It took me 6+ attempts to finally get this chapter off the ground as I was suffering from the mother of all writer's blocks. However, I think this was one of the best chapters yet. Please forgive the monstrously long "Last Time" bit, but it had to be done to cover all the main events of the last chapter. Hope this was worth the wait!
Also, I apologize profusely for the ludicrous delay. Dead muse or not, there is never any excuse for an 8-month delay. Never, especially with a cliffhanger like the last one. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me and keep reading. As an apology (and that tomorrow is the second of three days of midterms, meaning that I will be on break) the next chapter is already in the works. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't Escaflowne. I do own Elis, Kearce (?), and this plotline. Yippee. (I still haven't gotten the CEO drunk enough to give me the Escaflowne rights. DAMN! That man's alcohol tolerance is ridiculously high, and he practices this retarded idea of drinking in moderation. DAMN YOU CEO!!!!!!!!!!)
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Last time: The blade erupted from Elis' chest in a spray of crimson. Elis Payne, Shadow Snake and operative of the madoushi, died with barely a yelp. His only memorial service was a small snicker and the soft shing of a bloodstained blade being cleaned on his desecrated cloak. The assassin had done his work.
Next.
The madoushi got what the madoushi wanted. Always.
And Kearce wasn't about to fail them.
---
Drip.
"Hmmm… So the Sword did not remember. All in due time, I suppose. Fate will do as Fate will. It appears that we shall have to wait a while longer, my love. But that's perfectly fine. We can have all the time we need."
Drip.
---
"Finally!" Miguel cried, exasperated, as he pushed aside the final branch, "Home!" A wide grin spread across his face as the warm sunlight caressed his tanned features.
Two pairs of red and green eyes stared at him in surprise. Red eyes… The brown-headed boy instinctively fell to one knee, nearly forgetting to breathe.
"D-Dilandau-sama…!"
Chapter 7: Shade of a Feather
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An uneasy silence seeped into the glade, permeating everything with the clenching tightness of fear. The trees stilled their swaying limbs. The birds quieted their merry warbling. Clouds slowed their progression across the sky, and it seemed for a long moment time had all but forgotten the three small figures in the glade. But just as the illusion was nearly tangible, the wind picked up. The trees resumed their swaying. The birds continued singing, and the clouds began to wander once more. Hitomi's voice shattered the serenity, shrill and incredulous.
"M… Miguel? B-But you're supposed to be dead!"
- - -
Miguel… The name hit Dilandau like a bucket of winter water.
Instantly, images battered his mind. Miguel, dressed in encumbering black-and-blue armor, conversing with a fluffy-headed boy and his ponytailed companion at a long lunch table. Miguel, fencing with a wide-eyed, deceptively innocent soldier, both clad in the same outfit Dilandau was wearing now. Miguel, dragged from a majestic navy guymelef and captured before the eyes of his helplessly fuming commander and comrades. More memories raced in, but instead of vanishing in the next moment like so many others… They stayed. And they were staying for good, the Dragonslayer captain intuitively knew. He knew it, sensed it, even as he felt them taking root in his mind. It felt good. It felt good to have something to look back on. It felt good to have an identity.
And simply knowing that he was something, was needed by someone lent just a little more lightness to his heart. A small, true smile lit his features as he moved to kneel before his Slayer. Hesitantly, Dilandau began to speak, "Miguel…" The brunette boy looked up sharply, eyes wide; he had never heard his commander's voice so soft. Dilandau continued, unperturbed, "Thanks, Miguel... For your loyalty."
Miguel couldn't seem to regain control of the tongue that lolled from his mouth. "S-sir!?"
A tiny grin tickled the edges of Dilandau's lips. "Close your mouth, Miguel. I need my levelheaded second-in-command, not a babbling idiot."
"Yes, sir, Dilandau-sama!" Came the crisp reply. The former captain felt a small twinge of pride. Old habits died hard. Abruptly, however, Miguel's cerulean gaze sank to the soft, yielding grass as the pause permitted him time to think. "Sir, I'm not sorry that you're back, but… What happened to you? Word had it that you had died. I couldn't believe it, but no one had seen you since the Battle of Rampant, and I can't imagine that you would have retreated during the final battle, so…"
"Battle of Rampant…?" Several images flashed through the albino's mind, but all he managed to retain was the scent of blood and a peculiar note of hope overshadowed by desperation. He sighed beneath his breath. Damn. Nothing about his amnesia had changed. Unable to summon any lasting memories, the albino hazarded a guess. "Was that… The final battle of the war?" Belatedly, Dilandau thought back to his first encounter with Hitomi, and suddenly the false note jumped out at him; the false note that had rung when she claimed her only knowledge of him was that he had been in "the war".
His red eyes flew to hers, conveying a clear message: "I want an explanation. What are you hiding, girl?"
Deep inside Dilandau, something muttered a correction. /Mystic Moon bitch./
The albino was far too busy staring at the transfixed Hitomi to pay it much heed.
- - -
Blood-soaked feathers plopped limply to the crimson grass, a fitting shroud. Nothing stirred. Nothing rustled. It was silence in its purest form. Despite the thick blood that clung to her muddy sneakers, Hitomi's soul gave pause to revel in the warm fuzziness of serenity. But Hitomi's mind refused to give in to the temptation. It – and she – were far too appalled to take the offered fruit. Hitomi's mind was repulsed by the blood that defaced the sky, trees, grass, clouds, and especially the once-light alabaster feathers that reminded her of Van, still so far away.
Despite her mind's rationality, it was still the seer's soul that spied the figures that had been concealed by the feathers. No… Dilandau! Folken…!?
There, before the teen's mortified eyes, Dilandau slumped before his former superior, held upright only by the sword tip that gleamed viciously from his abdomen.
With the keen of a wounded dove, Hitomi screamed as the scene ceded to blessed darkness.
- - -
"DILANDAU, BEHIND YOU!!!"
He whipped around, drawing his blade (1)Sanguis, and stopped his enemy's dusky sword mere pinky-length from the side of his head. Dilandau leaped back to regain his balance, spreading his feet to recover from the unexpected force of the blow.
Falling into the surreal time gap of combat, the veteran sprang back into his opponent, weapon held close above his body. Despite the swiftness of their motions, Dilandau's mind function at a seemingly normal speed, an entity apart from his body, and it told him that, judging by the other man's blurred sword, this was no Elis. This adversary was just as skilled, if not more so, than Dilandau himself.
The dark blade whistled by the albino's head and managed to lap the tips of snowy bangs before the downward slash was blocked. Acting more by instinct than any rational thought, the Dragonslayer captain shifted his weight to his back foot for a swift, unexpected kick to his enemy's solar plexus beneath the locked blades. Unfortunately, Dilandau once again underestimated the other man's strength and staggered backwards to afford himself room to recuperate. The maneuver would have worked - had the young soldier not managed to get a glimpse of his opponent from a slightly greater distance.
Jichia… Kearce…
It was all Dilandau could do to keep from collapsing from the cloaked man's next charge. He slammed his foot sideways far behind him to absorb the some of shock, but while he didn't budge, Dilandau was momentarily stunned by the effort of blocking. He gasped in shock and exhaustion as he leapt a few feet back on leaden limbs.
/Need some help?/ An echoing, wraithlike voice sneered.
What..? Dilandau's world crumbled into black.
- - -
Miguel, regardless of the overprotective streak shared by all Dragonslayers, knew his leader and had been content to let Dilandau-sama fight on his own… Until he had seen the cloaked man's face. The soldier had heard from several of his more reliable contacts that this man was dead; yet here he was. Miguel knew in his gut that it couldn't be possible, but… Those tattoos… Those eyes… That hair… It couldn't be denied. If it truly was who it appeared to be, then Dilandau-sama, a bit rusty and caught off-guard, was in major trouble.
Damn his pride. I won't let him get himself killed!
Scraping his beloved leather-hilted sword from its navy sheath, the Slayer gathered himself to rush at the intruder's unprotected back. However, the abrupt change in Dilandau-sama's movements caused him to pull up short in astonishment.
- - -
Dilandau's eyes narrowed and sharpened as his movements transformed from crisp, precise jabs to surgical blurs and flashes of reflected light. Suddenly, he darted back, triumphantly licking the spatter of blood from his blade. He eyed his enemy's lethargically dripping wound with a smirk.
"First blood is mine."
Deftly the albino tugged the diadem from his belt and slipped it into its proper place, amethyst gem winking from between restrained snowy locks. Then he charged back toward the taller man, darting for the already-injured sword arm. At the last possible moment he pivoted on his front foot and fell into the assassin's chest, cleanly blocking a downward warding strike. Deep amber eyes registered shock as Dilandau continued to move, elbowing the elder man in the solar plexus. A pale fist followed it up, catching the doubling warrior squarely in the jaw. The young captain's sword quickly appeared in the figure's wildly spinning field of vision, nicking his adam's apple to draw a single bright point of blood.
"You've gotten better, Folken. Back to being the madoushi's lapdog, I see?"
Kearce didn't deign to answer thought his mind was drowning in a rapidly-growing lake of questions. His superiors had lied. Dilandau did remember. He remembered some of the things that even Kearce himself did not, but most importantly, with Dilandau's memory came his swordplay, untarnished despite two months of inactivity. The fight had been over before it had begun… Hadn't it? The would-be assassin opened his mouth to give voice to his question, but it would have to wait for another day.
An eruption of pain blasted into his temple, giving him over to chilling blackness. Shadows consumed his vision as his limp body slumped to the ground, splashing red onto the once-green grass.
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End Chapter
Written to (CD): The Crane Wife by The Decemberists
(1) "Sanguis" means blood in Latin.
As a side note, I take both Latin and Tae-Kwon-Do, so now that there is more occasion to use them you will likely see more of both. Also, some of my fighting technique (as I am decent at sparring) will likely be shown in Dilandau's as it is the only way I know how to fight. And for those who are curious, hand-to-hand combat really is like an out-of-body experience. It seems like your mind is working at normal speed and you have plenty of time to think, strategize, and analyze the flaws in your opponent's guard, but I think that things really happen very quickly. It's almost like a type of messed-up high. Only when you're near collapse do you actually feel like you're in your body. Whoops.
I feel soooooo bad about taking so long! Please forgive me! Oh, yeah, and I hope you enjoyed! 'Till next chapter - which will definitely be coming within the next month at the latest!
Aurah
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