Chapter 9
Dedicated to: YingFa8, Eboni, j, genki doll, Snowy*~, and me
Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters.
The carriage swayed rhythmatically with the constant beating of hooves. It was a cold night, transforming each exhale of breath into little clouds of white vapor. He stroked her hair repeatedly, running his hand affectionately through the silver locks. In an unwavering cadence, his fingers touched upon the tresses and combed gently, in and out, in and out. With her head in his lap, the girl had fallen asleep shortly after leaving the Vione.
In a way, he felt at peace with her so close to him. She always calmed him, like a remedy for his troubled mind. Her soft voice, her docile movements, her ways of soothing him in a way no one else could, in a way that not even she, herself knew was possible. However, at times it confused him. The gentle girl stirred feelings inside of him that were beyond his understanding. This lack of comprehension lead to frustration, frustration that resulted in anger.
She shuddered in his lap, the cold night air invading her small frame even through layers of clothing. The girl shivered and coughed now and then, with a slight frown at the corner of her lips indicating the discomfort. He would have to do something about it soon. Dilandau began to unbutton the buckles of his armor. Careful as not to disturb her, he quietly slipped off a thin, sleeveless undershirt. It was warm and soft, perfect for him to drape over her exposed thighs. Hesitating, he examined her wounds. The milky-white skin was blemished with unhealed scars, bringing back to him that aching feeling again.
It was a kind of pain that wasn't physical and yet hurt more than anything. He turned his eyes away, unable to think about it any longer, willing himself to stop thinking about it. What's done is done. There is nothing more he can do now. She shuddered one last time before her breathing evened out and relaxed. He felt her hand grasp his unconsciously in her sleep while a faint smile etched itself across her face. Somehow, the autumn night's chill felt a little warmer and without thinking, he continued to stroke her hair.
***
A large familiar room. Spacious. Domed sunroof. Red. The massive mirror on one wall reviled a familiar image. It was his room; his room in his palace-like mansion of Muertia. It had been a gift from Emperor Dornkirk himself, rewarded to Dilandau for his bravery, leadership, and skill. With her head propped up on one elbow, Deré lay on her side, studying her reflection. He wasn't there, wasn't beside her.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why is it so frustrating and perpetual?
Again I find myself in the same state of mind,
Searching for answers I still cannot find.
Alone, I am no more . . .
I wish, no more than what I have . . .
I am uncertain, afraid to face,
Afraid to go on with this unsteady pace.
Today, another day, and tomorrow, another night,
Forever it seems, I'm screened from the light.
Hiding, am I?
Avoiding, am I?
But why?
Answers, the answers I already know,
Hope, the hope I want to hold,
But scared, yes scared;
Untamable, intangible . . .
I've sold my soul . . .
Waking up again, I find myself in the state of mind as before. The sun continues to shines as droplets of gold water the room. The mirror laughs at me, laughs at me and what is missing. Its taunting reflection seems to say, look at you who have given your soul away. You've sold it to the devil and you love it.
She touched the silky, velvety texture of the bed sheet, as red as blood. Smoothing a portion of it, Deré let her fingers dance, tracing the contours of something in her mind. I feel . . . I felt . . . I had felt happy. Such a simple word, and yet it means so much. Happy. I had a dream last night. It was cold, within a forest of beasts. Darkness fell and the long, gnarled branches clawed and reached for me. Lost in despair, I could only sit there on the damp gloomy earth. But the shadows were interrupted by a glowing presence, one upon a horse. A prince; my prince from my childish fantasy. Shinning white amour, snowy white stallion; it could only be my rescuer, my savior. But his face was a blur, and the dream had ended there. Unintentionally, she had written his name on the red cloth and it made her hand tremble.
Was it him? Was it who she thought it was, who she wanted it to be? Was the dream something created by her mind, trying to tell her, to finally confirm what her heart already knew? But the hazy happiness was soon washed over by depression as she looked at herself, looked at her body and his work of art. It was proof now, of just how much he hated her. Anxiously, she told herself, I'm not mad at him anymore, because it's really not his fault. He didn't know what he was doing . . . I forgive him. Except, ambiguous thoughts like those did no more than trigger a scolding by the voice in her head, He tried to *kill* you! Don't you realize yet?! What are you thinking?! Prince?! Gaea help us, you really are an idiot. PRINCE? . . . the prince of darkness and evil maybe!
She shut her eyes, imagining a whiteness that stretched forever, forcing her mind to clear.
***
Dinner had been very awkward.
The dining hall of Muertia was cheery with jokes and laughter, echoing loudly through the halls. Gatti screeched about a teddy bear he found in the storage room with Chesta's name on it, giving the rest of the group a really good kick. Everyone was laughing hysterically as Dalet threatened to burn it if Chesta didn't admit it was his teddy. The fireplace was ablaze with glowing flames. And the marble, the beautiful black marble with silver specks, defining the floor, walls, and ceiling, gave the effect of a starry universe.
Not knowing that the dragonslayers had also accompanied their General, Deré had looked forward to being with Dilandau-sama alone. Their gay voices slowed her walking as an almost disappointed frown appeared on her face.
When they saw her, the atmosphere changed. Timidly and somewhat alarmed at their strange behavior, she sat herself down and stared at her plate. The group greeted her with silence, merely acknowledging her presence with blank expressions while they continued with their meals. Confused, she quickly searched his eyes, her own filled with uncertainty and anxiety; except, he only smiled: a tiny raise of the brow and a slight curve of his lips; that was all. The rest of dinner had continued in that fashion. There was no chatter, no conversation. Everyone seemed to be somewhere else, thinking of something else. All that could be heard was the metallic clang of forks and knives.
***
She couldn't' sleep that night. It had never troubled her much before, but this was it, she couldn't stand it anymore. There was definitely something wrong with the dragonslayers. Ever since the first day she arrived at that camp, they hated her. Why? What did she ever do to them? In fact, she's never even spoken to any of them before. How ridiculous it is! Feeling horribly confused and angry, Deré decided to approach one of them the following day. She had to figure out what was going on.
Another reason that sleep seemed far away was perhaps, because today felt like a repetition, so similar to the first night and yet so different. It was too dark to see their reflection in the mirror, but she already knew what it would looked like, because she could *feel* the image. Encircling her waist was his arm, and inches from her head lay his, so close beside her that she could feel his even breathing on her neck. Thinking of these mental images took her mind off the dragonslayers. She looked up through the domed sunroof, and saw the twinkling of happy stars.
Suddenly, she felt him place a hand against her cheek. It startled her, made her heart beat a hundred times faster. But slowly and gradually, she calmed down and relaxed. Then, the drowsiness finally came and she felt herself slipping into dream world, but not before glimpsing one last time at the sky.
***
"I think she's just a silly girl." The sound of stone against metal halted as Miguel stopped polishing his sword. He held it up and inspected his reflection in the blade. Satisfied, he nodded with content.
"Well, the truth is, I think she's quite dumb. I mean, you'd think that if there was this whole group of people ignoring you, you'd get the idea."
"But Gatti, think about it, she got the idea, that's why she went to talk with Miguel." Viole was leaning against a wall, his arms crossed. He didn't like Muertia, the training room was too big, too spacious; a dangerous feel.
"I say one of us should go and kill her, that'll fix everything."
"No it wouldn't, that would just make Dilandau-sama skin us all alive! Really Gatti, you are so immature sometimes." Even though Miguel had a great dislike towards Deré, he wasn't stupid enough to murder her. Right now, he wondered how she felt about the way they treated her. What am I thinking, who cares what the slut thinks, she's dangerous and that's all there is to it.
Viole studied Miguel closely; he could tell that the boy was thinking about something. It seemed the only Viole himself sided with the girl, although he would never admit it. Deré was . . . was part of the family now. On a positive note, she made Dilandau-sama happy, and Celena too. She had brought in an air of long forgotten care with her.
She had tried to talk to them before too, more than once, watching them and trying to become closer. But they turned her away, never gave her the chance. Especially Gatti, who couldn't stand the way Dilandau-sama had changed.
It had been subtle at first; however, as time passed it was evident that Dilandau-sama had indeed changed. He was a happier man, nicer. Except, with that came a sense of confusion. He became distorted and confused. It was simple really, the girl made him think about things he never would have thought of before.
To Viole, the only troubling fact was, how did she do it? Why is it that this particular girl could change him so? After all the other *ladies* he had been with, why her? If Viole remembered correctly, Deré had been with them for nearly 5 months now, whereas the other girls had only lasted for a little more than 2 to 3 weeks. It really was something to think about.
"Viole, why are you starring at me?"
"Hmm? It's nothing . . . tell me, what did she say exactly?"
"Why don't I let Chesta tell you, I have to go do something right now anyways," and with that, Miguel left and headed for his room.
For some unknown reason, talking to Deré had changed his attitude towards her. It had been a little weird. She was so sweet, and humble? No, that wasn't right. Whatever it was the girl made him feel guilty. She wasn't at all what he had excepted her to be. What had he excepted? An enchantress? He saw her almost everyday, and yet, she was entirely different from what he imagined.
She was nice.
Nice and friendly, and real . . . not some silly girl, or vile snake. Even more so, Deré had looked hurt and sorry. She even said that she would try to fix whatever damage she had caused. Maybe it was all an act, a scheme to take him off his guard. Nevertheless, he felt bad for hating her. And after their little chat, he seemed to constantly have to remind himself why he hated her. It's for Dilandau-sama, this girl must not become a part of us! Except, it was hard, because it really couldn't be her fault if she was unaware.
"You're Miguel right?" Her voice was melodic and crisp, soft to the ear.
"Yes, that would be me. May I help you Lady Deré? Lost perhaps?" He tried to brush her off, detach himself.
"No, I was wondering if I could ask you something."
There was hope in her eyes, hope that he would stay and answer whatever it was that she wanted to ask. But he wouldn't talk to her, didn't want to.
"Actually, I'm quite busy . . ." But before he had the chance to finish his sentence, she reached out her hands and gently grabbed his arm.
"Please, it's . . . it's important."
He was getting slightly annoyed at this point. He did have something to do, he had to go find Chesta. But something about the way she looked, especially her eyes, which he had failed to noticed were so very blue. He found himself lost in her misty-blue orbs.
"Miguel?" Her voice was as quiet as a whisper, but efficiently snapping him out of his trance.
Feeling ridiculous as a streak of pink painted itself across his nose, he answered without thinking, "What is it?"
"My question. I wanted to ask you, do you hate me?"
It came as a shock; so blunt. There was nothing intended, but it was just so straightforward, hitting the core of the problem. He found himself at a loss for words. Honesty would be the right path, except, it didn't seem right to say 'Yes I hate you' at the moment.
So instead, he had asked, "Why do you think that?"
She thought for a moment before replying, "I have feelings you know . . ."
And oh, how it struck him. Of course she had feelings, but why did it seem so dreadful for her to say that. He felt disgusted. Disgusted with himself and her.
"If you did then you would realize that you're hurting him." He looked away, didn't want to see her reaction. A smile perhaps? Maybe she would. But instead of what he excepted, he heard a muffled crying.
An uncomfortable silence formed between them. He fiddled with his gloves, unsure of what to do. Should he comfort her? Or walk away?
Thankfully, he didn't have to do anything. She quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "I'm sorry . . . I . . . I'll try to fix it. I understand now, the dragonslayers care about him a lot, and . . . and I care about him too, I would never . . . can never imagine . . ."
Then, she ran off.
Miguel was left to ponder over what had just happened. He had just met and talked with the object of his deepest resentment; except, he felt guilty.
Still walking along the halls of Muertia, Miguel brushed a piece of hair out of his face. He thought about Deré, and how she had feelings too.
O4o86*~
A/N: Muertia is a word that I made up based on the Spanish word la muerte, which means death.