Far away from here
Summary: When his kingdom fell at the hands of Ziabach, he didn't look back. When a war sat at Palas' doorstep, he took up arms once more, to protect those he cared for. When he found love, he found it too late. Or at least, he thought he had.
Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne, or its characters. Someone else does.
Warnings: Violence.Slash (m/m) will eventually come into this story. Nothing explicit or anything, but slash none the less. If that that doesn't appeal, then simply don't read this story.
Chapter One - - Strategos
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The sunset bleed over the placid surface of the ocean, runny red sinking into a thin coppery arc. Waves scraped the bottom of the salt-encrusted docks and rolled violently back out towards the blue abyss. The wind moaned in agony, sharply nipping at the brilliant blue Austurian flag flying proudly overhead
Two tall figures stood at the mouth of the docks, almost lost against the vast sea. The tallest wore a weathered expression, one brought on by determination and age. His calloused hands and scarred face were that which belonged to an old soldier. He looked at the youth beside him sadly, eyes dull and weary from exhaustion.
The boy didn't look up, gaze lost in the glowing sea before him. His eyes, a shade of rich mulled wine, were devoid of all feeling, lifeless and cold.
"Milord." The older man said gruffly, salt and pepper hair stirring slightly. "What shall become of us now? Will you ever return to your homeland, back to Fanalia?"
The boy's expression did not change as he looked at the man. His bright silver hair made him appear older than the fifteen years he was. "No." He said, voice low. "I will not return. There is nothing for me there. I am no longer your Lord."
"But there is still hope left. If only a glimmer. Should you return, they would follow you, and help you restore what was lost." The man patted his shoulder roughly. "The situation is bleak, I know this, but we must endure. We must. It's all we can do."
"Nothing can ever be redressed if I return. Nothing will come of it. Fanalia is no more. I would gladly suffer for my wrongdoings if it meant the people of Fanalia could live their lives in peace. This will be my burden. The boy lightly fingered the royal sword resting at his hip, thumb flowing down the ridges along the hilt. "I am no longer in need of this, Balgus. It couldn't protect him. There is no reason I should carry it."
"I understand, Milord."
His fingers shook as he drew the blade, plucking it from its sheath. He held it out to Balgus with an unsteady hand. "Keep it. I'm giving it to you."
"I cannot accept it under those terms." Balgus bowed his head. "But I can keep it for you, until you wish to have it back once more."
"That day will never come."
The old man smiled. "I will wait then." Digging into the pouch at his side, he produced a length of white cloth. He folded the cloth around it carefully, smile waning.
"Will you be returning to Fanalia then?" The boy asked mildly.
"A foolish question." Balgus quietly replied.
Fists clenching, he looked away from the older man. Shame filled him, a bolder weighing down heavily on his heart. "I see." He tightly replied.
"Take care of yourself, Milord." After a curt bow and a small smile he was gone, leaving him alone with his demons.
He never did wish him well in return.
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Folken's eyes opened sharply, wide and aware. He pulled the thin blanket covering him back, and swung his legs over one side of his bed. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the floor under his feet.
It had been awhile since he last had that dream. Years, in fact. He ran his hand through his pale hair, cheap brass earrings jingling together as the strands brushed past his ears. If only he had known that would have been the last he ever saw of him. He would have had more to say to him than 'I see'. What pathetic last words to say to him. His teacher.
"Seven years." Folken mumbled to no one. He stole a glance out his window, noting the soft sunshine spilling into the room in sparse rays through the ratty curtains. Just another day.
He had fell victim to a routine. Each morning he rose just as the sun was rising, often before, dressed, and wandered outside into the crisp Austurian air. Solana would always find him outside, and greet him with her sagely smile. They walked to the temple together, nestled between the graveyard and the ocean. Solana had been a priestess there once, but had retired long ago. But, that had never deterred her from visiting the temple, something he didn't quite understand. Why retire if you spend most of your time there anyways?
She fell in beside him, attention focused on the path ahead of her. A familiar silence grew between them, unnoticed but present. They walked a distance before she addressed him.
"How is Miguel?" Her small heart-shaped face crinkled with concern.
"He is well." Folken nodded, hands politely folded behind him. "He has stopped trying to sneak food from the kitchen at night."
"I'm glad to hear you say that."
Miguel was another one of Solana's charity cases. Folken lost track of how many she had after the seventh one. She wasn't a very rich woman, or a very powerful one, but she did what she could to help those in need when she arose to the occasion-- which he pointed out to her, was more often than she considered.
Folken had been one of those charity cases. His lip had been split open, congealed blood clotting the wound and his face had been scraped, purple hues smeared around several deep gouges when she spotted him leaning gingerly against the side wall of the temple. He had scarcely heard her call out to him. Folken's eyes were spent, and his mind was aflame with searing pain and bitterness. The short knife sitting across his battered knees looked like a Godsend to his dulled senses. He clumsily wrapped his fingers over its sharp edge, marveling at how cool it felt against his palm. But when he saw her empathetic face framed by white hair lower down to his face, he let the knife slip from his slippery hands, and looked up at her with a clear head.
So young. What do you call yourself, my dear?
The streets had been hard on him. Balgus never returned to Austuria, but he had been expecting that. The moment he left he went in search of work and board, but was unsuccessful in his attempts. His foreign eyes and strange silver hair had seen to that. People treaded cautiously around him like wary horses, afraid he might rob them when their backs were turned.
His situation worsened after a gang of youths mugged him in broad daylight as onlookers merely walked away without raising a hand against them. With no where to stay, no money or food, he did the only thing he could do. He wandered the streets, living day to day on whatever he could scavenge, or if he was quick enough, steal. He didn't like it, but he didn't have any other option.
It certainly wasn't something he was proud of, or something he would have chosen freely. It was his life now, but with the way things were going, he knew he wouldn't be living it much longer. Not that it mattered to him anymore.
His will weakened further at a rumor he over-heard on the streets. A rumor he would have rather not heard. The greatest swordsman to walk Gaea had been found guilty of attempted assassination and executed in Ziabach, or at least, that was the word on the street. No matter how he fought to ignore the rumors, he came to accept there might be some truth to them. Maybe he hadn't been executed in Ziabach, but there was a chance that he was in fact dead. He had to accept that he was alone now, and would die here. Alone.
Many times he contemplated suicide. To spare himself the hardship. There was nothing for him to live for anymore. He was better off dead than to continue living in this pathetic state of existence. Death would free him.
But, that had been before he met Solana.
Her presence was soothing to him, motherly even. She had been the only one willing to give him a chance, and for that he would never be able to repay her. He often tried, but it was never enough in his eyes. She had been kind to him, stern when needed, and she genuinely cared. Even when he did not. She had arranged for him to stay at the temple until she could find somewhere more permanent for him.
Now because of her, he had his own roof to live under. A very large roof. He worked at the castle, slaving away in the stables and doing any other tasks given to him. It didn't pay much, but it was enough. Folken vividly remembered the day Solana dragged him down to the stable master and harassed him until he gave him a job working in the stables. She stood only just below the man's shoulders, but as he soon learned, her height could never be an indication to her strength. Solana simply kept talking, pushing the poor man into a corner until he agreed to her request.
He lived in the attic of the old barn next to the royal kitchens, which was converted into housing for the castle servants. It was bearable, if a bit uncomfortable at times. The other servants found it strange that he would rather occupy that drafty attic than share a room downstairs with someone else downstairs. Strange indeed. Folken wanted to avoid sharing a room with anyone if it was possible.
Solana often came to visit him, she still did. She brought him meat-filled pastries or some fresh piscus squash, but mostly she came just to chat. To check up on him, she told him whenever she saw him. Whatever the reason, Folken always welcomed her company.
Together they ascended the front stairs leading up to the temple doors, Folken lending her his arm when needed. She thanked him quietly as he pushed the grand doors open. Stain-glass windows lined the walls inside, twinkling in the morning light with vibrant colors and intricate designs. Their brilliant shadows illuminated the temple floors. Folken found them humbling and made him feel like he was just a small part of something far more greater and beautiful than he could ever hope to be alone.
They took their usual seats near the back, and waited for the rows to slowly fill. As the clock struck six O'clock, chiming clearly overhead, the head priest stepped lightly onto the arched dais at the front, balding head tipped towards them graciously. His gold hemmed white robes swayed as he murmured a short blessing, palms pressed together softly. The proceedings were slow and methodical, but Folken sat with solemn patience as Solana beamed contently at his side. He stood along with the rest when they were called upon to join the priests in song, and listened carefully when the priest spoke to them. To search for the message, or so Solana told him.
At the end of the service, he waited for her to finish speaking with one of the lesser priests, hands folded calmly in his lap. His eyes strayed from the majestic stained-glass windows to a young man standing off to one side, his face set in a hard frown. He wore a deep green overcoat with a white billowing shirt underneath, dark matted brown breeches, and smart polished black boots. His long blond hair was drawn away from his slender face into a ponytail, fluidly running down his back. There was a sword at his hip, one which he had his gloved hand resting on subconsciously.
This had not been the first time he had seen him inside the temple, but it was the first time he had seen him inside the temple with a weapon. Surely the priests would say something to him about the temple's traditions on having weapons inside a house of worship, and if not, Solana certainly would.
The man met Folken's stare for only a moment before he turned his head away.
"Strategos." Solana called out to him firmly.
Folken rose from his seat quickly and briskly walked to the temple doors to where she was apparently waiting for him.
"This is horrible." She seethed once he had caught up with her, voice low.
"What?" He whispered back.
"Look across the plain and then you will see them. Soldiers' uniforms." Adjusting her skirts, she looked out beyond the graveyard with a weary expression.
"Hm." Folken nodded, looking at the rows of soldiers marching away. They wore a similar uniform the man inside wore. "There has been some talk about a Ziabachian invasion recently."
"I believe it's more than talk, my boy." She gripped his arm. "You've heard of Ziabach's advancements, have you not? I only wish it wouldn't come to this." Sighing, she slowly descended the stairs, her earlier chipper mood souring with each moment. "Let us visit Sora before we go. I'm sure she would appreciate the sentiment."
"Of course." Folken replied, his stoic eyes still following the line of the soldiers' march.
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With one final knot, the stable master wiped his wet bangs away from his face, brushing his hand past his bristly moustache. He looked back at Folken, nodding as he tied his end of the rope down, ignoring the wind beating down on his face. "That'll be all, Strategos."
Folken rubbed his raw hands together, sore from helping the stable master set up the plethora of tarps that needed to be up before the storm settled in. Behind them, the ocean roared, taking its rage out against the shoreline.
"Tomorrow then." He nodded back, shivering at the sudden chill sweeping over him.
"Bright and early as always." The stable master smiled back. The heavens shook above them, black and dark gray swirling into a great pool of damnation. "…Well, perhaps not bright, but come early anyways." He added as an after-thought.
After exchanging curt waves, they parted ways, both happy to be going home. It had been raining since that afternoon to his displeasure, and showed no sign of stopping soon. The pasture had been rendered to large puddles of mud and the horses hadn't been too thrilled about staying indoors. A storm was settling in, that was for certain. Warm wind kept blowing in from the west as a cold rush from the east blew in. The calm city of Palas lay between them.
Gravely, he trudged home, silently wondering how Solana was faring in this weather. He hoped that since she lived further inland, the storm would not affect her as much.
He didn't bother with taking off his boots before entering the house. It wouldn't make a difference anyways. His fellow peers had already run amuck with mud and water down the halls. Sighing, he slowly made his way up to his room. Water droplets marked his path, splashing into oblivion onto the wooden floorboards.
It had been a trying day for him, and tomorrow would be no better if the storm didn't die down. Closing his eyes, he pulled his rough blanket over him. Air hissed out his nostrils, a sound of exhaustion. He listened to the raindrops tick against the window next to him, wondering if he would ever fall asleep. He desperately wanted to, but sleep seemed to have better ideas.
Groaning slightly in annoyance, he rolled onto his side, letting his arm hang loosely over his bed. Lightning flashed outside his room, casting a white shadow across the floor. Folken glanced at the window suspiciously before closing his eyes again.
Lightning flashed once more, awakening his senses. For a moment he thought he saw the semblance of a large shadow standing inside the outline the window. Folken blinked and sat up cautiously. He waited for the lightning, listening intently for any sounds coming from outside his room. After hearing nothing unusual, he decided to ignore it.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the rafters sleepily. A cold droplet of water dripped onto his face, causing him to flinch and turn his head to one side. The droplets continued to fall, hitting his cheek in small successive taps. Irritated, he edged closer to the edge of his bed, turning his back towards the window.
A gust of wind whistled by his window, rattling its frame angrily. Folken paid little attention to the noise, regarding it as yet another distraction keeping sleep at bay. He felt his consciousness slip from him and welcomed the feeling. Shutting his eyelids, he exhaled deeply and let sleep envelope him.
Amid the thunder, wind, and rain, his soft breaths filled the small attic. He was almost out of place surrounded by the fierce storm. Outside, the murky clouds grew thick with rain, and the wind sharper with each turn.
A pair of small finely boned hands ran across the bottom of the window, gripping onto it with urgency. The window slid up easily, scratching awkwardly against the frame. Chipped white paint fell in bright flecks into the room, along with bursts of water, splattering onto the floorboards.
Folken felt an unwanted chill against his back, causing his brows to furrow. He tilted away from his bed slightly, careful not to encounter that nasty drip again.
The window snapped shut abruptly, startling whoever it was that had opened it. Alarmed, Folken rose fully from his slumber, and sat up, eyes drawn to a tiny figure sitting two paces away from the window.
"What?…" He mouthed to himself, unsure of what he saw. Squinting didn't help him much in the dim room.
The figure stirred, shaking water of itself as best as it could. Folken didn't utter a word.
Thunder rumbled the skies, threatening to crumble the planet into dust. The figure scampered away from the window, crying out pathetically in fright. Standing up slowly, Folken took one wary step forward, interest peaking. To him it sounded like a lost animal, or a small child, but he couldn't distinguish the difference.
A white flash set the room aglow, causing Folken's eyes to widen with surprise, and the figure to yelp sharply. Distinctly feline eyes stared up at him, terrified and threatened. A Beast-man. It shied away from him quickly, backing itself up against the back wall, its ears dropping low.
Not knowing what else to do, he crouched down lower until he was eye-level with it, and proceeded forward with a cool head. "It's alright." He whispered, more to himself than the intruder. Taking in its appearance slowly, he made the assumption that it was female, judging from the short faded sundress she wore, and her soft facial features. Her matted hair, a light rose, was dripping with frigid water, as was the rest of her. She convulsed under the chilly conditions, glaring at him with her intense lavender eyes with all her might. He almost smiled. She was just a tiny little thing. He approximated her age to be around seven.
Another flash caused her to whimper incoherently. Folken's eyes strayed for a moment, enough for her to slash her claws into his tender flesh. He brought his bleeding hand up to his mouth, staring at her incredulously. She bared her teeth at him, hissing lowly.
The window banged against its frame again, producing a scream from the little girl. Without thought of the consequences or her safety, she threw herself at her enemy, burying her face into his shirt, and wept.
Dumbstruck, he held his arms awkwardly away from her, frantically worrying this was another one of her ploys to injure him. But when she continued to cry, clutching to him, his face melted with worry. Her tiny body was frozen. Hiccupping dryly, she lifted her head up meekly as if seeking forgiveness.
Their eyes met, scrutinizing the other thoughtfully. "Hello." Folken said to her groggily. The girl blinked, hiccupping ceasing. She loosened her grip on him, averting her eyes in embarrassment.
"I…" Scratching the back of his head, he looked out the window for inspiration. "You came in through the window? Clever."
The girl's eyes brightened, tilting her head to one side. One of her ears flipped up as she looked at him curiously.
"What in the name of Jichia were you--" Sighing, he dismissed the idea of asking any questions. She wasn't likely to answer them.
Her tail twitched behind her anxiously, her face scrunching up into an expression she must have thought looked intimidating.
"Wait there." He told her, attempting to smile reassuringly. Moments later he returned, an old tunic in hand. She stared at him, unsure of his motives. For all she knew, he could be plotting her capture. She flexed her paws.
He offered her the tunic, looking at it self-consciously when she didn't take it. When he noticed her hackles rising, he smartly laid the tunic down, a few paces from her tiny feet. He knew it had to have been four times too big for her, but he also knew it would keep her warm.
"Ah…Goodnight." He whispered awkwardly, keeping back a yawn. He crawled back into the warm confines of his bed, craving sleep. There was no need to worry about her further. If she was clever enough to sneak in through the window, she was clever enough to realize that the tunic he had left her would keep her warm. She would be fine.
The petite cat-girl shivered, prodding at the mound of dry fabric with a pointed finger. Snatching it up into her paws, she brought it up to her face, sniffing it with narrow eyes. The hem of the tunic hit the floor no matter how high she lifted it up. It could serve as a blanket for her, or an overly large nightgown. The cat-girl chose the latter.
It took her some time to pull her head through the right hole. The sleeves were as large as her head, and if she tried, she could squeeze her body through them.
After much confusion, she assembled the garment loosely onto her body. The soft fabric brushed against her feet, warming them. She hugged herself, wrapping the abundance of cloth around her body, mewling contently. The dress she wore underneath the shirt was still damp with rainwater, but she didn't mind it so much now that she was warmer.
But what of that strange man she had seen? Her attention snapped to the mound lying on the bed, crouching lower instinctively. She had established that he didn't want to hurt her, but she could never be too careful. Humans are funny skittish creatures whose actions can never be predicted.
The room was still drafty, she noted as a shiver tickled up her spine. She crept up to the edge of his bed, ears flipped up curiously. This human was stranger than most. How could he sleep with her running loose in his home? Her nose twitched in thought. Silly human.
Bobbing her head up slightly, she lifted up a corner of the blanket he was under, and carefully crawled under it. She curled herself up at the end of his bed, tucked perfectly into the curve of his feet. Her eyes eventually drooped down, ears falling flat against her head. The frightening rumbling and bright cracks of light no longer startled her. Whatever it was that was out there, she knew it would it the strange man first. He was much bigger than her, after-all.
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AN: I'm planning on making this story four chapters, but anything could happen. Reviews are very welcome, but not necessary.