**Author's Note: Hello again, I want to thank everyone for the great reviews. My face was about to split in half that was how big I was smiling when I peeked
into my inbox. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and for everyone who's reviewed me more than once I love you dearly. It makes me nervous though, because
now it's like damn...what if this next chapter isn't as good as the last and they hate it? Lol, well, I hope it never happens, but if it does you do not have to be nice
about it ;). Ok, warning...this chapter is extremely long. It was actually going to be longer, but then Eboni the Long-Winded looked at the page counter and
went "Eep!" One more warning, though this story is not a yaoi story, there is a slight implication near the end of the chapter. Don't worry if you're not into that,
this story won't delve into it too deeply at all. Ok, I think this is long enough lol. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and that I haven't scared anyone away!**
Chapter 7
The sedative would be strong enough to keep Dilandau asleep for 12 hours, hopefully the injection he gave him would cause stop his endocrine system from releasing so much epinephrin into his bloodstream. He also hoped it countered the agonist blocking the re-uptake of certain neurotransmitters, and stimulated his auto-receptors before he had a heart attack, and went into total respiratory and cardiac arrest from stress.
He had placed him in the infirmary for the night for observation, instructing the medics to keep a close eye on his vitals and to have him summoned if anything
changed. Dilandau would be furious when he woke up, Folken didn't doubt that, but at least he *would* wake up. Dilandau never thought like that.
The Escaflowne was just as he left it, with three guards posted about it. They bowed to him, and retreated at his approach. Pricking his finger, and letting the blood flow, he placed his hand over the heart of the guymelef, bracing himself against the slight shock of recognition he received from it for being of the royal line of Fanelia. Once he removed his hand, the hatch opened, and a gangly boy in a loose fitting red cotton shirt, and soft tan pants, probably made from animal hide, sprawled out onto the cool floor. Folken gazed down upon him with a slight smile, his little brother was growing to be a handsome man. He recalled thinking, when he was around Van's age, that Van was going to be the ugly duckling of the family. Good thing he hadn't made any wagers on that one.
The boy stirred slightly giving a quiet moan before settling down again. He picked him up easily, and walked with him out of the hangar, past the confused soldiers who awaited to take the prisoner to the holding cells. "Lord Folken?"
"I'll deal with the prisoner personally, you are dismissed."
"But.."
"Dismissed."
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"We have to go after Lord Van!" The petite cat girl, Merle, was insisting. She gazed longingly out of the large glass windows of the Crusade into the darkness her king had disappeared in.
"Not with all those Zaibach guymelefs buzzing around," Gaddes said. The Crusade had been steered and hidden in a rocky area temporarily shielded from the view of the enemy soldiers. They watched nervously as they got brief glimpses of dark blue, or heard the flight engines of one of the flying guymelefs coming close to their location. "They're going to spot us eventually if we stay here."
"But if we move we'll lose our chance to find Lord Van! Maybe we could follow them..."
"Those soldiers ain't stupid. They'd never let themselves be followed."
"So how are we going to find him?" Merle demanded, she turned to Allen, "Sir Allen, we are going to look for him, aren't we?"
Allen frowned, he was going to get wrinkle lines from all of this. On one hand he had to get to his king and warn him of Zaibach's treachery, and on the other hand, he had an innocent to save. Both were within the realm of his knightly duties, but which was more important. The king did need to be informed, but Zaibach was not likely to launch an open attack on the capital so soon after the fall of Allen's castle and Fanelia... he had a time cushion for that one. But Van, Zaibach would kill him once he'd outlived his usefulness. It seemed all they wanted was his guymelef, once they got him out of it, he shuddered. He imaged that red-eyed demon child Dilandau chuckling as he poised a sword over Van's jugular. Where on Gaea had they found something as strange in appearance as him? His skin was whiter than milk, his hair silver as the luminance that shone from his sword in the moonlight, and his eyes seemed to glow with a chilling fire ignited from within. He was easy on the eyes yes, easy on the mind, no. The air about him made Allen shiver, there was a coldness there that told Allen he'd be the most deadly of warriors on a battlefield. He'd proven that earlier, if that duel had gone on any longer, Allen might have faltered. He couldn't believe a skinny, anemic-looking, wretch like that had almost beaten him.
"Sir Allen?" The beast girl again, he supposed he better answer her.
"Yes, yes, we will go after Van."
"How do we find him?" Gaddes asked, he didn't look eager about the idea of venturing after Van, and encroaching on Zaibach territory.
Allen was at a loss on that one. His best bet would be trying to follow one of the blue guymelefs home, but that would be suicide. There was no way they could go unnoticed.
"Let me help! I bet I can find him!" Hitomi spoke up for the first time in a long while after Van had been taken. Allen looked at the young girl dubiously.
"Why do you think that?"
"I can...I can dowse for him, with my pendant!"
"I told you she was a witch," one of his men whispered to another.
Allen tried not to roll his eyes, and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Hitomi, I..."
"You don't believe I can do it," she said simply, her green eyes hard. Allen blinked as he stared into them. She had intense eyes for a girl so young...she reminded him of someone from his past. "Give me a test, let me show you what I can do."
She wasn't going to take no for an answer, Allen could tell by her tone. "A test?"
"Yes, I'll do a reading for you...and if I get everything right, you trust me to dowse for Van."
His blue eyes widened as he decided on who she reminded him of as she stood with a hand on her hip staring at him unintimidated.
Celena, she reminded him of his spunky, tomboyish little sister, Celena. And for Celena he would have done anything...
"Ok."
"You'll try me out?"
"Yes, you've interested me. Come down below to my cabin, and we'll see this power of yours in action. If you can prove to me you're legitimate in what you say, we'll trust you to locate Van for us, and go in whatever direction you say he's in."
"Thank you Allen."
You're welcome... Celena.
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"What the hell do we do? Should we jump him? I bet all of us could take him. Then we could knock him out, and take him to sick bay. That could work, huh?" Viole was wringing his hands, and watching his fellow Elite slayers pace about Gatty and Shesta's room, their official headquarters for private meetings.
"We'd be tried for treason. We can't jump a commanding officer."
"But it's for his own good! That was blood he spit up, I saw it!"
"We ALL saw it Viole!" Miguel snapped irritably.
"We have to go to Folken again, it's the..."
"Oh a lot of good he did. Lord Dilandau still accompanied us on the mission, and he still got hurt," Guimel pointed out.
"Lord Dilandau's slippery, maybe he tricked him, but this time, in the state he's in...he's not fooling anyone into thinking he's fine. We should tell Folken what happened. If anything he can order Lord Dilandau be taken to the clinic, and he'd be forced to go. He could get orders from Adelphus, or Dornkirk."
"Adelphus and Dornkirk hardly care enough about us to help," Miguel snorted.
"Well what do you propose we do Miguel?"
Thunderous silence came from Miguel's person, he lowered his eyes to the floor.
"I think," Shesta spoke up for the first time, "that we should tell Lord Folken exactly what happened. It can't hurt anything. Physically moving against Lord Dilandau would just destroy the trust he has in us. Folken knows about medicine, and chemicals, and things."
"He didn't help before..."
"Before was not very long ago, Guimel. Perhaps he didn't have enough time, perhaps Lord Dilandau knocked him down to join us for the mission. We don't know what happened. All we know is he's very ill, and not trying to do anything about it to help himself. You guys can stay here and continue to argue amongst yourselves if you wish, I'm going to Lord Folken."
Shesta strode to the door and didn't pause to wait for his fellow Elite that he knew would be scrambling after him.
Folken answered the door at Shesta's first knock, and he stared at the slayers patiently, already knowing what they had come for, "Dilandau is in the infirmary resting peacefully. I medicated him, and gave him a sedative. He should wake late tomorrow morning. He'll undoubtably wish to join you for the day, and though you're supposed to be celebrating tonight's victory tomorrow, you still have study hours. I'll try to give him another sedative just before then. I advise you to stay near him, and try to keep him quiet. He will feel much better after a complete day of rest."
He wanted to chuckle at the bewildered expressions on the faces of all of the boys. Shesta was the first to shake off the shock, and blink, "O...ok... thank you, Lord Folken, sorry to bother you. We were just worried."
"You're good soldiers to your captain."
The six bowed dismissing themselves.
"Figures we still have study hours tomorrow," Viole was grumbling as they walked. They all unconsciously passed through the exit of the Dragonslayer hallway. It wasn't until they were halfway to sick bay did Dallet ask, "Where are we going?"
They all halted, confused. Where were they going? They'd all been moving purposefully in one direction without thought.
Shesta looked thoughtful, "The clinic....to check on Lord Dilandau."
They gazed at one another for a moment longer before starting their trek again.
"We are getting so weird. We definitely are spending too much time together," Viole said.
"I agree," Miguel sneered eyes locked on the back of Viole's head.
"Eat me, Miguel," Viole retorted.
"When Lord Dilandau's feeling better, I'm going to ask for a new partner."
"You freakin' love me Miguel, stop trying to hide it."
Miguel fumed, turning slightly red, "Cool it Miguel," Gatty said gently. They stopped in front of the infirmary doors.
"Can we just walk in?" Dallet asked. He'd never had the displeasure of needing to be inside the clinic.
Gatty shrugged and pushed the door open letting himself in, Shesta, then Viole, followed. Miguel shrugged his shoulders, and he, Guimel, and Dallet slipped inside as well.
The clinic was fairly empty, one soldier laid on a bed his eyes half open. He stared at them, half lucid , with contempt. Near the back laid Dilandau. He was on his back, small white circles were taped to his chest with tiny black wires running from them to a machine that beeped with a steady rhythm. A transparent sack of clear liquid ran from a tube into their leader's right arm.
The pale boy seemed to be asleep. His chest rose and fell softy, his long dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His hair was damp and matted, and Shesta used careful fingers to brush the hair off his face. "He's running a fever," he announced after the sensitive pads of his fingertips were exposed to Dilandau' s hot skin.
"How bad do you think he is?" Viole asked.
"I don't know, but Folken said he'd be ok," Gatty said. "And...he looks a little better."
Shesta frowned, "If you say so Gatty."
"What do we do now guys? Do we want to take up posts in here, or..."
"Lord Dilandau would blow a gasket if we did that. We'd better just go to bed. That way we can wake up fresh in the morning to come up with ideas to keep him quietly occupied tomorrow."
"Oh yeah."
"Come on knuckle heads, lets hit the showers so we can go to bed."
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The comforting sounds of the familiar tune gently woke him from the cushions of deep sleep. He ignored his minor pain from strained muscles and bruises, trying to place a name to the whistled tune. He flickered back into consciousness slowly, his eyes resting on the unfamiliar ceiling and focusing. He gazed about the room without moving, not waiting to alert another presence in the room to his being awake right away.
He was in a small bed chamber, the walls were metal and bare, the bed plain and simple, yet comfortable, a small gas lantern cast an odd light over the only other breathing figure in the room besides him. It moved very little as it continued to whistle. Van sat up in bed slowly, "How do you know one of Fanelia's songs?"
The person turned, it was male, and very tall. He approached the bed and glowered down at Van, his face masked in shadow. He said nothing, just stood there. Van blinked, he could count the seconds as heart beats. His eyes scanned the are the man had left, a desk, and on that desk laid his sword! In a wild bout of spontaneity, Van dashed forward, shouldering the figure aside to grab his sword. He unsheathed it and held it before him threatening toward the man who'd turned to face his new direction. "Ok....how about you show me where my guymelef is, and I get the hell out of here."
"Fool, do you honestly think Zaibach soldiers will give in to such threats? You cannot escape this floating fortress, my brother."
Van blinked, this was not going how he'd planned. He could feel beads of sweat blossoming on his brow, and he took a nervous step back from the man cloaked in darkness. Hastily he placed the clean blade of his sword to his neck, "If the only way to live is to be used as one of your pawns...."
The sword was knocked out of his hands faster than he could blink, "Never throw your life away..." The man whispered shattering the short silence after the ringing of metal striking metal had died. He unbuttoned his cloak, then worked to remove his shirt. Van swallowed hard...he'd heard about this sort of thing happening, but he'd thought it was stories... He looked about frantically for a weapon, he would not be used as a sexual possession! The last shirt fell away, and he couldn't help but glance at the pale torso of the man and gasp. One of his arms was made of metal, but that wasn't the grand finale. Van's eyes widened as the man...sprouted large snowy white wings from his back. Single white feathers wafted from the impressive span to the floor, and Van's mouth nearly scraped the floor, "B...brother?" he stammered.
"It's been a long time, 10 years hasn't it?" his older brother, Folken spoke. He was putting his shirt and cloak back in place.
Van's former anxiety became anger, his hands squeezed into tight fists, and he shook lightly, "I always believed that you had died trying to complete the Rite of Succession, were killed by the dragon. I believed that you weren't a coward and that you didn't run away! What the hell are you doing here, with Zaibach? Why didn't you come home? And WHY did you burn Fanelia to the ground?!"
His brother didn't answer, "Answer me!"
The chuckling coming from Folken wasn't helping him contain his temper, he stalked forward grabbing the older man and trying to force him around, "Why are you laughing? I didn't say anything remotely funny!"
He stifled a gasp, and Folken spun in his grasp, in turn placing his metal hand on his shoulder tightly, scratching him lightly. "Come with me and serve Emperor Dornkirk, join Zaibach. There we will set the future back on course."
"What the...."
Before the he could object, he was being pulled closer to his brother's body, he thought for one insane moment Folken was trying to hug him. His face was
against Folken's shoulder as Folken whispered his nonsense into his ear. Then he jumped as a something sharp pierced the skin of his neck. His eyes went wide
as saucer as he realized he'd been injected with something... he fell to his knees trying to fight the dizzying effects, but it was to no avail; he lost total
consciousness only a fraction of a second later.
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Allen sat across from Hitomi at a small wooden table in his cabin. A deck of cards sat between them and a candle to light the area. Hitomi wore a grave expression on her face as she pulled cards from the deck and began to arrange them. As she selected cards, she would state their names, and tell him then what it might mean about him or his future. So far it was all talk of journeys, adventures, and prestige. Anyone could know that information, but he let her go on. Her jaw was set with determination, and he couldn't crush her hopes of being useful just yet when her heart was so far into it.
"The Fool... a life led one's own way, actions flying in the face of common sense. This card describes your father's personality, Allen. Its shadow haunts and destroys your family; a family divided."
Allen frowned, he never talked about his past to anyone, so none of his crew could have told her. How could she know about his father, and how he'd selfishly left his family...he and his mother, and younger sister... And after he left, the family went to hell. His mother had wasted away waiting for him, his sister had been spirited away. It was all his fault.
"You blame him for everything that has befallen your household."
He kept his back straight, and tried not to show anything in his expression, "Ok, continue."
He watched the girl as she seemed to combat some emotions within herself. She stared at the next card nervously, and avoided his eyes. "Are you alright, Hitomi?"
"Um...yeah, fine." She bit her lip, and finally looked up at him. She laid her finger on the card she'd been staring at, "Justice... the card of judgement. In the near future you and father...may be reunited. But you will dwell on the past and hate him for it."
He narrowed his eyes a bit, and he stopped her as she reached for the next card. He didn't want nor need to hear anymore. The girl knew enough about his past to make him wary of her, and he had no desire to hear more about the future she was trying to reveal to him. He MAY be reunited with that loser? Well, he was going to make sure that may be, never was. He'd sooner take consort with Kio.
"Thank you, Hitomi, that's enough." He signaled to one of his men he knew was hiding just outside the door, and a land map of the known continents of Gaea were placed in his outstretched hand.
"But..."
"You pass," he slapped the map down on the table spreading it out, and he gazed at her with a slight smile.
"I pass?"
"Yes. Now tell us, where is Van Fanel?"
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Who the hell does Folken think he is? Dilandau grumbled to himself as he removed the IV trickling pale liquid into his flesh. He ripped small electrodes from his chest and laced his shirt. He ignored the medics who were babbling Aesculapian nonsense about why he shouldn't be tampering with the IV, or the electrodes, and about how his temperature was 3 degrees above what it should be.
He needed a cold shower. He was still sticky, and he didn't even want to think about how he must smell. He bet he looked a perfect fright too. He frowned, his Dragonslayers were probably looking for him. He'd scared the hell out of his Elite. He needed to go show them he was ok, but first the shower...
He slid off the bed, his feet found the floor ok, but his head still wasn't too sure in which direction was up and which was down. He swayed a bit, and had to be steadied by someone. "Lord Dilandau, really, you should take the day off."
"Did I ask you about what I should do?" Dilandau spat, once the world stopped spinning so quickly.
"No sir."
"That's what I thought." He pulled away slowly, and made his way out of the infirmary. How long had he been in there? He'd lost all track of time. Perhaps he should have asked, but he couldn't bear to be in there another second. He'd just find out for himself when he got to his room.
He took the back way to avoid seeing his slayers before he was presentable. In his room, he stripped off all of his damp clothing, and left them in a pile on the floor. Someone would pick them up later he knew. He was usually neater than that, and liked his room to stay in some semblance of order...except when he was in a mood, and he broke things, but those messes were always cleaned within the hour by the appropriate personnel. He drifted between the idea of a cold bath, or a cold shower. He didn't know if he could remain standing safely for the entire duration of the shower he wanted to take. He felt filthy. But then in the comfort of the large bathtub, he could easily fall asleep and drown.
He stood in the bathroom weighing his options as he leaned against the wall beside the sink. He decided on the shower was the lesser of two evils. If he fell asleep or fainted in there, the shock of impact with the floor would wake him the hell up, or cause enough noise for someone to run in and try to resuscitate his naked ass. He stepped into the glass box, closing the door after himself and turning on the cold water. The arctic spray washed over his body, its liquid hands wanting to take his pains away. They massaged his neck and shoulders, trying to ease the tension, and he tried to relax and give in to it...but the nausea and vertigo wouldn't release him. He leaned against the glass wall for support, knowing he was going to have to end this soon if he wanted to stay conscious. Soap...he needed to cleanse himself first...where was it?
His hands were clumsy things as they fumbled for the soap, its position was fuzzy, and he had grabbed a moisturizer and his shampoo before finding the object
of his desire. It was torture to stretch his arms to smear the lather over his sensitive skin. He saw spots every time he bent over. He couldn't find it in himself to
scrub, and just let the water lick away the bath foam instead of a sponge or towel. He rested more of his weight against the glass as the cold stream pounded
against him, just a few minutes more, then he would come out and collapse into bed.
He opened his eyes, desperately trying to combat the steady attack of water seeping into them. He slowly brought a hand to cover them, sputtering as water ran into his mouth an nose. One side of his face and body was flat against something smooth and hard, while the other side was being rained on by chilly water... he was on the shower floor, and he felt the strange sensation of knowing that some time had passed. His chin was resting on his knees, and he shivered slowly bringing himself up out of the fetal position he was curled in, and sitting up. Ringlets of wet hair tumbled into his eyes, and he scooted away from the waterfall closer to the shower door. He frowned, had he blacked out, or fallen asleep?
He pulled himself up carefully and ducked under the water again to turn the water spigot off. He trembled, and brushed his hair back off his forehead. He stepped out of the shower, nearly crying out at the coldness of the floor beneath his feet. He pulled a large crimson towel down from the rack beside the shower quickly and wrapped himself in it. He rubbed the soft folds furiously over his damp skin. The cold shower had done more than he'd wanted it too, now he was freezing. He tossed the towel aside once it was thoroughly soaked, and removed his long black robe from its hook. He covered his nude body and left the bathroom wanting nothing more than to curl up in his nice cozy bed and warm himself. Instead, he went to his closet and got dressed.
He pulled on satin black pants instead of leather ones, he wanted something less restricting. The pants were a little slack in the waist and looser at the thigh. He didn't ponder the meaning of that for too long as he moved further within the realms of his closet. Shirts... he usually wore short or no sleeves under his armored overcoat, because he tended to overheat. He frowned at the short sleeved lace up shirts...he was too chilled to even imagine wearing something with no sleeves. He pulled out a long sleeved button up black cotton shirt. The tails were long and would reach to the thigh if he wore it untucked. He chose the shirt, pulling it over his head after undoing the top few buttons.
He looked at his overcoat. It was a heavy thing, that made his esteem soar to wear, but he would be embarrassed to no end if he put it on and fell over at its weight. He could barely carry himself, much less an extra 30 pounds. He shook his head, a soldier was to be ready to go off into battle or defend his fortress at any time...but not today, he was just too damned tired. He slid on his soft leather boots, instead of his heavy combat issued ones, and tucked a dagger into his belt. He shut the closet door, and went to the mirror next to brush his limp hair out. It fell in a neat arc around his head, curling up to frame his face. He didn't bother with the diadem, he couldn't wear that without his armor anyway.
He scowled at his pallid complexion, hating the dark rings around his eyes. His entire appearance looked worn and fragile. He slapped the skin of his face, to see if he could get it to redden a bit, to look more alive. The faint flush of stimulated blood vessels did little to help. It made him look feverish...which he was, but he certainly did not want that to show. He turned away from his reflection, disgusted and not wanting to see anymore of himself. He glanced at the clock to finally see what time it was and gasped, it was after noon. What in the world had he been doing all morning? He fingered the place on his arm where the IV injection site had been, and growled... Folken.
It was time to visit his favorite person on board, and tell him what he thought of him, and maybe see what he'd done with the dragon Dilandau had so
thoughtfully brought to him.
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Folken was noting the properties of the new compound that bubbled before him in a beaker when Dilandau entered his laboratory unannounced. "Folken, whatever you gave me made me sleep all morning."
"You gave your slayers the day off, why not yourself as well? You needed the rest."
Dilandau rolled his eyes, and rubbed his arms through the fabric of his shirt, he was shivering slightly, "What are your plans for the day?"
"I...don't know," the boy admitted. "I was going to join my Elite for study hours, but I don't think I will join in any of their celebrating."
"Can I persuade you to stay in bed and rest?"
"I can find something more useful to do than that, Folken. Do you have those maps of Freid for me yet? I can start plotting aerial routes and mark off good strategic positions and hideaways."
Folken sighed setting down his pencil and black notebook. He faced the silver haired boy, studying his appearance. He didn't look to be at death's door anymore, but he still needed bed rest. He knew how serious his condition was, but it wasn't in his nature to slow down, to relax and think only of himself. His nature was to push and shove, and win at all costs. He wouldn't let himself lie down during the war, so Folken would have to make him.
"I'll give you those plans after your study hour with your regiment." He ignored the boy's glare, and moved to where the lunch his chambermaid Ayah had brought him was heating over the small burner he used to heat his potions. He'd requested a bland vegetable broth, that puzzled the girl. Folken was by no means an unhealthy eater, but he usually ordered meals a bit more substantial than that. The meal had been ordered with Dilandau in mind. The boy was such a finicky eater, and Folken knew he would have no qualms over the broth. "Have you had anything to eat at all?"
"No."
"Good, then you can eat with me," there were two bowls on the silver tray, and Folken ladled both semi-full with soup, doctoring one bowl with a sedative.
"I'm not hungry Folken."
"Do you want the shaking to stop?" Folken held both bowls of warm soup carefully. He brought them to the small table he used when he took meals in his lab. He raised an eyebrow as he sat at the table, and Dilandau joined him after a moment.
"Is it that visible?"
"Only when you're standing still," Folken said. "I notice you're not wearing your armor."
"It's too heavy... I don't even think I have the strength to swing a sword today. I think I had a black out in the shower. All I know is I woke up on the floor. I'm glad I didn't take a bath I may have drowned."
Folken held a spoon out to Dilandau, staring at him. He could have drowned, and no one would have known about it for hours. He was happy Dilandau had *some* good sense. "You will let me or one of your Dragonslayers know when you take baths next time, Dilandau. That was dangerous."
Dilandau's eyes burned with flame, "I will not inform anyone of my bath times."
"Then you will not take baths."
"Fine, I'll shower," he set down the spoon and frowned into the bowl of light colored liquid, "What the hell is this? Is there meat in this? I don't eat..."
"It's a simple vegetable broth Dilandau, it should be very gentle on your stomach. You haven't been eating properly, and you're losing weight. If you want to regain any of the strength you've lost, you need nourishment. You can get the proper nutrition from eating, or from an IV. Which do you choose, because you will not be going out catching any more dragons or fighting anymore battles if you don't eat today."
"Folken, you....you're being a...a mother hen! My gods, I never thought it was possible, and no one will ever believe me if I tell them!"
Folken suppressed the deep seated need to roll his eyes, as the boy gawked at him. He stared at Dilandau superiorly, and did not lighten his gaze until the boy, still dazed, dipped his spoon into the broth and took a sip from it. He swallowed with difficulty, and Folken offered him a glass of water. The water was gone in seconds, and Folken refilled his glass.
They ate in silence. Folken finished his soup long before Dilandau had made it to his 5th spoonful, and sat back to observe the boy. The hand that held the spoon wobbled as it made its slow deliveries to his lips. His mouth closed around the spoon, and he seemed to down the food without tasting it. He pushed the bowl away when half of its portions were gone, laying down his spoon and claiming he could eat no more.
Folken was satisfied, not only had he gotten some food into Dilandau's system, he also was going to make sure he got more rest. He was positive Dilandau had ingested enough of the tranquilizers to get him drowsy enough to want to take a nap later that afternoon. He handed Dilandau a notebook with a few more assignments for the Dragonslayers to take to them when he went to join them.
"By the way, Folken," Dilandau stopped in the doorway, and gazed back at Folken curiously, "What happened with the dragon last night?"
"Let me worry about that."
He didn't even blink at the smirk Dilandau gave him, before he slammed the door. He'd left Van in his chambers to sleep off the depressant he'd injected him with. When he awakened he would be in a better mood to converse with Folken. He knew he could convince his little brother Zaibach's cause was worth the war, and that he should stand behind it...
At times like these, he wished he could have tapped into some of Dilandau's persuasive charm.
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"Stop looking over my shoulder Viole, do your own work!" Miguel snapped, slapping his hand down over the arithmetic problem he was solving to shield it from Viole's prying eyes.
"Hey, I did my own work!...I was just....checking it against yours!" Viole scratched his head with his pencil, and tried to look innocent of all charges of cheating.
"Sure, your paper looks plenty blank to me."
"I was doing the work up here," Viole tapped his temple.
"And as usual you have nothing to show for it," Dallet retorted, he snatched Viole's spiral away and flipped through the pages, "All doodles! Viole you've done nothing for the past hour!"
"That's not true," Viole argued, folding his arms over his chest and looking sulky, "I drew all those doodles didn't I?"
"Now I see why you ran off to join the army," Guimel snorted. "Hey, how long is your essay on the Era of Science, Gatty?"
"I haven't gotten to it yet, I'm still trying to finish the assigned reading. Could it be any dryer?"
"Yes, so be glad for what we have," Shesta grumbled, highlighting a passage, and scribbling something down in his notebook. "My essay is over 1050 words for now Guimel, how long is yours?"
"Uh.... 32...."
"And you're chastising Viole? You've been working on that essay since we began!"
"Hey, I'm trying here. He's just goofing off."
"I am not, I have that essay written already."
"In your head?"
"Yeah, wanna hear it?"
"Spare us," Miguel rolled his eyes, "Does anyone have the answer for number 15? I give up!"
"I've got it," all six of their heads turned to face the door, as Dilandau entered. He held a folder full of papers, and his own homework notebook.
"L...Lord Dilandau! We....didn't think you'd be joining us, or we would have waited," Gatty was stuttering eyes still wide with surprise. Everyone rose to their feet respectfully, watching as Dilandau shut the door, and took his usual place on Shesta's bed. Even when he wasn't there, nobody inhabited that reserved space. They all sat back down, but their attention was far from their studies.
"Are you...feeling better?" Shesta asked, trying to meet Dilandau's eyes. If anything the dark shadows beneath them had become more prominent.
"Yes," there was a sigh, "sorry if I alarmed any of you."
Miguel had to reach over the desk and shut Viole's agape mouth. "Your armor Lord Dilandau....?" They were not supposed to leave their rooms without it. Though during study hours or free time they were not actually required to wear it. The armor of the Elite sat in Gatty and Shesta' s closet, they could pull it on and spring into action if needed.
"It's in its special closet waiting for Gatty to pamper it."
Gatty glared at those who chuckled at his expense. "Would you like for me to polish it after study hours?"
"After dinner," Dilandau waved a hand. He opened his notebook to the math section, and tossed it to Miguel who caught it in one hand.
"Thanks," he wasn't sure if Dilandau wanted him to address him by his proper title right then, so he decided not to. He'd see how Dilandau reacted to it. Nothing. He pulled his legs up on the bed and curled them beneath him. He looked so tired.
"Hey....anyone want to hear a joke?" Viole had recovered from his shock. "It's really funny."
"Do your homework and shut up Viole!"
"Oh come on, it's not about you!"
"No!"
"Fine, lets talk about Gatty's gold medal worthy dive, shall we? I mean, I feel cheated. Gatty, all those flight training sessions with you, and you never showed us that. You been holding out!"
"Viole!"
"Lord Dilandau, can we toss him over the railing of the flight deck?" Miguel begged.
"If you can replace him."
"Damn!"
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Van awoke for the second time in the strange room, but this time he was alone. He sat up, astounded at the fact that he was still unbound. Folken was either very trusting, or very stupid. He was a little shaky on his feet, but after taking a few steps he could feel his former strength returning. He smirked as he eyed his sword back on the table, its golden crest glinting at him. He strapped it back on, and scanned the area for his boots. He was getting out of here.
Though he had no idea where they would keep the Escaflowne, or just how to pilot it out. He supposed he needed a plan of action, but he quickly decided he needed action first. He would get out this room, then he would think. Maybe some creative burst of inspiration would come to him as he roamed the airship. He tried to open the door. Locked...from the outside!
So Folken wasn't as trusting, or as stupid as Van initially had assumed. How was he going to get out of this one? He saw no opening where he could try to pick the lock from the inside, and there were no windows. Great, so he was conscious, armed, and stuck.
Come on think Van, you have to get out of here. Your brother's gone insane, and you can't trust what he might do to you. He's already pumped you full of drugs, and left you locked in his bedroom. He frowned and began to inspect the area. He wanted to think his brother was pretty high up in the Zaibach social ladder, but one couldn't tell that from the decor of his room. It was so plain. The bed was a single, with clean but bare gray sheets, and a drab comforter. There were no pictures, nothing there to personalize the room. The only thing that let him know the room may be lived in by his brother were the books. Folken had always loved to read, and spent much time in the castle's library. Van thumbed through the book lying face down on Folken's night stand. There were no pictures, he scowled, and set it back down. Ok... back to his brilliant plan.
How the hell was he going to get out of there?
He eyed a small intercom beside the door with a small button below it. He grinned evilly to himself, and glided over to it to see just who would come running if
the little button was pressed.
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"That can't be the right answer Dallet, it doesn't make sense!"
"When has politics ever made sense, Guimel?"
"Shhh..." Shesta put a finger to his lips, motioning soundlessly to Dilandau who appeared to be nodding off slowly. He was propped up on Shesta's double pillows reading his history print out. The papers dipped lower and lower toward his face as his eyelids drooped. Miguel reached over to take the papers from his fingers as they went slack.
"Looks like we didn't need all those plans we came up with yesterday to keep him calm, after all," Gatty said softly. "Whatever Folken gave him must have worked."
"We should..." The door crashed open and a young Third String Slayer stood in the doorway with a black eye clutching his ribs, Sergio and Andre hoovered behind him.
"Gatty! Shesta! There's a new wave of troops, just came in today...and they jumped me. I was by myself, and they just grabbed me... they were mad because my armor is so new, and I'm so young. They said I shouldn't have good stuff like this yet and..." The blubbering boy was speaking so quickly no one had time to quiet him before he woke Dilandau. It was obvious he hadn't seen him, the younger Slayers always tried so hard not to cry in front of the captain.
All three Third Stringers gasped as their commander sat up staring at them all crossly. "L...Lord Dilandau!" they all dropped to one knee, and Dilandau rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Get up you idiots...." He got off the bed quickly and stalked toward the one trying to clean the tears from his face, who flinched thinking he was about to hit. Instead Dilandau took his face in his hands. His touch wasn't rough, but it wasn't tender either, he turned his head this way and that inspecting the damage done.
"Did you get the name of the bastard that did this to you, Brian?" Dilandau growled letting go of the red haired boy's face.
Brian shook his head, "I think it was Murphy..I don't know. I... I can tell you what he looks like."
"Take me to him," Dilandau's red eyes were hooded dangerously, he pushed Brian out into the hall ahead of him.
Shesta looked at Gatty wide eyed... oh shit, both their expressions read. They both grabbed for their swords and ran to flank either side of their leader, he wasn't properly attired or in the right condition for dealing with riff-raff. Miguel joined them to cover the rear. Brian walked nervously and proudly at the same time. Nervous because his superiors, and senior officers were letting him lead them and he was afraid he'd do something stupid, and proud because.... he was leading his superiors and senior officers into battle...for his honor!
The burly new soldiers were congregated in the recreational hall. They sat amongst the older soldiers drinking beer, and laughing loudly, obscenely at something undoubtably vulgar. The older soldiers went quiet as death at the sight of Dilandau entering their territory. He only ventured to their area when he was going to hurt one of them, otherwise he never dirtied himself. Brian pointed out the man who abused him, and the other men who'd watched.
The 9 new men looked up at the intruders, a few laughing at the sight of the boys, one being the one they'd been playing with early, and one white as milk. "Well ain't you a pretty little boy," one rumbled in a deep voice, looking Dilandau up and down. "Hmm..." Dilandau purred, parting two bodies of older soldiers who quaked in fear of him and leaned across the table to the man who'd complimented him. "What's your name soldier?"
"Martin," the man smiled revealing an even set of pearly white teeth. "Martin?" Dilandau turned his head slightly to glance at Brian who nodded. He then turned back, "That's a nice name."
"Yeah...you got one angel face? You're much too pretty to be a soldier... who do you belong to? You've got to be a paramour of one of the higher officers. Bet you belong to Lord Folken huh? I've seen those two beast girls he keeps, nice, but you're even nicer. What's he give you? I bet I can give you better. I'm a captain, about to be promoted soon, and I'm going to have my own floating fortress. You'd have your own rooms, bath attendants. Sit here Angel Face..." He wasn't an ugly man at all, his dark blond hair was probably lighter when washed, his hands were finely shaped with few calluses. His features were pleasant enough, not many lines, meaning he probably hadn't reached his 30th year yet. The lust on his face was apparent, and his eyes glowed in anticipation as Dilandau brushed a hand across his face, tracing the outline of his jawbone. "What's your name Angel?"
"Dilandau Albatou..."
Martin's face paled, Dilandau Albatou.... He grunted as he felt the sharpness of a blade nicking the sensitive skin of his throat just beneath his Adam's apple. "So I see you've heard of me."
The man gulped carefully, his men scooted away from him. "The soldiers you see behind me, in the black and blue uniforms, those are Dragonslayers. Only Dragonslayers are allowed in that armor, and when you see it, you go the other way. Why none of your little friends prepared you for this, I don't know. Maybe they don't like you very much, and wanted to see this."
"See what?"
"This," Dilandau said softly, the man hadn't noticed he'd been slowly pushing back his chair, he punched him hard across the jaw where his hand had been, shattering the bone. Then winded him with a swift thrust of the other fist to the solar plexus. Martin toppled backward onto the floor, and was quickly pulled up to his feet on either side by Miguel and Gatty. Dilandau walked around the table with Shesta and Brian. Martin was held like a display in front of the boys, and Dilandau motioned for Brian to step forward, "Teach him why he shouldn't touch Dragonslayers."
Brian nodded, his palms were sweaty. Now was the time to really show Dilandau he could hold his own. He went for the eyes first, as the man had with him. He looked back to Dilandau for approval before he moved on to a new section of the body.
"Lord Dilandau, he's had enough, he'll never do it again!" one of the soldiers in the room cried, making no move toward the enraged younger soldiers.
"Who spoke to me?" Dilandau whirled on the room, glaring at everyone. No one said another word, just sat still as Martin grunted and groaned in pain. Dilandau studied the man slumping in Miguel and Gatty's arms, his face wasn't quite so pleasant anymore, and he was missing a few of those pearly white teeth.
"Very good Brian, I might think about promoting you to Second String."
"Thank you, Lord Dilandau."
"Lets go, study hours are not over...and Brian? You've got bathroom detail for 2 weeks, for walking around in the recreational corridors during study hours."
"Yes sir..." He watched sadly as Dilandau walked away with Shesta and Miguel close at his sides. Gatty stayed beside Brian, "You just can't win them all with Lord Dilandau, can you?"
"Nope. One minute you're being commended for a job well done, the next you're polishing armor for taking an unfortunate dive."
Brian frowned at him, looking confused.
"Never mind, if you didn't see it, then you don't need to know about it."
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Van shadowed the Dragonslayers as they walked back to their rooms. After pressing the magic button a servant girl had appeared opening the door and looking for Folken. Van gagged the girl, and tied her to the bed, then made his escape. He'd wandered aimlessly down the halls ducking the sparse population of on-duty guards. It seemed the crew was having a bit of a holiday to celebrate catching him, so security was not as tight as it could be. He was playing a game with himself to choose which hall he should choose to explore next when he'd heard their voices.
He'd recognize Dilandau's voice anywhere. He hid, and watched as the pale captain and his soldiers walked by him, eyes determined. He followed them at a safe distance... it was safe to say his best bet in finding his way to the hangars where the melefs were kept would be to stay near the Dragonslayers. He watched in disgust at Dilandau's display, at the way he'd flaunted his sexuality in the face of a man sated with lust for him. Then he'd watched as Dilandau broke the man's jaw, and stood back as a boy under his command proceeded to beat the crap out of the man who Van assumed was responsible for the black eye he was sporting.
Dilandau was getting revenge for one of his soldiers, not getting off on some sadistic power trip? Had he misjudged the red-eyed demon? The guy laughed manically during bloodbaths, and set fire to everything while endlessly throwing taunts at people he hoped to run down. He had beaten Van until he fell, and was still going to keep at it, if he hadn't been called off...by his brother.
He scowled as he realized he was being taken down the same corridor he had escaped from. The Dragonslayers' rooms were in the same vicinity as his brother's. He ducked in an air duct, as Dilandau and 3 other boys went back into one room, while the boy with the black eye went into another. The doors closed, and Van decided he would wait for someone else to come out. He'd jump that Slayer if he was alone, and have him take him to the hangar.
Slayers left their rooms in packs it seemed, all laughing and chatting amiably. Van was getting very impatient. Sooner or later his brother was going to go back to his room, and find that servant girl gift wrapped, courtesy of Van, and sound the alarms. He was going to have to do something drastic and fast, his time was running out.
The door Dilandau had disappeared through opened, and 6 people came out. They were shushing each other, and trying to tread softly. The door was closed gently, and from Van could see the room was empty. But Dilandau hadn't come out, what could that mean?
He waited for the Slayers to leave before venturing out of his air duct, and tucking the grate back in place. He was being incredibly brave, and taking a large risk. There was a good chance Dilandau or someone had seen him, and they were lying in wait behind the door to clobber him. He had to see though, he wanted to know if this could be his chance. He turned the knob and pushed open the door to the room slowly, looking left and right, making sure no one was coming. The room was empty all except for the lone figure lying face down on one of the beds. From the rise and fall of his back, Van could tell the boy was asleep. He shut the door as quietly as he could and inched toward the bed. Dilandau.
He slept on his stomach with an arm tucked under his head, his face turned to the side. Van was struck at how young and innocent he looked in sleep. He resembled a virgin god he'd seen a statue of in his castle. His hair gleamed like polished silver, and spilled onto his arm, over into his eyes... Van almost didn't want to touch him, he looked so perfect. He didn't want to taint the picture.
He could see why he was one cocky bastard. If Van looked like that he'd be cocky too. He'd sweep ladies off their feet like Allen, and he'd prowl around like a panther challenging anyone, like Dilandau.
Allen? What had made him think to pair Allen, whom he hadn't thought about in a long time, and Dilandau together like that? Perhaps it was because he was jealous of them both for the same reason, their beauty. He unsheathed his sword laying a hand on his enemy's shoulder, rolling him over timidly. He winced at how fragile the bones felt underneath his hand. Sprawled on his back, the boy looked like a fallen deity, and Van felt positively blasphemous for what he was about to do.
He brought his blade to Dilandau's throat hoovering mere centimeters above it. He was prepared for Dilandau to awake with a start, to try to fight him, before realizing he was at a deadly disadvantage, but strangely the boy hadn't stirred. Was something wrong with him? He was terribly pale, but Van was under the impression that he always looked like that...but what about the discoloration under the eyes? Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead, soiling the roots of his hair. Van couldn't help but touch the skin there, and be shocked by the heat that greeted his hand.
This was what had beaten him? This was what had burned his homeland and smoked the great Allen Schezar out of his castle? This captured him?
Life told many jokes, but this was the corniest of all! He was about to give the sickly boy beneath him a good shake to attempt to rouse him, when the door to the room opened. "Go on without me, I'll meet you there. I can't believe I forgot...hey!"
The blond boy stared at him in shock, then in outrage at his position over his commander, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get away from him!"
"I don't believe you are in any position to be giving me orders boy. Now you're going to be good, and show me where I can find my guymelef, or I'll slit your
beloved leader's throat."
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**Author's Note: Told you it was long, lol! Now I get to start on the next chapter, which is really supposed to be the rest of this chapter...but I don't anyone big on reading 30 paged chapters lol. Well, did you like it, hate it, don't care about it either way? Let me know! Please review, and take care!**