Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Shadow War ❯ Shadow War 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: If I owned Escaflowne, I wouldn't be content to just write fan-fiction. I would write the script! First, I'd bring back the Slayers, and Dilandau, kill off Hitomi somehow, maybe torture Van a little, bring back Folken, Have Allen and Millerna run away together (forbidden love IS still in style, despite Allen's reservations). . .um, oh yeah! I'd include massive yaoi into the story line (the temptation is just TOO great). But as you well know, Hitomi is alive, Van is alive, Dilandau is. . . not quite alive ::grumble:: Dumb Selena, the Slayers are dead, Jajuka is dead, Folken is dead, LOTS of great bishonen are dead! So, I don't own Escaflowne.


? The dreams came to her unbidden, as they had since the fall of the Zaibach Empire. Half
formed images of the battle field, fallen comrades and foes steeped high in their own blood.
Muted shrieks and amplified moans which refused to be silenced in the darkness of the sleeping
mind. And the presence, there was always the presence. There were two minds dreaming the
same dream, taking in the sights and sounds at different angles, reflecting them back in a tirade
of distortions. Just shortly before dawn, they screamed in unison.


Allen awoke with a jerk, sleep washed away with instant trepidation. Sharp blue eyes
unfocused as they tried to gather the meager light the night offered. The candle beside his bed
had fizzled down to nothing as he had kept his watch hours earlier. For one night he thought
there would be peace within the castle. The shrill cry from down the hall proved him icily wrong.
It was only seconds before he was at his sister’s side, holding her tightly as the remnants
of the nightmare settled into the deep recesses of her mind. They would resurface again, as they
had done for the last several nights, stealing the peace which she had earned at the war’s end. She
shook in his embrace, shivering violently, though her skin was hot. Selena buried her face against
her brother’s chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt in frustration. A pitiful sob rose in her throat,
“Allen. . .why? Why do I have these dreams?”
He did not know what to say, only wished he could fend off her demons. Nightmares were
not fighters he knew how to defeat; untouchable by the cold steel of the sword, unstoppable with
the shield. Silent and intangible, they made a difficult adversary.
“They have nothing to do with me, my life,” she whispered. “Why do they haunt me so?”
“I do not know,” he replied honestly. He could feel her tears bleeding through his shirt,
cooling against his skin before drying, only to be replaced with more tears.
“I can feel him inside of me, Allen,” she admitted. “He’s in my head, wants to be let out.”
“Dilandau. . .”
“Yes, him,” she croaked. “Allen, please make him stop.”
“I can’t.”
“You can! You can do anything. Allen, make him stop. Silence him, erase him, anything,”
she paused. “Or if you can not, then make me forget about him. Make me forget who I was.”
“I can’t. . .” He was not going to cry. He felt the first prick of wetness welling in his eyes
but he would not let them spill over. If only to prove to himself that he was stronger than these
nightmares, strong enough to somehow beat them. He would not let Selena see his tears. His
heart would bleed inwardly for her, away from the rest of the world. “But if there is a way, I will
find it.”
Selena smiled a sad little smile against his chest, holding him more tightly. The smile
lacked the hope she wanted to pull forth, trembling before it turned into a painful frown. With a
whimper the tears continued. They stayed that way, with Allen sitting on the edge of Selena’s
bed, holding her as she clung to him, until dawn. Sometime just before the sun rose, Selena
caught a few moments of elusive sleep. Dreamless and dark, she could sense the other’s mind
clearly. He was as tired as she, resting peacefully in the dark after his tantrums and dreams.




The dreams continued for over a month, getting successively more brutal and realistic
with each passing night. Selena began to fear the setting of the sun, trying everything in an effort
to stay awake through the night. Helpless, she would fall asleep in the early hours of the morning
and awake screaming before the sun could rise. The nightmares wore on, creating a tiring pattern
of wakefulness and terror filled sleep.
It was impossible to accept the gory scenes that plagued her slumber. The normalcy of
nightly repose all but an impossible wish. Despite constant nightmares, Selena managed to lead
the familiar life of a lady, or so was the facade. Fatigue was a regular part of living without sleep,
stealing away time she wanted to spend outside with her brother. She fainted at times, found by
her brother or a servant, usually lying unconscious in a hallway or on a flight of stairs. Under the
best of circumstances they would find her sitting limply in the chairs of various rooms, whatever
book or needlepoint she was concentrating on spilt onto the floor. Amazingly she never sustained
any injuries from her fainting sprawls. Allen credited that to Dilandau’s influence of self
preservation and vanity. The caged boy had more domination over Selena than Allen wanted to
admit, but there was still no cure for his seemingly malignant presence.
Doctors had been called in by the dozens, each with a new potion to try, all with spells
that promised exorcism of the caged spirit within her. Some of the potions gave her sleep for a
few hours, but no more. Other brews just made her sick to her stomach. As for the spells, there
were a couple that were relaxing, but most brought pain. As the spell tried to separate Dilandau
from Selena, it felt like it was going to rip them to shreds. She would scream and shake and cry
with pain as they chanted softly to themselves, hearing in her mind cries more dreadful than her
own, echoing loudly.
As much as Selena wanted to be free of Dilandau, she found out quickly that he was a
more integral part of her than the tumor he was viewed as. Separating them was like trying to
pull siamese twins apart while they shared vital organs. It would be possible for one to survive
only if they were pulled apart the right way, giving the organs to one while the other was left to
die. That was what the spells wanted to do with her; separate him out and burn him alive. There
were some times she thought she would be torn apart. She could feel him as he huddled into the
deepest most corners of her mind. As the spells direction changed from separation to destruction
she could feel the fire coursing through her veins, see the fires all around him as be backed
against an invisible wall, unable to hide. Dilandau’s struggle for life made her feel sorry for him,
if only in the smallest way. Her nature would have forbade her immunity to his pain even if they
were not trapped together. The fact that she had no choice but to share his pain was only a double
reminder.
“St-stop,” she cried, twisting beneath the sheets as another doctor, with another spell, tried
to ‘cleanse’ her. One of the previous ones had tried the same spell, gaining the same response. It
felt like he was trying to fish Dilandau out through her nose with a fish hook, not a feeling soon
forgotten. She tightened her grip on Allen’s hand. “Not. . .working, stop.”
Allen turned to the physician, finding the look in the man’s eye almost maniacal in its
intensity. Allen cleared his throat. “That will be enough.”
A few more chanted words left the man’s lips in a hiss before he stopped, taking a step
back. It took him a moment to collect himself. He had had the demon in his grasp, he knew it.
“Sir Allen, we are close to-”
“No,” Selena’s words were weak. “He would have died within me, and remained. I would
have followed him.”
Allen gave the doctor his fee and had a servant escort him out. When the bedroom door
closed behind them, Allen spoke. “You don’t mean that, do you?”
“Mean what? Dying?”
“Yes, about following him.”
Understanding dawned immediately. “It would not have been by choice,” she explained
sourly, “If that’s what you thought I meant.”
Allen had been thinking just that. “No, no I did not think such a thing,” he lied. He
thought she caught the edge on his voice. He never was good at lying.



It had become a routine of night vigils and anticipation, uncomfortable but without
alternative. Allen was beginning to slowly be worn down by the constant watch he had to hold
over Selena, distracted from his duties as a knight and protector of Asturia. Luckily princess
Elise understood and accepted the situation as unavoidable. Her understanding, however, did not
help to pay for Selena’s host of failed treatments.
Suddenly, without warning, the dreams stopped and Selena began to sleep peacefully at
night. She became energetic and lively, as was her true nature, the horrible dreams put behind
her. Or so she thought. It could not last though, and after only a week of peace, things turned
darker than they had been before. The dreams returned, more horrible and real than ever. But
there was another horror added. Now Selena could hear him speaking to her, directly.
Dilandau’s voice rang in her head whenever it pleased him: narrating the dreams, giving
them a new substance Selena could not have imagined. She could feel what he felt as he
slaughtered people, animals, whatever he wished. The thick blood running down his blade, onto
his arm- her arm. The heavy suction created as his sword withdrew from the slain, and the
metallic ‘thock’ of his Alseides claw ripped through an opposing Guymelef’s armored cockpit,
spearing the pilot within. So many sensations, all of them connected with blood and death.
When Dilandau began to speak to her during her waking hours, when the sun shone
brightly in the sky, she snapped. Thoughts ran through her head at such speeds that they tore
themselves apart, leaving fragments, pieces which Dilandau picked up and examined, mocked,
crushed even further. He was tired of the game and had to make her slip up. He broke the slender
ties that connected Selena with reality one by one, twisted her memories, suggestively filled the
gaps with deceit and darkness. He did not expect his handiwork to backfire.
Within two days of the breakdown, things became difficult for Dilandau himself. His own
thoughts became mangled within hers, pieces of them falling around him like autumn leaves.
Process turned to panic, reason dissipating to little more than mist. He was losing himself within
her. Selena’s mind was echoing back his own workmanship upon him. Since he was trapped
within her mind, there was no escape.