When I began writing this, I was inspired by an andromeda fic I'd read, a shortlet between Dylan and Trance, that I rather enjoyed. It's called Morning Glory by Magpie Dreamer, I highly recommend. This is firmly set after the movie, I didn't personally enjoy the series as much as the movie, and I figure it lends better to the quietness of the characters. I hope you enjoy it, and are not horribly disgusted with my inherent fluffiness. Please review when done, and I strongly suggest you listen to Lifehouse – You and Me while you read.
Usual Disclaimerness: I don't own Escaflowne or any of the characters mentioned herein, nor am I making money or any form of compensation besides an ego trip off of it anyway.
Without further ado.
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Through Stained Glass Sunrise
The moon over Adon and Earth sees everything, even in the quiet, pre-dawn moments before the sun rises over both the tiny emerald greens, hidden in clouds. The moon peers everywhere, through the cracks in drapes, into yawning windows, through the sleepy abodes of every house, apartment or shelter in Adon. But for everything the moon does see, for every table or fork or cloth scarf, for every sword or armor to pitchers of water, the moon doesn't see something. It doesn't see what they see.
He was always the first to awake. She never wakes up before he does. It was unspoken perhaps, but she was always the first to leave the bed. In his arms, he could feel her when he woke up. When the twist of sleep left his hazy mind behind, he never moved, never even opened his eyes. Only breathed in. Her scent was soft, like a feather touch. She smelled like roses, and lavender, a scent he remembered well, mixed in with the grace of the forest and the gentle rains. He breathes again, and draws her in closer. He is content.
She wakes slowly, almost languidly. The thought of a lazy Sunday morning devoid of school or responsibilities drifts wordlessly through her brain. He hasn't moved, so he isn't awake yet, that's the way it works. The rhythmic motion of his chest against her back as he breathes deeply is almost enough to carry her drifting away again too. She can barely feel the brush of his hair, gentle against the back of her neck, soft and downy. He exhales, and she lives in the moment of his warmth, in the scent of his skin. He smells like dragonscale, the musk of huge reptiles, and the airiness of the clouds he loves.
She moves slowly and carefully, even as her heart flutters. Extracting herself without him waking is possible, if done delicately. It requires perfect timing, and the softest of touches with her bare fingers. She lifts his palm away from where it's comfortably nestled above her ribs, and slowly kicks her legs out, sliding soundlessly through the cotton sheets until they fall off the edge of the mattress. Softly, ever so softly and slowly she slips onto her feet and away from the bed's warm embrace. With a gentle sigh she opens the curtains on the window, just a crack, just enough to let a glimmer of dispelling night in.
He can almost see her, as she rises to draw open the shutters just slightly. She's just beyond his line of vision, just aside it, but he can already feel the glow of the pre-dawn light as it splays on the bed covers of soft down sheets. With one barely slit open eye, he watches her move around the room.
She smiles as she hears him stir, his hand falls and drifts over the warmth where she just lay. It becomes a race then, an unspoken one for her to escape to her morning jog before he finishes his exercises. She knows her room is in disarray, but with unerring clairvoyance she already knows where her sneakers are and usual jogging pants. But as she pulls the nightgown off, there is a longing moment, as her bare body is unveiled to him that she wants to return, to sleep away the cares of the world. But there's time enough for that later. She tugs on the clothing, soundless and careful, but before she pulls over the tank top she almost sees the faintest of tugs on his lips.
He feels his breath return to his body as she escapes out the door. Still tugging at the rubber shoes on her feet, the tank top only though one arm at the moment. She had paused to look at him. He contents himself with waking up slowly, dispelling the mugginess of sleep by focusing on her, his beacon. Closing his eyes, he can almost hear the soft sound of her shoes going down the marble steps of the palace. He hears the swish of her pants as she leans against the door frame to tie on her left shoe, always the left that gives her slight problems. He hears the puff on the dirt as she sits to stretch, feels her breath in against the warming dawn air, and slowly listens to her disappearing over the horizon.
In her mind's eye, even without the pendant she can almost see him. He rises slowly, like a cat, testing out each muscle and limb, stretching and flexing endlessly. He rolls his neck, and runs a hand through mussed hair. He slides out of the bed easily, a black pair of boxers on and makes his way to the bathroom, running cold water over his face. He splashes himself, and runs wet fingers through his hair. He slides on his fighting skirt over the boxers, tightening the worn leather belt with a time honored practice so deft he doesn't remember it ten seconds later. She can almost see him, sliding open the screen door, stepping out on the patio. He pulls a wooden training sword from the rack that sits unused against the house, and with a deft motion hops onto the railing, and up to the roof. He loves to exercise as the sun comes up, can't exercise anywhere except up on heights or in open space, and he loves it on the roof.
He swings the sword deftly, his body going through the rigorous patterns without thinking. His thoughts are already on her again, as she runs down the village. The children aren't awake yet, so the village is quiet, the blacksmith has started heating his forge, and the bakers have begun to lay out the day's favors, but the silence spills unbidden even on the beaks of the birds. She pushes herself hard, running down the forest paths she's learned so well, some of them, little more than animal trails that force her to vault fallen trees like hurdles, or bolt streams and duck unyielding branches. He imagines the exhilaration on her face, faced with the day's fresh ambition, in the face of the pink clouds of dawn.
She smiles as she pictures him, all sinew and muscle, swinging the sword that glitters in the pre-dawn. After a time, he slides it away, tucking it in the back of his belt. Right on time, she rounds the corner of the street, just as the newspaper vendor is cutting away the strings tying his bundle together. When he slides away his blade, and begins on the martial arts, she's on the home stretch. She smiles as she pictures it all, moving faster, pushing her aching muscles more, focusing on getting a little more speed as she rounds the next corner. She can almost see him, on the roof of her house, he grips the gutter when he's done his exercise, and swings himself back down to the patio, taking out his sword to polish it for the day. She's on the home stretch, running ragged as she jumps the fence to the garden, stumbling back into the house. She kicks her shoes off, leaving them discarded in the foyer.
He hears her brush aside the fabric and beads for the doors, even as he's sliding away the sword and putting it on the weapon's rack again. With a flying lunge, he catapults himself through the air until he lands, sitting upright on the rush mats and still mussed bedcovers. He sees her, brush aside the last strings of beads to the room, and let out a harrumph as she sees him there. He's won again.
She knows he's won, she heard the thump. He thinks he's so sneaky the way he lunges through the air, and the mock serious look on her face does nothing to ease the fact she's lost again. But instead of pouting, she kneels on the mat in front of him, and taking his neck in her hand she pulls him in for a long, lingering kiss.
He draws her into his arms, pulling her closer, until their bodies become entwined. Then he hears something.
"Hitomi! Yukari is on the phone!" Her mother calls her from downstairs, as he begins to disappear.
"Lord Van! Breakfast!" He almost gets caught looking away, before he runs his fingers across her fading cheek again.
She smiles, she can almost see him, even though he's fading fast in the morning sunshine.
He smiles back for her, a small movement, a tiny gesture. And he kisses her again, before she's gone for the rest of the day.
He rises. She rises. He turns his back. She walks down the stairs. He greets his people. She picks up the phone.
But they're never too far from each other's minds.
Forever.