Petals

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The original characters of Escaflowne belong to their respective owners.

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Petals

Chapter 2

I can't recall those troubled times very well. Truthfully, I barely remember at all. It seems as if all the memories and images swirled and mixed together, so that at one time I'd be remembering a warm bed of grass as my habitat, and the next I'd recall stealing my supper from an unsuspecting vendor. What I do remember is that I blamed my father; blamed him for breaking up our family; blamed him for Celena's disappearance and Mother's death. If only he hadn't left… if only he'd let those stupid myths lie! There was nothing for him in Atlantis; it was all an illusion, while we, his family… we were real. And yet, he had chosen Atlantis over his own family. I went to sleep every night with this burning hatred in my heart. I'd decided long ago that I never had a father. I didn't have love for a man that would abandon his own family.

I don't know how long I travelled exactly, but I know that I only ever slept in the same place once. I'd lost the meaning in my life, and I grew bored of living. I didn't care about my appearance; I never cut my hair, letting it grow as long as it wanted. I think that was what reminded me of the years: my hair, which by now was almost reaching my knees. But even though I no longer cared, there was a part of me that refused to live the way I did, a part that just couldn't steal any longer. I had taken my sword with me when I had left home, and I wanted to teach myself how to fight. So, deciding to settle down in a forest not too far from a fair-sized town, I began my training.

I was practicing late one night when I felt a pair of eyes watching me. It was a not vehement stare or even a threatening one, but I got the distinct impression that someone was watching. Trying to appear is if I'd not noticed, I did a few techniques that required me to turn many different ways so that I could survey the scene around me, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The trees were silent; the wind was gentle; and the only other living thing I saw was a small white owl, staring right at me with its large, golden eyes. I locked gazes with that owl for an instant, and then went back to my training. But I found that I couldn't concentrate, because I constantly felt the piercing stare of that accursed owl. Finally, sighing with frustration, I turned to face the owl, one hand on my hip and the other rested on my sword, the point of which was lent into the ground.

"Do you mind?" I said in exasperation, throwing up my hands when all I got was an indifferent hoot. "You know, some of us are trying to work so that they'll have something to eat. Shouldn't you be out hunting or something?" I knew it must've looked incredibly funny, a longhaired orphaned boy talking to a small, golden-eyed little owl. The owl just hooted again, and I decided to ignore it by turning back to my training. In time, we grew to be friends, that owl and I. It would watch me as I trained at night, usually eating whatever it'd caught earlier on. I survived on what I could, living in the forest, and to be honest I probably would've never grown hungry if I'd lived there forever. But in time, I grew to miss civilization, to miss being in large cities with their merchants and vendors. That owl grew to helping me; sometimes picking fruit for me, going with me wherever I went, and pretty soon he answered to my call. When I thought I'd trained enough and was ready to fight for my food, that owl would scout for me and report back if there were any people in the area.

I started out small at first, challenging people that I knew I could handle. I'd study how they fought, and I revised my own fighting technique in turn. After a while, I found that I had a gift for swordsmanship, that I could analyze fighting techniques and conjure up winning strategies. I could look at someone and notice their weaknesses without even trying. Soon, that was how I got by: challenging passers-by in exchange for food or water. I grew increasingly better, and I also admit increasingly confident. Too confident, in fact, that I didn't recognize my defeat as soon as I saw him.

Balgus.

I surveyed his greying brown hair and moustache, the cut on his right cheek that ran from under his eye, and the cut on the left side of his face that ran from the top of his forehead, through his eye, and down past his chin. Logic told me that he didn't get those in a bar fight somewhere. My instincts knew, I think, that this man would be my downfall. But I ignored them, using the cocky confidence I'd gained to justify the motive I had for issuing a challenge. I reasoned with myself that an old man like him couldn't do much to me, although deep down the truth lay over my heart.

I tried to strike him out of the anger I kept inside, as I always did. Anger gave me strength, and I used it every time there was a battle. So confident was I in my abilities that it came as a surprise to me that he sidestepped my attack and had drawn his own sword. I struck again, angrier than I was before. I didn't know then that he was one of the three Master Swordsmen in all of Gaea.

And how he made me wish that I did.

The fight was over before it had even begun. Within a matter of moments and a few strokes of his sword, what I had deemed an 'old man' had defeated me with the effortless grace of a true master. I was awed by him, but also hurt; not physically, of course, but sometimes wounded pride takes longer to heal than a wounded arm.

"What is your name, young lad?" he asked me as I sat there on the ground, gaping at him in wonder. "And what are you doing out here all alone?"

"My name is Allen Schezar," I said with no little amount of pride as I got up. "This is my home."

The man looked as if about to say something, but instead ended up sheathing his sword.

"And who are you?" I asked rudely, the heat of the moment giving me courage and my temper flaring up again temporarily.

"You fight with your anger," he said instead, not answering my question. "It makes you rash." Then he gave a long, suffering sigh. "Well, if you're going to play with that sword, I might as well teach you how to use it properly." And he bent down and picked up my sword, handing it to me. He drew his sword and held it in front of him, but when I didn't move, he merely gave me a stern look.

"Do you want to learn or not?" he asked grimly.

I felt embarrassed that he had to talk to me as if I were such a child, so I reverted back to my rude tactic.

"You haven't answered my question," I countered.

He simply held his sword firmly and replied, "I am known as Balgus."

To be continued…

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Author's Notes: Yes, I know it isn't exactly like Allen's flashback in the series. I decided to change it a bit, and the story's AU anyways, so don't get mad at me. I think Balgus's reaction to Allen is justified, seeing how he's already trained Folken and maybe Van a little bit, and they're probably really stubborn and prone to take chances. Thanks to Sadie Joyce - Myst Lady, Ron and his Sakura, feier, and Sgt. Psycho for reviewing. To Sgt. Psycho, I know you don't like Allen, and you think his father's a jerk, but it's possible to still love someone even though you leave them. We'll argue it over lunch sometime. Lol.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this. If you have time, try reading 'The Way Things Were.'

~Seeress