A Quick Note On Chapter Numbering:

On 24 Sept 2022, I added the Foreword. This means that all the chapters were pushed up a number. So now Chapter 9 is labeled Chapter 10 in navigation. Please note that reviews made by that date refer to the actual chapter number. So reviews for this chapter made by 24 Sept would be labeled Chapter 9, but after 25 Sept they'll be Chapter 10. I'm sorry for the confusion.

A/N This might be my favorite chapter.

Update: I've revised this just a bit. I hope it's better!

I don't own Escaflowne, and the foundation for this story was inspired by Suilsaifir.

All the songs from my playlist.

Chapter 9 - Kiss and Fell

Van stepped slowly down the long hallway back to his room.

Rubbing his face, he wished he could turn his brain off, wished he didn't have the lives of other men in his hands, wished he didn't have the responsibility to focus on and prepare for war. But he was a king, and this war was his.

It had been a very long afternoon. Things and supplies were mostly ready, though they were returning later than he expected. They had issues with the armory, and some of the ballistics had been misplaced. It had taken a couple hours to find them in a storeroom across a warehouse. The battalion Van was specifically overseeing (not commanding, as it wasn't his army) hadn't fully been accounted for; a hundred men still had to report for duty, and the king could only hope they arrived in the morning. Plus, the battleship he'd been assigned to was low on food and water, giving the quartermasters just one more night to get it properly stocked.

It was a lot to manage, even with help. Even if it wasn't his army.

Mere steps away from his room, he halted, sucked in a long, slow breath, and let it out. He rubbed his neck, rolled his shoulders, stretched. The nap in the carriage had helped, but even after the long walk back, he was almost tired again.

He stared at the door. Hitomi was inside, waiting for him.

His wife.

Briefly, the conversation Dryden had attempted on the way back flashed through his mind. Van pushed it aside, but a spark of heat flickered low in his belly. He didn't need advice.

The last two times he'd entered, he'd startled her. The first time, he'd surprised her just by returning when she hadn't expected it. The second, he'd frightened her into an amusing fit of giggles. Both times, looking back, her surprise had made his body hum, not with desire, but with something else he couldn't put his finger on.

Now he wondered, but didn't dare hope, if it might happen again. Thinking that he may as well give it a shot– a little levity would be nice after the heaviness of the day's dealings– he slipped stealthily into his room.

It was still and dim aside from a low fire and the dusky light through the open windows. Hitomi was nowhere to be seen, not on the couch, the bed, or the floor before the fireplace, the first place he'd expected her. Just as he began to wonder where she might be, a clank drew his attention to the washroom. A faint light shone out from under the door and he heard Hitomi's voice, sounding as if she were chiding herself.

A faint smile lifted his lips.

Deciding that he wasn't, after all, in the mood to lie in wait and startle her, he went about his business of removing his satchel and sword, setting them on the couch. A large basket on the table caught his eye, incongruous in his room, and he lifted the lid with a creek to investigate. He saw only folded blankets.

Dinner should have been set out by now. Perhaps the servants had been dismissive towards his wife, neglecting to deliver dinner around sunset, as was his custom? But he hadn't found the Aston's servants so rude. Hopefully Hitomi would know about dinner, so he took a breath and told himself to be patient, even though his belly growled and he had been hoping to eat right away.

In the meantime, he tossed back a glass of water followed by a generous pinch of after-dinner spices, the only things available, and chewed as he waited for her to exit.

Just as he swallowed, the latch on the door clicked and the room brightened. Van turned to see Hitomi, lamp in hand, exit the washroom, her focus at first on the hall door.

So she was anxious to see him, too.

The thought pleased Van, and a little of that melancholy dissipated as he watched her. But something was different. Before he could figure out what, her eyes found him and a smile brightened her face.

"Van," she said. "You're back."

Turning to him, surrounded as she was by the dim, golden halo of lamp light, she appeared other-worldly. In spite of having just drank a glass of water, Van's mouth dried up and he couldn't get his voice to work. Vaguely, he recalled that this morning she'd put her hair up in some braid, but now it was brushed out and hung long and loose down her shoulders. The waves shone golden in the light, framing her face and falling down her chest to her waist. Automatically, he straightened, running a hand quickly through his hair and adjusting his uniform in one swift movement. His eyes returned to her face, his body humming pleasantly with a rushing warmth. He couldn't help but smile as a lightness lifted his shoulders.

"How did things go?" she asked him as she neared him, her slippered feet peeking out from her swishing, green dress.

Then it hit him, the difference about her.

Earlier she had been in a blue Asturian dress with complicated closures on the sides that he'd helped her do up. What she wore now was a dress familiar to him and far simpler and more appealing than any fancy thing Millerna had. It was a simple, traditional Fanelian overdress, green to match her eyes– the royal tailor had loved playing them up– trimmed in a band of Fanelian blue. It showed the shadow of her cleavage and tied high on her waist before flaring to the floor.

This was the dress that she had reserved for walks in the Fanelian gardens. This dress, now memento of their life before the war, before the razing of his home and his beloved gardens and his kingdom, was what she had on when he was lucky enough to see her in his dreams.

And this was the first time he'd seen any woman in Fanelian dress since he'd left home months ago.

This realization, combined with the others, froze his muscles. Like a waiting dragon, the homesickness from this morning suddenly raised its head again, this time full-bodied, threatening to swallow him with a sharp, physical ache that hollowed his chest. Breathing became difficult as his thoughts dried up.

Unprepared for this rush of emotion, he swallowed convulsively, blinked and held his breath in a fragile attempt to control the burning behind his eyes.

Hitomi stopped before him. "Van, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle with concern.

Unable to tear his gaze away from the embroidered sash tied around her waist, he reached out and fingered it. Forcing himself to speak through the lump in his throat, he said quietly, "Your dress. It's Fan-." He couldn't finish the word and changed tracks. "I remember this dress," he said huskily.

It was a moment before she answered, "You do?"

"Yes, I used to watch–" he caught himself and swallowed again, glancing up briefly to see her eyebrows knit together. "You used to wear this for walks in the gardens," he said, hoping she hadn't caught his slip.

If she had, she didn't let on. "Yeah," she whispered. "This was what I was wearing when–" her voice cut off, and for a long moment they stared wide-eyed at the other. By her expression, Van guessed her meaning, that this was what she had been wearing when she escaped the attack on Fanelia. She cleared her throat and went on, "I brought it to wear here, but it needed to be laundered. I just got it back a little while ago," she said, affecting a more cheerful tone. She set the lamp on the table beside him and slid her warm hands up his cool arms.

He'd been taking in the little details on the dress– that the band on the edges had a faint silver thread to it and the sleeves were like bells but they stopped just past the elbow– but at her touch, he dragged his eyes up her figure to see her eyebrows knit together and her face soft.

"Van, are you bothered? Do you want me to change?"

"No," Van forced himself to say with a shake of his head, hoping to gain control of his voice again. "I just haven't seen a Fanelian dress…in a while."

Without hesitation, Hitomi closed the gap between them, sliding her arms around his waist and tucking her face into him, her warm breath slipping around his neck and down his collar.

He stiffened, uncertain how to react, his arms awkward at his sides. With a little irony, he thought how this morning he'd held her naked body comfortably enough, but this fully-clothed embrace was somehow harder to accept.

But if his lack of response bothered her, she didn't show it. Instead, her sigh tickled his hair before she said, "I know this is the longest you've been away. I know you miss Fanelia. I know you want to go home."

His ribs and arms relaxed a fraction, but he kept them at his sides. "Yeah," he said.

"I understand that feeling, you know." Her murmur sent faint shivers down his back. "I know you feel homesick."

Thinking of her homesickness was easier than picking apart his. "I'm sorry," he offered. "Sometimes I forget that you aren't Fanelian. I don't think about how you must miss Freid," he said.

She shifted so her forehead nestled into his neck. "I do. So much it hurts sometimes." Her arms tightened around his waist. "But I love Fanelia. It's where I belong. I'll visit Freid someday, but I'm not in a hurry," she said.

Van wished he could return home, it was his first desire. He couldn't wait to return to rebuild. "Perhaps," he suggested, "you could go home to your mother." Her father was manning the front. "You might be safer there," he said, his hands softening to rest lightly upon her skirts.

She pulled back, cocking her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Van, I'm Queen of Fanelia. Queens don't run home to their parents." Her words simultaneously relieved and pleased him. "I feel guilty enough being here with you now," she added lowly.

Van let out a breath. "I understand that." It was an understatement. That he'd not returned home after the attack had eaten away at him, and his only consolation was that he was fighting for his country instead. He'd return when the war ended-whenever that was.

As if she understood his thoughts, her lips turned to a sad smile, her eyes scanning his face tenderly. "How are you really, Van?" she asked.

A lot of answers came to mind, most of them unhelpful or sarcastic or flat out lies. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that he felt better with her around, but he didn't think the words would form on his tongue properly. Deciding to go with a vague version of the truth, he said with a shrug, "I'm fine."

Lips twitching, she raised her eyebrows and said, "You liar."

When his only response was a grim smile, she moved closer, her warm lips brushing his cheek innocently before she tucked her face back into the crook of his neck. "It's okay if you tell me, you know."

The warmth in her voice and her arms moved over him, and his heart began to race. With a sudden certainty, he knew he could trust her. He knew he could tell her his regrets, his sorrows, about his homesickness, but there was too much going on for him to easily sort out things in his head. It was easier to just focus on her, and the here and now, because tomorrow this time with her would be over, and he'd return to the dealings of war full time. What he needed now was to not think of war, to not worry.

Filling his lungs with the clean scent of her hair, he brought his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the pressure of her body next to his.

Empathy was something he'd heard existed but never experienced. Not really. He was alone in understanding the burden upon himself. Balgus and his ministers and advisors had helped, but they didn't empathize. From others, he detected more gratitude that they didn't have his responsibilities than actual benevolence. And of course, since the beginning of his reign, women (usually) had often expressed compassion for what they supposed were his struggles, even offering themselves up as a comfort. But Van sensed in them a snakelike, sycophantic sympathy solely meant to exploit him, and he hated them. Those interactions were a large reason distrust had become so much a part of his character.

This embrace from Hitomi felt different. Perhaps it was because of the increase in understanding between them–they had crossed that line from civility to intimacy after all– but in her arms was a warmth and sincerity bereft of expectation, a solidarity he'd never experienced before. He savored it, breathing in her scent, noticing how his heart thrummed in his ears.

Her touch ignited other things, a different ache, one that stirred his core with a growing desire to be closer to her, closer than even this tight embrace.

Nuzzling his nose into her hair, he searched for the bare skin. When his lips found it, she gasped and dragged her mouth up the skin of his neck, nudging him with her nose. Slowly sliding his hand up her back to cradle her head, he traced gentle kisses across her jaw. Her shaky breath tickled his ear.

When he covered her mouth with his, he tasted vanilla on her lips, and it mixed pleasantly with the spices he'd just eaten. He kissed her harder, pulling on her lips, tracing them with his tongue. One hand threaded through her hair, the other gripped her waist, pressing her tightly against his body. Reacting in kind, she pushed back, playing her tongue over his lips. Her hands wandered slowly over his shoulders, her fingers digging into his hair.

With Hitomi here, with this contact, Van had to admit that for the first time in his adult life, he felt whole and at peace. That vacant part of him that ached for his kingdom still existed, but it was filled somewhat—or not filled, but the pain made bearable. The knowledge that he could trust his wife, that she was on his side, that she loved his people and kingdom as much as he did gave him a sense of security that he hadn't realized he needed.

Bolstered, he pressed his fingers into her, feeling her, sensing so much all at once and liking it all very much: her legs sliding against his from beneath her dress, the curve of her hips and waist and ribs under his fingertips, her breasts pressing softly into his chest, her arms holding him close, how everything she touched burned.

She had been playing with his hair, feeling down his neck and shoulders, and he noticed how even the mildest touch released his muscles long strained by stress. But then she dragged her nails down the hypersensitive skin of his arm. With a shudder and an involuntarily moan, Van's mind blanked as a single acknowledging thought formed in his mind.

Van pulled away with a little jolt.

Hitomi blinked dazedly, rubbing her hands up his arms to hook around his neck as her eyes searched his face. Her swollen lips parted and her chest rose and fell as she panted for air. How long had they been kissing? Breathless, shaky, he clung to her as a wave of dizziness passed. Watching her intently, he wondered what she was thinking as she returned his gaze with eyes dark and glazed by desire.

She lifted a hand to trace his face with gentle fingertips. His body throbbed almost unbearably, and he shivered.

But Van thought he could finally name this for what it was.

Love.

He loved Hitomi.

He couldn't tell exactly when that happened. Before the war, he knew he respected her and had admired her– from a safe distance. When she appeared just yesterday, he recognized feelings of gratitude, relief, and a wanting for more. Last night, he felt safe with her, trusting her enough to open the door to affection and desire. But today…?

"You could have just told me I look nice in this dress."

Snapping to attention, his revelry interrupted, he blinked and gaped at her. She was smiling. He loved her smile, too, but that was nothing new. That had disarmed him when he danced with her at his gala.

When he still stared, Hitomi laughed at his expression, waggled her head, and, in the same affected baritone voice she used last night, said, "Oh, yeah I forgot, I'm supposed to compliment you sometimes. Wife," she said, lifting her hand in a displaying gesture, "that dress looks nice on you."

Van, a little taken aback in the midst of his personal revelation, ducked his head and grinned up at her guiltily.

She rolled her eyes at him and went on, "Why thank you, Van. And I might say you look very good in your uniform, too." She averted her eyes to fidget with his collar. "I might even say you look… very handsome."

Face warming in outward embarrassment, he could only think to dismiss her praise with an attempt at lightheartedness. "So you'd rather I compliment you than kiss you?" he asked.

It worked.

She gasped, smiling coyly at him before dipping her chin to send him a playful glare. "Don't make me choose," she said darkly.

He chuckled and lifted a hand to play with the ends of her hair.

He couldn't say it. Not yet. But he could do what she wanted and give her a genuine compliment.

"This dress," he began with difficulty, "has always been my favorite of yours." He swallowed, glancing up to see her eyes sparking in the dim evening light. Tentatively, he lifted his fingers to smooth down the hair that he'd mussed. "And if I were truthful," he began, darting his eyes to hers and back to her hair, "I've always thought you looked rather like a goddess in it."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted before a flush and a grin transformed her face. "Well, don't go overboard, Van," she said, teasingly. "I might not believe it's you."

"You're right," he said in a low voice as he winked at her. He liked how her mouth twitched just a little when he did that. "That's too many words for me," he finished, leaning in to kiss her slowly, savoring the soft feel of her lips. She threaded her hands back up through his hair, cradling his head and nipping his lips with what he would call enthusiasm before meeting his tongue with hers.

He couldn't tell her, but he could show her.

With his palms framing her waist and their mouths firmly connected, he guided her backwards step by step, pushing her against the bed. Without breaking contact, he gripped her waist and lifted her up, wedging himself between her legs. She made muffled little sounds of surprise but went along with him easily enough. Her dress, a wrap that opened in the front, gaped, and he slid his hands through the part to run up her smooth thighs. He let out his own strangled noise of astonishment when his fingers met with no underclothing. Hitomi shuddered at his touch and broke the kiss with a mischievous smile.

"Surprise," she murmured, fingering the front of his tunic. Then, a blush covering her neck, she added, "I was going to wait until our picnic."

That explained the basket.

Van chuckled and shook his head at her. He wasn't sure he was ready for that level of exposure yet. "I would have been surprised," he agreed. Muscles quivering, he returned to her lips, restraining himself even as his body burned. Feeling up her warm thighs, she moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him close. Her fingers were fumbling under his tunic, so enticingly close.

Van moved his hands to undo the belt over top his tunic so he could pull it off first, but she stopped him with a firm hand on his wrist. "No, don't. Keep the uniform on," she said with raised eyebrows.

Van lifted his own eyebrows in disbelief, "You like my uniform that much?"

"Yes," she said, her lips pursing flirtatiously as she blinked up at him. "I don't think you realize how good you look in it."

Unable to stop the blush of pleasure at this confirmation of her earlier compliment, he lifted her face by a finger to her chin. Moving slowly to her, he watched her lips part in anticipation. Just before they touched, he paused for a moment, just long enough to tease her, long enough to contemplate telling her. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her hard, waiting until her grip on his wrist relaxed. After pushing her hands aside, he undid the hooks on his waistband with expert ease, and then broke away to smile impishly at her.

Panting, she looked at what he'd done before gasping at him. "You tease!" she said. "Are you trying to embarrass me?"

He tsked. "Me embarrass you? I'm not the one who makes innuendos in front of twenty people," he said, referring to her comment to Allen earlier.

Her praise of his tongue hadn't passed his notice, and he'd let it go unthanked long enough. At the time–his mood somber from dealings of war and further darkened by everyone's comments–he'd been able to easily quash the swelling of ego and satisfaction at seeing Allen publicly humiliated by his wife. Those things weren't kingly public behaviors. But here with Hitomi, where he was safe, he could indulge such things.

"I asked if you were mad or embarrassed about that!" she said defensively.

"And I assure you I was neither," he said. He ran his hand down one leg, bending to lift it. He watched her as he began to press lingering, nipping kisses on her ankle. Hitomi fell back with a hiss. "I was proud of you," he admitted.

She gasped at him, but it might have been because he was tickling her. "You were?"

"Quite," he said. "And speaking of tongues." He began to taste the skin of her calf.

Hitomi wriggled, and when he lifted her leg higher and kissed the sensitive skin behind her knee, she tittered as her eyes rolled back.

He lifted her other leg to give it the same treatment, watching roguishly as she broke down into a writhing fit of giggles.

Van smirked.

What a fun reaction.

A/N I wrote a bonus prequel snippet to this chapter. It's 650 word trifle that happens just before the chapter, but it doesn't really fit with the mood or flow. Check it out on my profile.