very cryptic, Savelle." Dryden admitted to the elderly man, resting his forehead in his hand.
"That it is." Savelle answered.
He's not going to offer up any useful information is he, Dryden thought to himself. After a polite amount of time, Savelle spoke.
"I believe I should leave you with this." He reached into the folds of his garments and pulled out a book, handing it over to Dryden. Dryden looked at in fascination. He looked up questioningly at the man who had now stood up and was smiling down at him.
"It is a translation of all the prophecies relevant to this new evil and even the Wing Goddess." he told the amazed brown-eyed man. At that, Savelle turned and left Dryden to the book, who greedily opened it and started pouring over the pages, enthralled.