A/N: It goes without saying that I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters. The poem, however, is mine.

When I saw him walking towards the gardens, I started to follow him.

He stopped suddenly, and stood in the shaft of sunlight that penetrated the promenade around the castle.

I stepped back into the shadows. I didn't know what I wanted to say, and so I didn't want him to see me, not yet.

He turned and faced the sunlight, and raised his hands, both of them, tilting his head backwards, his eyes closed.

I watched him from behind a pillar, worshipping the sun that shone on his face.

He stood there for several minutes, completely still, before the marching sound of palace guards broke his reverie. He let his hands fall to his sides, the mechanical arm hidden again under the cream-colored cloth. I watched his chest rise and fall with a deep inhalation, and then he turned and went on his way.

I couldn't keep following him. I felt wrong, filthy, almost, having seen that moment, which was obviously very personal. I bit my lip and stared at my feet, emerging from the shadow behind the pillar. His form grew smaller and smaller.

I turned and went back the way I had come, but not without glancing backwards, just the once, to be sure he was still there.

# # # # #

The next time we met, it was he who found me.

So rarely did I let my guard down enough to relax. I found a window seat in the library, towards the back, where no one would find me unless they were particularly interested in Ezgardian philosophy.

I leaned against the casing, my legs bent so that I could almost tuck my feet under me. My shoes had been casually flipped off, so that just my stocking feet could be seen peeking out from my dress.

I had been reading something completely frivolous – Draconian poetry. One of the few volumes that survived after most of the remaining Draconians were hunted down and slaughtered centuries ago. It had been rebound numerous times, and the pages showed the sign of many licked fingers turning them at the corners.

The setting sun was warm on my face, and I leaned my head back, closing my eyes, my index finger holding my place in the tome on my lap.

"Princess Eries." His deep dusky tone snapped me out of my reverie, and I dropped my book. I turned my head quickly to see him standing just two rows down, facing me.

"Folken," I managed to get out, before pulling my dress out from under me, and making to swing my legs over the seat and back into my shoes.

I had my legs unfolded, but my feet never got back into my shoes.

He took three long strides to me, and put his hand on my knee.

I froze, and he pulled his hand back as though he burned himself, and cleared his throat. "My apologies, Princess." He looked at the floor, not at me.

I opened my mouth, but faltered. "No, I…"

"I did not mean to disturb you, Princess. Please. Do not leave on my account. I will leave," he said, and looked at me once, quickly, before turning to do exactly that.

I rose, still in my stocking feet, and reached out for his elbow. The nearest one was the one of metal. I felt it through the fabric, and pulled my hand away as fast as he had from me moments earlier.

He turned back to face me.

"You…you don't have to leave…Folken."

He looked at me for a moment, and then took a step past me, and bent down to pick up my book. His eyes scanned the page it had fallen open to, and I could have sworn he almost smiled before he remembered himself, and held the book out to me, keeping its place.

"Th-thank you," I said, and took the book from him, putting my hand into the place he held for me, brushing his fingers as I took the book from him.

He looked at the book, now at my side, and was quiet. I stood as still as I could, trying not to scare away whatever this moment was.

"Poetry of the Draconians?" He asked, not looking at me.

"Mm." I replied with a curt nod. I stared at him, and his eyes met mine.

We held each other's gaze, and I felt that I must have been holding my breath.

He broke the gaze, seemingly not able to look at me when he spoke. "My…my mother, she…used to read us poetry, Van and I, when we…were young." He spoke slowly, carefully, and then his gaze was beyond me, to a point somewhere above and behind my head.

I looked to where he was looking, quickly, and he dropped his gaze.

We were at an impasse – neither of us could think of something to say, yet neither of us was leaving either.

I brought the book up, and held the spine in one hand while I flipped the pages.

"I…I think this one is my favorite." I held the book out to him, and he reached out to take it in his good hand, watching me.

With the book in his grasp, he looked down at the translated words on the page.

And it seemed that he could not help the smile which widened his mouth ever-so-slightly. He parted his lips and recited softly.

"Beneath, between

my skin, my fingers

eyes shut, red behind the lids

she whispers

to me of the mountains

while she makes the wheat sing."

He looked up at me. I had been listening to him, watching him, and he held the book back out to me. I took it with both hands this time, one on the bottom, one on the top, holding it open, and held the tips of his fingers between the page and my own.

He swallowed audibly and pulled his hand from the book, but this time he did not look away from me.

Then he nodded to me, and bowed at the waist. "Princess," he said, and turned away from me.

"You can call me Eries," I said, and my words came unbidden, his head turned so I could see his profile. "We're all royalty here," I said quietly.

"Indeed," he replied, and walked away.

A/N: I meant for that second part to take place after he'd spoken to Hitomi, who told him that "people return your feelings" - perhaps giving him that extra little bit of courage to speak into the silences. And I hope I'm keeping Eries in character - so composed, but we know there are things that break that composure, and I always hoped such a crack didn't always mean she ran from the room in tears. Hopefully a little bit of guts isn't so far-fetched.