Please review if you read, I need to know if anyone is actually interested
in this, thanx. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Vision of Escaflowne or any of its characters
Chapter 2 : Unwelcome Memories
Folken looked into the cat-woman's wide and worried periwinkle eyes and blinked a few times to hide the tears in his own eyes. He tried to smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. "Yes, Naria, what is it?"
Naria knelt next to his feet, and then sat on the floor and gently laid her head in his lap. "You seem troubled, Lord Folken. Just name what Eriya and I can do to help and we'll do it. Anything for you, Lord Folken."
Folken smiled sadly at this, at placed a hand on her head. "Naria, you and Eriya do so much already. Don't trouble yourself with this, I will be fine." He ran a few fingers lovingly through her lavender locks. "Go on now, get some sleep. I need you and your sister in peak condition in case your services are needed.."
Naria looked at him questioningly, then rose, bowed deeply . She quickly left, closing the heavy iron door behind her with a deafening scream of its rusty hinges.
Folken sighed, tracing an idle finger over the border between the flesh of his chest and that accursed, twisted mockery of an arm. It had always served as a reminder of his failure, of a life that he lived through his memories and dreams. Now it seemed an extension of his soul; knotted and cold, sucked dry of life and remaining still to taunt him of what once was and can never be again.
*If only I hadn't been to quick to let my guard down........ If only I had hit the dragon more precisely........ If only I hadn't lived......*
For days, weeks, months, even years after that fateful day he had criticised and tortured himself in such a manner. It went on like that until his spirit could take no more, until he broke under his own constant stream of tauntings and doubt. ............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
He held his breath and closed his tear-filled eyes, feeling the cold blade of his sword pressed close to his jugular. There he froze, sprawled in the corner of his room like a wretched doll thrown down by a child in a tantrum. He daren't open his eyes, for fear that sanity would take hold and his mission be suddenly canceled.
His hand began to tremble, then shake, and then it let go, letting the sword fall to the floor and land with and awkwardly loud clang. He curled into a ball, grasping his knees and weeping bitterly.
When all had settled, his tears stopped flowing, and it was then that he made his resolution. Alone, in his dimly-lit room, young Folken made a pact with himself.
"If emotion and feeling the world around oneself are the roots of sadness and despair, one need only block them out to be at peace. I will take this road."
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
He awoke from the memory as if from a trace and found himself in total darkness; the candle had gone out . Folken tentatively dabbed at the cold beads of sweat on hid forehead with an unsteady hand while he searched with the other for his striker.
He lifted the striker from its usual place on the book shelf and began to blindly grasp at the air above his desk, hoping he would come in contact with the elusive candle, or at least his oil lamp. He finally found it, lightly squeezed the striker repeatedly until the sparks caught on the wick and the flame sprung to life.
Folken winced at the sudden presence of light, but found himself unable to look away from the flame itself. He'd always been more comfortable with darkness since the accident, it was so much easier to hide in the shadows. Now, it wasn't that light bothered him, simply that it allowed for one to see what one might not want to see. Now, with his heart shattered, its cold walls could not longer block out what he did not wish to see; and the candle's flame was a cruel reminder. He hadn't felt true pain in so long......
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
Dilandau sat perched on his throne, a goblet of wine precariously balanced in his trembling right hand. He stared with unseeing eyes into the gloom before him, thoughts of revenge, murder, and the letting of blood bouncing off the twisted walls of his mind . His eye twitched.
"Umm.... excuse me, Lord Dilandau?" Chesta meekly kneeled before his master, expecting no less than the harshest of replies.
Dlandau growled and threw the goblet at his subordanant, splashing wine all over the poor boy's head and neck . The glass hit his shoulder with a quite audible clang , richoceted off his armor, and rolled into the corner.
"Gaaah!! What is it now?!" He stood above the cowering soldier, face set in a snarl and hand draw back ready to slap the boy if he felt the whim to do so.
Chesta kept his face to the ground, the pungent red liquid dripping down his forehead. "W-well sir, I was sent to give you message form General Adelphis." He swallowed hard. "Also to make sure you were okay, after the, " he paused and braced himself for a beating, "Incident today, sir.
"WHAT?!? OKAY?! HOW COULD YOU KNOW OF HOW I SUFFER?!!" His eyes blazed with anger as his fist colided with Chesta's already bruised cheek.
Chesta was thrown backwards by the blow, but quickly recoved and was once again kneeling before Dilandou, his voice small and desperate. "I'm- I'm sorry, sir, please forgive me!"
"GET OUT!!! I WILL SEND FOR YOU WHEN I WISH TO HEAR YOUR LITTLE MESSAGE!" He drew his fist back again, ready to further convince the little worm if necessary.
Chesta quickly scrambled to his feet, which was difficult on the slippery stone floor, and bowed deeply. "Y-yes sir." Then he was gone, leaving in a flash to aviod more of his Lord's abuse.
Dilandau sat back down slowly, laughing maniachly as images of what he considered to be Folken's imminant death danced like players in a carnival before his eyes. Revenge would come soon, and oh how sweet it would taste.
Well, I added on to the chapter, hopefully at least one person will read it. Please PLEASE review, I worked hard on this and critiques are always welcome! Note to all Chesta fans: Sorry about the "little worm" comment. I like Chesta, feel sorry for the poor guy, I was looking at him from Dilandau's point of view.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Vision of Escaflowne or any of its characters
Chapter 2 : Unwelcome Memories
Folken looked into the cat-woman's wide and worried periwinkle eyes and blinked a few times to hide the tears in his own eyes. He tried to smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. "Yes, Naria, what is it?"
Naria knelt next to his feet, and then sat on the floor and gently laid her head in his lap. "You seem troubled, Lord Folken. Just name what Eriya and I can do to help and we'll do it. Anything for you, Lord Folken."
Folken smiled sadly at this, at placed a hand on her head. "Naria, you and Eriya do so much already. Don't trouble yourself with this, I will be fine." He ran a few fingers lovingly through her lavender locks. "Go on now, get some sleep. I need you and your sister in peak condition in case your services are needed.."
Naria looked at him questioningly, then rose, bowed deeply . She quickly left, closing the heavy iron door behind her with a deafening scream of its rusty hinges.
Folken sighed, tracing an idle finger over the border between the flesh of his chest and that accursed, twisted mockery of an arm. It had always served as a reminder of his failure, of a life that he lived through his memories and dreams. Now it seemed an extension of his soul; knotted and cold, sucked dry of life and remaining still to taunt him of what once was and can never be again.
*If only I hadn't been to quick to let my guard down........ If only I had hit the dragon more precisely........ If only I hadn't lived......*
For days, weeks, months, even years after that fateful day he had criticised and tortured himself in such a manner. It went on like that until his spirit could take no more, until he broke under his own constant stream of tauntings and doubt. ............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
He held his breath and closed his tear-filled eyes, feeling the cold blade of his sword pressed close to his jugular. There he froze, sprawled in the corner of his room like a wretched doll thrown down by a child in a tantrum. He daren't open his eyes, for fear that sanity would take hold and his mission be suddenly canceled.
His hand began to tremble, then shake, and then it let go, letting the sword fall to the floor and land with and awkwardly loud clang. He curled into a ball, grasping his knees and weeping bitterly.
When all had settled, his tears stopped flowing, and it was then that he made his resolution. Alone, in his dimly-lit room, young Folken made a pact with himself.
"If emotion and feeling the world around oneself are the roots of sadness and despair, one need only block them out to be at peace. I will take this road."
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
He awoke from the memory as if from a trace and found himself in total darkness; the candle had gone out . Folken tentatively dabbed at the cold beads of sweat on hid forehead with an unsteady hand while he searched with the other for his striker.
He lifted the striker from its usual place on the book shelf and began to blindly grasp at the air above his desk, hoping he would come in contact with the elusive candle, or at least his oil lamp. He finally found it, lightly squeezed the striker repeatedly until the sparks caught on the wick and the flame sprung to life.
Folken winced at the sudden presence of light, but found himself unable to look away from the flame itself. He'd always been more comfortable with darkness since the accident, it was so much easier to hide in the shadows. Now, it wasn't that light bothered him, simply that it allowed for one to see what one might not want to see. Now, with his heart shattered, its cold walls could not longer block out what he did not wish to see; and the candle's flame was a cruel reminder. He hadn't felt true pain in so long......
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
Dilandau sat perched on his throne, a goblet of wine precariously balanced in his trembling right hand. He stared with unseeing eyes into the gloom before him, thoughts of revenge, murder, and the letting of blood bouncing off the twisted walls of his mind . His eye twitched.
"Umm.... excuse me, Lord Dilandau?" Chesta meekly kneeled before his master, expecting no less than the harshest of replies.
Dlandau growled and threw the goblet at his subordanant, splashing wine all over the poor boy's head and neck . The glass hit his shoulder with a quite audible clang , richoceted off his armor, and rolled into the corner.
"Gaaah!! What is it now?!" He stood above the cowering soldier, face set in a snarl and hand draw back ready to slap the boy if he felt the whim to do so.
Chesta kept his face to the ground, the pungent red liquid dripping down his forehead. "W-well sir, I was sent to give you message form General Adelphis." He swallowed hard. "Also to make sure you were okay, after the, " he paused and braced himself for a beating, "Incident today, sir.
"WHAT?!? OKAY?! HOW COULD YOU KNOW OF HOW I SUFFER?!!" His eyes blazed with anger as his fist colided with Chesta's already bruised cheek.
Chesta was thrown backwards by the blow, but quickly recoved and was once again kneeling before Dilandou, his voice small and desperate. "I'm- I'm sorry, sir, please forgive me!"
"GET OUT!!! I WILL SEND FOR YOU WHEN I WISH TO HEAR YOUR LITTLE MESSAGE!" He drew his fist back again, ready to further convince the little worm if necessary.
Chesta quickly scrambled to his feet, which was difficult on the slippery stone floor, and bowed deeply. "Y-yes sir." Then he was gone, leaving in a flash to aviod more of his Lord's abuse.
Dilandau sat back down slowly, laughing maniachly as images of what he considered to be Folken's imminant death danced like players in a carnival before his eyes. Revenge would come soon, and oh how sweet it would taste.
Well, I added on to the chapter, hopefully at least one person will read it. Please PLEASE review, I worked hard on this and critiques are always welcome! Note to all Chesta fans: Sorry about the "little worm" comment. I like Chesta, feel sorry for the poor guy, I was looking at him from Dilandau's point of view.