Lost and Found
By: rainjewel
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Migel
I hate it when Dilandau gets into moods like this. Hell, who am I kidding, he's not in a mood. He's drunk. Roaring drunk. That's all right though. As long as he keeps his hands away from that awful cut on his face, I'm not going to complain. I've already gotten slapped once for reminding him to not touch that bloodied bandage. I can deal without sleep for one night as long as he doesn't go off in a frightening bout of insanity.
Dilandau and I share a room. Every Dragon Slayer shares a room with another soldier. To make things fair, Dilandau decided, or Folken ordered, that he should have a roommate like the rest of us. It "boosted moral." It also keeps Dilandau somewhat under control.
Why I was chosen as Dilandau's roommate remains a mystery. Perhaps someone thought it was privilege, or that I have the ability to "calm" Dilandau. That person is an idiot.
I don't know when Dilandau started slipping away from us. I think it began with this awful pursuit of the Dragon. It's become his obsession, and it has spread like wildfire throughout the unit. Everyone's always talking about the bloody Dragon except for me, but I've always been an exception.
"Migel…Migel what are you thinking about?" Dilandau says in a singsong voice. I snap my head to look at him. He stands with his hands on his hips, his crimson-eyes sparkling. I believe I'm the only person who's ever seen him like this. Dilandau without his cool, icy cover.
"I was merely pondering, Sir," I say as calmly as I can.
"Pondering what? Battle?" Dilandau asks. He takes his sword from the wall and makes a few fake thrusts. His motions are perfect and as graceful though a few moments ago it was a wonder he could stand.
"Not really. Just pondering life, Sir. You?" I ask. You can ask Dilandau things when he's drunk.
I turn onto my side. I'm lying on my bed in my pants and blue undershirt. Dilandau is clothed the same, save for his diadem and the fact that his undershirt is lavender. In my hand is a book, while in Dilandau's is a sword. Surprise, surprise.
Dilandau takes the bottle of vino from the bedside table and sits down at the end of my bed. I sit up to face him.
"Life. What in life does one ponder?" Dilandau asks me. Dear god he's getting maudlin or at least philosophical. Great, another Folken.
"One's destiny, one's family? I truly don't know," I say thoughtfully. Dilandau lifts a warning eyebrow. "Sir," I add hastily. Even drunk, Dilandau still is a highly observant individual. It's one of the qualities that makes him such a great soldier.
Dilandau takes a delicate mouthful of vino then looks to me. He absently places the wine back on the bedside table.
"I have no family. Do you have a family Migel?" Dilandau asks me. I calculate my response carefully.
"Yes," I reply. Nothing more, nothing less. It's safer that way. I think Dilandau caught my coolness. His eyes glitter momentarily with the suave knowledge of cat, then become wide and thoughtful.
"Where did you come from Migel?" asks Dilandau softly. His drunken giddiness has subsided into calm sensitivity. I sigh heavily. Why the hell is everyone so bloody interested in my origins all of a sudden?
"My first memory in this world was when you saved my life Dilandau-sama," I say. It's the truth at least, but it feels like a lie. A lot of things feel like lies lately.
"Ah yes. I remember," says Dilandau. His eyes close slightly, losing himself in old memories. "You were beaten almost senseless by petty thugs. I remember coming across you, all broken. You fought, but without knowledge of battle. That was a quick fight for me." His eyes open with a flash and he cackles maniacally at the memory. I merely grimace.
"You saved my life Sir. Without your help I would have died," I say. I say the words with feeling. Dilandau is in every word my savior. Without him I would have died in this world. I love him for that.
"Yes, well Migel," Dilandau says, "You had fighting qualities. And you've proven them quite well." If he were an affectionate man, he would have probably granted me with a special touch of recognition, but he's not. Dilandau may be a hard, brutal captain, but he's a damn good one. He respects his men and we worship him.
"Thank you Sir," I manage to say. Dilandau suddenly cackles.
"Listen to me! Aren't I the sentimental fool!" He stands abruptly and begins fencing at some imaginary partner while rubbing his bandage. Damn. Now I have to get slapped again.
"No Sir, you would never be a fool," I say quickly. Reassurance, reassurance Migel, that's the ticket.
Dilandau spins, looking at me with fire in his eyes. He removes his diadem and tosses it into the air, then throws his sword at my head. My eyes widen and I brace myself for the lethal blow.
Oh god oh god ohgodohgodgod!
The sword lodges itself in the wall, inches from my head; the diadem encircles itself neatly around the wine bottle without a sound. I don't even dare to breathe. I guess he's not as drunk as I thought, or he's damn good. Most likely it's the latter
"No," –pause– "I suppose not Migel," Dilandau says with an evil grin. He walks fluidly over to where I sit, stricken.
"No Sir, I suppose not," I say weakly. Dilandau giggles and retrieves his sword from the wall. Shake it off Labariel. Show him what you're made of, pudding or metal? God…I feel like pudding. I sigh and resign myself to being made of metal.
"You're a good soldier Migel," Dilandau says. He puts his sword back to its holding place with mine. Suddenly he sways on his feet. I recover myself hurriedly and in a flash I am by his side.
"Sir, are you all right?" I ask soberly. Perhaps he's still drunk. Dilandau breathes deeply, his expression that of irritability.
"I'm fine," he rasps. He spins around on his feet, facing his bed. He takes a few shaky steps. I decide to risk a slap and grab Dilandau's arm and waist to support him. His head snaps to look to me, and I stiffen my body in preparation for the smack I know is coming. Instead, Dilandau brings his arm up and clasps the back of my neck. He leans in close—too close.
"If you ever talk about any of this to the others, I'll make your life a living hell," Dilandau purrs into my ear. I smell the alcohol on his breath, but I don't think it's the cause of this sudden loss of balance.
"I will always do as you bid me, Sir," I say back to Dilandau. I remain standing tall and true, though it makes me talk into his ashy hair. The smell of the wine is dizzying.
"Smart boy," says Dilandau, leaning back. His garnet eyes look at me hazily, then flit towards his bed.
"I'm tired," he announces in a childish voice. So now I guess we're back to drunken giddiness.
"It is very late Sir," I say. Dilandau nods in agreement and walks to his bed. His gate is still awkward and lacks his usual fluid grace. I remain by his side. With a high giggle he leaps into the air and lands on his bed. I look down at him, unsure of what to do.
"Go to sleep Migel. No one knows what tomorrow brings," Dilandau says. He turns his head away and closes his eyes. I nod briskly and turn on my heel. Mechanically I remove my shirt and slip under the sheets. Random thoughts begin to float inside my mind.
Dilandau begins humming some gay little drinking tune. Idly I think Folken should take lessons from him instead of whistling those mournful folk songs in the halls. They're so depressing.
"…Ryan, you're humming again…"
"…I always hum when I run…"
I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out the memories. Please, I pray to the stars, please let tomorrow bring better things then it brought today.
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