Author's Note: I thought I was never going to finish this. I just couldn't decide where I wanted to start this chapter, end it, or what I wanted to happen in it. I think I'm trying to build too many relationships lol. Anyways, a friend suggested to me that I should write some one-shots about the Dragonslayer and things that could happen to them in Astoria in between Severed chapters. I think it sounds like fun and I'm open to suggestions. Just let me know what you'd want to hear about. I'm going to post the stories separately from Severed though, so you'll have to look for them if you want to read them :). Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter. I apologize for it being another long filler chapter, but I couldn't write the fun chapters to come without this one.
Chapter 20
"Ouch!"
"I haven't inserted the line yet, Dilandau," Folken said dryly, gazing at his bed bound charge patiently. "I will tell you when you can complain. Now hold still or I'll miss the vein."
Dilandau glared at Folken while trying to remain as immobile as possible. He wasn't about to give Folken any excuses for puncturing an artery. The ex-Strategos had him relax his hand on the cool fabric of the heavy quilt he laid upon as he tapped his veins, looking for the perfect spot to insert a needle.
After taking nearly a gallon of blood... well, maybe not that much, but almost!... Folken and Marie had put their heads together, frowning at him and deciding he was dehydrated.
A soft hand ghosted over his brow again, and Dilandau inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla that accompanied Marie's presence and swallowed against the nausea it enhanced. "You're significantly cooler; feeling any better?"
The red-head sat on the side of his large poster bed, scowling at Folken's work before turning her attention back to him and raising an inquiring brow.
"I'd feel better, if you two would quit poking me-- Ouch!"
"Dilandau, I haven't even broken the skin!"
"Give it here, Folken; let a professional do the job," Marie said snidely, relieving Folken of the needle and line and taking his place on the floor as he stood.
Dilandau shut his eyes briefly as he felt the sharp prick of the needle entering his flesh then watched Folken as he checked the line and the bag of liquid hanging from a slim silver pole. "You'll feel better in the morning, Dilandau."
"Yeah... sure." He would feel better, but not well.
"I think tomorrow, we should insert an IV port. It'll be easier on you. That way we won't have to keep sticking you, whenever you need something special," Marie said, ruffling his hair lightly.
Dilandau shook his head. "No way. I don't want anything stuck to me all the time."
"Dilandau, it'd just be in your hand; you'll never notice..."
"Where people can see it?!" Dilandau exclaimed. "Hell no! I'm not walking around Astoria with something like that on me! Bad enough I... I...ugh... I can't believe I fainted. You're absolutely sure no one saw?"
Folken rolled his eyes and Marie covered her mouth, muffling a sound that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. "No one saw us, Dilandau, not even Allen Schezar. He'd turned to leave when it happened."
Dilandau groaned. Allen Schezar. What an ass, and didn't Dilandau have a meeting with him in the morning? He wondered what the knight could possibly want to talk to him about. He hoped it wasn't anything dull and repetitive. If you do anything hurtful to Astoria and, or her people I will come after you with everything I've got.
Well come on, Allen. I've yet to see what all you have, but the little you did expose didn't impress me.
"....Dilandau?"
"Hm?" Dilandau shook himself out of fantasy and gazed at Folken and Marie who were staring at him oddly. "What?"
"We were talking about your treatment and you said something about 'impressions.' Are you alright? Folken, what did you put in that IV?"
"Electrolytes."
Marie blinked at Folken's dull answer and made a face. "Either make a joke or let rhetorical questions go unanswered! Dilandau, we were telling you about what we can do for your condition."
Dilandau tried to sit up a bit straighter, but the fluffy pillows behind him didn't provide enough support for that. If anything, he ended up sinking further back into them. Damn, if he wasn't so tired, he wouldn't need pillows to prop him up.
"Do you want to hear this tonight, or are you too sleepy right now?"
Sleepy was an understatement. He was dead, but he realized that he'd never heard a clear explanation of what exactly was wrong with him. He wouldn't rest comfortably at all with his diagnosis hanging over his head as an element about to be unveiled. "Tell me, now."
Folken and Marie looked at one another briefly, silently debating who should be the one to talk. Folken nodded at Marie to proceed and folded his arms over his chest.
"You have a disorder known as aplastic anemia," Marie began gently, studying him with a concerned frown. "It means that your bone marrow is having trouble producing red and white blood cells and platelets. It's caused by exposure to chemicals or radiation. In your case, it was caused by chemicals. Whatever the Sorcerers have been pumping into your body and what Folken and I gave you to combat your overreaction to stimulation combined and had an adverse affect on your system."
Dilandau glowered, tilting his head to study the pair before him. "Are you telling me that I wouldn't be this sick, if I'd refused your treatment from the start?"
Folken flinched then regained his composure. "We wouldn't know, because you'd be dead right now, if you hadn't accepted our help. Do you know how many heart attacks and strokes we probably prevented? You remember how much pain you used to be in, don't you?"
Dilandau narrowed his eyes, but nodded. It had been frightening too, and the loss of control had been disconcerting, but he needn't add more to Folken's argument. Besides... "Is this really any better? I'm borderline useless most of the time."
"But you're alive, and we can keep trying to fix you," Marie said, trying to smile and trying to make him smile. After failing miserably, she sighed. "Folken and I have a treatment plan for you."
"I'm not taking any more drugs." Drugs had created the problem. The tremors were returning and he wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath the blankets under him.
"We don't want to give you anymore, either," Folken said quickly. "Now that we can monitor you, chemicals are no longer a necessity." The tall man leaned over the bed, carefully sliding the quilts out from under Dilandau's prone form and pulling them over his legs. Shakily, Dilandau grabbed at the cottony covers, tugging them up to his chin, grimacing at the bite of the IV needle as he flexed his hand too much.
"What do you want to do?"
"A transfusion, Dilandau. We've already started conducting blood tests on willing Astorian soldiers and we want to get blood samples from your men."
Dilandau blinked and blinked again. "A blood transfusion?" That required the use of a lot of needles and... blood from someone else. He cringed. "Folken, you'd consider giving me blood from a stranger?"
"I'll screen the blood carefully. It's quite safe, but I'd actually prefer the blood to come from one of your men. At least they can give me decent catalogues of where they've been and what they've been exposed to."
Dilandau shuddered.
"Dilandau, it's a common procedure. Nothing to be worried about," Folken tried to assure him. In a soft voice, he added almost hesitantly, "But, you don't have to go through with it. No one's forcing you to do anything. You can choose not to be treated."
"And what will happen to me then?" Dilandau asked wryly, staring at the red canopy overhead in distaste. I'll die; he's going to tell me that I'll die, but it's my choice whether I do so silently or not.
Folken didn't answer him; he, instead, ran a tender hand through Dilandau's hair. "You should get some sleep, Dilandau. We can talk more in the morning. No decisions have to be made now."
Dilandau felt a flutter of panic at the thinly veiled grief in Folken's eyes. Good gods... He knew he wasn't going to live forever, but there was no way in hell he was ready to keel over now! "Folken, how long will I have, if I choose not to be treated?"
"Not tonight, Dilandau, please," Folken's voice was strained, and his head was bowed so that his eyes were hidden from Dilandau's view.
"I should go," Marie excused herself, and Dilandau's head flicked toward her. He'd forgotten she was there. The woman slipped out of the room, closing the door silently behind her.
Dilandau felt a large depression in the bed as Folken sat down. "Folken?"
"Yes?"
"Lets say I declined your invitation to come to Astoria, how long would you give me?" Dilandau struggled to roll onto his side so he could prop himself up on an elbow. He wanted to see Folken's face as he spoke. He needed to see his eyes. "A year perhaps, to get my affairs in order and all?" A year... Gods... Would he have had enough by then? Would he be ready to die?
No response.
"Not quite a year; months?" He was going to throw up.
"Dilandau, stop it," Folken uttered hoarsely, and Dilandau started fearfully.
"Dammit, Folken, do I even have months now? How positive are you that this blood transfusion of yours is going to work, and if it does, how much more time will it buy me?"
"It won't buy you time; it'll save you, not if, but when it works. All we need is a matching donor for you, Dilandau." Folken's voice was still soft, but what it lacked in sound it gained in intensity. Slowly Folken rose from the bed and began tucking him in, letting Dilandau see his eyes.
They were full of such sadness and a fire that rivaled Dilandau's own in battle. "You're not going to die, Dilandau, not if you let me help you."
Much of Dilandau's fear dissipated by simply gazing upon Folken and seeing his passion. The man truly believed that there was something he could do.
If Folken says he can help, I trust him or else I wouldn't have come.
"Funny," Dilandau smirked wanly, wondering what his own eyes reflected, "I thought I was here to help you."
"You are," Folken whispered, taking the hand with the IV and setting it above the covers. "Are you comfortable?"
Dilandau nodded. The bed was warm and soft and he could already feel himself drifting away. He clutched to wakefulness, not wanting to end his conversation with Folken quite yet; after all, they were discussing his future.
"Good." Folken stepped away from the bed, shutting the drapes and blowing out the decorative candles that Marie had lit around the room, when she discovered they were cherry scented.
"Folken..."
"Hm?"
"... if you really think a transfusion will work, I'm game."
Folken hovered over the last candle, the tiny flame casting an odd shadow on his face. Dilandau thought he saw a fleeting smile on Folken's lips, before they poised themselves to blow out the final flame.
The only light left came from the small lantern on the bedside table.
"How long do you think it will take to find a match for me?"
"Hopefully not long at all. Somebody in this palace has to have your blood type," Folken said, hand on the lantern, fingers questing for the knob to dim its light.
"Ok."
The room went dark and Dilandau could hear Folken's light steps toward the door. "Folken?"
"Go to sleep, Dilandau."
"I know someone who has my blood type."
"Who?" The door to his room was opened and Folken's lean form was illuminated by hall lights.
"Celena. Did you ever find out more about her, Folken?"
The slight hesitation on Folken's part made Dilandau want to sit up straight. "Not really, Dilandau. I still don't know her whereabouts."
"But you know something, right?"
"In the morning, Dilandau. Sleep."
"Folken?"
"Dilandau, I'm about to give you a sedative."
"Goodnight." Dilandau smirked in the darkness. He had almost forgotten how much fun irritating Folken was.
"Goodnight, Dilandau. My room is right across the hall should you need anything." The door closed and Dilandau let out a sigh.
He was alone in the dark, in a strange place, while pondering his own body's betrayal, but strangely enough, he was calm. His men were resting peacefully in comfortable rooms nearby, Folken was close at hand, even thoughts of Marie and Pearce warmed him. He was... home, and home wasn't a place to him, but a feeling.
The only things missing were Celena and the beautiful woman that smelled of roses, but as soon as he closed his eyes, that room in his home would be filled too. He felt his lashes brush his cheeks and he relaxed, surrendering himself to dreams and forgetting about woes of tomorrow.
Miguel didn't know what he enjoyed more, envisioning himself sitting in the tub of clean, hot water softly scented with jasmine flavored bath oils, or just turning the knobs and listening to the water pour from the tap. He had a tap!
The miracle of running water was his to behold again!
Gatty's room was right beside his bathroom, and he'd knocked on the wall after the 10th time Miguel had started and stopped his bath water.
The Astorians needed to work a bit harder on their plumbing skills; the groan of the pipes was rather obnoxious. Miguel giggled giddily and ran more water into his bath.
Bap! Bap!
Stuff it, Gatty!
He rose from his kneel before the porcelain tub and backtracked across the marble of the bathroom floor to the toilet. A toilet!
He gave it a flush and laughed in delight as the water swirled round and round the bowl before disappearing in the large drain at the bottom.
Beautiful!
He twirled, letting his royal blue bathrobe waft about him like an elegant ball gown. Hah! A ball gown... well, it could be appropriate. After all, he was once again in a place where real nobles dwelled. He could go to Court again.
Gods, he needed a suit.
He supposed he could go to market to get one, or maybe he'd go to a tailor... He spun until he was dizzy and put down the lid on the commode so he could sit and observe the world that continued to turn without him.
"Geez, Miguel, if you were bored all you had to do was say so. I'm right next door."
Viole!
"Oh no..." Miguel moaned, covering his eyes and slumping on his porcelain throne. "Don't you have something to do?"
Viole chuckled from the doorway he leaned in and moved toward Miguel. "Yeah, I've got a meeting with Allen Schezar this morning."
Miguel made a face, uncovering his eyes and gazing back at the lavender bubbles lounging on top of clean, steamy water. "Why in the world would you want to meet with that jack-as... Oh! Oh gods, the meeting! Viole, why didn't you come in sooner and remind me!"
"Well," Viole smirked at Miguel in his pretty bathrobe, "I really didn't think that you would forget, but after listening to you play with the tabs for two hours, I figured I'd better come in and break up the love affair. Man, Miguel, that sure was a great dance you were doing. Show me how, huh? Didn't it go a little something like..." Viole began to twirl and Miguel stuck out his foot to trip him.
It was not a good idea to trip someone wearing boots with your bare feet, Miguel learned quickly as his big toe was trampled by a stumbling Viole.
"Ow, you dimwit! That was my toe!" Miguel doubled over, holding his toe and wondering if he dared to kiss it with Viole standing there ready to mock him. Viole caught his balance on the marble sink, snickering into the artfully carved bowl.
"Go ahead and kiss your tootsie, Miguel. I know you want to. I've seen you smooch ouchies before."
Miguel glared and set his throbbing foot back onto the floor, thankful for the coolness of the marble. "Get out, Viole!"
"Oi, Miguel! I can't come back out without you; we gotta go to the meeting!" Viole straightened up, pulling faces at his reflection in the large shell-shaped mirror. "How come you get a mirror shaped like a clam? I got a dumb fish!"
Miguel rolled his eyes as he dropped his bathrobe and stood in front of Viole in his undershorts. "Out!" He gestured to the open door with his thumb. "I'll be out in 10 minutes."
"But Miguel... everyone's waiting..."
"Ten minutes!" Miguel shoved Viole out of the room, feeling a small amount of satisfaction in hearing the surprised squeal his comrade let out as he sailed from the lavatory.
Ten minutes. He looked at his bath sadly, sorry that he had to waste something so lovely by rushing it. Slipping off his shorts, he stepped into the bath and scrubbed as hard as he could as quickly as possible.
Gods... he felt a month's worth of dirt coming off his skin. The water turned milky with soap residue and Miguel relaxed in the tub, letting his head slide under water and massaging his scalp.
It felt so good.
Would Allen Schezar even notice he was missing?
Probably so. Miguel's was possibly the only face the man really knew, well aside from Lord Dilandau's. He growled to himself and sat up, running his hands over his face and wiping water out of his eyes. He was tempted to lie back and bask, but a knock on the door and Viole's whistling made him stand up. Grabbing a fluffy beige towel hanging on a low golden rack, he dried himself in front of the mirror.
"Miguel! It's been 10 minutes!"
"It has not!" Miguel snapped, voice muffled from the towel over his face as he dried it. "I'll tell you when it's been 10 minutes, Viole!"
"There's no clock in there, Miguel, but there's one here with me..."
Miguel gritted his teeth and concentrated on the task of drying himself and getting... oh damn. His clothes were laying on his bed... with Viole. They'd decided it would be a bad idea to wear Zaibach armor while residing in Astoria the previous night, and Miguel had taken extra care in selecting just the right thing to wear that morning.
Great.
There was no way in Hades he was going to ask Viole to bring his clothes. He shuddered to think what the idiot would do to his clothing or what stupid joke he would tell as he handed the garments over.
Pulling his robe back on and tying the sash at the waist, Miguel opened the bathroom door and strode out proudly, only to be met with an audience!
"Nice legs, Miguel," Guimel snorted, lounging on Miguel's large poster bed and smirking in outright amusement.
"I must agree," Shesta chuckled.
Guimel, Shesta, Dallet, and Viole, populated his bed, Viole sitting cross-legged on the outfit he planned to wear for the day. As if it wasn't wrinkled enough! "Get off, Viole! You oaf!"
Viole's eyes widened in mock indignation. "Name calling this early in the morning is inappropriate, Miguel. Just what have I done to deserve such an insult to my person?"
Miguel's face burned and he surged forward to seize Viole roughly by the arm and tugged him from his bed, dropping him to the floor and grabbing up the crumpled shirt and pants set. Miguel shook his clothes, frowning at the wrinkles that refused to fall out and glaring at a cackling Viole.
"Easy, Miguel," Dallet cooed. "Those are the kind of wrinkles you can wear out."
"Yeah, so get dressed. I'm tired of looking at your naked..."
Miguel whipped around, pulling his robe closed tighter around him and glaring at Guimel whose lazy smirk had widened into a wicked grin.
"Stop looking then!" Miguel snapped, folding his clothes over one arm while holding his robe closed and marching back into the bathroom.
He got dressed fairly quickly, checking himself in the mirror and scowling at his rumpled appearance.
I look like I've just come from a poor country town.
His friends were chatting away merrily outside his room. It sounded like Gatty had joined them... and Lord Dilandau?
Perfect, now he had to go outside. Clicking off the light– electricity, he had electricity!– he stepped out of the bathroom. Lord Dilandau was slumped in the high-backed, easy chair by the window, staring out into the courtyard. Gatty stood just beside the chair, peering at Miguel like he had an extra head perched on his shoulder.
"Have you gotten it out of your system yet, Miguel?"
"Gotten what out of my system?" He ran a smoothing hand over his silk shirt, wishing the unwanted creases away.
"Playing with the water and the lights! Lord Dilandau, Miguel used all the hot water this morning filling and refilling his bathtub and flushing the toilet!"
There was a soft roar from the bed as Shesta, Dallet, Guimel, and Viole broke into simultaneous laughter. Lord Dilandau turned his head from the window to stare at him, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile, but his eyes told the story of how bad he wanted to laugh with the monkeys on Miguel's bed.
"Is that what took so long, Miguel?" Lord Dilandau's voice was soft, tired, but amused.
"No... I mean... well... Oh come on! You can't tell me you weren't happy to see water coming from a faucet– clean water without crap floating around in it that you didn't have to warm over a wood stove that produces more smoke than heat!"
Miguel sighed as Lord Dilandau's professional composure shattered and he chortled at Miguel's admission. Even the cloud of annoyance that floated above Gatty's head as he complained about Miguel's behavior had dissipated, and he was chuckling.
Miguel placed a hand on his hip and cleared his throat. "Don't we have a meeting to get to?"
Apparently Allen Schezar could wait when it came to his friends' merriment at Miguel's expense, but he could not wait for Miguel to take a proper bath and to maybe iron his clothing.
"S...sorry, Miguel.... but...you... You get so... righteously angry...at the... funniest things..."
Yeah, yeah... Miguel ran a hand through his damp hair and placed a gentle hand on Lord Dilandau's shoulder. After his lord had calmed into tiny chuckles, Miguel asked, "How are you today?"
Magenta eyes raised to meet his blue ones, smiling lightly. "I've been better, Miguel."
"Should you really be up?" Shesta asked, recovering from his laughing fit and wiping his eyes.
"Folken said it was ok," Lord Dilandau shrugged. "I checked out fine."
"You do look better," Guimel said lightly, and he was telling the truth. The captain looked better rested and slightly refreshed. "But still... Meeting with Goldie Locks isn't that important. If you'd rather rest..."
"Goldie Locks?" Viole giggled. "Allen 'Goldie Locks' Schezar! That's good, Guimel! Hey, what would you call the King's heir and the princess? Beauty and the..."
"Dryden's hardly a beast, Viole," said a dry voice from the doorway of Miguel's room. All heads turned to see Folken standing with his arms crossed. "Sir Allen is waiting, gentlemen. I told him you'd be right along and that you didn't need an escort. I see that I was mistaken."
"You came to escort us?" Viole's eyes positively danced. "Why Lord Folken, I'm honored!" He sprang from the bed to his feet, giving a low bow. "Surely, I'll offer you my arm..."
"Oh good grief..." Miguel mumbled, rolling his eyes at Viole's antics.
Lord Dilandau rose slowly, using the chair for aid and ignoring Gatty's supporting arm. "We don't need escorts, Folken, but your company would be most appreciated. How long do you think this is going to take? I get the impression from looking at Schezar that he's long winded."
Folken's lips quirked into a small, lop-sided smile. "I, myself, have never had to sit through any of his lectures..."
"Lecture? Is that what this is to be? I have no intention of attending any lectures given by... what was it you called him, Guimel... Goldie Locks?"
Folken blinked then shook his head, keeping his silence. Miguel didn't blame him. When questions were asked all chaos seemed to break lose with this bunch.
"You've already agreed to go, Dilandau."
"You agreed for me," Lord Dilandau said, yet he was moving and gesturing for his Slayers to follow him to the door. Folken stepped aside to allow them passage.
"None of you are wearing armor, good," Folken commented as they traveled down the richly decorated hallways.
"Lord Dryden said we could only wear Astorian colors. I don't know about you, but Zaibach armor just didn't seem very appropriate," Lord Dilandau shrugged. He walked close to Folken and Miguel couldn't help but smile.
"Oi Miguel, you think Sir Allen will serve snacks?" Viole asked, scratching the scruff of his neck. "I'm hungry."
Miguel sighed, wanting to sneer something ugly in Viole's direction, but realized he couldn't ignore the growling of his stomach either. Schezar couldn't wait for them to get breakfast?
"I don't know, Viole; I doubt he will," Miguel said. "I bet he's already eaten though."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Shesta butted into the conversation. "Lord Folken won't let this last long, I'm sure, and we'll eat soon after."
"Thanks gods and goddesses for Folken," Viole uttered. He ran a hand through his long, wavy hair. "Hey... what would you guys think, if I started wearing a ponytail?"
Thank gods and goddesses for Folken maybe, but who could Miguel curse for Viole?
They were late. Allen watched disdainfully as the six ex-Zaibach specialists, their red-eyed leader, and Folken filed into the conference room he'd reserved for the meeting. He sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, tapping his fingers. Van sat on his left, looking anywhere but at the entering soldiers.
The King of Fanelia was once again behaving very strangely. He'd risen very early to seek Allen out and ask if he could attend the meeting. Allen had agreed, not forgetting how Van had joined him the previous night and how eager he'd seemed to speak to the ex-Dragonslayers. But, now that the guests of honor were finally there, Van couldn't seem to meet their eyes.
Dilandau and his men took seats at the end of the table, as far from Allen and Van as they could get. Folken scowled at them lightly and purposefully took a closer seat, beside Allen, glaring meaningfully at his young charges.
Allen almost gasped as one with dark, wavy hair stuck out his tongue.
"Well, I see you've found your way here. I trust you had no problems," Allen began, trying to sound cordial but knowing his face expressed none of it.
"Good morning to you too, Schezar. Lets get this over with so my men and I can get out of here and get on to real business," Dilandau said back, tone just as cordial as Allen's had been.
Allen glared at the pale demon, unable to form a retort for a moment.
"Perhaps, you should begin by telling them why you've requested their presence?" Folken's face was as placid as ever, and strangely, Allen was thankful for it. He wanted to appear cool and collected in front of these boys, and he couldn't do that if he lost his temper.
"Thank you, Lord Folken. You're right; I suppose we should get down to business as Lord Dilandau over there has suggested."
Dilandau didn't blink; he stared at Allen, resting his chin in one hand and setting his elbow on the table.
Allen took that as a sign to begin. He glanced at Van briefly to see if the raven-haired monarch had anything he wanted to add and frowned. Van was looking at his hands, locking his fingers together nervously as they seemed to shake.
"Van?" he whispered.
Van's head snapped up and he stared at Allen wide-eyed. "Huh?"
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Van said, a little too loudly for it drew the attention of the Dragonslayers. "J...Just fine." His eyes went back to his lap again, but only before shooting a quick look down the table to gaze at Dilandau.
Allen shook his head, turning from Van and addressing the other side of the room. "I've called you all here this morning, because I want to go over the rules and consequences with you in a way Lord Dryden undoubtably has not. He's never met you prior to your...changes of heart... and he's never battled you."
"Good for him; he would have died," Dilandau said cooly, smiling pleasantly. He really was a very handsome boy, once one looked past the attitude. He reminded him vaguely of someone... but he couldn't put his finger on who.
"Dilandau!" Folken gave Dilandau a look that wiped the smile from the boy's lips.
So it seemed that Folken did indeed have some control over him.
"I don't trust you," Allen said flatly. "I've seen you in battle. I know of your war crimes. I know you had no heart and no honor then, and I refuse to believe that you have suddenly acquired both of those things now. You have an ulterior motive, and once whatever you've come here for has been achieved, you're going to leave Astoria in the dust. You'll level her."
He watched Dilandau's eyes narrow and smoke, and Allen, meeting his angry gaze with one of his own, continued. "I'll kill you before that happens. I'll kill all of you. My love and loyalties are to my country, and you won't destroy her without feeling my wrath. I've already expressed my feelings to Lord Folken, but if he hadn't informed you which I suspect he hasn't... there it is."
"And am I supposed to be intimidated by that Schezar? Am I supposed to quake in fear and beg you to believe that I'm a reformed warlord?" Dilandau rose from his chair, slapping both hands down on the table and glaring. "Well let me tell you something, Heavenly Knight..."
"Lord Dilandau..." The blond one Allen had fought aboard the Zaibach airship Van had been imprisoned on spoke up, "...sit down."
"So what if I do have an ulterior motive? You certainly don't think I've developed a taste for your precious country and decided I should come save it, do you? This is a favor to Folken. If he's loyal to Astoria, then I am too for as long as he's here."
"And after that, you'll crawl back to Zaibach?" Allen sneered nastily. So much for keeping a cool head, Dilandau had made him lose that a minute into the conversation.
Dilandau growled, ignoring further pleas from the blond slayer and concerned looks from other members of his team. "I don't crawl, Allen, and I'd never go back to Zaibach. I won't be satisfied until I see that country go up in flames for the wrongs they've done."
"What about the wrongs you've done?" Allen demanded. "You burned the country of Fanelia to the ground; you destroyed my castle and many others, killing civilians..."
"In war, Allen, moral lines are drawn differently."
"You would say something like that!"
Dilandau smirked. "You can't tell me that you, Great Knight, have never been the cause of any casualties, or how about you, King Fanel? I've heard about some of your grand battles. Can you tell me no innocent blood was ever shed?"
Allen's mouth nearly scrapped the table. The nerve of... "How dare you even speak to King Fanel about such..."
"No... no, I can't," Van said suddenly, interrupting Allen, his voice a little higher than usual. Allen was sure his mouth did touch the table then.
"Van?"
"He's right, Allen," Van said, staring him earnestly, brown eyes glittering with an emotion Allen didn't comprehend. Pleading? Was he pleading with Allen? But for what?
"There's no right and wrong in battle; there are only losses and victories. Many have fallen by my sword... many I wish I could bring back... but you don't condemn me for it, do you?"
Allen was breathing, nice and slow, long and deep... Do not break anything, do not kick anything, do not curse anyone, and for the love of the gods stop thinking about lighter fluid.
Van was defending a blood thirsty tyrant, the very same tyrant that razed his homeland, and he wanted Allen to agree with him.
"My brother is right, Sir Allen. Events that transpired in the name of war cannot rightly be used to judge a person. There are things many good men do in the heat of the moment, or under orders that they would never do on their own," Folken said quietly, his eyes on Dilandau. "Do sit down, Dilandau. What did I tell you...?"
"Do shut up, Folken!" Dilandau exclaimed, staring at the man crossly. Allen noted that the boy did take his seat.
Where to go from here? The tension in the room was so thick, it could be sliced with a sword. Allen looked to Van, the person who was supposed to be his ally in this, to find him gazing down the table again at Dilandau, again! Dilandau was in quiet communication with his men, who didn't look very pleased with him.
Was Van trying to catch Dilandau's eye? Allen hoped not, for the only return attention he was receiving was from the brown-haired, blue-eyed boy-- that had escaped from the dungeons of Freid! Allen stared; he would have written that one off for dead. The boy was glaring at Van in a way that made Allen wonder if Van had violated him while he was held captive.
"Sir Allen, my charges understand your feelings and have already sworn their loyalty to the presently reigning sovereign. A meeting such as this was totally unnecessary, and if I had known that all you wanted to do was throw accusations and heated words here, I never would have condoned it. If that is all you have to say, then Lord Dilandau is right, we do have real business to attend to..."
How had he let this get away from him? He wanted to put fear in these boys. He wanted them to know that he was watching them closely; one slip up, and they were gone, but all he'd done was anger them and come across as a hot-head. "That is not all I have to say. I also wanted to discuss your assignment..."
"Sir Allen with all due respect, I have not even gone over the full extent of their assignment with them."
Breathe....
"So... it would seem that maybe this meeting was a waste of time on both my part and yours," Allen said courteously, biting the inside of his cheek. "I apologize and I assure you that we will have no further gatherings. It seems the worst in all of us comes out, when we are together."
"That's the first intelligent thing you've said all day, Schezar," Dilandau purred. "But... maybe this wasn't as much of a waste as you think. It was good to put all of our feelings about one another out on the table. Now we all know where we stand with one another, and we won't have to pretend to like each other."
Allen raised a brow. The boy made an excellent point, but one thing had to be clear. "But we will respect one another. That is what I ask, and what I should have started off this conversation with."
"Respect is something that must be earned," Dilandau said flatly. His eyes were serious, his mouth a straight line. All traces of smugness, arrogance, and amusement were gone from his pale face, making the shadows beneath his eyes appear more prominent. "Make me respect you, Allen, and I'll make you respect me. We'll start clean with one another. If you're willing that is. Whatever happened between us in the past will remain in the past, and we'll know each other for the first time today."
Allen stared as he recalled all of his previous encounters with Dilandau. He compared that boy with the one that sat before him now, wondering how they could be the same person.
Folken did say that Dilandau had changed, but this was unbelievable. There had to be some sort of catch, a trick... but the steady red gaze was clear, trustworthy, and the Dragonslayers were quiet, watching Allen carefully, ready to follow their lord's lead.
Discarding the past was easier said than done, but if a young boy was willing to let it go, then surely Allen, a grown man and a Knight Caeli to boot, could do it too, or at least try.
Their current arrangement, fighting side by side, would never work if such an agreement wasn't made. Allen only wished he'd been the one to come up with it. He needed to do something to save face...
"Fine," Allen said, nodding slowly. "What's in the past is in the past. Van? Do you agree?"
Need he ask?
Van rose from his chair and cautiously walked to the end of the table where the 7 new additions to the Astorian army sat, staring at him. Extending a hand to Dilandau, Van said, "I'm Van Slanzar de Fanel, King of Astoria, and you are...?"
Lets see...
Brushed his shoulder this morning... would that classify as physical contact or not? It hadn't been intentional; he had said, "Sorry."
Van unrolled the "Progress" chart he'd been keeping for the past week. He had rows and columns designated for: physical contact, eye contact, smiles, smirks, and communication. So far, the King had physical contact with Dilandau three times, one time being their first hand shake, a second time a passed bread basket where their hands had grazed each others', and the third... he penciled in the shoulder brushing.
Eye contact... Eye contact was good. Dilandau usually looked at him when he spoke to him, not that Van spoke to him often.
He just couldn't figure out what to say! All of the things he practiced in front of the mirror suddenly seemed stupid when Dilandau came near.
Van groaned. He was being ridiculous! Talking to someone wasn't hard. Dilandau was a boy, a fellow warrior; all he had to do was talk about swords, guymelef oil...something! But every time he opened his mouth, he tasted the leather of one of his fine new shoes, or worse, Avenger...now known as Miguel... would appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and whisk Dilandau away from him!
Gods...
Miguel knew Van's secret. Miguel was the only one who really knew...he hoped. The brunette had no reason NOT to tell anyone what he'd suspected that day in the dungeons of Freid. Dilandau didn't let on that he knew anything, but then again, Van knew virtually nothing about him other than he was gorgeous and his technique in anything was poetry in motion, whether he be wielding a sword, dagger, lance, or eating utensil at dinner.
Stop it, Van! He massaged his temples. It was getting worse; he was getting worse! The more he saw of Dilandau, the more he liked him and knew he had to start forming some course of action.
The problem was... he hadn't the faintest clue where to begin. Common sense told him to start with friendship, if only he wouldn't get so damn nervous. It was hard to be friends with someone who made you want to sing and throw up at the same time. It was an awful feeling that Van wanted to banish from his system.
Gods... it came so naturally to Allen, talking to people, getting them to fall in love with him...
Even Folken, socially retarded Folken, had a very tight-knit relationship with Dilandau that made him jealous to observe, but he wasn't too sure if the jealousy stemmed from Folken being so close to Dilandau, or if it came from Dilandau...being so close to Folken.
It looked like Folken was taking care of Dilandau, guiding him. He should be doing that for Van... and maybe he would, if Van could let him.
Van had done a very good job in scaring Folken away from him. Every now and again, he caught Folken's gaze on him, but his older brother no longer even attempted to initiate conversations with him anymore.
Van could see the pain in Folken's eyes, and... it hurt like a knife in the gut, but it hurt even worse to see that pain abate when Dilandau appeared at Folken's side. Van had been replaced.
Dilandau had stolen his big brother from him...
And still Van loved him.
He was loonier than anybody had ever believed Dilandau to be.
He rolled up his chart and tucked it back into his desk drawer under a paperweight. Van really needed to find a better hiding place. He'd been doing an excellent job keeping Merle out, but sooner or later the little beast girl was going to break in while he wasn't around and go through his things.
He tried to summon some anger at the thought, but couldn't put his heart in it. Poor Merle was the only person considered to be family that he had left, and he'd been neglecting her. So what if she was annoying, got in his way, and poked her nose into everyone's business but her own; he should spend more time with her. Merle had been looking rather lonely lately and had taken to hanging around Hitomi, who wasn't looking any better.
Girls... There was always something wrong with them!
Well, with the exception of Millerna, she'd been looking very happy lately. She and Dryden had come to an understanding and seemed to almost enjoy each others' company. It was kind of nice to see people smiling for a change and having a good time, instead of frustrated and going half out of their minds, trying to find a way to... Arg!
Ok... all right. Van would just stop thinking about it. Then maybe his heart rate would return to normal and the fluttering in his stomach would settle. He flopped down on his bed, flat on his belly, and stared at the large portrait of a dead Queen on the wall just above him.
So, Your Majesty, you were married right? How did you get your prospective husband to talk to you?
He slapped himself. Stop it! Think about something else-- something important-- like the war. Think about war!
The battlefront had been pretty quiet as of late, a quiet before the storm. Minor skirmishes had broken out along the borders of other countries, but Astoria was being left alone for the time being. The clean up and restoration process of the capitol city after the Luck soldiers' attack was going really well. Van felt a trifle guilty, because he had not participated in the project since... the person he wasn't thinking about... arrived. Hitomi, Merle, and Millerna ventured out to the construction sites quite often.
Maybe he'd go with them this afternoon. That way he could get out of the castle, spend some much needed time with Merle, and do some good. Gods knew he wasn't doing any good in here.
Knock. Knock.
Van pushed himself up into a sitting position and angled his face towards the door. Who could that be?
Allen? Merle?... Please don't be Hitomi...
"Who is it?"
"Dilandau Albatou."
Dilandau?! Oh my gods! Oh my gods! He's here! He's outside my door! What do I do? What do I do...
Let him in, idiot!
Oh! Of course! "Come in!" Dammit! He wasn't supposed to sound excited! Dilandau probably thought he was...
The door to his room opened, revealing the pale Adonis, sheathed in red silk and black leather, a long sword with a silver hilt strapped to his waist and a jeweled dagger tucked in his midnight belt. Fusia eyes lined with dark lashes gazed at Van, who was still sitting on the bed, disinterestedly.
"So here you are. That weird girl of Sir Allen's told me I might be able to find you in here."
He was looking for me?
Don't start grinning, moron.
"Uh...yeah. Here I am. Did you...uh...need something?" Oh smooth, Van.
Luckily, Dilandau wasn't really paying attention to him. He came further into the room, prowling the territory and admiring Van's view from the large bay windows that overlooked the surf.
Van waited for him to speak, moistening his dry lips and praying that the gods would bless his tongue with witty remarks and insightful phrases.
It wasn't wise to look at Dilandau for too long. Van had started to notice the way the golden sunlight contrasted with the silver of Dilandau's hair and the perfection of his profile.
He frowned, the profile... it was reminiscent of someone else, but who had Van seen that had looked enough like Dilandau from the side to interrupt his appraisal?
"I need a favor."
Huh? Van blinked, trying to tear his eyes off Dilandau. From me? He thinks I can do something for him?
"Uh...sure. What is it... Lord Dilandau?"
Dilandau hadn't looked away from the window, and Van wondered vaguely how he was going to document this encounter in his chart. He would probably have to draw up a new column.
"My men and I are to have 70 young army recruits trained and battle ready in a month. We're going to divide the boys up into classes of 10, one class for each man, and I'm to oversee the progress of them all. My problem is that I only have 6 men, so there is one class of 10 that is teacher-less."
"And you...want me to teach...with you?" Van cringed as his voice rose in octave.
"Your technique has much improved and I believe the recruits could learn much from you."
Me! He wants me! "Why not ask Allen? He's... a Knight Caeli, and he's been fighting much longer than I have..."
Dilandau turned slowly from the window, frowning at Van. "If you don't want to..."
"No! No, I want to! I'll do it!" Van jumped off the bed, almost standing at attention he was so stiff with the fear of upsetting Dilandau and causing him to leave. "I just... me, huh? You think I'm good?"
Dilandau studied him for a bit, rubbing his chin. "Maybe. I'm giving you a chance, Van Fanel. I have a promise to uphold and... I'm taking it to the next level. Practice is tonight at 9 in the west courtyard."
"O...ok," Van nodded, hoping he wasn't sweating. He felt dampness on his brow.
Dilandau stared at him a moment longer before brushing locks of platinum from his eyes with slender fingers and escorting himself to the door.
Van could do nothing but watch the boy as he seemed to float from the room...like a dream. Oh, don't let this be a dream.
"Don't be late... oh, and thanks." The door closed and Van's breathing returned to normal. Oh man... He looked down at his quivering hands, thinking he was going to have to get over this problem before he had to hold a sword that night. He walked to the window, standing in the exact spot and position Dilandau had stood in. Then looked to his bed, wanting to see the light Dilandau had watched him in.
Hmm... not bad.
He reflected on his conversation with Dilandau. Not witty, not insightful, but... not bad either. He'd taken his first step all by himself! He had a date with Dilandau tonight... well, not exactly a date, but he was getting an opportunity to work with him.
What was he going to wear?
He wandered over to his closet, opening the doors and pondering over his wardrobe... and... also over something else. He narrowed his eyes, recalling an image of Dilandau standing by the window, running his hand through his hair.
There had been something on his hand. It had looked like a bandage of some sort. Was he hurt?
Van frowned. Well, he would get a better look at it tonight, and maybe... maybe he could impress Dilandau so much with his skill that he would earn a little one on one.
Now that was a beautiful thought.
He hummed to himself as he picked out a dark green shirt to try on.
"Where's Lord Dilandau?" Miguel entered the large training room with the look of a wild man. Viole snickered, wondering what had gotten Miguel's bloomers in a bunch this time. Perhaps he'd discovered the surprise Viole had left for him under his pillows, or maybe he'd taken a good whiff of the special bath oil Viole had delivered to his room anonymously.
Yes, where was Lord Dilandau? Someone was going to have to keep Miguel from killing him. Miguel had gotten downright vicious as of late with his sword to where no one wanted to practice with him. Something was wrong, but Miguel was being tight-lipped about it. Viole tried everything, bugging him, pestering him, bribing him, threatening him... Miguel just got this strange gleam in his eyes and clammed up.
"I don't know," Gatty shrugged. He was practicing a weaponless kata Viole had never seen before in front of the long mirror lining the far wall. "He said he was going for a walk."
"What?" Miguel slammed the door to the room closed and nearly knocked Viole over as he tried to greet him on his way to Gatty. Miguel placed himself in the middle of Gatty's dance with his hands on his hips. "You let him go off alone?"
"Relax, Miguel; he said he wasn't going far," Guimel yawned; the tow-headed blond was stretched out on a practice mat. He claimed to be meditating, but Viole strongly suspected Guimel was taking a nap. The snores kind of gave him away.
"He should be back soon. You know he wanted to go over the recruit evaluations with us and help formulate the group rosters. I can't believe I'm going to be teaching a class...like...like some honorable Sensei or something." Dallet sat near Guimel, polishing a set of opal- handled daggers on a large white towel tinged black with debris.
"I still wonder what he's going to do about the 7th class. Think he'll teach it himself? I don't think he should. He's been so tired, and I'm sure Lord Folken wouldn't approve of it." Shesta sat on the thick balance beam, reading over the stack of evaluations. "Gatty, did you put these X's here to indicate which boys you're willing to take?"
"No, those X's are for the people I refuse to consider," Gatty remarked, glaring at Miguel, who was still in his way. "Move Miguel!"
"There certainly are a lot of X's here, Gatty," Shesta huffed. "And what are these lollipop looking things?"
"Those are mine!" Viole waved a hand. "All those boys need to learn how to move their feet, and I can show them that."
Shesta nodded. "Lollipops... Viole. Check. Are these little daggers yours, Miguel?"
Viole glanced at Miguel, curious to hear Miguel's comments on his dagger-markings. He'd told Viole the recruit-boys looked like baby elephants being forced to hold their bladders in practice battle.
Miguel had thankfully moved out of Gatty's way, but glared at the blond evilly for resuming his kata. He was pressing his lips together, the warning sign that always let Viole know that he'd really made Miguel angry.
"Miguel?" Shesta asked again, looking up from the paperwork at the brunette Slayer.
"No, Shesta. The little daggers are not mine, and just what direction did Lord Dilandau go in when he left for this walk of his that no one seems to care about?"
"We don't know, Miguel!" Gatty shouted, stopping his exercise. "If you're so concerned about monitoring Lord Dilandau's every move in this large, well-protected castle, where did you run off to earlier, huh?"
"I..." Miguel's hands were at his sides slowly balling themselves into fists. "I.... was having a suit made, but I trusted you..."
Viole giggled. Having a suit made, Miguel? You should have asked me to come along and give my opinion on what fits made you look stupid.
"Trusted us to what? Lord Dilandau's a big boy now. If he wants to walk to the library and..."
"He went to the library?" Miguel queried.
"No!" Gatty exclaimed, then frowned. "I don't know! What are you so worked up about, Miguel?"
"I'm not worked up about anything that you shouldn't be worked up about!" Miguel fumed, kicking a stray mat. "This castle is crawling with people who'd love to have at it with one of us. None of us should walk around alone!"
"But we do," Dallet countered," and nothing's happened, Miguel. In truth, I feel safer here than I ever did on the Vione where everyone there was supposed to be and always had been our allies. The people here... they have a cleaner more dependable vibe about them, Miguel. You can't tell me you don't feel it, or you wouldn't have been downstairs, half-naked, allowing the castle tailor to stick pins near your privates to measure trousers and trusting him not destroy any chances of progeny you might have."
Uh-oh. Miguel's lips had gone white he was pressing them together so hard, and his face was flushing. "That's different!"
"How so?" Shesta asked, sliding off the balance beam and setting the papers on top of it. "What's wrong, Miguel? You've been behaving very strangely, even for you."
"Nothing's the matter with me! Ooh... you just don't understand!" Miguel pulled at his hair, leaving it in cowlicks.
"Help us understand then," Gatty growled, "because you are getting on my last nerve. Lord Dilandau is about to be short TWO teachers!"
"It... I..."
Spill, Miguel... Though I'm obscenely jealous that Gatty's going to be the one who got it out of you.
"Hey, I've solved our problem with the seventh class." Lord Dilandau entered the practice room, looking very proud of himself. He stopped beside Viole, resting an elbow on his shoulder and leaning a bit. "Am I interrupting?"
"Not at all, Lord Dilandau. Miguel is about to tell us what's been up his ass for the past week, and I'm sure he'd want you to hear this too," Gatty said flatly, staring at Miguel darkly.
Miguel growled in his throat. "I wasn't about to say anything, Gatty. Lord Dilandau has news; why don't we hear it?"
Viole raised a brow and felt Lord Dilandau shifting a bit, removing his arm from Viole's shoulder and gazing suspiciously from Gatty to Miguel, eyes settling on Miguel. "I've found a teacher for the 7th class."
"You have?" Shesta chirped. "That's great! Does he have a speciality? I think we've all marked off the people we think we can handle, according to their needs. If this guy can handle free-hand sword work, we're good."
Lord Dilandau grinned. "I think we're good then."
"Who'd you get?" Guimel asked, still lying flat on his back.
"Van Fanel," Lord Dilandau said easily. "I asked him just now."
"Van Fanel?" Miguel croaked.
"Van Fanel... King Van Fanel?" Guimel sat up as they all ogled Lord Dilandau for a moment.
Lord Dilandau had been really serious about putting the past behind them, but it was a little harder for Viole and the others to overlook the fact that the good King tried to kill Lord Dilandau in cold blood.
But... if anyone had the right to truly be angry about the incident, it was Lord Dilandau, and if he was trying-- and he was really trying-- then accepting Van Fanel as an honorary member of their training mission was the least they could do. Besides, the King hadn't delivered one hateful look in Lord Dilandau's direction and was the first to shake his hand in that awful meeting with Allen Schezar.
"Yeah. He's not bad with a sword and he's around our age. You know it's easier to take lessons from your peers," Lord Dilandau said. "He seems rather excited about it actually. I thought he was going to say no at first... I think I make him nervous."
"Yeah, I'll bet," Miguel muttered and Viole's eyes widened as he jumped. Miguel stood right beside him. When had he gotten so close to him, and why hadn't Viole noticed?
"I told him to meet us tonight in the courtyard. We'll do an attendance check and divvy the boys up."
"Sounds good, but maybe he should meet us sooner, so he could demonstrate the things he thinks he can teach. What if we don't like his methods?"
Lord Dilandau sighed, scratching under the long sleeve that covered the back of his left hand. "Then we'll train him too."
"So, he may turn out to be more trouble than he's worth," Miguel said. "Why do we have to have 7 classes? Can't we just break apart the last class and integrate them into other groups."
Viole frowned at Miguel. His eyes were as wild as they had been when he'd first entered the room, and his voice shook a bit.
Lord Dilandau glanced at Miguel tiredly. "The classes of 10 are too big, Miguel; none of these boys are going to be as good as could be, and you want to increase the number of students?"
"Well...no, but..."
"But what? You're not making any sense. Are you all right, Miguel?"
Miguel's eyes were large and he was pressing his lips together again like he was trying to keep something in.
"Miguel?" Viole elbowed him. He was starting to look deranged.
"Does it have to be Van Fanel?" Miguel finally blurted. "Anyone but him!"
"Well, who else is there? Allen Schezar? We may have a truce, but something about him still rubs me the wrong way, and... he's old! The other young Astorian warriors I've observed are mediocre. Have you seen someone I haven't, Miguel?"
"Uh...no, Lord Dilandau, but... Van Fanel? Maybe... maybe we could just do eliminations and drop 10 people from the line up? Then we'll have 60..."
"Miguel, there is nothing wrong with the King," Lord Dilandau said, frowning for a moment and blinking incredulously. Did I just say that?-- his expression read. Shaking his silvery head, "He's been decent-- still can't say that I like him-- but Folken will be pleased..."
"So that's it! You're trying to make Lord Folken happy by being nice to his brother," Miguel said, clapping his hands together. Viole nearly fell over and he heard some gasps. Did Miguel have a death wish?
They waited for the sound of Miguel's head rolling across the floor.
"You're out of line, Miguel," Lord Dilandau warned in a low tone, body tensing.
Guimel and Dallet snickered from their corner, and Shesta frowned as reclaimed his seat on the balance beam.
"I just think that this is a mistake!" Miguel moved to stand before Lord Dilandau in the center of the room. Placing a hand on the Captain's shoulder, he said, "You think that you can persuade Van to be nicer to his brother, if you're his friend right? I know Lord Folken's done a lot for us, but you don't have to bend over backward to return the favor!"
Lord Dilandau's pale complexion was beginning to flush slightly and Gatty snarled, stalking to Miguel and shoving him away from Lord Dilandau. "I've had it with you, Miguel. Either you pull that stick out of your ass right now, or I'm going to do it for you!"
"This just keeps getting better," Guimel nudged Dallet who grinned, itching to see a fight.
"Knock it off, everyone!" Shesta shouted. He was now standing on the beam, glaring down at them. "We've got too much work to do to be bickering amongst ourselves! Gatty, finish your kata; Guimel, glad you're awake, you and Dallet practice feints. Lord Dilandau, I need your help over here, and Viole... go after Miguel..."
Miguel had pushed Gatty back and was storming out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
Viole gulped. Miguel was really upset. "Why do I have to go after him?"
"Because if I do, I'll kill him," Gatty retorted, going back to his corner of the room and taking a horse stance.
Dallet was pulling Guimel up from the floor, grumbling about Shesta being bossy, and Lord Dilandau, after scowling at the closed door Miguel had slammed and the bold, blond Slayer, joined Shesta. He climbed onto the balance beam, straddling it, and Shesta sat back down, pushing the evaluation papers at him and explaining the marking system to the best of his knowledge.
Damn.
No one was even looking at Viole. They really did expect him to go after Miguel! He wasn't paid enough for this. Hell, he wasn't paid at all! Viole should really file a complaint.
But who would he turn it in to?
Damn.
Groaning loudly and being ignored by everyone in the room, Viole trudged to the door.
The hallway was cool, quiet, and Miguel-less. Viole pouted. He was going to have to search for him. How far could Miguel have really gotten in the moment delay Viole had in coming after him?
If he was still running, Viole shuddered to think of the possibilities.
So, ok... if I was a Miguel, where would I go?
Hmm...
"Yipe!" Viole shrieked as something grabbed him from behind. He tried to whirl around and draw his sword, but the person wrapped a strong arm around his torso and another around throat, the hand coming up to cover his mouth.
"Shut up Viole," it hissed.
"Mmmph!" Miguel?
He was released and he turned to face Miguel, who was leaning against the stone wall, an annoyed expression teasing his features.
"Miguel, what...?"
"Look," Miguel straightened up and he looked around the hallway quickly. "I'm going to tell you something that's going to sound crazy, but hear me out, because I need you to help me."
"You, Miguel Lavariel, are asking for my help?" Viole grinned. It must have been a cold day in the 4th Hell, indeed.
"Just shut up and be serious for once. Don't make me regret this! I don't want to tell Lord Dilandau, because it'll upset him, and that's not good. I don't want to tell the others because... they may have one of those dumb group meetings everyone's been so fond of calling lately and vote to tell him!" Miguel grabbed Viole's hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. "This is between you and me. We can do something about this on our own."
"Do something about what?" Viole stared at Miguel, slightly shaken. Something was seriously wrong with Miguel and he was about to find out what it was. Eat that, Gatty!
"Van Fanel..."
"What about him?"
"He... likes Lord Dilandau..." Miguel muttered, lowering his head.
"So? We want him to like Lord Dilandau. That means we won't have to worry about him trying to kill him..."
"No! Not that kind of'like!' He likes Lord Dilandau; you know, like you and I would like a girl!"
Viole chuckled. "King Van's a queer. That's hilarious! I always wondered why... OH MY GODS!"
Miguel clamped a hand back over Viole's mouth, waiting for him to calm down while tapping a foot in annoyance. King Van liked Lord Dilandau, as in King Van had a crush on Lord Dilandau...
But he's been so nice... And that's why!
"How did this happen without us noticing?" Viole demanded when Miguel removed his hand.
Miguel was shaking his head. "I don't know when it happened, but I found out about it when I was captured. While I was in the dungeon, the good King came to chat with me."
Miguel shuddered and Viole balked.
"You've known about it for that long?"
"Hey! I never thought we'd end up here, living right under the guy! If I did, I certainly would have done everything I could to have killed him when I had the chance! Lousy pervert. And now Lord Dilandau wants to be his friend!"
"Why though?"
"Weren't you listening to me in there? It's for Folken! Haven't you seen the way Van treats him?"
"Oh man..." Viole rubbed his face. "This is bad. This is really bad. What if..."
"There will be no 'what if's,' because we're going to find ways to keep them apart," Miguel said, eyes distant. "You're good at annoying the shit out of people. It shouldn't be too hard for you to drive the King away."
Viole was nodding in agreement, then gasped. "Miguel!" He smacked his partner.
"What? I was just naming off one of your strengths..."
"Well how about I name off a couple of your strengths as well, starting with your breath..."
"Viole..." Miguel growled.
"Miguel." Viole smiled sweetly. He wrapped an arm around Miguel's shoulder, pulling the other boy closer as he squawked indignantly. "Well, time's a wasting. Come on, we've got to come up with some plans to deter King Van."
"Celena, just look at the mess you've made, you horrible girl!" A large woman with a great hairy mole on her rounded chin swatted at the little girl with fat, floury hands.
The cherry-wooded floor was now white with powder. The little girl sat on her buttocks in a frilly skirt, patting at the dust and licking the palms of her hands. Sweet. Sugar!
"I was to have these sweets ready by 2! Oh you demon child, get out!"
Celena laughed gleefully and jumped to her spry little legs to run circles around Fat Hilda, yanking at her apron and smacking her large bottom as the woman tottered around clumsily on bowlegs, trying to spank her.
On the counter was a bowl of cherries and jam! That was what she'd really wanted, but when she had jumped up and pulled on the cloth Fat Hilda had used to line the counter, only the sugar and flour had fallen. Flour tasted icky, but sugar was nice. Fat Hilda backed up, blocking Celena's way to the cherries, an ugly gleam in her beady black eyes as she seemed to know to what Celena was really after.
Celena stopped prancing and stood in front of the woman, hands on her hips, legs spread apart. There was no way she could knock Fat Hilda out of the way now.
'Why couldn't you just wait until the pies were ready. We could have had the cherries left over!'
Shut up! You know she'd never give them to us. Big Brother gets everything from her! We have to take it!
'Mommy would have given us some...'
Mommy's doing her boring flower stuff. We have to make Fat Hilda move...
'How?'
You're the smarty-pants! You tell me and I'll do it!
'I wanna help Mommy!'
Celena huffed aloud, narrowing her eyes at Fat Hilda and stamping her feet. "Give them to me!"
"I told you, no sweets for bad little girls!" Fat Hilda smiled wickedly. "Bad little girls get frogs and lizards!"
"I like frogs and lizards!"
"You would," Fat Hilda snorted, taking the bowl of red fruit in her fat arms and placing them up on a high shelf. "Lets see you get that, demon child."
Celena growled, clenching her tiny fists as the fat woman laughed.
"You think you're so smart, don't you? I'm going to tell your mother and she'll switch you good, and have you clean up this mess..."
"You're supposed to clean up, Witch! Mommy never switches me!"
"Which is the problem," Fat Hilda sneered. She reached behind her for the broom leaning against the door jab of the pantry. "She never beat the evil out of you, but I'll fix that."
'Run! Run!'
We're not going anywhere!
'She'll hurt us!'
We'll hurt her!
Celena whirled about, her eyes landing on the warming, wood-burning oven in the corner of the room. She dashed to the iron monster that Mommy told her never to touch and snatched up one of the sticks Big Brother would have fed to the fire. She stuck it in the monster's mouth, letting the fire's tongue take a curious lick. She heard Fat Hilda's thundering steps behind her and heard the straw of the broom she dragged, brushing across the dirty floor.
'What are you doing?!'
Celena turned just as Fat Hilda approached, broom raised to hit her, and tossed the flaming stick at the skirts of the woman's shapeless, gray dress. Cackling as the woman's skirts caught fire, she pulled down the can of cooking grease Fat Hilda so loved and tossed it at her too.
She fell back onto the floor as the flames seemed to explode and Fat Hilda cried out in horror as she danced about trying to put out her dress.
Celena stared at the fire dance, loving the orange, red, and yellow flowers as they blossomed and grew. They would eat mean Fat Hilda all up, and then Mommy would cook again. Then they could have as many cherries as they wanted.
"Celena!" Mommy's voice, screaming in panic.
"My gods!" Big Brother's voice.
She was lifted and cuddled to soft breast as the kitchen disappeared in a blur. "Oh Celena, are you alright?"
Celena raised her head from the silky fabric of Mommy's dress to gaze into her light blue eyes.
'You burned Hilda.'
Yes I did.
'You hurt her.'
She was going to hurt us.
'You liked it!'
So?
Quiet. Had she finally driven him away? No... no, she could still feel him inside, pouting and not wanting to talk to her... again.
Why did he always want her to feel bad about things she did? Fun was fun, and besides, no one had liked Fat Hilda anyway.
"Celena, darling?"
"Mommy," she said, nuzzling her face back in the silk of Mommy's blouse and inhaling her rosy scent, "I want cherries."
"Lord Valeska? Someone's here for you."
Valeska sat on the floor with her legs sprawled out in front of her. The room was in shambles. She'd destroyed everything, anything the demons could be using as hiding places. She'd ripped the sheets, splintered the wooden bed, shattered the dresser after throwing it to the side to look behind it.
Celena and Dilandau. They were in there somewhere, pointing and laughing at her. Devils that looked like angels, those two, and she saw them in everything, everywhere!
She cringed at their giggles, their taunts, and their dreams! Valeska pulled at her hair, no longer grimacing when tufts of blond curls came free in her fingers. In fact... Where was her sword? She tried to stand, ordering her sore body into motion. Deeps cuts and scrapes stung and protested her movements, but she ignored them.
Rising to her feet and swaying, Valeska's bare feet crunched over the broken glass to the corner where she'd last seen her sword. It was buried under splinters of wood and shreds of bloodied fabric. She dug through the mess, hissing as small pieces of timber pierced her flesh.
Sword...sword...
"Lord Valeska. They... they're going to open the door."
Something sharp sliced through a tender palm. Sword! Valeska worked feverishly to unearth the treasure. Her elbow screamed when she struck it against a large chunk of wood, her knee throbbed when she scraped it across a larger shard of glass.
Her sword, she could see it! Valeska grasped the hilt, pulling for all she was worth. The blood on her hands made her grip slippery and she fell backward, hard and empty-handed.
Dammit! She lunged at the pile of debris again just as something crashed into the wall behind her.
The door. Someone had kicked her door in!
Valeska roared, ripping her sword from its proverbial stone. Grinning madly, once she held its gritty pommel in her hands. Come and get me... she turned and screamed, sword going slack.
Sorcerer.
The tall man smiled at her, revealing a mouth of even white teeth. "Valeska."
"Get...get...away!"
Two larger men stood behind the Sorcerer, one held a needle the other held chains. Two more stood behind them... all of them were smiling.
Valeska couldn't breathe; her heart was in her throat. She was paralyzed... she couldn't even feel her... She stared. Behind the Sorcerer, the one who was pointing and commanding the large men to move toward her...
They were there.
Celena and Dilandau.
They stood side by side, heads together, looking smug. Waving at her, they vanished still grinning, still laughing! "GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHITS! YOU FINALLY COME OUT OF HIDING ONLY TO RUN AWAY!! YOU CAN'T GET AWAY FROM...."
Something grabbed her arms and something was jabbed into her side. The man with the needle held her, and she howled as the chemical agent in the syringe flushed her system. Valeska's vision blurred as the second man with the chains approached. She tried to kick at him, but her legs were so heavy and.. Gods...she'd really hurt herself. Every cut, scrape, and bruise was weeping for attention, and she almost wept with them as the icy metal of the chains was draped around her body and pulled tight.
Valeska cried out as she was dropped back onto the glassy floor. She shut her eyes before the glass could gain entrance, but there was nothing she could do to protect her face.
Wetness streamed down her cheeks, but Valeska couldn't tell whether the dampness came from tears or blood. Maybe both.
Valeska groaned as coarse hands grabbed at her metal corset from behind and yanked her into an upright position. Valeska's head snapped backward then fell forward so quickly that she bit her tongue. She spat blood into the face of the one in front of her. She opened her eyes slowly to see the Sorcerer.
Valeska grinned painfully at the patch of blood on his cheek.
Even with her eyes closed she had great aim, she thought absently as the room grew dark.
"What a mess," the Sorcerer grumbled.
"'Celena, just look at the mess you've made..."'
What? She tried to find the source of the voice...so familiar... but she was so tired. She relaxed, letting her eyes close the rest of the way. Sleep...
Mommy would clean it up for them in the morning.
Valeska smiled at that, comforted by the scent of roses and the sweet taste of ripe cherries on her tongue.
"You've ruined them," the beast man said gruffly to the Sorcerer next to him. They stood outside of the glass atrium, observing the young girl inside as she ripped the wings off of butterflies and strutted about like a toy soldier, talking to herself.
"No. I've made them better."
"Look at her!" the man with the head of a lion shouted, pressing his index finger roughly against the glass. "She's regressing!"
"She's the child you raised once more. I thought you'd be pleased, Jajuka," the Sorcerer smirked nastily.
Jajuka snarled, growling low in his throat, ready to bite the man's head from his neck, but... he was the Master. The last time Jajuka had retaliated, he'd been bitten within an inch of his life and... his little girl, his little Celena, was taken away from him.
"I...I can keep her then? She'll stay here with me to take care of her?" Jajuka knew how dangerous it was to get his hopes up, but this time...this time...
"She will stay here with you until I finish improving her, then she will return to battle."
...was not any different. Jajuka's heart sank and he glimpsed the blond girl, tearing a skinny limb from a tree and using it as a sword. Always a warrior, that one.
"You can go with her, if you wish."
Jajuka's head snapped back to the Sorcerer. He could go with her? "You'd permit me to leave?"
"We'll need someone to keep an eye on the girl until her mission is complete."
Jajuka blinked.
"You'll be her only subordinate since no one will want to fight under her again."
Something about this sounded amiss. Surely this Sorcerer was being too lenient. After all, what was to keep Jajuka from simply taking Celena and running away? Zaibach would never find them once Jajuka took to the woods. The beast man was sure he could persuade Celena to desert. There was nothing for her to love in Zaibach.
What was the catch? There had to be something that still bound the girl to Zaibach, something she wanted...
"What will be her mission?"
The Sorcerer's smirk broadened into a cruel smile. "The elimination of Dilandau Albatou."
Author's Note: Ok... I hope you all weren't too disappointed :/ I'm very iffy about this chapter (and overall not very fond of it). I just couldn't get it to sound right..grrr... Anyways, please review and let me know what you thought. Oh, and don't forget to leave ideas for a one-shot you might want to read.
Reviewer Responses: I already did most of these by way of e-mail :). I'm going to answer the reviewers that didn't leave e-mail addresses. I'll do proper reviewer responses again in the next chapter ;).
Special thanks to: Nikku, Aurebec, SkippysCat, Kou-Kageru, DragonSteel, TomorrowSoundsGood, Macky, PocketTieFairy, Lady Snow Blood, PhoenixFirestorm, Jhaylin, OmnipotentPyro, and Spoon No Miko. I hope you all got my e-mails :) and I hope you guys forgive me for this chapter lol!
Koneri: Lol! Hitomi apparently gets on a lot of people's nerves, including mine ;). I think I'm having too much fun planning Van's wardrobe. Thanks for reviewing and I hope you liked the chapter!
ImaginaryYoukai: Lol, thanks. I think I got your review at work and it made me smile while one of the bosses walked past my office. One day they're going to fire me for playing on the internet on the job ;). Thanks for reviewing!
Karalina Rumiko San Tatsuhido: Hi Kay! Hope you found the new chapter just fine, and I hope it was ok for you :). Thank you for reviewing and take care!