Author's note: And here you thought I would never update. Sorry for the wait!

-

The Last Night of the World

Chapter 13

Chavant

-

Arriving in Chavant was a welcome change from the frigid atmosphere of Palas. The travelers shed their thick cloaks and wool jackets and basked in the sun that had been hidden from them for so long. The air was almost tropical. The great city of the river nation tried its best to escape being metropolitan: the wide streets were interspersed with lush patches of lawn outlined by neat rows of granite brick, and trees laden with delicate red blossoms swayed gently in the breeze. There were elaborate fountains at many intersections. Hitomi didn't know if she was in the capital of a powerful country or a well-manicured garden.

There were several carriages awaiting their arrival, open and airy, with wide windows cut into the front and the back. The buildings of Chavant were no less rich than their surroundings. As Hitomi and the others were escorted to the palace, they passed by white-washed walls trimmed with gold paint, the doors and shutters painted in vibrant colors, spared from the harsh winters that plagued the more northerly climes. The townspeople looked up as the carriages passed by, as though the newcomers, decked in their heavy grays and blues, brought the chill breath of winter with them.

Hitomi shared a carriage with Millerna, Allen, and Celena. Van was in the first carriage ahead of them, accompanied by Wellyn and eventually by Merle, who had insisted on clinging at his side. As Van was of royal blood, he naturally had the place of honor in the train of carriages, and it was no less than expected to have his closest retainers with him. But even though it made sense, even though it was right and proper, Hitomi couldn't help feeling stung that he did not offer to include her. She had chosen to go home to Yutaro, that was true, but both of them knew that staying had never been an option. Even so, when she was together with Allen, she and Van had still been friends, of a sort. And of all their conflicts and misunderstandings, this act of omission was by far the worst. It was so official. That he was the ruler of a nation and she was merely a guest could not have been made more clear. Gone were the days when the trust between them went unspoken, when her place in Van's life was undisputed, comfortable fact.

To take her mind off her brooding thoughts, Hitomi occupied herself with the passing scenery. But even the trees with their sweetly scented flowers could not draw her attention away from the carriage in front. She caught herself straining to see Van through the window in front, partially obscured by the coachman's back. Things are different now¸ she told herself. We have our own lives. He is the king of Fanelia, and this is the way it's supposed to be.

Then Merle turned to Van, apparently very excited about something, and pointed out the window. He obligingly looked in that direction and nodded his head with mild interest. A surge of resentment rose in Hitomi's chest, and suddenly there was nothing more interesting than the pattern of bricks that paved the road. This is how it's supposed to be, she silently repeated.

They were received at the palace gates by a retinue of soldiers, who bore tall poles with the twin serpent crest of Basram emblazoned on bright red flags. The footmen hurried to open the carriage doors. The passengers descended and assembled themselves facing the palace, an imposing structure of stone and marble with smooth pillars so thick that not even four men could even wrap their arms around them. The wall of pillars had left enough space for a wide, sprawling staircase to allow entrance to the palace. The soldiers formed two rows on either side of the courtyard and rapped the poles on the ground in unison. "Basram welcomes the King of Fanelia and his companions," they intoned. "Our Princess, Renau de la Baroche, and the Goddess of Fortune welcome you with open arms."

Then, from the shadows of the colonnade, a woman emerged in long robes, flanked by four ceremonial guards, and she glided down the stairs into the courtyard. Dark curls framed a face that could have been chiseled from alabaster. Two chestnut strands by her temples were laced with gold thread, and she was arrayed in a white robe with a mantle of gold and purple draped over her arms. She spread her hands in a gesture of hospitality. "A hundred blessings on Fanelia and Asturia. It is an honor to be graced by your presence."

Van stepped forward and bowed deeply, deliberately. "A hundred blessings on you and your house, Princess."

Hitomi had never been welcomed with such ceremony before—by a goddess no less—and suddenly the wrinkles on her dress were deeper and the stray hairs of her braids were wild and windblown. But greater than her self-consciousness was Van. He seemed so different: so regal, so much older, even when dressed in the simple red shirt and white pants he always wore. This was a side of him she had never seen before. When had he learned to carry himself this well?

"Please forgive my father's absence," said the princess. "Troubles in the east have taken him away from Chavant for the time being. I welcome you in his place. You are free to stay until he returns. We offer you our rivers as your waterways and our vino as your drink as a sign of our friendship."

"I thank you for your kindness, Princess. The purpose of our visit is—with your permission—to research the legends and prophecies of the oracles of old. Perhaps they will shed some light onto the unnatural events that have taken place."

"Certainly," she replied. "I will see to it that your every need is met. Meanwhile, let us gather in the Rosewood Parlor."

As the flag-bearers lined up next to the travelers, Hitomi was unsure of what to do next. Thankfully, Millerna touched her elbow and guided her so they were standing two and two, right behind Allen and his sister. Dryden and Wellyn were behind them, and Van was at the very front, exchanging pleasantries with Princess Renau as a scrutinizing Merle clung from the other side. To Hitomi's surprise, he offered the princess his arm. That's rather…unusual. As they walked together arm in arm, Hitomi mused that there must be an etiquette among royalty that she'd never had the chance to witness. Or maybe they had known each other as children. But he had never offered her his arm before. Never. Not even after they realized how they felt about each other.

But Van walked very naturally and the princess held her shoulders proudly, and everything about them spoke of formality. Yes, this behavior must be expected between members of royalty, Hitomi thought as she unconsciously smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. And if she hadn't known better, she would have thought Van was the two women's object of affection, with his attention captured by the princess and Merle hanging on jealously.

-

Afternoon tea was something that probably should have never happened. At first, the princess discussed matters of no great consequence, such as the health of the royal house or the current gossip. Most of the conversation was carried by Dryden and Allen, who were the more glib of tongue. However, when two men of such opposing personalities gathered in the same room, even the most innocuous topics had potential to develop into heated controversy. There was a point when the conversation turned to gossip about the latest scandal: a nobleman from a prominent family had abandoned home and duty for the glory of hunting dragons in the north. There had been no word of him for several months, and he was presumed dead. Consequently, he was disowned by his own house and his wife and children were left to fend for themselves. Despite the misfortune the nobleman caused with his actions, Dryden wholeheartedly approved of his decision. Allen, on the other hand, declared that some dreams were not worth pursuing.

Dryden peered at Allen over his spectacles. "Ah, but a real man does not let his dream pass by when it is within reach."

Allen's brow remained stern. "If he was truly a man, he would not abandon his duty to those who depend on him."

Dryden slapped his knee and laughed, a harsh sound that grated on Hitomi's nerves. "You Knights of Caeli! Always so hidebound by honor and duty!"

"It's better than being unscrupulous and completely lacking in both," Allen said tightly.

Hitomi squirmed in her chair, though the princess appeared vaguely amused by their thinly veiled barbs. She wished that Renau would say something—anything—to defuse the brewing conflict. But the princess merely looked on as Hitomi and Wellyn attempted to mollify both sides, with rather limited success. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the princess took leave of them, apologizing that her work called her away from their company. Her departure could not have come any sooner. Hitomi quickly stood and followed the others out of the room, her muscles creaking in relief. She had half a mind to berate Dryden for provoking Allen, whether it was intentional or not. But before she could, the merchant waved for her to follow him and walked off without looking back.

Refusing to be treated so casually, Hitomi caught up to him and planted herself squarely in his path. "Dryden, I know that you and Allen may not always get along, but that was uncalled for."

Dryden seemed surprised at her observation. "You don't approve of my opinions?"

"I don't approve of the way you were leading Allen on."

"Leading him on?" He gave a short laugh. "My opinions are what they are. If Allen can't stomach them, that's his problem."

When he saw that Hitomi was still not satisfied, he folded his arms and said, a little more seriously, "I don't take back anything I said. But I don't deny that I was trying to influence where the conversation was going. I've had more than my fill of mind-dulling gossip about Basram's noble houses."

Dryden's justification made Hitomi even more nettled at his suffocating self-assurance. So she stubbornly stalled when Dryden asked her to accompany him to the lower levels of the main library. It wasn't until Wellyn requested her help that she agreed to join them. She couldn't bear the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon alone with Dryden, but she liked Wellyn and his open, boyish manner. He was not as talkative as the Asturian merchant, nor was he as reticent as Van, but she felt comfortable around him.

Once they reached the basement, the two men promptly became lost in the pages of the tomes that covered the walls. Hitomi, still unsure of the role she was supposed to play, wandered between rows of dusty bookshelves. The scent of old books and mildew tickled her nose, and she resisted the urge to sneeze. She lightly ran her fingers over the spines of gold lettering that had faded with the centuries. Though many of the titles were in different languages, the curious ability that enabled her to read the inscription in the temple of Godashim allowed her to decipher the strange characters in front of her. This was probably why Dryden needed her help. Civilization had existed long enough on Gaea for language to evolve into many incarnations, and there was no way that Dryden, educated as he was, could know them all.

Her fingers halted as one title caught her eye: Dragon's Heart. She slipped it out from between History of the Seven Tribes and The Code of the Samurai and held it carefully between her palms. It was a slim volume, barely thicker than two fingers. The cover was lined with blue fabric, the letters embroidered in silver thread. A cloud of dust scattered when she opened the book, and she sneezed fitfully. The pages were sheets of heavy parchment, and their weight spoke of something ancient and momentous.

The contents of the book were as unassuming as its cover. The lettering was blocky and stark; the handwriting was uniform and marched across the page in straight, orderly rows. There was not even a title page. The only embellishment was a faintly inked serpent with a dragon's head, its body twisting and curling around the border until the tail met the head at the top right corner. Tufts of hair covered its head, and it had a flat, tapered snout. The eyebrows were bushy and wise, and long whiskers trailed from its lips. A Chinese dragon? In its claws it grasped a longsword by the blade. The olive green coloring of its skin was faded and cracked, and the eyes were flecked with gold.

The handwriting, although neat, was small, forcing Hitomi to squint. The lighting was also very dim, so she moved closer to a candelabrum atop a small table spaced between the shelves. She settled herself into a nearby chair and began to read.

This is the story of Fanaelia, the land of dragons. This is the account of how Laras Varga de Fanel slew the great dragon Escaflowne and came to rule over all of Fanaelia.

The first king of Fanelia rose to the throne by slaying Escaflowne? So why did Fanelians pray to the dragon for rain and protection from hardship? Hitomi did not know much about Fanelian culture, but she knew that Van's guymelef was named after the same deity that the people of Fanelia worshiped. It didn't make sense.

As Hitomi puzzled over this mystery, something burned hot against her skin. Her pendant. She nearly dropped the book in her haste to pull it out from under her dress. The jewel had turned blood red and pulsed with a life of its own, and everything around her was suddenly angry and menacing in its red light. The dragon on the page seemed to shiver, as though trying to break free from the confines of its two-dimensional world. Its eyes had become red, too, and the green skin was brighter than before. The dragon shivered again and lifted its head off the page. The drawing of the head grew and grew until Hitomi was looking into the face of a breathing, growling dragon. It snarled through teeth that were longer than her arm and blew out its whiskers with each breath. It stared as though carefully weighing its prey. Then it opened its mouth, a cave of flesh and hot breath, and lunged.

-

When his party dispersed, Van was relieved to finally be left alone. Merle had wanted to stay with him, but he firmly asked her to direct the servants in unloading their belongings. Escaflowne had already been lodged in the city's guymelef hangars; like his sword, the guymelef went wherever he went. Wellyn went off with Hitomi and Dryden, and wherever Allen and Celena ended up going, he did not care. Van just wanted to be alone. He needed to think.

The princess of Basram was as beautiful as Wellyn had promised. So beautiful that even Van had noticed. Although, truth be told, if he had passed her in the street, if they had shared an afternoon discussing economics and treaties, he would not have cared or noticed much. Beautiful women were not hard to find if one paid attention, and they were merely strangers of little consequence unless they could creep underneath the skin of Van's life. That was the way it was with Van. But of all the women in his half-hearted courtship, Renau was somehow different.

It probably had to do with why he was in Basram in the first place. Though, actually, the real reason why he was there had little to do with his reaction to Renau. The reason he wasn't there for was what took him off guard. He had been prepared to greet a stern, middle-aged man in ceremonial garb. But instead, it was Renau, and it was like being received by an angel. Van was expecting to be an ambassador, and the next thing he knew, he was in the beginnings of a courtship. Without the anticipation and dread of a long, uncomfortable few hours, it was…not unpleasant. If all went well, if he found her acceptable—if she was amenable to marriage—then he would no longer have to look for a wife. His advisors would be satisfied, and Fanelia would have an heir. And eventually, they might even fall in love.

If he married Renau, then what of Hitomi? By the time he married, Hitomi would have gone back to the Mystic Moon. She would be married herself and would have already forgotten about him. Which, apparently, was not a hard thing to do.

She might forget him, but would he forget her? How he wished to say he would, but the truth refused to be hemmed in by his pride. She had changed his life so much in the short time she was on Gaea. Forgetting her would be like forgetting Folken or Balgus ever existed.

Van found himself on the palace grounds, wandering around with no real aim in mind. The walk loosened him up and helped let out some of the tension behind his thoughts. He ended up by a two-tiered fountain with the statuettes of three graceful women on top. Few things soothed his spirit better than watching the water flow from a fountain, perhaps because fountains brought him back to a time when life was calm and carefree, when his mother still tended to him and Folken carried him on his back. He spent much of his younger days outdoors, exploring the gardens under his brother's charge. One garden in particular, tucked away in the corner of the castle grounds, was his favorite. It did not have the orderly, artificial feeling of the other gardens, which were carefully pruned and arranged by the groundsmen. Instead, the trees grew where they wished and the flowers were wild and untamed. It was his mother's garden. His father had built it for her because she missed her home in the forest, and he ordained that no one should tend to it but her. There was also a fountain in the middle of the garden, hidden by the trees so that each time Van happened upon it, it was a new discovery. Sometimes his mother would be there, reading a book or sweeping leaves out of the water. Other times it was Folken, and they would play hide-and-seek among the trees or mock wrestle under the sun. It was his refuge, a place he could go to when he wanted to escape his lessons or get away from the stuffy indoors. Until the day Folken disappeared. His mother began to let the garden fall into disrepair, and she spent less and less time at the fountain. Weeds overtook the wildflowers, and the fountain filled up with leaves that had become boggy with water and began to rot. Then one day, his mother disappeared as well. The fountain stopped flowing, and creeping vines grew out of the bed of dead leaves, their roots crumbling the stone. The garden was soon reclaimed by the forest, and Van had not ventured into it since.

Van balanced himself on the edge of the fountain basin and watched as the water arched and fell into the pool below. Folken. If he had not disappeared, Van would not be in this situation today. No, that was not entirely true. His brother had relinquished any claim to the throne over a decade ago. If Folken had reappeared before Van came of age, Van would have happily let him take on the leadership of Fanelia. But Van had already been crowned, and even if Folken had survived the Great War, the people would never accept him. In their eyes, the older Fanel died fifteen years ago when he failed to return from the rite of dragonslaying.

Van wished he could see Folken again. To ask him what to do, to learn about the brother he barely knew. To say goodbye.

Hitomi was the last person to see Folken alive. She was the one who accepted him when Van, his own brother, could not. Van's heart grew heavy at the thought. Not for the first time, he wished that he possessed some of Hitomi's ability to believe in the goodness of people. Even though she had been hunted and kidnapped by Folken's followers, she did not fear the traitorous Fanel or his intentions. Van, on the other hand, suspected Folken to the very end, watching him from the shadows, waiting for the slightest hint of treachery.

Some would have called Hitomi naïve. Van had, at first. Having his homeland ravaged by the one who was meant to be its protector was not a matter easily forgotten. Not to mention his image of Folken had been irreversibly tarnished once he discovered the truth about Zaibach's Strategos. And Folken had betrayed him, his own brother. Even if Folken had lived, they were too estranged to ever be reconciled. That was why Van watched Folken so closely. Part of him could not believe that the dark man with the clawed hand was the same person whom Van had dreamed of becoming when he was younger. It was as though someone had stolen his brother's face and acted out his life in a cruel parody.

Hitomi had given ground where Van could not. Through her, Van caught glimpses of the brother he remembered from so long ago. If it had not been for Hitomi, Van would have been too blinded by suspicion to notice the patience in Folken's staid, brooding manner, or the gentleness in his words whether he was speaking to Hitomi or to the king of Asturia.

Resentment gradually gave way to grudging respect, but Van still could not accept his brother. It had not been enough for Folken to prove himself true, or to become a person that Van might want to trust again.

It was because Folken was a coward. A coward, and a traitor twice over.

Folken should have returned to Fanelia. Dornkirk may have saved his life, but Fanelia was his home and his people. The blood of the kingdom ran in his veins. Once he recovered from his injuries, he should have slain another dragon, should have returned to be crowned king and protector of Fanelia. Failure to fulfill his duty was betrayal in itself. And so the younger prince rose to the throne while the elder was still alive. No amount of deeds or reparations could redeem Folken from such dishonor. Fighting to end the fighting? There was no such thing. Not when it involved sacrificing his own people and delivering his brother to the enemy. It was a hollow claim riddled with deceit and self-delusion, a coward's excuse to justify his thirst for power.

It wasn't until Folken's death, however, that Van realized how wrong he had been. A coward would not have gone to Zaibach without any way of returning. A coward would not have faced the tyrant of an empire knowing that his chances of leaving alive were next to none. If Folken had been mistaken about the path he chose, at least he knew he would have to follow it to its conclusion, good or ill. And follow it he did.

In the end, it was Van who was the coward. Accepting Folken would have meant accepting that the solemn-faced monster was his brother, his blood. It would have been better to believe that Folken was dead; at least Van's memory would be untarnished then. So instead, Van clung to what was comfortable and familiar. Shielding himself was more important than taking the risk of forgiving the person he once thought could do no wrong.

Only when Folken died was Van able to let go of his fear. He could sense Folken's life fading away, as though they shared a dormant bond that was heightened by danger and emotion. When Van could no longer feel his brother, fear was replaced by the coldness of realizing that he was truly alone. Regret had drowned out anything else, and though time had dulled the edge of his sorrow, it accompanied him like a pebble in his boot. Most of the time he didn't notice it, but there were times when the feeling was fresh and sharp like a thorn catching an old wound.

Someone nearby cleared his throat. "Excuse me, King Van of Fanelia?" ventured a young voice.

Van raised his head to see a boy in red and white livery standing nervously before him. The boy fidgeted under Van's gaze, and the words came out of his mouth in a flood. "I apologize for disturbing you. I…I have a message from Princess Renau. She would like to extend an invitation to you and your party to d-dine with her tonight. The first course will be served within the hour, so p-please prepare yourselves appropriately."

That meant Van would have to change into his dress clothes. He hoped the servants had been able to transport his belongings in time. Normally, he did not care about what another ruler thought about his appearance; Fanelians were known to be simple in dress and way of life, and he was not about to change that for a formality. But courtship was different. He had learned the hard way that dressing plainly could be considered offensive. And for once, he would not have minded having to attend dinner, but he really was not in the state of mind to go. He wished that it was over and he was back in his chambers already.

"Y-your reply, ou-sama?"

Van had nearly forgotten about the messenger boy. "Yes, thank you. Please tell the princess that I will attend, and inform the rest of my party."

"As you wish, Your Highness." After a quick bob at the waist, the boy scurried off.

Van slowly stood up. It had been a very long time since he thought about Folken; the dark things of the present were stirring up the past. He had also been having nightmares again. There was fire and ice in the cities of Gaea, and it was usually Fanelia or Palas, but sometimes it was Atlantis. In his dreams, he had to defend townspeople from the fiery rage of dragons or the plodding footsteps of ice giants. Even when he told them to run, they would not run. No matter how hard he tried to protect them, he was able to save only a handful. The ones who remained, however, turned on him in anger. You let the others die, they accused. You let them die because you are a coward. You are a coward, and you are not fit to be king. Then they fell upon him, forcing him to defend himself lest he be torn limb from limb. In the end, he was left with only his bloodied sword, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his people. Even the dragons and giants he had slain took on human form. He was alone, all alone with the falling embers of the charred city.

Other times, he tried to run, chased by the screams of those he had abandoned. The outcome was still the same: only he survived within the remains of a dying city. Except in those times, he was all the more a coward.

Reaching down into the fountain, Van scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on his face. The cool water dampened the heated images from his nightmares. He should not spend anymore time dwelling on the past or his dreams if he was to make this visit worthwhile. That meant he would have to be alert for any word, any sign that Basram might have any plans that were less than benign. He could not be distracted by the princess. Basramian soldiers patrolling the borders of their neighbors Egzardia and Freid was nothing unusual, but there were abandoned camps as far north as Daedalus that were marked with Basram's serpent crest. There was nothing missing from the supplies, and the stench of rotting food nearly made the scouts gag. Neither human nor horse was in sight. Where the soldiers disappeared to, nobody knew, and the eerie situation made the other kingdoms nervous. Basram denied any knowledge of these happenings and claimed that the camps belonged to rogue soldiers who had defected from the ranks. Van did not know how much information he would actually be able to glean from the princess, but he had to try. At least she would not be on her guard tonight.

-

Note: ou-sama is a respectful way of addressing someone as "king" in Japanese