[ 6 ]

Celena was... bored.

With all the hustle bustle surrounding her brother, Celena discovered she was included in the ceremonies only as a token appreciation to the fact that she was a Schezar. Therefore, although she'd had to learn where to stand when the procession for Van ended at the entrance of the palace (which was, unsurprisingly, right next to her brother at the end of the long line of nobles, soldiers, and gawkers), she was afterwards left to dwadle in one of the gardens with the daughters of the Asturian nobles. After a few of the girls recognized her from Allen's social gatherings, and identified her as that "strange Schezar," she was primarily left alone. Of course, some of them tried to get friendly with the Great, oh so Handsome Knight Allen Schezar's sister, but the chattering and the gossip made Celena cringe and Dilandau irritable. Neither of the responses that had popped in her head seemed very appropriate. She managed to fend them off by acting shy and quiet, and found a secluded spot where she could enjoy the scenery and discreetly listen in to the conversations.

Other than the usual talk about who had married whom and who was going to marry whom, she learned that part of the mania surrounding Fanel's visit to Asturia was an apology. Apparently the Asturian King had "mistreated" Van upon his first visit proceding the destruction of Fanelia. According to the ladies, not only had Van attacked Zaibach troops without provocation, he had courted the princess Millerna and had been rebuffed. However, Millerna had eventually re-evaluated the prospects of being married to a King (demolished country aside), and had disappeared from the palace. However, by then, Van had already by then fallen in love with some mysterious foreignor...

The girls sighed and continued elaborating on the supposed love triangle. Nevermind the fact that Millerna had often made it clear her rather scandalous attraction to Allen; this was a far more interesting tale. Of course, Dilandau knew the true circumstances surrounding Asturia's decision to mistreat Van, which did not involve romantic encounters of any sort.

Ignorant twits.

Celena grimaced. The boredom was starting to add to her agitation, and broke some of the already tenuous barriers between her mind and Dilandau's. Her head pounded as she was distracted by a particular conversation.

"...and they said that King Van has no queen yet!"

"Oh! Then who's that cat-girl? I hear they're very very close."

"Bah. It would be absolutely vile if the king married a beastwoman. Could you think of the children?"

"Oh, you just want him for yourself." A chorus of giggles followed.

"It couldn't be that bad." The voice lowered to a stage whisper. "I heard he's really an Atlantean!"

"Oh that's just silly."

The same voice continued, just audible to Celena's ears. "No more silly than this other one I heard." Petticoats and hardened lace shuffled as her cohorts leaned in. "That mysterious Zaibach Captain? The really handsome one that slaughtered half our troops? I hear he was really a she."

Celena swallowed. The girls all gasped and giggled some more.

"Now that's silly."

"You're just saying that because you don't want it revealed you really were attracted to him!"

The girls shrieked with laughter. She had to get out of there. The urge to begin removing those meticulously designed hair styles by ripping them from their roots was becoming far too strong, and it wasn't just Dilandau suggesting the act.

A sudden happy chorus of squeals heralded another thankful distraction. The loud clanks and thundering footsteps from below the garden balcony spoke of a series of Guymelefs making their way to settle for the upcoming ceremonies.

All of them clambored over to the side to gawk at the knights, including Celena. Although Dilandau scoffed at the rustic, relatively small Guymelefs (why, even the Alseides designs were far more advanced), Celena gaped. She'd never gotten a real chance to see many before her absence, and here was a whole company of them! She even lost her desire to remain inconspicuous when Scherezade came into view.

"Allen! Allen!" she cried, waving her hands frantically, a smile blossoming on her face.

The facial plate of Scherezade whirred and flipped open. Allen threw an affectionate look at her before resuming his duties. The other girls cast threw jealous looks in her direction. They began whispering behind their hands, trying to point out every fault of hers they could muster. Celena didn't care. It had been a long, frustrating day, and just seeing her brother made even her problems with Dilandau seem insignificant.

After a while, Scherezade had disappeared, and the girls had resumed pointing, giggling, and making flirtatious gestures at the line of knights, both in and out of Guymelefs. Celena suddenly realized that all the attention had been directed away from her. And over there, within perhaps one hundred paces, was an open, unguarded door.

How could she pass this up?

[ 7 ]

Butterfly.

Pretty.

Fly fly.

Catch!

Pretty wings. Up down up down.

Fly away? Want to leave me?

DEAD. EAT. No leaving now.

Look.

Man. I like this man. Pretty man.

Stretch arms. Hug? Smile.

Angry. Why so angry? Why?

Jajuka? Going inside?

But. Want to touch the man.

Madoushi man is shouting.

Smile. Smile...smile...

Table.

No.

Needles! Madoushi! PAIN!

NO!

SCREAM.

Whisper. "Where is this?"

"Centralized headquarters."

Louder. Demanding. "Why? How did I get here?"

"You were transported here after receiving medical attention. I believe that blow to the head during the last sparring session may have jumbled your memory."

Pause. Thoughtful expression. "I see." Adjust clothing. Irritable. Upstart peon better watch himself. Visions of Crima Claws blasting through unguarded Guymelef backside. Smile. "Have they been assembled?"

Nod. "We begin training tomorrow. I assume you'll want to oversee it yourself?"

Sneer. Low, eager voice. "Of course. I want to be there to personally make sure these fools know who's their commanding officer."

Grave. Mother.

Sorry, mother. Sorry...

Brother. Princess. Smile.

Moth! Pretty.

Fly fly.

Catch!

Don't fly. Don't leave me alone.

Crush. Mash.

Open. Dead...no...

NO!

"Celena?"

What? Allen...? "Celena?!"

Angry. "Wha--What is this? Are you a doppelganger?!"

Look around. Unfamiliar! Panic! "Where am I? WHERE AM I?!" Scream. "JAJUKA!!"

Uncloaking Guymelef. Comforting sight. "Lord Dilandau!"

"Jajuka!" Grateful. Euphoric!

Fading Allen. "Dilandau? Wait!"

"Yo, Celena. Hey. Wake up."

Gaddes had tried snapping his fingers, clapping, and poking. He'd found her standing in the middle of a hallway, thankfully one that few people frequented, the expression on her face vapid enough to rival a porcelain doll's. Just when Gaddes was about to full-out slap her (how he would explain that to Allen he wasn't certain; however, having her remain in such a state was not the better alternative), her mouth began twitching. Recalling her outcry at their last sparring session, he clamped a hand over it, just to be sure.

The shock of having his palm slap against her jaw jolted Celena from her reverie. She blinked a few times, clearing away the confusion, then began flailing her arms about wildly.

"Whoa, easy there." He released her. "I came to find you since you weren't at the garden. Van's airship is arriving and you need to go stand and look pretty." He grinned.

Celena took a few moments to sort through the haziness. She remembered walking out of the garden, turning a corner, and discovering the castle's seemingly neverending supply of decorative rooms. As she was admiring the way the daylight streamed in through the windows, enhancing the coloration of the furniture, she'd felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, as if a string had snapped on the web she'd built to reign in her/his memories. Her vision had blurred...

"Are you all right?" Gaddes's frowned in concern.

"Yes," she whispered. Then, recalling her current situation, she repeated her answer, louder. "Of course! I think I must still be exhausted from yesterday." She forced out a shakey laugh. "A nap in a bumpy carriage isn't exactly restful."

"Oh?" the Crusade commander looked wounded. "And I thought I'd driven it so smoothly."

Celena genuinely giggled at Gaddes' morose expression. She looked up at him. Although he was smiling, concern still bent the flesh of his forehead. She drew in a shakey breath. "Gaddes," she pleaded, "if... if you see me starting to look like that again, wake me up?" Her eyes widened and her heart throbbed in panic. Should Allen, or anyone else for that matter, catch her in that state...

He frowned. His tone gained an edge, "Celena..."

"No! Please!" Desperation laced her words. Celena knew her sanity was deteriorating, but the thought that she may never see the King sent her anxiety spiralling. Dilandau's desires were easy enough to ascertain now that she was privy to his more inner thoughts; he was still hellbent on revenge, and for more reasons than just his scar. This insight was proving to be more and more the curse; for her own motivations and rememberances were buried in his; Dilandau had been the dominant consciousness for too long. Seeing the Fanelian King was at least a desire that they both genuinely shared, and she absolutely needed to find out why.

Gaddes sighed. "All right, all right, can't refuse those puppy dog eyes. What's going on now, anyways?" An eyebrow arced up in curiousity.

She bit her lip. "I promise, everything will be better later." Then, in a brighter tone, "Shouldn't we get going?"

"Sure, little lady." Although he smiled back at her, he was unethused. This would be Big Secret Number Two he'd be keeping from Allen, and their close relationship had already been bruised by Big Secret Number One. He couldn't afford to do so again, for his sake and for Celena's.

Gaddes led Celena down corridors and hallways that became increasingly more populated. At every corner they turned he would look back to see whether or not she was still following. Thankfully, she was, glancing at him every so often to be sure of her path, then resuming looking at everything around her with bright-eyed wonder. Other than her pallor, there was a childish innocence about her that he couldn't help appreciate. It was only in her eyes that the aura fell; for those blue depths were haunted by the knowledge of the psychopath that lay within. Gaddes only hoped Van would only see the Celena that was marvelling at an exotically decorated pheasant that was rolling by her on its way to the banquet hall.

And not the one that had been determined to spill his innards onto the forest floor.

[ 8 ]

The plan was to have Van's airship land at the harbor, then have a stately procession leading from there to the palace, with the King at the head and a score of Fanelian and Asturian military as the train. It was a plan to not only present the King as a vital figure of state, but also to help boost the morale of the people of a city which had taken a severe beating during the war.

The words that Fanelia had used to relate his opinion regarding the whole event were somewhat less than royal.

Celena listened with bright eyes while Millerna retold the tale. The beautiful Asturian princess folded her arms, put on an appropriately dark glare, and proceeded to mutter Van's entire dialogue word for word, some of which would have made the Crusade crewmembers blush. She completed the recital by sticking her pouting red lips forward and putting on a sullen expression that was an no doubt an exaggeration of what the King had thrown at his advisors. Celena giggled.

"Millerna!" gasped her sister. "That was completely inappropriate!"

"Oh, Eries," sighed Millerna, waving her hand slightly in the elder's direction. "It's just a joke."

The three of them were waiting, rather impatiently, at what would be the end of the procession. "Well, to finish what I was saying," Millerna continued, "it was lucky that Allen was there to convince Van to do this. I think it's a wonderful excuse to have a festival!"

Celena couldn't help notice how Millerna gushed at the mention of her brother's name. It hadn't escaped her more asture sister's eye either. Upon their introduction, Celena had been taken aback by the stark difference between them. It began with Gaddes' gallant introduction; a gentle kiss onto a gloved hand. Eries had given him the proper headnod befitting the social difference between her and the mere airship commander, whereas Millerna had rather shamelessly offered him a coy smile and some batting eyelashes. The handsome man had grinned mischieviously back, while the elder sister glared balefully at him from one side.

Celena was introduced next, along with the regret that Sir Allen was not there to do so himself. At that time she was free to drink in the sweet peach and white ruffled ensemble that Millerna had decorated herself with (including ribbons in her hair and matching jewels), and blanch at the dark grey and pale green that Eries had dumped on. She'd even completed the nunnish look by bundling her hair into a plain white hat, leaving only her gold-adorned ears exposed. Celena, despite her short hair and relatively plain sky blue dress (although anyone looked plain next to the radiant Millerna), looked more like a princess in comparison.

Eries' lips had been pressed into a thin line. "When is Dryden returning again, Millerna?"

The younger woman frowned and turned her nose up into the air at the mention of her estranged husband. "Oh, I don't know." Her tone held an undercurrent of regret, hidden admist a feigned annoyance. "He mentioned that he may drop in for the festival. Who knows." She thrust her wrist in front of Celena's face. "Look! Isn't it just splendid? He brought it to me from Zaibach! It's just wonderful that we can trade with them now."

"It's very nice, Miss Millerna," Celena murmured, flinching slightly. The bracelet's design integrated a complex pattern with gold overlaying silver in a manner that was unique to Zaibach's advanced artistry tools. Despite the beauty, it reminded her a bit too well of the other metalworking technology that Zaibach prided itself in: Guymelef production.

Millerna lifted a delicately shaped eyebrow at Celena's reaction. She'd been privy to Celena's secret almost immediately after it had been fatefully discovered by Allen and her sister, and she'd worried what might have become of her since settling home. The beloved Knight had spoken with her at far-spread intervals, and at those times he'd only had brief respites to hold the conversation. The words from him had been that his sister had been doing well. Despite his smile and his assurance, Millerna had read the concern in his shortened smile and lowered tone, but there had never been enough time to explore the issue further. Upon learning of the whole upcoming affair concerning Van, she wondered, and worried, about how much of Dilandau would be attending.

Celena was proving to be rather sane, although quieter than the other bimbos that had been dragged along with their influential fathers (Gaddes had quipped that he and his other fellows were having bets on how many of them it would take to drive Van crazy at the ball later. Gaddes had bet 3; Millerna bet 2). Her medical instincts had also picked up Celena's exhaustion, which she guessed to be from lack of sleep. Or was it something more...?

A fanfare blared from a short distance away, and a chorus of hearty cheers immediately followed. Millerna threw away all her apprehension and grabbed Celena's wrist, pulling her for the gates. "They're here!" she cried. "Let's go and watch!"

Celena let out a small squeek in protest, then allowed Millerna to haul her forward. She tried to convince herself that it was the excitement that had her heart pounding against her ribs, but she couldn't deny the fear the laced her veins. They stopped at the entrance of the palace, where Allen and the rest of the royal entourage were waiting to greet the Fanelian King. Eries arrived a few moments later in a far more dignified walking manner. The younger princess took the prominent position as representative of the Asturian royal family, the elder stood behind as the secondary representative, and Celena stood behind her brother as she was told. The Knight gave her an affectionate smile, which she responded to in kind.

The fanfares were becoming increasingly louder. Great cheers of greeting and celebration burst and expanded, annoucing to the smaller group where in Pallas Van was currently walking.

It all suddenly faded from Celena's view...

Even through the mists I can see that despised figure, his red shirt leading the way like a beacon. It would perfectly marvelous to break open the skin underneath and watch the blood of a King spread across the floor. Make him pay for the bite of his dragon...

...He's not even looking, the fool. Up on the skywalk the Strategos shouts. Even sweeter. Would the little boy's last thoughts be of how his brother betrayed his own country? How dear Folken let me murder its children, allow his soldiers rape its women, command our Guymelefs to burn its proud buildings to dust and powder?

I have him!

...Damn bitch.

I hate you...I'll watch your rich blood pool at my feet. I'll let all the soldiers on Vione taste your woman before I roast her alive. I'll--

No...

My face...

MY FACE!

Celena's eyes widened, and her right hand quivered as it moved to cover the right side of her jaw. Her mouth dropped slightly in astonishment.

A man riding a chestnut horse, closely followed by a combined group of proud Fanelian samurai and elegant Asturian soldiers, broke into view admist another round of fanfares and cheers. From a distance, all that could be made out was a suit of dark armour, the chest plate tan and emblazoned with a white and blue insignia. Red tassles quivered slightly in the spring breeze. Dark blue plates covered his arms and forelegs, while a brown shirt and pair of white pants engulfed the rest of him. A pitch black mop, unstyled and hectic from the wind, topped the rough combination, obscuring most of his facial features. The Fanelian King looked more dressed for war than for a political reception.

Celena's breath quickened.

...Small flying ship

...almost there...

almost have the dragon...

almost have him...

Dragon dropping from the sky, landing as the grand Guymelef. Advancing Dragonslayers. Outnumbered! Our triumph, OUR victory.

Slaughter.

Not him. Us. US!

They're dying, crying, begging for mercy, for help!

Chesta! Gatti! Viole!

..no..NO..

Help them HELP ME alone alone no one else he's

THERE he wants ME

he'll violate me he's coming COMING

he's stopped. he's screaming...

...no no no GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY

HE'S HERE AGAIN!

HE'LL DESTROY ME!

Eries' deceptively calm eyes followed Celena's hand from her side to her cheek, then fixed upon her face as the color drained. To the unknowning observer it seemed as if she was merely staring in childish wonder at the approaching King and his followers, but Eries knew better. Her frown deepened. She looked up at Allen. He was ignorant of the turmoil beside him, eyes focused on his approaching friend. She turned, gestured slightly at a palace guard and whispered in his ear.

Van hopped off his horse at the foot of the palace entrance admist the rapidly decrescendoing cries of the Asturian populace. He ascended the steps at a moderate pace, one hand on the sword at his side.

Kill him first...

Allen took a few steps down to greet him, their hands clasped in greeting. A smile of delighted recognition broke on the two men's faces. The people once again bellowed out their appreciation, for two of the heroes of the War of Destiny were now face to face in front of them; the Knight and the Wayward Boy King, like some fanciful picture from a folktale. Their personal words of greeting were lost among the cheers.

...before he kills YOU.

"Stop it," Celena commanded herself, her voice lost among the cacophony. She forced her hand down from her face and back to its proper position at her side, her eyelids smashing shut in the effort to push Dilandau into the back of her mind.

Admist the quieting clamor, Millerna managed to cry out the proper greeting to the royal visitor. "King Van Slanzar de Fanel! As representative of the Asturian royal family, I, Princess Millerna Sara Aston, welcome you to our country."

"Thank you," came the short, gruff answer.

"Ah, Van!" Allen exclaimed. The soft slide of her brother's hand on her back jolted Celena out of her reverie, causing her to stumble forward. She stared at the ground, the blood rushing to her face in embarressment.

"This is my sister, Celena." Allen shot Van a warning look. He'd warned him ahead of time that they'd been trying to hide Celena's alterego, as well as the decreasing stability of her mental state, but he was uncertain about how Van would react to her in person.

Celena swallowed, thrust aside all apprehension, and shot her head up to gaze at the man before her. She gasped.

Van stood before her not as a king, but as a battle-hardened soldier, one hand hovering naturally over his sword-hilt. He was slightly taller than she was, but still not quite to her brother's height, and the frame underneath the worn armour was beginning to show hints of broadening beyond the boyish, lanky young body. A simple blush teardrop pendant, tapering softly at the bottom in gold, hung from his neck, clashing with the sharp edges to the Fanelian insignia on his chest.

Despite the oddity, it was Van's eyes that held her. They were piercing with a combination of emotions that battered at both of the personalities swirling within her. He hated Dilandau, the signs hidden in the stiff setting of his frown and the twitch of the fingers over his sword-hilt. The urge to respond to his unspoken desire to destroy rushed the adrenaline into her veins. Even so, another emotion held her at bay, tearing through Dilandau's desire to thrust himself at the King and throttle him with his bare hands.

Love.

It was bitter, flavoured with angst, despair, and loss. From the bottom of their souls it came, even though they understood the true objects of their affections were lost to them, perhaps forever.

Through the terror and the confusion, Celena responded the only way she could.

She ran.

[ 9 ]

Astonished, Allen watched his sister flee. She plowed through two men carrying flags in honour of Asturia and Fanelia before disappearing into the castle. He began to doubt his decision to allow Celena to accompany him, damning himself for ignoring his misgivings. He began an apology, and was cut short by Millerna's hand on his arm. She was staring pointedly at his friend.

Van was staring beyond the flag bearers (who had resumed their dignified positions) into the the grand portal that had swallowed the woman that had once commanded the most elite of the Zaibach forces. Allen knew a lovesick expression when he saw one, although it was baffling why his friend would be directing such a look towards not only someone he barely knew, but someone whom he had every reason to despise.

"King Fanelia," Millerna said gently, "maybe we should escort you to your room?"

"Oh." With great effort, Van tore his gaze away from the door and looked up at the princess. "Right."

While the Asturian and Fanelian guards saluted and dispersed, along with the commoners, to ecstatically take part of the festivities, the royal entourage headed for the guest quarters. Allen exchanged baffled, worried looks with Millerna.

"I've taken care of it. Please don't worry," Eries whispered quietly in Allen's ear. He raised an eyebrow at Eries' presumptuous act, but to question a royal family member in full view of the public eye was unbefitting a mere Royal Guardman, no matter how heroic.

While Van's face began to harden over with the stoic mask required of his station, Millerna began to fill the King's ears with this, that, and everything about the upcoming festivities. She continued prattling on like a little girl as they strode into the palace, distracting anyone that might have been dwelling on the oddities of the last few moments. The fact that she could act nonchalant in the midst of Celena's abrupt departure was an unheard reminder that what had happened had not been seen.

Allen stole glances at Van while they travelled the corridors. His outward appearance remained dutifully as it should, but his eyes were glazed. He nodded appropriately, responded functionally, but his thoughts were clearly not on Millerna's current discription of the exquisite ballroom that had been constructed to not only entertain dignitaries, but to house prized Guymelefs as well.

A frown deepened on his handsome face. He remembered a young woman from a foreign land, vibrant, full of love and energy, whose innocence and unique beauty reminded him so much of she who he'd lost so long ago that his heart had been captured.

Van, my friend. I hope you won't make the same mistake as I did.

Celena ran mindlessly through the twists and turns of the palace, feuled by fear. The delightful porcelains and color wall hangings that had so fascinated her before fused into a tearful blur. She had care for neither human or object, and fleetingly she wondered how many maids she'd shoved or pots she'd broken. Eventually, the bright, populated environment gave way to gray and black. She tripped on a hard stair, the back of her gown tearing, but this was only a momentary delay. On she continued, her heart slamming against her ribs, begging her to stop and at least catch a decent breath. But she couldn't, she had to get away. She couldn't face those eyes again.

At the top of the staircase her body finally won the battle, collapsing itself onto the cold, stone floor. Violent sobs wracked her thin frame. Overwhelming her was a profound sense of misery and loss, the source of which was barely identifiable.

"Folken," she whispered, the name fleeing from the depths of her soul to escape from her lips. The name was a frustrating mystery. But to Dilandau, the man was Strategos to the Zaibach empire, intelligent and respectable, but entirely too wrapped up in meandering with scientific garbage to be a proper soldier. That and he'd kept the company of far too many strange, loathesome associates. For instance, that disgusting shape-shifter he'd had to deal with personally.

"Now that thing was even more disgusting than you are."

Celena scrambled to her feet and stumbled out into the open. A short glance around told her that somehow she'd ended up on the balcony of one of the castle towers. The sun was just beginning to make its descent into the hillsides, painting the sky with brilliant red and orange hues. Dilandau, comfortably clothed in his Dragonslayer Commander's unform, leaned against a nearby pillar and looked up wistfully at the fiery color array. "Ah," he murmured, an eager smile stretching his lips, "that reminds me of things I wish I were doing right now. Don't you agree?"

Panting, Celena leaned against a pillar, exhaustion causing her legs to quiver uncontrollably. "No, I don't."

He continued to gaze at the sky. "I see. Why, that would explain why you didn't crack open that lovesick shit's head on the ground like hedeserved." Dilandau's gleaming red eyes and feral smile widened even more. "Why, it would have been perfect to see his brains oozing onto the parapet in front of all the little soldiers and all his little friends." His voice lowered to an eager whisper. "My heart pounds just with the thought of it!"

Through his shrieking cackle, Celena found the strength to shout, "I won't do it! You can't make me!"

Dilandau whirled on her, suddenly furious. "Why? Because you think you love him?" He gripped her by the shoulders and shoved her hard against a pillar. "Understand this. I hate him! HATE HIM!"

She stared at him, barely breathing, too frightened to move. He leaned in close, peering malevolently into her wide, blue eyes. "But you think you love Folken, don't you? I wonder why. What sort of revolting trysts did you two have behind my back?"

At that, Celena became angry. No matter how transparent her memories were, the emotions that had been felt were still prevalent. How dare he stain the memory of the man she'd loved! She wriggled one arm out of his grip and did the unthinkable.

SMACK.

The feel of her hand against his cheek was satisfying, and for a moment she felt triumphant. They both stood still, frozen in the aftermath of the motion. Dilandau's head slowly twisted its way back towards her direction. Before then, she didn't think a look so insanely furious could exist on a human face.

"How. Dare. You."

"I'm sorry?" she whispered weakly. She struggled, trying to do everything in her power to free her remaining arm, but the leather encased hand around her wrist had tightened to the point where blood could no longer flow. The Dragonslayer Commander's free hand slowly pulled backwards, the fingers wrapping into a fist. Celena threw her free arm up to protect herself, screaming in pain and desperation.

Surprisingly, Dilandau released her and put his hands over his ears. His face took on a remarkably comical, worried expression, and his knees knocked together. "Aiii! Stop it! What did I do?"

Celena gaped at his suddenly high-pitched voice. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head a few times. When she looked again, Dilandau had disappeared. A beastwoman, dressed in the simple marked tunic that marked the young of the cat-tribes, was staring at her curiously.

"Allen's sister, right?" she quipped. Her paw-like hands were now folded behind her back and her nose was quivering quizzically in Celena's direction. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, rubbing her bruised wrist. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

The cat-girl apparently had little sense of subtlety; her narrowed eyes and o-shaped mouth were blatant signs that she did not believe Celena's statement.

"Riiiight. Who were you talking to then?"

"Me?" Celena pointed to herself and attempted to look innocent. "Oh, no one! Just, you know, remembering lines from my favourite, uhm, play." And if you buy that, I have a flying fortress to sell you.

"I seeee." Boy, Allen's sister is wierd! And she smells funny. Like Guymelefs and fear and flowers all at the same time. "Well, Princess Eries' sent me to get you. She said that you got lost."

"Thank you, Miss."

"It's Merle." She smirked mischeviously. "Lady Merle! Don't forget the 'Lady' part."

Celena mustered up all her remaining pride and stared the impudent beast woman down. Dilandau whispered softly in her ear, echoing aloud her inner thoughts. "What an obnoxious thing. I really should teach her a lesson. Perhaps dangle her by her tail over the balcony wall. What do you say?"

A mixture of frustration, fright, and irritation mingled on Celena's face. Merle's ears perked up at the strange expression. "Eh? Did you eat something funny?" She wandered closer to get a closer olfactory perception.

"Hey! Stop that! It tickles!"

"Ew." Merle pinched her own nose and waved a paw in front of it. "You reek! Did you even think to bathe this morning?"

"Of course I did!"

The cat-girl bent at the waist to get a closer inspection of Celena's dress. "Everthing's wrinkly and ripped. I bet you were running."

Celena cringed. "So?"

"Oh no!" Merle gasped and wrung her hands. "Are you going to start having visions?" she wailed. "And saying wierd things? And playing with funny looking cards?"

Celena was absolutely baffled. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing," Merle mewed. "Let's go! I have to take you to your room so you can get clean and look somewhat decent. Don't get lost again," she added under her breath.

Celena followed the kitten down the tower stairs and through the maze of extravagent royal decor. Neither of them spoke during the journey, although there was significant time to spark a conversation, due to the troubled plays of their own thoughts. Celena was preoccupied with keeping Dilandau at bay. Whispering taunts promising violent thrills were starting to become tempting, but she managed to force him back. Barely.

Merle's hackles were rising steadily. The guardsman had illustrated Eries' desire that Merle not mention Van's name when fetching Allen's sister, as well as a brief necessary description, but there were some very important other details that she felt had been left out.

That ugly short hair. That ditzy, clueless demeanor. That rude manner! Why, if it wasn't for the fact that she looked like Allen, she might as well be escorting Hitomi!

[ 10 ]

The ballroom for the occassion had been constructed with such delicious skill that nobles felt it necessary to point out the fact to the Princesses upon the beginning of every conversation. Even after the twentieth similar remark, the two sisters continued to agree that the architect they'd commissioned had truly done a wonderful job.

From the main entrance, one could sample practically all the sights that were to beheld. A high, windowed ceiling let in both light from the sun and the pair of moons, lending a magical aura at night to a room moderately lit by slender, golden candlebras. The white alabaster that arced down from the ceiling met a small strip of simple plaster border, from which dropped walls decorated at precise intervals with a combination of both new and old tapestries. Emanating from these silk paintings were the spirits of men and women from vital moments in Asturian history; the oldest depicting the first King stabbing the ground that would later house the royal palace, the newest of Alliance and Zaibach Guymelefs and soldiers standing in friendship and triumph while a white dragon flew overhead.

Van stared at that one the longest.

Between the tapestries alternated unopened, high crystal windows and opened windowed doors. Noblemen and women of all the Allied countries (which now included a few black-cloaked Madoushi) mingled amongst magnificent marble pillars that swirled with subtle blues and greens. Their expensive shoes walked upon polished stone floors, some of which was covered with rugs exotically sewn with patterns of dragons, a gift of the young Duke of Fried to his friends and family. On the far end, solemnly watching over the festivities, their polished armour and swords glinting slightly in the pale candlelight, were selected Guymelefs from each Allied country. Noticeably empty was the middle throne that had been reserved for Fanelia's royal instrument, Escaflowne. Even though they had suggested replacing the dormant Guymelef with one from the country's samurai legions, the King had refused, quietly adding that his brother would have preferred the vacancy.

Flanking the empty space were the only other Guymelefs that could have rivaled Escaflowne in size. On the right sat Scherezade, the golden insignia on its blue cloak gleaming from the shadows. On the left sat a Zaibach Oreades model, officer class, made in deep blue and gray metals.

Celena's breath caught in her throat when she saw the hulking machination looming down at her. Her hands shook, vino dribbling onto her knuckles. If only they had been thoughtful enough to provide one in his personal reds...

She forced herself out of Dilandau's musings, spinning away from the looming reminder of her (his) past, only to spill the remainder of her drink onto a black cloak. The man turned to catch her, grabbing the glass before it could shatter upon the stones.

"Are you all right, miss?"

At the polite query, Celena looked up. Dread filled her heart at the familiar sight of the dark clasps and overlays that marked a Zaibach Madoushi from the rest of the crowd. The man was middle aged, of a slight build, and clearly had been handsome at one point. However, stress had etched fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and a pair of thin spectacles aged him even further. Long brown hair was neatfully tied back, some of which stubbornly sprouted out at the top, the remainder spilling down one shoulder. Her mind's eye brightened the color of his hair, removed the glasses and the creases, deepened the voice...

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Were you admiring the craftmanship?" The Madoushi looked up wistfully at the Oreades. "I admit, we really don't need such symbols of war anymore, although sometimes it serves as quite the reminder. Doesn't it, young lady?" He turned, only to find an empty space. Confused, he swiftly scanned the immediate crowd, only to see her silvery mop retreating towards one of the doorways.

"It's her, isn't it?"

He turned to his female companion. Despite the festivities, and his urging, she'd refused to put on more tasteful attire and instead remained in her Guymelef pilot's uniform. He patted her shoulder, mindful of the spike that jutted out from the shoulderpad. "Yes, my dear. We will need to watch her carefully."

The tall woman nodded, looking through the thick crowd of noblemen and royalty at Celena's retreating form. "This is dangerous. I should have been allowed my sword."

"With the bond between these countries as shakey as it is?" He chuckled. "No, if he is truly still a danger, I have taken my own precautions."

Van's eyes had followed Celena much of the night, in between being introduced to a few of the rather comely daughters of his peers. After the third girl (some painted second daughter of a portly Egzardian politician trying to weed his way into international circles), he muttered something halfway polite and began shoving his way through the crowd.

(In a far corner, Gaddes whispered a small cry out triumph, and a crew of gentlemen who looked distinctly uncomfortable admist the refinery handed him their bet money.)

Allen watched Van from the middle of the room. Surrounded by fawning dignitaries, their proposals and praises, he was unable to do anything other than smile and nod where he stood. The Asturian princesses, noticing his distress and their guest's sudden disappearance, were likewise trapped. All three silently cursed both their honour and their luck.

Van ignored the gibbering protests of the offended Egzardian and started shoving his way through the crowd. A few moved out of his way instantly, recognizing the face of the Fanelian king. Others had to be prompted by their fellows or pushed aside. These men and women turned their noses instantly at the ragged looking boy. In his unwillingness to decorate himself in a "kingly" manner (amongst all manner of objections from his friends and advisors), Van had simply worn what was comfortable to him; a sleeveless red tunic laced at the top, his pale slacks, leather boots, and the teardrop pendant.

His heart pounded. It had been little over a year since he'd watched Hitomi disappear into the column of light. Each passing day made the ache in his heart grow a little more. There were times he thought he could see her standing with him in his personal chambers. Sometimes she was dressed in Millerna's gown, bringing back that one awkward moment that she had taken his breath away, sometimes she was in that strange short pleated skirt and jacket that she often preferred. He would tell her everything; how Fanelia was being recontructed, how Merle was growing, the troubles with his new responsibilities, how he missed her, how he wished he could touch her, how he wished that he could have done what was right more often while they had been together...

Her eyes would gaze at him lovingly, and she would nod sympathetically. When he would speak of that which could have been, she would become sad and turn away. He would reach out to gather her into his arms, to comfort her, to meet his lips on hers, and the apparition would disappear, leaving him only to his empty room of stone and wood. Merle would always be there afterwards. Her soft arms would wrap around his body, closing him in a tight embrace while the tears quietly fell. Only she knew of these late night moments, when the legendary boy King who'd rebuilt his country from ashes and rubble gave in to his lonliness and regret.

So when Celena's beauty took his breath away and stopped a pulse that had been racing with a buried anger, he nearly screamed aloud. What would all those moments of pain be worth if he found himself adoring that which he had sworn to hate?

Van clenched his fists and continued pushing his way through the seemingly endless throng of perfumed emissaries. He had to speak with her, if only to see the sneer n her face, hear the malicious tones that had to be in her voice, and gaze into eyes that would reveal the ugliness that lay within. Then he could deny lump in his throat and the ache in his heart.

There would be no way he would let himself love Dilandau Albatou.

As her hand reached out to make a polite request for room, a small commotion erupted to her left. She looked over, where a crude looking young man dressed in an outlandishly casual tunic and pants was roughly making his way through sparkling dresses and expensive coats. A few brief moments passed before she was able to recognize the teardrop pendant swinging from his neck and the reddish black eyes that were bearing down on her like two sharp shot arrows.

She had to get away.

Desire for subtlety pushed aside by panic, she toppled a wigged Asturian councilmember and the robed Daedalian he was flirting with, neatly twirled to avoid a vino-bearing maid, and began winding her way through the maze of conversing gentlemen and women. She made her pathway erratic, going every which way she could, hoping to lose her pursuer. Yet every time she turned she caught the strange gleam of his signature pendant. She peered through the gap between a through a few tightly knit Basramlic scientists (slightly chilled by their nonchalant conversation concerning experimentations on small live mammals), finally finding what she'd hoped was an unlocked door. She began shoving her way through.

Warm fingers, calloused and strong, wrapped around her upper forearm. She turned, praying to all the gods that it was not who she thought it was, and her breath stopped. Their eyes met. All the conversation, music, the clinking of glasses, the shuffle of expensive cloth faded under the low throbbing of her heart. His mouth opened, to condemn her or to adore her she did not know...

...And remained that way, the words frozen in his throat.

Those eyes of hers! Just as arresting to a man's heart as Allen's were to a woman's, full of passion and beauty, set into a narrow, heart-shaped face that was soft on the edges and angled only in the nose. Her lips were neither full nor thin but made to look perfectly appropriate for her other features, correct for speaking, enough for kissing. Her dress, Asturian style, was tight at the top and bloomed into a skirt below, exposing the roundness of her breasts and the smallness of her waist, but leaving questionable the shape of her legs. The pale, exposed arm was soft to the touch, but hard within, which meant that unlike the flowery, giddy maids that he'd had the displeasure of meeting earlier, she was no stranger to physical exertion. To Van, everything was so wonderously inviting. He began to draw her closer.

Fear blurred the beauty, for it was then that he saw what he'd originally hoped for. The emotion in her eyes became touched by the hints of a malicious intent, burning with a hate that was all too recognizable. The shapely lips curled minutely, further blackening her appearance, as the psychotic within struggled to come to fore.

The interplay of desire and hate made the Van's face blur before her eyes while the remainder of the room swirled in the background. She fought tears of pain and frustration and tried pulling her arm away. "My Lord Van," she said, her voice surprisingly cold and steady, "did you need something of me? If you are looking for my brother, he is over there."

"I'm not looking for him," he returned.

Celena thought he sounded almost... disheartened. A snarl was Dilandau's only appraisal. She lowered her voice, conscious of a few people who had started to discreetly eavesdrop on what appeared to be Van's advancement on a possible candidate. "You are making a scene, my lord. Release my arm."

"You'll run again."

Celena swallowed. It had crossed her mind. She raised her tone. "I apologize for my rudeness earlier, my lord. Are you interested in my hand by chance? If so, you'll need to talk to my--" Van jerked her forward suddenly, bringing their faces within a handspan's of each other. From one side she heard the stifled, horrified gasp of a hopeful queen-to-be. "--brother," she finished, her tone barely above a whisper.

"Who are you really?" he hissed.

"I don't understand the question," she responded, much louder than was necessary. Her (his) anger was becoming more difficult to restrain. Dilandau grinned triumphantly, his fingers breaking through the fraying barrier between their minds. "Let go of me this instant."

Van's voice rose as well. He hadn't meant to goad her this far, but now that he'd started he didn't know how to stop. If she was -- if she still IS him -- he needed to prove it. Then, he could be finally disgusted with her, be done with this whole ridiculous infatuation, and return to thinking about the woman who truly mattered. "You know damn well what I mean." Unconsciously, he tightened the grip around her arm. Those nearest to them were blatantly staring at the outlandish conversation, creating a steadily growing bubble of silence with Van and Celena at the center. "Answer me!"

Celena backhanded him.

The crack of knuckle meeting cheekbone reverberated in a room that had become empty of sound only moments before. There was none of the prim and proper manner that a lady's slap would have entailed. This was a blow blessed with skill born of practise, and the explosion of a fury which had waited long for release. Van's rolled with the blow, staggering when he could have fallen, his mouth filling with the coppery taste of his own blood. He regained his footing, then stumbled a few steps backwards when Celena screamed.

Those eyes that had captivated him only minutes before were now wide and crazed, and he could swear that their blue depths had begun to redden. Tears were finding ragged pathways down her cheeks. Tufts of hair sprouted between fingers whose grasp destroyed the once elegant style. She screamed again, and fell to her knees. Van, as well as any nobleman or woman within arm's reach of her, stepped back in horror.

"Stop it, STOP IT!!"

You really don't know, do you? You don' t know what he's done to me!

A bright sword flashed. Pain seared up her right jaw.

The least of his transgressions.

Bloodcurdling screams filled her ears. Familiar boys' voices howled for aide and mercy, only to be cut off by the roar of flame-engulfed chemicals.

"No! No! Don't let me see!"

What about him? He who we both cared for...?

...Not Folken...

A kind face filled her vision, comforting to the both of them, smiling that wide, unusual way that only his people could. He held her when others were abusing her, stroking away tears of terror and loss, always understanding, being there when nearly no one else was, an affirmation that there was something else out there that was better than this...

He was loyal. Immeasureably loyal. Without the Strategos to direct him, with his Dragonslayers to idolize him, there was no one except for him. One lone beastman under his command, but one wealthy in skill. Under the obedient exterior was there, perhaps, a note of compassion...?

...And now he was crying out his last, desperate words. They echoed from the tiny speaker inside the Guymelef's chamber. Change back! Go back to that sweet girl you once were! Then that roar, the same one that had taken his compatriots... Escaflowne's terrible form approaching, suddenly blockaded by the swirl of a dark blue cape...

...Jajuka...

...Jajuka...

Sadness and anger colored the chilling shriek that burst from Celena's lips. She hunched over. Van took a few hesitant steps forward, horrified that he had been the catalyst to whatever fit she was having. He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, then immediately snatched it back. Onlookers gasped, and someone called out for a doctor.

"By all the gods, let me through!" Allen desperately tried to get past the throng of gaping emissaries without being impolite, but most wereunwilling to let go of a view to a most fascinating dilemma. After a few moments he lost all sense of propriety, and began shoving men and women out of his way. Someone began shouting for the castle guards. The elder princess began cajoling those that took offense, while the younger raced through the path left by the panicked war hero.

At Van's touch, Celena's shoulders expanded and retracted, almost as if she had taken an impossibly deep breath. Her dress ripped, as well as the corset underneath, exposing the pale flesh of her back. The king marvelled at the tone, wondering how a girl so delicate looking could have muscles that rivalled his, although he could swear that the general size of her had grown. Something inside of him cried warning, but he was far too immersed in guilt to notice. Celena grew suddenly calm, releasing her hair to transfix a gaze on her hands as if seeing them for the first time.

"C-Celena," Van stammered, trying to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay--"

A hand shot out and grasped his neck. He was pulled upwards, choking, the torn remanents of Celena' gown falling away to reveal a young man's hardened chest.

"Vannn..." Dilandau whispered, relishing the ability to vocalize the abomination. His mouth stretched in an eager, bloodthirsty smile. "I'm feeling quite well, thank you."

[ ...End Part II ]

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Author's Notes

Well, revision number... something was posted December 1, 2000. Luckily I'd been going through these chapters over and over while I worked on Part 3, so that there really wasn't as much to do as in Part 1. If you've been following the story, you'll see that the chapter numbers have been miffed a bit, but that's ok because that has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STORYLINE! Ow, ok, stop yelling, flu-infected sinuses not like that. On to some other stuffz.

Chapter 8: The first two scenes are original. However the final one is: Episode 24 - Allen has taken Celena, who has mysteriously returned (after Dilandau's disappearance from the battlefield) to their mother's grave, along with the Princess Eries. Celena then catches a butterfly and crushes it. She transforms back into Dilandau. He screams for Jajuka, who appears and whisks him away. Allen and Eries are left behind, shocked.

Chapter 9: The two scenes that Celena sees are:

Episode 5 - Dilandau approaches Van through the fog in the Vione Guymelef bay. Folken throws Van his sword. Hitomi warns Van of Dilandau's impending attack. Dilandau: "Kirai!" (I hate you!) Van slices his face, creating the infamous scar.

Episode 14 - Dilandau and the Dragonslayers surround Van after he leaps from the Crusade. Van slaughters the Dragonslayers one after another while Dilandau looks on in horror. Van advances on Dilandau, but before he can, the spirits of the Dragonslayers interact with the combination of Escaflowne's Ispano properties and Van's Atlantean blood, causing Van to descend into a state of madness / unconsciousness. Dilandau flees, unaware of what really happened, only that Van did not attack him.

Chapter 12: Miscellaneous Ramblings!

The "white dragon" referred to on the paintings is none other than Van in Episode 26, flying overhead towards Zaibach. The appearance of the "dragon" helped to put an end to the insanity that had occurred when Emperor Dornkirk activated his machine.

Though many contend that Van and Hitomi actually see each other and actually speak, I've taken the approach that they only see illusions. This does nothing to hinder their love, but puts a more lonely, tragic spin on their relationship.

Many of the Japanese idioms have been translated / transformed into their English counterparts. However, the commercially subbed version leaves samurai alone in reference to the Fanelian Guymelef legions, which probably makes Fanelia the Gaean version of Japan. Theoretically, it seperates the prime of the soldiers, much like the Knights Caeli or the Dragonslayers.  Madoushi has also been left alone in the fic, mostly because it gives the Zaibach Sorcerers a mysterious title.

Chapter 13: More miscellaneous thingamabobbers.

The specific country references were taken from the Escaflowne Compendium.

The following episodes were referenced:

Episode 5 - Van slicing Dilandau's face, creating the infamous scar.

Episode 14 - Van tearing down the Dragonslayers.

Episode 23 - Jajuka meeting Dilandau as his only Dragonslayer.

Episode 26 - Jajuka / Dilandau / Celena remember the Zaibach dungeons, as a young Celena is given under the care of a kind beastman.

Episode 26 - Jajuka being cut down by Van, shouting his last words. Dilandau then makes his final transformation. The "dark blue cape" is Allen's Scherezade, blocking Van's attempt to cut down Dilandau in his Oreades.