1 Gaea Regained Hello, Escaflowne lovers! This is my first time writing a
fanfic and posting stuff on the web, so please allow for any inconvenience
or stupid writing. I hope that my story is entertaining. I write in a
weird style, so I would really appreciate it if you would read it
carefully. This is a story for the fans who enjoyed the romantic plot of
the original series – I aim to give Van and Hitomi the happiness they
deserve. I know it's slow in the beginning but I'm sure you'll find
something later on that'll strike you. Neways, hope you enjoy the read.
Any comments is greatly appreciated ^_^
1.1.1 First Among Equals
I, through all chances that are given to mortals,
And through all fates that be,
So long as this close prison shall contain me,
Yea, though a world shall sunder me and thee,
Thee shall I hold, in every fibre woven,
1.1.1.1 Not with dumb lips, nor with averted face
Shall I behold thee, in my mind embrace thee,
Instant and present, thou, in every place…
Living, remembering, to eternity.
Paulinus of Nola
When the setting sun hangs aslant in the lilac bosom of the eastern sky, a thousand streaks of imperishable gold would pierce through the majestic foliage of the forest. It was during times like this that the fatigued young man would lay his body and soul down in the quiet bower protected by the spirits of nature and of the dead. Over the years, the cedars once devastated by the Destiny War have grown back to their radiant selves, and now the verdure surrounding the royal tombs, and the dormant guymelef, created a little dell, whose ramparts of peerless trees concealed it from the footpath to the castle garden.
Van calls it the "Empyrean", because it is a plot of earth as celestial as the azure heavens above. Here the lush softness of the grass and the melodies of the birds could soothe him. Here he could lie down, look up and weld his weary being into the Mystic Moon that would be just beginning to unveil its wholesome beauty – a beauty under which he feels miniscule, ephemeral yet still important. He wished that he would never be unkind again in his life. If he stared at the view above him long enough, he would see the view turn into a painting for a moment, when Infinity and Eternity reached down to him in the form of the first evening star. To cease cherishing such splendid panorama would be an unforgivable crime committed against the deities who gave him this Empyrean as compensation.
That particular evening, a zephyr swept through the dell and seemed to have rippled the watery sky. Van trembled with the constellations because he knew that it was time. Somewhere deep in the idealism of his often- unimaginative mind, he heard the ethereal resonance of the cradlesong, sung so long ago by the mother and brother whose love made its tune immortal. Van imagined the notes to be prancing forth from the graves that lay just a few steps away. Enveloped by this inexplicable sensation that both haunted and comforted him, he fell into a trance, which was not a sleep but a soft reach into the sky.
The song continued in its tranquility, celebrating love gained and lost and regained for all eternity. A chorus of spirits sang:
1.2 As once the angel-winged lover had caught
Within his hand a heart-full of feathers
Pure in their divine white, as once he fought
The dragon-world stormed by man's wild weather,
Does he now catch her in the sphere of dreams:
Thus lost, yet thus live, thus love and thus sleep,
To purge pain in the moonlight stream that seems
To be filled with tears which Death and Fate weep.
All that is there dances to day and night
And sings to an aged Aeolian lyre
That diffuses not music but boundless light,
Forming a ring around Love's central fire.
Heart and Soul of mine, in dreams may we be,
Warmed by our sun of th'Elysian Scene,
Enfolded in our own Eternity,
Where e'en remote past and future seem serene.
("The Dream of a Dream" – found by Valorick Folken de Fanel, in his father's journal)
The Empyrean stood in awe of this visionary meeting between two souls who forever hold each other but never touch. A star was shot down as a tear the sky shed, expressing its willingness to lend itself as the only conceivable metaphor for so tragic and immense a love.
Since two years ago, Van had lovingly and carefully held on to the image of Hitomi floating up above him, carried by the beam of golden air that he still sees as a promise for her eventual return. That evening after she left, while traces of her scent still lingered there, he lay down on the grounds of the dell, encased the pendant in his palms, and they both dreamt of the two of them trying to catch a fish in the river. This time they had dreamt about watching a sunset from the top of Fanelian Valley. Such reveries were different from calls of or thoughts about each other. He had first called her when she stood at the bus stop by the sea and she saw his thin body perched on the rocks, his wings immaculate white against the yellow light. Hitomi knew the unparalleled magnificence of these dreams, utterly unlike the daunting visions that used to strike her violently. These were not prophecies but present fusion of two souls that were meant to merge into one as surely as the sky and sea meet. And even when one cannot see the horizon, it is there. They both longed for the revisiting of the dreams and bless the heavens that each time was more vivid than the last. Hitomi thanked the sky for its metaphor.
Poor children, your fortune leads your love. I must help you understand. Dornkirk has been too ruthless. But now you still have to fathom it, even if you don't want to. It has only begun.
"Lord Van! Oh where are you, Lord Van? Answer me! Lord Van!" The familiar warmth of a voice so worried and sharp pierced the cerulean vapor that surrounded the dell. The spirits retreated back to their sanctuary.
Merle…thought Van as he propped his revitalized body on his elbows. "In here," he yelled with a grin, thinking of the hug and kiss he will soon receive.
The long, pointy ears, wavy pink locks – slightly longer now and tied with a ribbon – and sapphire eyes soon appeared from behind the cedar guards who blocked the outside world.
She skipped towards him and cuddled into the curve of his body – increased age has not caused her to shy away from him – and put here arms around his neck which was probably too swan-like for a young warrior.
"Oh Lord Van, I haven't seen you all day," she whined and licked his pale cheek. "Well, I knew you'd be here. Orion says to remind you that dusk will arrive sooner in the winter, so you'd have to come up here earlier when…whenever you need to be with her. Oh, and he says to tell you if you miss dinner again tonight, you will have to go and discuss diplomacy with Nestor – ugh!" She rolled her eyes at the last thought.
"Hmm…" Van pondered and signaled for Merle to get off his lap. He solemnly stood up on his feet and walked, almost sauntered, towards the path, leaving this mystic dreamland, for now.
They strolled down the garden path, along the side of the castle, enjoying the cool evening air mixed with the fragrance of new grown trees. Van crossed his arms and studied the russet dirt he treaded on, somewhat reverently because the color resembled the color of valor on soldiers' faces. Merle skipped along beside him, sometimes picking a flower, humming a tune, then muttering something about how when she has to go teach at the school, Orion will be a good friend and take care of Van.
It was not that Van took Merle's liveliness and friendship for granted, but he had to silently wait for the emergence of the view seen from the edge of the castle's top.
When they reached there, he finally looked up and saw it – the view of his Fanelia. It was the Dragon's Valley, which lies below the Fanelian Hill that now provides the grounds for a public school, hospital, and rows upon rows of houses inhabited by Fanelians and foreigners alike. From this hill on which both the palace and dell are, only the valley can be seen. After the rebuilding commenced, Van had renamed it Palladium, capital of Fanelia – it was the name Dryden helped him choose out of the ancient texts, meaning, "that on which the people depends". The Fanelian Hill was established as the second city of Fanelia and named Fidell, with no particular meaning but certain aptness. The old Fanelia had gone with the twilight of a Dark Age during which man warred against himself.
Walking towards the centre of the castle, the colors of the city plashed to their eyes, along with the increasingly dark footsteps of the dusk. There was the green of the trees, the gray and brown of the buildings, the gold of the street lamps and the rainbow of the people. But mainly, the hue is emerald. All the colors mixed together would yield this one hue that rings out to Van like a distant holy bell, announcing his arrival at the gates of paradise. Yet even when the bell tolled, he would sigh, but ere he could ask, "Have I done good?" a gentle voice would answer, "Yes, Van, you are the Giver." It was always the voice of the martyred black-winged angel whose heart, Van knows, cleansed both him and Fanelia of crimson flames.
By the time they ascended the steps of the palace, the last hint of mauve had trickled out of the firmament. But because of the rows of street lamps illuminating the veins of the city, Palladium seemed an endless day beneath the universal night.
Just at the gate of the palace, a stout and youthful figure was crouched over long, wooden beams that stretched out on top of the stairs. It was a young man, exactly Van's age, with neatly trimmed brunette hair and large, deeply set blue eyes that give his chiseled face something more breathtaking than virile charm.
As soon as Van saw the young man, he halted on the spot and stared. "Hey, boy! Get over here right now!" Harshness of tone was something Van tried very hard to get rid of ever since Folken told him to 'let go'.
Obediently, the boy dropped his tools and hurried over, with an expression of fear at the sternness of his king. However, just before he reached where Van stood, a clownish smile dashed across his face, he leapt up and landed with his arm around Van's shoulder and one hand muddling Van's hair.
"Hey right back at ya, Van Fanel!" he said laughingly and released Van from his grip. "Well, you look alive enough. I trust the dell was promising."
"Yes, it was," an image of the Empyrean, flashed across his mind. "But apparently not as promising as a few hours at the work-site."
"Ah, don't give me that grin! I'm deader than ever. Remember that pond you wanted in the lounge of the hospital? Well, the water somehow seeped through the clay in-between the tiles, so we had to drain the ground. Then – oh, you'll love this – a few of the bedrooms in the palace were infested with wood-eating bugs, so what I was doing with the new planks was – Why, if it isn't the cat girl!"
Merle had fallen behind a bit when she remained at the bottom of the steps to talk with some children, and was now catching up. Other than Van, she has now found a new cushion to embrace and kiss, except this one has a vastly different significance than the first.
"Orion!" she hopped on and hung from his shoulders. "Eww! You stink like sweat. I see all the opportunities to prove your brute strength have proved more irresistible today."
"Ha, ha, ha!" he roared pretentiously and nearly threw her of off him. "And you smell like a cat, oh…and like Van. I hope you're not cheating on me now!" His raspberry blows were retaliated with girlish punches on the arm.
Van stood like a statue at the gate, watching the two kids roam through fairyland. Eventually, he murmured with a deep tone that concealed what felt like guilt, "Orion, I thank you and the others, I _"
"Don't mention it, I know. Come on, let's go get us some food." With one arm on Merle's shoulder, one on Van's, he guided them into the new dining hall."
. . . . . . .
"Here is a postcard of the finished public school," Orion pointed at the painted picture in his hand. "Nice place for you to work in, Merle. You can keep the card, Van. By the way, that good old advisor of yours has decided to grace us with his presence at dinner. And yes, as you may have guessed, he will be discussing diplomatic matters – namely the Gaean Alliance meeting next color, and the infamous saga of Sir Allen and the princesses of Asturia." Merle and Orion giggled behind Van's back.
"Hmm…" Once again he led on.
. . . . . . .
It all flowed through him like liquid through a funnel but instead of being vaporized, the water fell free into a glassy jar and was frozen into a crystalline entity. With what solemnity, Van observed, did Nestor speak of the Alliance, as if the mere speculation of its possible failure would quake this advisor more than it would his king. Perhaps it was this care and seriousness of his that helped the burdened young ruler channel through the ocean of politics and kingship, then preserve it all in his mind's crystal chamber that bears the image of his – no, their – ideal Gaea.
Matters concerning the Gaean Alliance were certainly not pleasant to listen to – especially not during dinner. Reborn out of the ashy graveyard of the Destiny War was not only the once primitive Fanelia, but also every other war-weary nation on this tearful world. Having the hope and perseverance bequeathed to him from his brother, and even from the ingenious but fatally wrong Dornkirk, Van was convinced that the bringing together of nations would mean sowing the seed for a new era of peace.
A world is more than the sum of the people who live in it – something greater must be there, some unseen power of common wishes and achievements. It was this power that Van unleashed to heal Gaea when he announced, at the Peace Treaty in Palas some two summers ago, that a multiple alliance should be established, and political, economic equality achieved. But however sanguine he may be, he would always know the impossibility for true parity to exist other than between two individuals.
With gaping mouths, the people marveled at King Van's magnanimity and wisdom for helping Zaibach erase Dornkirk's shadow and elect a righteous leader. With even more incredulity did they witness his refusal of the accolade of Triumvir, in the Triumvirate that consisted of Asturia, Basram and Fanelia.
Because his white wings had fanned away the hatred on the battlefield that day, and his strength mysteriously defeated inevitability, the people vehemently and sincerely see him as the dove holding the laurel. He had become the incarnation of Peace. But he hates paragons and symbols, for they, like any archetypes, are prejudices masked by the good will of benign folks who wish to see a benign world filled with transcendental good everywhere. Yes, they triumphed, and yes, there is a renaissance, but this is not the Ultimate Ideal, the glorious end. He has suffered too much not to know that even life is not high enough of a price to pay for everlasting harmony. There is nothing more burdensome for a mortal than to be one of many paragons. Even if there were one, it would have to be what they had together.
Eventually, out of genuine sympathy for the disillusioned people who desperately needed someone who gives and decides, and out of irritation for the drunken, ignorant old monarchs who wanted the old, tyrannous ways, Van decided to pacify both sides. He would shoulder the karma of peace as he once shouldered the karma of war, but he was less certain this time because he had no Folken or Hitomi beside him. He concealed such doubts and fears, which his worshippers would take to indicate disappointing cowardice. Thus did he accept the accolade last year, and became Gaea's Triumvir, the First Among Equals.
. . . . . . .
"Our conference room will be ready," Nestor uttered unhurriedly, after one of his few sips of the soup. "I have ordered the making of every nation's flags, and they will be hung all around the capital when the leaders arrive. Here are some of the things which will be discussed" – a light snort came from the other side of the table where Merle sat – "Uh…yes, Zaibach will announce the amount of machines it will distribute to each country; further reconstruction fees will be allocated to Fanelia and Freid; money for Basram's scientific research will be decided; Daedalus is having pollution problems with the guymelef disposal plant. Oh, and the…the…" Nestor searched frantically through his collection of political papers.
"The issue with Allen, I presume," Van blurted with some impatience – but felt awful about it immediately.
Nestor bowed his head slightly and did not dare to look straight into Van's eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty. As you know, the Crusade will be coming tomorrow to take you to Palas. Sir Allen will no doubt inform you of the details regarding Asturian laws of divorce and marriage."
"Thank you, Nestor. You can go now, I mean," Van squeezed his eyes and switched to a less imposing tone, "do stay and finish the meal with us."
Nestor looked up and responded to Van's gentle eyes with an all- encompassing smile that saddened Van a bit because it somehow reminded him of his father, whom he only had fleeting glimpses of. This strange kinship between the king and the royal advisor stretched so thinly between the two that it was usually voiceless and invisible yet was violently felt by Nestor at all times. He often had the inkling that Van is like the grandson he never had. He would go to sleep each night wishing he could be closer to this dragon king whose feelings about love has forever eluded the otherwise sagacious old man.
No conscious ruler would overlook the indispensable role played by an advisor who is a library of all the wise ideas and just laws ever practiced on Gaea. Van certainly likes Nestor with a solemn respect. Ever since Dryden brought him to Fanelia to become the royal advisor, Nestor had always researched ceaselessly in the library of his mind whenever King Van needed help or counsel. Although no one could ever really become another's right hand, Van had always acknowledged Nestor's wisdom, and listened attentively as a grandson would listen to a grandfather's story about the old days.
If Van had found an elderly guardian in Nestor, then he certainly found a brother in Orion – not a replacement of Folken, but one who could have been a sibling, had the royal family not suffered such tragedy. During the time when the Fanelian people were drowning in loss and dear, watching the cremation of their beloved homeland, Orion, then a fifteen-year-old, raised them out of hopelessness by teaching them the principles of survival. "Wait and see," he'd say with a smile, "King Van will never abandon us. He'll win the war and return to build a better Fanelia. Just wait and hope." This blue-eyed youth did not know that these were prophetic words.
Having spent his life in the Fanelian Forest, Orion knew much about survival in the wild. He taught the people how to build huts out of branches and clothes out of leaves. Along with Ran and the pack, he aided the men in learning how to defend themselves and how to hunt. Such love for his people and country did others witness that no one would ever have guessed that he had no home in Fanelia – just a hut beneath a tree and a dog he called his brother. Both perished in the Zaibach attack.
When Van first heard about "that angel of a boy", he intuitively felt that Orion would be someone he could trust, and even befriend. To this day, he still holds Orion to be the true hero of Fanelia, though the latter would laugh away such a suggestion. After a repertoire of Van offering an official position and Orion refusing it because he felt himself unworthy, the intelligently persuasive king pushed the boy into the role of First Commander. Gradually, the military position – which was largely empty most of the time because there was no war – was transformed into the role of best friend.
Other than Merle, Van had never really known friendship of the kind that is never spoken but always understood. Had it not been for Orion's almost miraculous ability to make Van smile, even after they talk about Hitomi, Van's soul would have been banished by himself, sent shrieking into the abyss throbbing with pain that was once joy. Had it not been for Orion's persistence in reassuring Van of the reconstruction schemes, Fanelia may still be a tiny place cornered in the confines of the valley. His is a loyalty that created, out of the infinite nothingness, something to rely on and hope for.
After dinner, Orion sat full-bellied on the futon, trying to teach the other two how to build tiny houses and figurines out of scrap wood, paper and rocks. But to his grave disappointment, only Merle was amused by his comic buffoonery. He had seen Van smile, but there was always something inauthentic about those grins – they did not sprout from the bottom of his heart and make his eyes glitter. More than he wanted a family of his own, more than he prayed for the growing prominence of Fanelia, Orion wished for one thing: to hear Van's laughter.
Resting against the windowpane that was faded because of daily exposure to the high noon sun, Van studied the green and blue patches that mark the surface of the Mystic Moon. Does Gaea look this tranquil from afar? He thought. Noticing the silence that overtook Van and knowing the solitude that it necessitated, Orion put one hand over Merle's mouth and carried her outside.
Enclosed in the spaciousness of his simple yet homely room, Van extinguished the candles with his fingers and crept noiselessly onto the futon, and lay in the moonbeam that shone through, like a silver river flowing from his universe to him.
For a moment, his eyes scintillated with the splendor of the stars and his taut body melted into the coolness of the moonlight. Softly and ever so steadily, he whispered her name.
Hitomi.. Then she appeared before him, half-real, half-visionary. Sitting at her desk, examining what looked like a relic, among a cluster of books, she felt a white feather brush her wrist.
Looking up, she clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Oh Van, I'm doing just fine, really. Archaeology is very interesting, I wish I could tell you more about it. You have to be brave, Van. Be the great king that I know you are."
Those words sufficed for now. Even though it had been mere seconds, it will be enough. Hitomi.
. . . . . . .
What he woke up to in the morning was the sound of hammering, and of the roofs beating with rain tilting from the Northeast. The sound was reminiscent of a parade and it invigorated him to hurry the beginning of the workday.
Perspiring and soaked, the workers waved to their superior who has just newly joined the rank of digging a canal in Palladium. A river was necessary for transportation and irrigation, so seeing how the city lies in a basin, the water from the mountain springs could be rerouted to flow down the canal and into the valley.
Almost all the workers would steal a glance at the king once in a while, reverencing his steady devotion to the shovel and dirt. If Van ever saw anyone looking at him with idolizing eyes, he'd flash a quiet smile. Whoever received the smile, would know that it concealed an anxious, excruciating void, bereft of whatever substance that once cuddled its walls. Knowing better than to ask, everyone helped him fill, with as much work and boisterous humor as possible, that death-like void.
As a dry person looking at the wet world, Van wondered how anyone could ever consecrate a mortal who is just like any other man. For that is what he is, an injured young man, who had just exited the tempestuous race of his childhood – during which he had never really been a child – into the stroll on the spacious lane of adulthood. He bore everything, not as a hero, not as a leader, but as himself, Van – wretched, torn and frightened. What everyone thought he gave Gaea was really not his efforts alone; it was the amalgamation of many people's dreams and powers. Everyday, he has to bitterly swallow his somber sense of guilt and shame as the people give the credit to him alone.
These good-willed folks once depended and doted on gods and heroes, on the super-human and unattainable. But having found this extraordinary boy, this Giver, they now enshrine him, making their belief in the paragon of goodness a tangible reality. People flooded into Fanelia, even from Zaibach, to be a citizen in the blessed land led by the most boundless of men.
All Van wished to tell them was that he is not the hero, but the dragon. All his life he had been the dragon, desiring only a wet and peaceful fen, with a mate. But along came a gallant knight who gained honor by piercing the dragon's heart. He himself had been that slayer – all of the Fanelian kings had – but he does not want to be anymore. Dragon blood should only flow within his veins and not outside dripping from his sword.
A little after mid-day, Van and the others had moved on to building the foundation of the highway linking Palas and Fanelia. By then, his hair and clothes had been drenched but his spirit eager all the same.
However much the status of king beckoned for a more sumptuous outfit, Van clung onto his old red shirt and beige pants. "They have sentimental value," Hitomi once said of her own clothes. For him, these were threaded with the very pains and joys his soul faced, all the emotions waiting to burst the seams and form a vortex by which he can be transported to her again.
Merle searched the crowd for that familiar and noticeable red, amid the entire gray. "Lord Van! Lord Van!" she yelled, and sprinted as soon as she caught sight of the red.
"Lord Van, the Crusade will arrive soon. Look, your face is dripping wet," she lovingly wiped his pale face which, had it not been so weary, would be exceedingly ravishing in an unpolished, bucolic way. "Merle," he took her paw and pressed it in his hands. "You needn't worry about me. Go and tell Orion to greet the Crusade for me. I just have to visit the tombs once again before I leave. I have to tell…her. You understand."
Her glassy eyes gleamed with sisterly concern. "Lord Van…"
"Merle!" he stiffened his voice, hoping he'd sound stern.
"Oh, all right!" she pranced off, hollering "Orion" all the way down the street.
Fixating his immense eyes on the end of the footpath, he made his pilgrimage. The tress rustled all around him. He called for her. Their rosy pendant burned into his chest. He became curiously horrified by the thought that this simple, largely uneventful and even barren life just goes…on…and on, until death. But the dell will be there. The susurrus of the trees remained, the song resonated. A moment passed, a month passed, a year passed. The song will always be heard. Another year passed, followed by one more. The trees keep on rustling. Hitomi.
~ End of Part I ~
1.1.1 First Among Equals
I, through all chances that are given to mortals,
And through all fates that be,
So long as this close prison shall contain me,
Yea, though a world shall sunder me and thee,
Thee shall I hold, in every fibre woven,
1.1.1.1 Not with dumb lips, nor with averted face
Shall I behold thee, in my mind embrace thee,
Instant and present, thou, in every place…
Living, remembering, to eternity.
Paulinus of Nola
When the setting sun hangs aslant in the lilac bosom of the eastern sky, a thousand streaks of imperishable gold would pierce through the majestic foliage of the forest. It was during times like this that the fatigued young man would lay his body and soul down in the quiet bower protected by the spirits of nature and of the dead. Over the years, the cedars once devastated by the Destiny War have grown back to their radiant selves, and now the verdure surrounding the royal tombs, and the dormant guymelef, created a little dell, whose ramparts of peerless trees concealed it from the footpath to the castle garden.
Van calls it the "Empyrean", because it is a plot of earth as celestial as the azure heavens above. Here the lush softness of the grass and the melodies of the birds could soothe him. Here he could lie down, look up and weld his weary being into the Mystic Moon that would be just beginning to unveil its wholesome beauty – a beauty under which he feels miniscule, ephemeral yet still important. He wished that he would never be unkind again in his life. If he stared at the view above him long enough, he would see the view turn into a painting for a moment, when Infinity and Eternity reached down to him in the form of the first evening star. To cease cherishing such splendid panorama would be an unforgivable crime committed against the deities who gave him this Empyrean as compensation.
That particular evening, a zephyr swept through the dell and seemed to have rippled the watery sky. Van trembled with the constellations because he knew that it was time. Somewhere deep in the idealism of his often- unimaginative mind, he heard the ethereal resonance of the cradlesong, sung so long ago by the mother and brother whose love made its tune immortal. Van imagined the notes to be prancing forth from the graves that lay just a few steps away. Enveloped by this inexplicable sensation that both haunted and comforted him, he fell into a trance, which was not a sleep but a soft reach into the sky.
The song continued in its tranquility, celebrating love gained and lost and regained for all eternity. A chorus of spirits sang:
1.2 As once the angel-winged lover had caught
Within his hand a heart-full of feathers
Pure in their divine white, as once he fought
The dragon-world stormed by man's wild weather,
Does he now catch her in the sphere of dreams:
Thus lost, yet thus live, thus love and thus sleep,
To purge pain in the moonlight stream that seems
To be filled with tears which Death and Fate weep.
All that is there dances to day and night
And sings to an aged Aeolian lyre
That diffuses not music but boundless light,
Forming a ring around Love's central fire.
Heart and Soul of mine, in dreams may we be,
Warmed by our sun of th'Elysian Scene,
Enfolded in our own Eternity,
Where e'en remote past and future seem serene.
("The Dream of a Dream" – found by Valorick Folken de Fanel, in his father's journal)
The Empyrean stood in awe of this visionary meeting between two souls who forever hold each other but never touch. A star was shot down as a tear the sky shed, expressing its willingness to lend itself as the only conceivable metaphor for so tragic and immense a love.
Since two years ago, Van had lovingly and carefully held on to the image of Hitomi floating up above him, carried by the beam of golden air that he still sees as a promise for her eventual return. That evening after she left, while traces of her scent still lingered there, he lay down on the grounds of the dell, encased the pendant in his palms, and they both dreamt of the two of them trying to catch a fish in the river. This time they had dreamt about watching a sunset from the top of Fanelian Valley. Such reveries were different from calls of or thoughts about each other. He had first called her when she stood at the bus stop by the sea and she saw his thin body perched on the rocks, his wings immaculate white against the yellow light. Hitomi knew the unparalleled magnificence of these dreams, utterly unlike the daunting visions that used to strike her violently. These were not prophecies but present fusion of two souls that were meant to merge into one as surely as the sky and sea meet. And even when one cannot see the horizon, it is there. They both longed for the revisiting of the dreams and bless the heavens that each time was more vivid than the last. Hitomi thanked the sky for its metaphor.
Poor children, your fortune leads your love. I must help you understand. Dornkirk has been too ruthless. But now you still have to fathom it, even if you don't want to. It has only begun.
"Lord Van! Oh where are you, Lord Van? Answer me! Lord Van!" The familiar warmth of a voice so worried and sharp pierced the cerulean vapor that surrounded the dell. The spirits retreated back to their sanctuary.
Merle…thought Van as he propped his revitalized body on his elbows. "In here," he yelled with a grin, thinking of the hug and kiss he will soon receive.
The long, pointy ears, wavy pink locks – slightly longer now and tied with a ribbon – and sapphire eyes soon appeared from behind the cedar guards who blocked the outside world.
She skipped towards him and cuddled into the curve of his body – increased age has not caused her to shy away from him – and put here arms around his neck which was probably too swan-like for a young warrior.
"Oh Lord Van, I haven't seen you all day," she whined and licked his pale cheek. "Well, I knew you'd be here. Orion says to remind you that dusk will arrive sooner in the winter, so you'd have to come up here earlier when…whenever you need to be with her. Oh, and he says to tell you if you miss dinner again tonight, you will have to go and discuss diplomacy with Nestor – ugh!" She rolled her eyes at the last thought.
"Hmm…" Van pondered and signaled for Merle to get off his lap. He solemnly stood up on his feet and walked, almost sauntered, towards the path, leaving this mystic dreamland, for now.
They strolled down the garden path, along the side of the castle, enjoying the cool evening air mixed with the fragrance of new grown trees. Van crossed his arms and studied the russet dirt he treaded on, somewhat reverently because the color resembled the color of valor on soldiers' faces. Merle skipped along beside him, sometimes picking a flower, humming a tune, then muttering something about how when she has to go teach at the school, Orion will be a good friend and take care of Van.
It was not that Van took Merle's liveliness and friendship for granted, but he had to silently wait for the emergence of the view seen from the edge of the castle's top.
When they reached there, he finally looked up and saw it – the view of his Fanelia. It was the Dragon's Valley, which lies below the Fanelian Hill that now provides the grounds for a public school, hospital, and rows upon rows of houses inhabited by Fanelians and foreigners alike. From this hill on which both the palace and dell are, only the valley can be seen. After the rebuilding commenced, Van had renamed it Palladium, capital of Fanelia – it was the name Dryden helped him choose out of the ancient texts, meaning, "that on which the people depends". The Fanelian Hill was established as the second city of Fanelia and named Fidell, with no particular meaning but certain aptness. The old Fanelia had gone with the twilight of a Dark Age during which man warred against himself.
Walking towards the centre of the castle, the colors of the city plashed to their eyes, along with the increasingly dark footsteps of the dusk. There was the green of the trees, the gray and brown of the buildings, the gold of the street lamps and the rainbow of the people. But mainly, the hue is emerald. All the colors mixed together would yield this one hue that rings out to Van like a distant holy bell, announcing his arrival at the gates of paradise. Yet even when the bell tolled, he would sigh, but ere he could ask, "Have I done good?" a gentle voice would answer, "Yes, Van, you are the Giver." It was always the voice of the martyred black-winged angel whose heart, Van knows, cleansed both him and Fanelia of crimson flames.
By the time they ascended the steps of the palace, the last hint of mauve had trickled out of the firmament. But because of the rows of street lamps illuminating the veins of the city, Palladium seemed an endless day beneath the universal night.
Just at the gate of the palace, a stout and youthful figure was crouched over long, wooden beams that stretched out on top of the stairs. It was a young man, exactly Van's age, with neatly trimmed brunette hair and large, deeply set blue eyes that give his chiseled face something more breathtaking than virile charm.
As soon as Van saw the young man, he halted on the spot and stared. "Hey, boy! Get over here right now!" Harshness of tone was something Van tried very hard to get rid of ever since Folken told him to 'let go'.
Obediently, the boy dropped his tools and hurried over, with an expression of fear at the sternness of his king. However, just before he reached where Van stood, a clownish smile dashed across his face, he leapt up and landed with his arm around Van's shoulder and one hand muddling Van's hair.
"Hey right back at ya, Van Fanel!" he said laughingly and released Van from his grip. "Well, you look alive enough. I trust the dell was promising."
"Yes, it was," an image of the Empyrean, flashed across his mind. "But apparently not as promising as a few hours at the work-site."
"Ah, don't give me that grin! I'm deader than ever. Remember that pond you wanted in the lounge of the hospital? Well, the water somehow seeped through the clay in-between the tiles, so we had to drain the ground. Then – oh, you'll love this – a few of the bedrooms in the palace were infested with wood-eating bugs, so what I was doing with the new planks was – Why, if it isn't the cat girl!"
Merle had fallen behind a bit when she remained at the bottom of the steps to talk with some children, and was now catching up. Other than Van, she has now found a new cushion to embrace and kiss, except this one has a vastly different significance than the first.
"Orion!" she hopped on and hung from his shoulders. "Eww! You stink like sweat. I see all the opportunities to prove your brute strength have proved more irresistible today."
"Ha, ha, ha!" he roared pretentiously and nearly threw her of off him. "And you smell like a cat, oh…and like Van. I hope you're not cheating on me now!" His raspberry blows were retaliated with girlish punches on the arm.
Van stood like a statue at the gate, watching the two kids roam through fairyland. Eventually, he murmured with a deep tone that concealed what felt like guilt, "Orion, I thank you and the others, I _"
"Don't mention it, I know. Come on, let's go get us some food." With one arm on Merle's shoulder, one on Van's, he guided them into the new dining hall."
. . . . . . .
"Here is a postcard of the finished public school," Orion pointed at the painted picture in his hand. "Nice place for you to work in, Merle. You can keep the card, Van. By the way, that good old advisor of yours has decided to grace us with his presence at dinner. And yes, as you may have guessed, he will be discussing diplomatic matters – namely the Gaean Alliance meeting next color, and the infamous saga of Sir Allen and the princesses of Asturia." Merle and Orion giggled behind Van's back.
"Hmm…" Once again he led on.
. . . . . . .
It all flowed through him like liquid through a funnel but instead of being vaporized, the water fell free into a glassy jar and was frozen into a crystalline entity. With what solemnity, Van observed, did Nestor speak of the Alliance, as if the mere speculation of its possible failure would quake this advisor more than it would his king. Perhaps it was this care and seriousness of his that helped the burdened young ruler channel through the ocean of politics and kingship, then preserve it all in his mind's crystal chamber that bears the image of his – no, their – ideal Gaea.
Matters concerning the Gaean Alliance were certainly not pleasant to listen to – especially not during dinner. Reborn out of the ashy graveyard of the Destiny War was not only the once primitive Fanelia, but also every other war-weary nation on this tearful world. Having the hope and perseverance bequeathed to him from his brother, and even from the ingenious but fatally wrong Dornkirk, Van was convinced that the bringing together of nations would mean sowing the seed for a new era of peace.
A world is more than the sum of the people who live in it – something greater must be there, some unseen power of common wishes and achievements. It was this power that Van unleashed to heal Gaea when he announced, at the Peace Treaty in Palas some two summers ago, that a multiple alliance should be established, and political, economic equality achieved. But however sanguine he may be, he would always know the impossibility for true parity to exist other than between two individuals.
With gaping mouths, the people marveled at King Van's magnanimity and wisdom for helping Zaibach erase Dornkirk's shadow and elect a righteous leader. With even more incredulity did they witness his refusal of the accolade of Triumvir, in the Triumvirate that consisted of Asturia, Basram and Fanelia.
Because his white wings had fanned away the hatred on the battlefield that day, and his strength mysteriously defeated inevitability, the people vehemently and sincerely see him as the dove holding the laurel. He had become the incarnation of Peace. But he hates paragons and symbols, for they, like any archetypes, are prejudices masked by the good will of benign folks who wish to see a benign world filled with transcendental good everywhere. Yes, they triumphed, and yes, there is a renaissance, but this is not the Ultimate Ideal, the glorious end. He has suffered too much not to know that even life is not high enough of a price to pay for everlasting harmony. There is nothing more burdensome for a mortal than to be one of many paragons. Even if there were one, it would have to be what they had together.
Eventually, out of genuine sympathy for the disillusioned people who desperately needed someone who gives and decides, and out of irritation for the drunken, ignorant old monarchs who wanted the old, tyrannous ways, Van decided to pacify both sides. He would shoulder the karma of peace as he once shouldered the karma of war, but he was less certain this time because he had no Folken or Hitomi beside him. He concealed such doubts and fears, which his worshippers would take to indicate disappointing cowardice. Thus did he accept the accolade last year, and became Gaea's Triumvir, the First Among Equals.
. . . . . . .
"Our conference room will be ready," Nestor uttered unhurriedly, after one of his few sips of the soup. "I have ordered the making of every nation's flags, and they will be hung all around the capital when the leaders arrive. Here are some of the things which will be discussed" – a light snort came from the other side of the table where Merle sat – "Uh…yes, Zaibach will announce the amount of machines it will distribute to each country; further reconstruction fees will be allocated to Fanelia and Freid; money for Basram's scientific research will be decided; Daedalus is having pollution problems with the guymelef disposal plant. Oh, and the…the…" Nestor searched frantically through his collection of political papers.
"The issue with Allen, I presume," Van blurted with some impatience – but felt awful about it immediately.
Nestor bowed his head slightly and did not dare to look straight into Van's eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty. As you know, the Crusade will be coming tomorrow to take you to Palas. Sir Allen will no doubt inform you of the details regarding Asturian laws of divorce and marriage."
"Thank you, Nestor. You can go now, I mean," Van squeezed his eyes and switched to a less imposing tone, "do stay and finish the meal with us."
Nestor looked up and responded to Van's gentle eyes with an all- encompassing smile that saddened Van a bit because it somehow reminded him of his father, whom he only had fleeting glimpses of. This strange kinship between the king and the royal advisor stretched so thinly between the two that it was usually voiceless and invisible yet was violently felt by Nestor at all times. He often had the inkling that Van is like the grandson he never had. He would go to sleep each night wishing he could be closer to this dragon king whose feelings about love has forever eluded the otherwise sagacious old man.
No conscious ruler would overlook the indispensable role played by an advisor who is a library of all the wise ideas and just laws ever practiced on Gaea. Van certainly likes Nestor with a solemn respect. Ever since Dryden brought him to Fanelia to become the royal advisor, Nestor had always researched ceaselessly in the library of his mind whenever King Van needed help or counsel. Although no one could ever really become another's right hand, Van had always acknowledged Nestor's wisdom, and listened attentively as a grandson would listen to a grandfather's story about the old days.
If Van had found an elderly guardian in Nestor, then he certainly found a brother in Orion – not a replacement of Folken, but one who could have been a sibling, had the royal family not suffered such tragedy. During the time when the Fanelian people were drowning in loss and dear, watching the cremation of their beloved homeland, Orion, then a fifteen-year-old, raised them out of hopelessness by teaching them the principles of survival. "Wait and see," he'd say with a smile, "King Van will never abandon us. He'll win the war and return to build a better Fanelia. Just wait and hope." This blue-eyed youth did not know that these were prophetic words.
Having spent his life in the Fanelian Forest, Orion knew much about survival in the wild. He taught the people how to build huts out of branches and clothes out of leaves. Along with Ran and the pack, he aided the men in learning how to defend themselves and how to hunt. Such love for his people and country did others witness that no one would ever have guessed that he had no home in Fanelia – just a hut beneath a tree and a dog he called his brother. Both perished in the Zaibach attack.
When Van first heard about "that angel of a boy", he intuitively felt that Orion would be someone he could trust, and even befriend. To this day, he still holds Orion to be the true hero of Fanelia, though the latter would laugh away such a suggestion. After a repertoire of Van offering an official position and Orion refusing it because he felt himself unworthy, the intelligently persuasive king pushed the boy into the role of First Commander. Gradually, the military position – which was largely empty most of the time because there was no war – was transformed into the role of best friend.
Other than Merle, Van had never really known friendship of the kind that is never spoken but always understood. Had it not been for Orion's almost miraculous ability to make Van smile, even after they talk about Hitomi, Van's soul would have been banished by himself, sent shrieking into the abyss throbbing with pain that was once joy. Had it not been for Orion's persistence in reassuring Van of the reconstruction schemes, Fanelia may still be a tiny place cornered in the confines of the valley. His is a loyalty that created, out of the infinite nothingness, something to rely on and hope for.
After dinner, Orion sat full-bellied on the futon, trying to teach the other two how to build tiny houses and figurines out of scrap wood, paper and rocks. But to his grave disappointment, only Merle was amused by his comic buffoonery. He had seen Van smile, but there was always something inauthentic about those grins – they did not sprout from the bottom of his heart and make his eyes glitter. More than he wanted a family of his own, more than he prayed for the growing prominence of Fanelia, Orion wished for one thing: to hear Van's laughter.
Resting against the windowpane that was faded because of daily exposure to the high noon sun, Van studied the green and blue patches that mark the surface of the Mystic Moon. Does Gaea look this tranquil from afar? He thought. Noticing the silence that overtook Van and knowing the solitude that it necessitated, Orion put one hand over Merle's mouth and carried her outside.
Enclosed in the spaciousness of his simple yet homely room, Van extinguished the candles with his fingers and crept noiselessly onto the futon, and lay in the moonbeam that shone through, like a silver river flowing from his universe to him.
For a moment, his eyes scintillated with the splendor of the stars and his taut body melted into the coolness of the moonlight. Softly and ever so steadily, he whispered her name.
Hitomi.. Then she appeared before him, half-real, half-visionary. Sitting at her desk, examining what looked like a relic, among a cluster of books, she felt a white feather brush her wrist.
Looking up, she clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Oh Van, I'm doing just fine, really. Archaeology is very interesting, I wish I could tell you more about it. You have to be brave, Van. Be the great king that I know you are."
Those words sufficed for now. Even though it had been mere seconds, it will be enough. Hitomi.
. . . . . . .
What he woke up to in the morning was the sound of hammering, and of the roofs beating with rain tilting from the Northeast. The sound was reminiscent of a parade and it invigorated him to hurry the beginning of the workday.
Perspiring and soaked, the workers waved to their superior who has just newly joined the rank of digging a canal in Palladium. A river was necessary for transportation and irrigation, so seeing how the city lies in a basin, the water from the mountain springs could be rerouted to flow down the canal and into the valley.
Almost all the workers would steal a glance at the king once in a while, reverencing his steady devotion to the shovel and dirt. If Van ever saw anyone looking at him with idolizing eyes, he'd flash a quiet smile. Whoever received the smile, would know that it concealed an anxious, excruciating void, bereft of whatever substance that once cuddled its walls. Knowing better than to ask, everyone helped him fill, with as much work and boisterous humor as possible, that death-like void.
As a dry person looking at the wet world, Van wondered how anyone could ever consecrate a mortal who is just like any other man. For that is what he is, an injured young man, who had just exited the tempestuous race of his childhood – during which he had never really been a child – into the stroll on the spacious lane of adulthood. He bore everything, not as a hero, not as a leader, but as himself, Van – wretched, torn and frightened. What everyone thought he gave Gaea was really not his efforts alone; it was the amalgamation of many people's dreams and powers. Everyday, he has to bitterly swallow his somber sense of guilt and shame as the people give the credit to him alone.
These good-willed folks once depended and doted on gods and heroes, on the super-human and unattainable. But having found this extraordinary boy, this Giver, they now enshrine him, making their belief in the paragon of goodness a tangible reality. People flooded into Fanelia, even from Zaibach, to be a citizen in the blessed land led by the most boundless of men.
All Van wished to tell them was that he is not the hero, but the dragon. All his life he had been the dragon, desiring only a wet and peaceful fen, with a mate. But along came a gallant knight who gained honor by piercing the dragon's heart. He himself had been that slayer – all of the Fanelian kings had – but he does not want to be anymore. Dragon blood should only flow within his veins and not outside dripping from his sword.
A little after mid-day, Van and the others had moved on to building the foundation of the highway linking Palas and Fanelia. By then, his hair and clothes had been drenched but his spirit eager all the same.
However much the status of king beckoned for a more sumptuous outfit, Van clung onto his old red shirt and beige pants. "They have sentimental value," Hitomi once said of her own clothes. For him, these were threaded with the very pains and joys his soul faced, all the emotions waiting to burst the seams and form a vortex by which he can be transported to her again.
Merle searched the crowd for that familiar and noticeable red, amid the entire gray. "Lord Van! Lord Van!" she yelled, and sprinted as soon as she caught sight of the red.
"Lord Van, the Crusade will arrive soon. Look, your face is dripping wet," she lovingly wiped his pale face which, had it not been so weary, would be exceedingly ravishing in an unpolished, bucolic way. "Merle," he took her paw and pressed it in his hands. "You needn't worry about me. Go and tell Orion to greet the Crusade for me. I just have to visit the tombs once again before I leave. I have to tell…her. You understand."
Her glassy eyes gleamed with sisterly concern. "Lord Van…"
"Merle!" he stiffened his voice, hoping he'd sound stern.
"Oh, all right!" she pranced off, hollering "Orion" all the way down the street.
Fixating his immense eyes on the end of the footpath, he made his pilgrimage. The tress rustled all around him. He called for her. Their rosy pendant burned into his chest. He became curiously horrified by the thought that this simple, largely uneventful and even barren life just goes…on…and on, until death. But the dell will be there. The susurrus of the trees remained, the song resonated. A moment passed, a month passed, a year passed. The song will always be heard. Another year passed, followed by one more. The trees keep on rustling. Hitomi.
~ End of Part I ~