Folken paced his chamber on the Vione, unable to sleep. Tomorrow was Van's fifteenth birthday, the day he would undertake his Rite of Dragonslaying. Folken wasn't sure what he feared the most: that Van would fail and perhaps die, or that he would succeed and gain his crown through violence and cruelty. It pained him to think of the gentle little boy, who had protested at the idea of killing dragons, being sent out to slaughter one himself.
It was no great comfort therefore when, a couple of days later, a Zaibach spy reported that Fanelia was celebrating the return of their young prince and his forthcoming coronation. Almost immediately afterwards, Folken was summoned to the communication chamber for an audience with Lord Dornkirk.
'I am gravely concerned.' The old man's voice boomed out, his image distorted by the communication globe. 'There is a shadow over our future. I see a dragon, flying across the night sky...'
'A flying dragon? Land dragons can glide a little, but-'
The emperor laughed hollowly. 'Not a flesh-and-blood dragon, a machine. A white dragon with ruby eyes.'
'Escaflowne...' Folken murmured.
'You know of it?'
'My...former...homeland possesses an ancient Ispano guymelef that can transform into a dragon and fly. I spent hours studying it when I was a boy.'
'Yes, yes, the ancient white dragon,' the emperor cried, 'You must capture it, Lord Folken. Capture it at all costs, lest our ideal future be lost to us.'
Folken ordered the Vione to approach Fanelia but remain behind the western mountains where it could not be seen.
'Van, my brother, forgive me,' he murmured to the chill dawn air. 'I cannot let anyone get in the way of our plans, not even you.'
If all went well, the Dragonslayers in their Alceides would quickly subdue the Fanelian forces' ancient melefs. With a drag-energist from the Vione's power reserves, Folken could awaken Escaflowne and fly it back to the Vione. It should have been his, after all; it already was, in a way.
After their father had died it had been Folken's duty to remove the old drag-energist and put the guymelef back to sleep. He had kept the crystal, however, and in the middle of the night he sneaked back to the shrine, re-awakened Escaflowne and climbed into its cockpit. The overpowering smell of engine oil made him feel queasy at first, so he just sat there, imagining what it would be like to pilot such an powerful machine. After a while he had slipped his hands gingerly into the main controls and raised the guymelef's right arm with a whirr of hydraulics. The noise was alarmingly loud on the night air, and he hadn't dared to do any more for fear of waking half the city. Afterwards he had taken the energist out and smashed it, as he should have done in the first place. Even so, the blood-bond between them had been made, and for that short time Escaflowne had been his.
He stood impassively on the bridge of the Vione, waiting for Dilandau to report. The leader of the Dragonslayers was fearless, and his ability to inspire loyalty in his troops had earned him Folken's grudging respect, but the boy lacked self-restraint. Folken didn't know much about him except that he was one of Garufo's pet projects. He knew that Dilandau had undergone some kind of fate alteration therapy; as his commanding officer Folken had had to be informed of this much, since there was apparently a danger of side-effects. Garufo had insisted that Dilandau's effectiveness as a Dragonslayer more than outweighed the risk of a relapse, and Folken had reluctantly agreed to take him on. Now, listening to the boy's maniacal ranting over his comlink and watching the capital of Fanelia burning, he was beginning to regret it.
'That's enough, Dilandau!' he said at last. 'I said I wanted them subdued, not destroyed. Have you seen the white guymelef yet?'
'No, Lord Folken,' the boy sneered.
'Go to the shrine and stop Van from taking it. As soon as you have it, I will come down and pilot it myself.'
'Why you? I'm sure one of my Dragonslayers can manage that heap of old junk.'
Folken sighed. He knew that Dilandau's respect for him as the designer of the Alceides barely outweighed his contempt for Folken's lack of piloting experience. Unfortunately Folken's mechanical arm was not responsive enough for combat manoeuvres, which was why he was dependent upon the Dragonslayers' capturing Escaflowne for him.
'I've told you before, Dilandau, it's an heirloom of my family, protected by Ispano technology. Don't touch it, do you understand?'
'All right, all right! Wait, I see it! The white guymelef!'
'Where?'
'It's out in the open, walking around...'
Folken cursed under his breath. Damn you, Van, why did you have to beat me to it?
'You can still capture it,' he told Dilandau. 'Just don't let it transform and fly away.'
'Don't worry, Lord Folken.' There was the barest note of insolence in the way he pronounced his commander's name. 'My Dragonslayers have him surrounded and they're decloaking as we sp- what the fuck-?'
'Dilandau, what is it?'
He scarcely needed to ask. From his vantage point he watched in disbelief as a beam of white light stabbed upwards from the ruined city. A moment later it was gone, leaving a purplish afterimage that came and went as he blinked. The comlink was strangely silent.
'Dilandau! Dilandau, what happened?'
'It-it's gone...'
'Gone? Which way did it go?'
'I dunno,' Dilandau said slowly. 'It floated up into the light and just...disappeared.'
Folken shook his head. Some kind of Ispano portal, perhaps? He wouldn't put anything past a people who preferred to lurk between dimensions instead of living on Gaea. If only he knew more about their technology...but they were an elusive folk, and not friendly to Zaibach.
'Fall back,' he commanded. 'There is nothing more we can do here. I want full-scale scouting patrols in all directions. Find that guymelef.'
'Yes, Lord Folken.'
Fortune was on their side. Escaflowne was soon traced to a small fort on the Asturian border, and though Van and his new friends tried to escape in a leviship the Dragonslayers succeeded in flushing the young king out and capturing both him and the guymelef.
Folken made his way down to the hangar with Dilandau dogging his footsteps. The boy seemed obsessed with the pilot of the Escaflowne, perhaps because he had defeated Dilandau's Dragonslayers twice before they managed to capture him - and Dilandau did not like losing.
'Why don't we just drag the samurai out of there and destroy the thing?' Dilandau asked as they climbed the metal steps to a platform level with the cockpit.
'I cannot allow that.'
'Why not?'
'Not until we fully understand why it is a threat to our future. Do you understand?'
Folken placed his good hand against the faceted front of the energist cell. It began to glow in response to his touch, and the cockpit doors hissed open. Van slumped forward and tumbled from his seat onto the platform, where he lay moaning faintly. Folken stared at his brother impassively, unwilling to show any sign of weakness in front of Dilandau.
The Dragonslayer gaped.
'Him? It's him...'
'Yes. The new king of Fanelia.'
Folken sat at his desk, whistling softly. He had made a preliminary sketch of Escaflowne's controls and was looking forward to the opportunity for a test flight as soon as they got back to Zaibach. Of course he would need a proper pilot if Escaflowne were to be deployed in battle - which meant convincing Van to join him.
It wouldn't be easy. Folken had had little choice but to join Zaibach after his maiming by the dragon and the loss of his kingdom, but Van was both whole and the crowned king of Fanelia. Not that he had much of a kingdom left after Dilandau's attack, Folken thought bitterly. I should have been more explicit in my instructions, should have turned down Garufo's offer in the first place...but it was too late for regrets.
'All causes shall give way: I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.'
Emperor Dornkirk had made the study of Shakespeare's plays compulsory in Zaibach schools. He liked to point out that the tragedies, especially Macbeth, were an entertaining introduction to elementary destiny theory.
Folken turned back to the sketch and resumed his whistling.
'Who are you? How do you know that Fanelian song?'
Folken turned to look over his shoulder. His brother was sitting up on the bed, apparently none the worse for his fall. He frowned at Folken, then seeing his sword on a nearby table, dashed across the room and drew it. He held it between them, ready to attack.
'Take me to my guymelef.'
Play it cool, Folken told himself. Don't alarm him. After all, he probably thinks you're long dead.
'Do you think a soldier of Zaibach would give in to such a bluff?' He saw Van's resolve waver. 'You can't escape this floating fortress...'
'If I have to be your puppet to survive-'
To Folken's alarm, Van placed his sword against his own throat, glaring at him defiantly. Faster than the eye could see, Folken drew his own katana, knocked the sword from his brother's trembling hand and sheathed it in one easy movement.
'You shouldn't take your life lightly.'
Enough of these games. He had to convince Van of who he was, and he could think of only one foolproof way. He shrugged out of his cloak and tunic and spread his wings.
Van gasped.
'B-brother...?'
'It's been a while, Van...ten years, isn't it?' He turned away to pick up the cloak and pinned it in place.
'I never believed my brother ran away from his rite of succession,' Van said sadly. 'He fought a dragon and was killed. He never turned his back on his enemy, he fought until the end...but I was wrong.' He sounded angry now. 'Why are you with Zaibach? And why did you burn Fanelia?'
Folken heard his footsteps approaching. He laughed softly. First Carenza, now Van...how many times was he going to have to go through this?
'Why are you laughing?' Van shouted. 'Don't laugh!'
He reached up and seized Folken's shoulder.
Folken sighed. Damn it, he had enough to think about already, keeping a rein on Dilandau's temper whilst they searched for the unknown element, the power source Lord Dornkirk had seen. He didn't have time for this...he turned and embraced the startled boy, grasping Van's left shoulder with his clawed right hand.
'Van, my brother, come with me and serve Dornkirk, emperor of all Zaibach,' he murmured in Van's ear. 'Then we will set the future back on course.'
The needle snicked out of his fingertip and into Van's neck, the sedative taking effect so quickly that Van didn't even have time to cry out.
He left Van sleeping and returned to the bridge of the Vione. Suddenly a pain spread through his chest, and he doubled over in agony. The deck trembled. Nausea swept over him, and with it the phantom scent of engine oil...Escaflowne?
'What was that?' he said when he was able to breathe again.
'An explosion in the hangar, sir.'
There was a terrible screech of metal against rock and the Vione shuddered violently.
'Enemy attack from directly above us!'
'What?' Folken seized the communicator. 'Dilandau, scramble your pilots, immediately! Dilandau?'
There was no reply. Cursing, Folken staggered towards the stairs leading down to the hangar.
Folken made his way along the upper walkway to the end bay where Escaflowne had been parked. The enormous white guymelef was unharmed, though its energist cell glowed faintly. In the shadows below he could just make out a red-armoured figure, hunched over in pain.
'The stupid little bastard! I told him not to touch it.'
He watched for a few minutes, wondering if he should go and help Dilandau. Not that the boy would thank him for it. He was about to return to the bridge when his brother entered the hangar on the lower level. Dilandau stirred in the shadows, a hand to his sword hilt. Folken sighed. Capturing his brother was one thing. Letting him get cut down by an enraged Dilandau was quite another.
'Van!'
Van looked up.
'Brother!'
Folken raised Van's sword crossways so that it would clear the railing, and threw it down to him. Then he turned and walked away. Maybe that one small gesture wouldn't be enough to earn Van's trust, but he had to try.
'You let the dragon get away?'
The fuzzy image of Emperor Dornkirk frowned. Folken inclined his head apologetically.
'He won't get far, my lord. One boy and a ragtag band of border guards...'
'They are still a danger, I can see it-'
'Yes, my lord. Never fear, I will bring him to you. He just needs time to think it over. Blood is thicker than water, or so they say.'
'And Draconian blood is stronger than either, eh, Folken?'
'Indeed my lord.' He hastened to change the subject; in emphasising Van's loyalty to himself, he risked the emperor suspecting that Folken might put his brother before the empire. 'I am heading for Palas; if we can get there before the dragon, I'm sure this situation can be turned to our advantage.'
* * * * * * * * * * *
Author's note: Yeah, I know, this chapter is largely a transcript-cum-rewrite of scenes from several early episodes, but I wanted to show events from Folken's point of view, to help clarify his motivation. I also wanted to explore the link between Folken and Escaflowne, which is only hinted at in the show.