Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ A Sylphe's Journey ❯ Of Dragons and Diplomacy ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne nor any of the beings which reside within that world. I do, however, own anyone who my unique little mind happens to invent.

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A sunset of the purest oranges and pinks kissed the mountainside, making its rough surface blush a tawny bronze. Deceptive in its primal simplicity, the wall of huge stones and gnarled trees hid a glorious labyrinth of carved tunnels and caves. This was the home of a most ancient and secretive race: the dragon people whose hearts pulsed in time with the life force of Gaea. Once, long before man had ever thought of recording his history, they had lived among the other peoples of their lush, green world, but deeply disturbed and sickened by the vices and violence that surrounded them, they retreated deep into the Askvoil mountains to live in safety and in solitude. This rocky range became their fortress; a fortress which had saved their sacred ways from destruction, a fortress which had bastioned them from the chaos of a land gone mad, a fortress which was now under siege...

With a low, guttural growl, Lord Haethcyn lurched up out of his chair and slammed his scaled hands upon the desk before him, his claws digging deep dents into its wooden surface. He narrowed his golden eyes at the man who sat so calmly across from him, this creature who, swathed in a flowing, black cloak, looked and moved like a shadow come to life.

"Why can you not realize that what you ask is impossible?", the dragon clan's chief hissed at Zaibach's Strategos.

His opponent's pale complexion glowed eerily in the torch light as their gazes locked. The face of a dragon man is a mosaic of tough scales, skin, and sinews which does not lend itself easily to expression; his feelings are conveyed solely through his eyes, sending a concentrated shot of pure emotion in a mere glance. This power is alarming to those unused to it, but Strategos Folken held Lord Haethcyn's gaze without so much as twitch of his darkly maroon eyes.

His features equally expressionless, he replied, "Our request is hardly impossible, Lord Haethcyn. Infact, I believe you will find it quite feasible when compared to an alternative."

Ignoring that thinly veiled threat, the dragon chief continued his protest.

"In over two thousand years, no clansdragon has ever left the mountain city to live in your iniquitous, depraved world--"

"And much has changed in that time," interjected Folken, his voice laden with infinite patience, "I am most certain that your chosen representative will find that life on the outside is not quite so vile as you seem to think it."

"There will be no representative!!", Lord Haethcyn thundered as his claws made a second assault on the desktop, "For a clansdragon to even consider such a thing would be beyond dishonour! His breaking of tradition would cause an irreparable rip in the fabric of our society!"

"Your society," Folken repeated. His low voice made the words seem like invisible velvet butterflies fluttering softly through the tense atmosphere of the dragon lord's chambers. "Yes," he continued, "though I know little of your race, I admit that I have always admired you. The dragon people seem to be born with an innate wisdom, a deeper knowledge of Gaea..."

He's flattering me!, thought Lord Haethcyn, gritting his fangs, How dare this high-handed bastard try so basely to deceive me?! Then a new thought tugged sharply at the corner of his mind. Cajolery was indeed far beneath a politician of the Strategos' genius. To have reduced him to this weak tactic could only mean that Lord Haethcyn's own victory was close at hand. Triumph trickled through his being. Let the fool continue...Let him see how far it gets him...

"I was glad to learn of the civic agreement between us, glad to know that though you would be the Emperor's subjects, your way of life would remain untouched. It would pain me to see that changed, to see you and your people...forcibly assimilated."

Lord Haethcyn's blood seemed to freeze in its veins; the threat was veiled no longer.

"You can't--" he sputtered, choking on his words and on his wrath.

"The dragon people are legally citizens of Zaibach. The Emperor can do whatever he wishes."

The mighty lord closed his eyes. It's true, he thought as he sank, deflated, into his chair, It's true, damn him. The dragon man's shoulders sank, and he lowered his proud head in defeat. Will I sacrifice my people on a matter of pride? But, who would go...who would possibly agree to such a thing...?

"Surely there is someone you can think of to send," the Strategos urged quietly. Now that his force had been demonstrated, he preferred to rely on gentle persuasion and let the man think that the decision had been his. " We only ask for one person. You must have one in mind."

One...one...The word turned itself over and over in Lord Haethcyn's mind...One...a single clansdragon...no...a single PERSON ...he asks for a single person...One PERSON...

"Yes," he replied slowly, not raising his eyes. He would not meet that man's gaze, "Yes, there is one..."

"Excellent," said Lord Folken as he rose from his chair, "He and I will depart tomorrow."

"She," corrected Lord Haethcyn, concentrating on the scratches in his desk top. "It is a woman."

Folken Fanel glanced up at the early morning sky as he emerged from the dragon people's city with Lord Haethcyn at his side. The horizon was that kind of smoky grey which promised to soon cover the land in a fine mist of rain; the perfect atmosphere for an unwanted departure from one's home and family.

The scene is set, but where are the actors?, mused Folken as he surveyed his surroundings. The Strategos had expected a poignant commotion of tearful farewells, but instead he was presented with simply the waiting carriage, its glass windows showing nothing but a small figure huddled in one corner, a rough brown cloak wrapped tightly around her to guard against the chill in the air. Upon questioning the dragons' chief, he learned the reason for this lack of ceremony: she was an orphan.

"I believed it would make things easier," Lord Haethcyn explained ambiguously.

"I see. Good health and good luck to you, my lord," replied Folken, giving a slight bow.

"Farewell, Strategos," he retorted as he turned and disappeared back into the mountain.

Folken entered the carriage and signalled to the driver to move on. After settling himself in , he turned his gaze to his ever silent companion. She was curled up in the vehicle's soft, plush cushions, her wrap muffling her figure and face so well that had it not been for one rather long leg hanging over the edge of the seat, she could have easily been mistaken for a pile of old clothes.

The one legged bundle of cloth made no attempt to talk to Folken, and he reciprocated the favour. Exchanging idle pleasantries and small talk had never been his calling, and judging from the sound of her breathing, she was asleep anyway.

They were making good time, and Folken leaned back to watch the scenery of Zaibach fly by. Most of Gaea thought of the Empire as a maze of cold metallic cities and factories devoid of any beauty or charm. Folken had to acknowledge that for the most part this was true; Zaibach had not the delightful bays and coves of Austuria, nor the solemn temples of Freid, nor any of the hundred other breathtaking sights claimed by countries like Ezgardia or Cesario. Its cities were harsh to the eyes, its countryside barren. Yet, in the emptiness, Folken found a different sort of beauty, a beauty he saw in the simplicity, in the vast, wide spaces that left him awed and strangely moved.

The simplicity of Zaibach's road's, however, is another matter entirely, he thought as the carriage hit a particularly large pothole, jostling Folken about in his seat and causing his fellow traveller to tumble onto the carriage floor with an unholy shriek.

"Oww, my knees!", she groaned incoherently, wrestling with her cloak which had become tangled about her.

Barely suppressing a chuckle, Folken reached down to help. He freed her head from its cloth prison and received a shock greater than the one caused by the bumpy road. Staring up at him with a pair of eyes greener than the forests of Fanelia was a young woman...a young human woman.

"Good morn--AAHCK!!", she cried as the carriage gave another lurch, sending her sprawling sideways. Quickly, Folken grabbed her with both arms to keep her head from smashing into the door. Helping this mysterious female back into the seat across from him, he noticed that her gaze was fixed upon his prosthetic appendage.

Well, that's to be expected, isn't it?, he told himself, remembering his own horrified reaction the first time he had seen his new body part. The contraption was all gears and wires and sharp, spikey edges. Who wouldn't be repulsed? Folken thought grimly as he prepared himself for the usual onslaught of curious, apprehensive questions: "Can you feel anything with it?", "Does it need to be oiled", "How long have you had it?", and worst of all, "How did you lose the real one?"

However, the expected interrogation never came.

"You have a dragon's arm," said the girl , her voice full of unexpected wonderment.

Never having thought of it that way, Folken fixed his eyes upon what even by Zaibach's standard's was seen as a marvel of technology. He supposed that it did look rather reptilian; the metal plates resembling scales and the fingers ending in claw like points. Having his replacement likened to the beast which had taken the original was more than a little disconcerting, but Folken felt no grudge towards the young woman. She could not have known the significance of her words.

"Yes," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, "Surprisingly enough, I am more of a dragon than you are..."

"Hitomi, my lord," she supplied, "Hitomi Kanzaki."

"Forgive me for saying so, Hitomi, but you are not exactly what or who I was expecting."

The brilliant emerald eyes that seemed to dominate Hitomi's heart shaped face sparkled mischievously at his words. Her lips curved into an elfin smile as she silently reached into her shirt and presented Folken with a letter bearing Lord Haethcyn's seal.

Folken shook his head as he read the document. Hitomi was indeed an orphan who had lived with the dragon people for more than half of her life. She had intimate knowledge of their customs, their ways, and was in Lord Haethcyn's words, "...the one person completely suitable for the job of being their representative in Zaibach..."

The old lizard even has it underlined, thought Folken ruefully. The Emperor's Strategos had been tricked, tricked with his own words.

"Dragon logic." he muttered under his breath, his voice filled half with disgust and half with admiration.

"How else do you think they convinced me to come with you?"

Her melancholy tone caused Folken look up from Lord Haethcyn's message. The sparkle had vanished from her eyes, and her smile had become almost mournful. Folken could not blame her; the dragon people were notoriously xenophobic. As far as they were concerned, anything or anyone outside their society was not to be trusted, nor to be welcomed into their reclusive world. It was a miracle in itself that they had taken in Hitomi. Whatever friends or family she had left behind in the city carved in the mountain, she was as good as dead to them now. Folken understood this feeling very well indeed.

As he searched his mind for a way to reassure this mysterious creature who had stumbled, or rather tumbled, into his life, he felt the carriage come to a stop. The coach man leapt down from his seat and opened the door, greeting them both with a staid salute.

"We've reached the Vione, my lord."

TBC...