Another update that took far too long to complete. I apologize again and I hope the next chapter will be out much sooner, though as usual I make no promises. Rest assured, though, I do have a plan in mind. The only problem is getting it out of my head and onto paper.

In any case, please read and enjoy. Reviews make me happy and constructive feedback makes me even happier.

Thank you for being patient.

-sor

The Fanelian palace was unlike any 'palace' Miguel had ever seen. Compared to the palace in Asturia, the place was practically an elaborate shed. Much of the building had burned in the attack two years prior, so most of the structure was a mismatch of old, undamaged walls and new constructions. Of course, there had been feeble attempts by the housekeepers to disguise these oddities using strategically placed rugs and tapestries, but it took more than a little cover to hide some of the more obvious flaws.

Yet, even without flaws, the place was primitive. Fanelia was one of those countries often passed over in history books and Miguel had learned very little of the place in his years of schooling. In fact, he'd learned more watching it burn than he ever had from any book. For instance, Fanelian homes were made almost entirely of wood rather than the stone and metal used in more civilized nations. Primitive homes for primitive people, no more than bumpkins with inflated opinions of themselves due to their convenient alliance with the more wealthy and civilized Asturia.

It hadn't taken much time to come to those conclusions, though he'd had more than enough time to ponder them, having been left to wait in the main hall with that rabble the Crusade's captain called a crew. That sorry excuse for a king, Van Fanel, had taken Gaddes into his study, barely even casting a glance at Miguel, leaving the knight to squirm impatiently in the hall, ultimately disgusted that Dryden Fassa would send him on such a pointless assignment to begin with. It might not have been quite so bad had Celena remained to wait with him, but she had weaseled her way into the study with the usual combination of wit, charm, and fierce determination.

Of course, that left him alone with nothing to do but observe the mercenaries and attempt to mask his annoyance.

One of the crew, the larger man they called Pyle, had settled himself at a small table, flanked by a pair of men whose names he'd forgotten. Pyle leaned eagerly over the table, slamming a hand down on the wooden surface with a force that seemed likely to splinter the wood, though no damage was left behind - only coins.

The man who occupied the seat opposite Pyle, a dark haired buffoon grinning broadly from behind a neatly trimmed goatee, raised the dice cup over his head, making quite the clatter as he shook the dice inside. He'd come wandering along not long ago and finding the king occupied, had decided to entertain himself with what he'd called, 'the new lot of gullible fools.' As was typical of all roughians, the Crusade's mercenaries had jumped at the challenge and Pyle had already lost quite a healthy sum to the man.

He was quite typical, as far as Fanelians went. Miguel found that most of the bumpkins were of the larger variety, broad and thick as a tree trunk, the type of men prone to brute strength rather than subtle thought. The gambler, while still quite large, was less broad than many of the soldiers he'd seen in the yard. This man was not a battering ram, but something far more subtle, able to bend to the wind rather than topple. The strength could be heard in his laughter, an uproarious belly laugh that overwhelmed all those around him whenever it thundered forth, which was quite often.

He was also, Miguel found, quite the able gambler. He'd managed to con Pyle into spending what must have been a near fortune for the mercenary with nothing more than a ready grin and a pair of mismatched, smiling eyes, one blue and the other brown.

The dice continued to clatter loudly as he leaned forward over the table. "That much? You sure you want to lose all that pretty Asturian coin?"

"Roll the dice, you damn braggart." Pyle, too, was leaning heavily over the table, anxiously watching his opponent as his friends leaned over his shoulder, making japes at his ill luck and refusing to offer loans. Only the dark-skinned Teo had the sense to maintain a distance and look somewhat ashamed of his men's behavior.

With another hearty laugh, the dice clattered to the table, followed immediately by another sharp laugh from the gambler and a collective groan of defeat from the mercenaries.

Miguel sighed, turning his face back to the window where he could at least pretend he was not surrounded by fools. The laughter continued for a moment more before coming to a sudden halt. The clatter of dice was stilled in an instant by the sound of the cup slamming down on top of them with what could only be described as a fierce thud.

Curiosity overcame him and Miguel turned only to groan unhappily. There, her hand placed firmly on the overturned dice cup was the all too familiar pink-haired cat girl that had harassed them on the landing pad. On her face was writ such ferocious irritation that it was all Miguel could do to keep from laughing. It was much like watching an angry kitten, its fur standing on end. The intention was to be frightening, but the reality was comical.

Wearing an expression of exaggerated fury, the girl pointed a claw-tipped finger at the gambler, causing him to lurch backwards, nearly topping from his chair. This seemed to amuse him, and the girl only made things worse by shaking her finger menacingly. "You know you're not supposed to be gambling! Van-sama said you had to stop doing that with guests!"

The gambler's laughter subsided a moment and he reached forward, a large hand coming to rest atop the girl's pink hair, which he mussed almost roughly. "Ah, Merle," he chuckled. "You're not going to get me in trouble, are you?"

The sound that escaped Merle's lips could only be called a growl. Angrily, she ducked away from his hand, darting back to a safer distance where she again pointed a finger scoldingly. "You're the one making trouble!" Then, crossing her arms smugly, she managed to somehow look furious and haughty all at once. "Why would I lie to Van-sama just to save someone like you?"

Amid the laughter of the pair of Fanelian guards posted at the door, the gambler climbed to his feet, holding his hands defensively before him, almost as if he were afraid the girl might launch into an all out attack. "Don't say such things, Merle! You'll have them thinking I'm some kind of scoundrel."

"You are a scoundrel, and the worst kind! It would serve you right if I..."

Merle's outrage was cut short by the resounding echo that accompanied the opening of the large double doors, admitting the Fanelian King into the hallway. Van Fanel seemed momentarily surprised at the size of the gathering, but his features relaxed instantly into a somewhat mild acceptance. At his side, Gaddes wore an expression of tense frustration, though he did his best to keep it hidden, especially from the young king, and further behind, Celena's knitted brows relaxed, replaced by a smile as transparent as glass.

Instantly, the cat girl launched forward as if propelled by a spring, throwing her arms wildly around the king. The affectionate greeting was short-lived, however, and her face instantly screwed itself into an expression of outrage. Once more that accusing finger was thrust towards the gambler. "He's doing it again, Van-sama! He's taken all of Pyle's money."

The accusation was met with a snort of laughter from Gaddes and the instant reddening of Pyle's cheeks. The gambler, however, merely shrugged good-naturedly and cast the bag of coins back to Pyle, who caught it with flustered haste. Merle only seemed to bristle further, but before she could protest, Van silenced her with a soft pat atop her head.

Releasing a low sigh and attempting to mask his obvious irritation, Van gestured slowly towards the gambler. "Gaddes, this is the man I was telling you about. May I present General Kiel Aran, my..."

"General?" Miguel could not contain his surprise, nor could he hold back the snort of laughter that threatened to escape. "This man is a general?"

He was rewarded for his comment with only a sharp glare from Van. "General Aran is the commander of Fanelia's melef units. He'll have all the information you require, Gaddes."

Gaddes responded with only a polite half-bow before stepping away from the king, looking no more pleased than he had a moment before. Kiel Aran merely grinned broadly and gestured down the main hallway. "You'll want to see our machines, no doubt. We've taken great care with the rebuilding of..." His voice faded as they moved further off down the hall, trailed somewhat inconspicuously by the ever silent Teo.

Miguel's eyes lingered for a moment on the retreating forms, still overcome with disbelief. "This is the aid he sends us to find?"

xxxxx

Despite the war and the ongoing effort not only to rebuild, but expand the great city of Fanelia, Van found there were some things that never changed. No matter how they grew or how they suffered and rebuilt, nothing ever seemed to change the trees and the mountains. Grass grew where it always had, a brilliant shade of green that seemed to exist nowhere else in the world. Trees still stood guard where they had for generations, casting their shadows over the worn paths beneath their boughs that ancient kings had once walked. And yes, despite all the destruction, great dragons still roamed the forests, keeping to themselves among the crags and canyons at the foot of the mountains.

It was among these things that were so distinctly Fanelian that the young king of Fanelia often sought his solace. He came here, among the trees and the dragons when he found himself most lost. He would speak to them on occasion, seeking their silent council, and sometimes he imagined he could hear their answer on the wind. But it was not the council of trees and dragons he sought today.

The great stone that marked the final resting place of Fanelia's kings rested among the trees, shaded by the branches of a massive sentinel tree and there was watched over by all that was Fanelian. And there among those things, keeping a vigil all its own was the Dragon itself, the great guymelef Escaflowne, silent and still where it rested upon one knee, a position of everlasting reverence. Vines had grown up around the melef's feet, creeping upward along the bent knee and now finally beginning to encroach upon its arms and chest. Had Van been given his way, the vines might have climbed higher until there was nothing left of Escaflowne and it at last had become a part of the forest, silent forever more. But Van had not been given his way.

He knelt silently before the grave of kings, his sword clutched in both hands. He came often to speak to his father or mother, sometimes even to Folken who had been laid to rest here as well, but most often he spoke to Hitomi. It was here where they had parted that Van felt closest to her. At times he even imagined she could hear him and time and again he'd been sure, if only for an instant, he'd heard her voice in the wind.

"What should I do?" Champagne colored eyes fell closed and fingers curled more tightly around the hilt of his sword. "How can I drag Fanelia into another war? We've only just begun to rebuild what we had. It had been my wish to never have to pilot Escaflowne again. That was why I never returned it to the shrine. In times of peace there is no need for an instrument of war.

"Why now?" Frustration overcame him for an instant and with a soft grunt of frustration he drove the blade of his sword into the soft earth. It did little to relieve him. "Why now that things were finally beginning to fall into place? How can I tell them they must fight again?"

A hand left his sword and slipped beneath the collar of his shirt, grasping the cool stone that hung there against his skin. He had always worn it since she had gone. It brought him comfort in times when he felt most lost. "I never wanted to fight..."

As those words escaped into the air, a sudden gust of wind rushed down from the mountains. Where it had been cool only a moment before, it had turned warm as it swept over the tiny clearing, bringing down a rush of leaves with it, littering both the ground and the guymelef in a sudden sea of color. "Van," it whispered. "I believe in you."

"Does she hear you?"

The voice startled Van out of his reverie and he turned sharply, nearly losing his balance if not for his firm grip on the sword. He didn't realize until a moment had passed that a nervous sweat had broken out on his brow, which he attempted to hide with a swipe of his arm. "What are you doing here?"

From within the shadows cast by the trees, Celena Schezar emerged, hands clasped prettily in front. One would never have assumed by her expression that she had just been eavesdropping in the rudest way possible. In fact, her smile was all innocence as she approached, eyes drifting away from Van to rest upon the vine covered melef. "There were some things I wanted to say. Gaddes doesn't need to hear everything."

She drew nearer, gaze shifting now to the headstone and the names carved upon it. As he watched her move, still wearing the men's breeches she'd worn when the Crusade had arrived, Van could not help but notice how she resembled her brother. They moved with the same grace and confidence, somehow managing to make a strut look neither arrogant nor purposeful. After a moment in which she examined the stone further, Celena dropped to a knee, head bowed. "I like it here. It's a much better resting place than that gloomy old graveyard. It's all stone in neat little rows and there's absolutely nothing human about it. But this... I think I'd like to be buried in a place like this. I think it suits your family very well."

Finally Van felt the tension melt away and he turned his eyes back to the stone as well. With a slight tug, his sword was pulled free of the earth and sheathed once more at his side, leaving him free to rise and approach the graves, though he did not kneel again as Celena had. Rather a hand rose, coming to rest upon the fading letters. Gaou Fanel, beloved king laid to rest beneath the watchful eyes of the dragons.

"We have graveyards of our own carved beneath the mountains, protected by stone and air." Fingers curled for a moment against the cold stone. "But Fanelia is the land guarded by dragons. Her kings would rest nowhere that is not in their sight."

Celena's own small hand came to rest against the stone, just below Van's. May his wisdom and strength remain evermore to light the way for his people. "Your father was a brave man, was he not? Tales of his strength were recorded even in Asturian texts."

"I grew up hearing tales of my father's battles, his bravery and strength. At times he seemed more than a man." Van's eyes closed and his fist clenched tightly. "Fearless in a way I never could match. A king is born to lead, yet I can do little more than loathe my part in any battle. I cannot bring myself to have a love of war."

"Any man with a love of war would be useless on the field of battle." With all the grace of a well-bred swordsman, Celena rose, taking a few paces away from the king's stone and coming to stand before the one at its side, which bore the name of his brother, Folken. "It does not take a love of war to lead an army, Van. Actually, I think it takes just the opposite. A strong desire for peace."

Though her words made sense, they did little to ease Van's anxiety. In fact, he turned away from the stones rather violently, pacing a heated few steps away before coming to a halt, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Yet even so, a strong desire for peace is not enough to make all men wish for battle. It is cowardice that holds them back. To have no wish to fight, even to bring about peace..." His father was no such man. Yet his heir was little more than a coward, afraid to fight and to lose, for if he lost, so much would be lost along with him.

"It is not desire that determines cowardice, it is action." Then, as if she had heard even the words he'd left unspoken, Celena moved to his side, placing a hand delicately against his arm. "Even the bravest, most honorable of men fear failure. But does that not give them all the more reason not to fail?"

For a moment the grip on his arm grew tighter, though her gaze remained somewhere far away, beyond the mountains. "Oniisan once told me of a time when he was very afraid. When he feared that selfishness and longing would deter him from duty and that he would fail himself and Asturia. But it was fear that made him vigilant and after a time he came to realize that he had nothing at all to fear." There was something strangely calm in her voice, content despite her dire situation. But all that faded in an instant and she seemed almost vulnerable. "I wonder if he is afraid now."

It was the sudden frailty in her voice that brought about a sharp jolt in Van's mind. He had no reason to worry or fear, but Celena must have been terribly afraid for her brother, no matter how well she might hide it. Realizing his mistake, he took on the role he should have from the start. "Who, Allen? I'm sure he's already won back the entire city on his own. He'll be waiting for us with that smug grin on his face and he'll ask 'Why all the fuss? Everything is in hand.'"

A subtle glance at Celena revealed a soft smile, but it faded more quickly than he would have liked. "That's exactly the type of nonsense he would want me to believe." In that moment, she spoke of her brother with an affection Van had rarely heard from her.

In a gesture that seemed all too natural, Van turned to stand before her, carefully taking her petite hands in his own in a manner he'd so often seen in the courts and gardens of Asturia. He expected to find the gesture awkward and stiff, yet the movement was fluid, as if he had done such gentlemanly things his entire life. Yet once it was done, he found himself shocked at her nearness. Had he meant to stand so close?

Or had she stepped closer as well?

Undeterred by the heat in his cheeks, Van plunged ahead with the words he'd intended. "I promise you, Celena, on my honor and my country's honor, I will see Allen safely back to Asturia."

He might have said more had their eyes not met. She gazed at him with an intensity that stopped his breath and made his heart race and in an instant all thought had abandoned him. He could only grasp the simplest of things. His palms were sweaty. What must she think of that?

"I know." She gave his hand a faint squeeze, seemingly unaware of the unseemly dampness. "There is no man on Gaea whose honor I would trust above yours." She paused. "Even my brother's," she chuckled.

Her laughter seemed to break the spell that bound him and Van found he could breathe once more. With an awkward gait, he took a step back, releasing her hands, and fighting the urge to dry his own on his tunic. His gaze shifted to Escaflowne where it sat, silently watching over the souls who rested beside it. "We should return." The words were rushed, as they always were when he made frantic excuses. "I'm sure Gaddes is eager to hear my decision."

Celena accepted his retreat with grace and asked no questions. "Then we'll return. They are probably all wondering what has become of us."