Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Secrets ❯ Challenge ( Chapter 9 )

Secrets

Chapter Nine

Challenge

An: Here it is! The long awaited Chapter Nine! Enjoy ^-^!

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"NO! As a citizen of Asturia I have the right to challenge that!" Celena screamed.

"What?"

" I said no! By the laws of Asturia, I challenge you to a melef battle for his life."

"Do you know what you're doing, Celena?" Millerna asked quietly.

"Of course."

"I refuse to allow it!" Allen bellowed, pounding his fist on his desk.

"Well then, screw you, Allen!"

"I accept," came Van's quiet reply to the challenge. Then, speaking to the rest of the room, said, "According to the laws of Asturia, it is her right to stand for him. Is that not right, Princess Millerna?" she nodded and he continued, "We battle tomorrow. But, I will not kill her."

"Nor will I kill you."

"Very well then," Millerna interjected, "Fourteen moons from tomorrow, at dawn."

Allen, who was left speechless, mouthed soundlessly like a fish out of water and then dropped his head into his hands, his posture utterly defeated. Van exited the room followed quickly by Allen and Millerna.

That left only Dilandau and Celena; the two were standing on the edge of Allen's garden staring at the fountain with blank expressions on their faces, neither saying anything. Dilandau had his back against the wall since he had refused to turn it towards Van's general direction. Celena didn't blame him either. She knew what Van had done to the Slayers.

She, personally, had no qualms about maiming him…badly. Of course she didn't want him dead, she'd seen enough death to last her a lifetime but she wouldn't mind seeing him hurt for all of what he did. He'd never heard their screams; they didn't haunt him in the dead of night. Even if she had never spoken to any of them face to face as Celena, she knew them all just as well as Dilandau did and maybe even one or two things more on the side. Gossip, on Vione, was rare but highly reliable and though Dilandau had no time to listen to it, Celena had found herself listening with interest while Dilandau stared of into emptiness with a blank expression on his face.

Yes, it was true, she wouldn't move a muscle to save Van Fanel from harm. Death maybe, but not physical pain, not even intense physical pain. She would, in fact, probably look on and relish his screams and cries for mercy. She would listen and look and smile but she would not help. She realised exactly why her fighting him would not be a problem. She smiled a half pleased, half rueful smile to herself and Dilandau looked at her with questioning eyes. He spoke suddenly.

"Why?" he asked, catching her off guard. Why what?

"Pardon?"

"Why are you going to fight him? It really doesn't concern you, Lady Schezar," he said sounding cold and distant. The way he used inside her head. "You really don't have any reason to put your life in danger. After all, it's not as though I'm unable to protect myself. I don't need a woman to stand up for me."

"Then who would have? Allen wasn't going to and you couldn't fight for yourself. Someone had to stand for you and I wasn't just going to sit there and watch what I was for ten years simply be disposed of in one of the most vile ways I deem possible. At the hands of Van Fanel.

"In any case, you're a part of me whether you or I like it or not and we're going to have to live with that. I want to know about those missing ten years of my life from 'my' point of view…I'd miss your sarcasm too. And, come to think of it, who would be there to teach me all of that 'unladylike language'?" she grinned at him and, to his complete displeasure, he found himself smiling back too. Maybe she wasn't as submissive as he had thought.

As they walked out of the study, they strolled along the corridors of Schezar Manor, staying as far away from Van and Allen as possible and talked of small unimportant things until they passed the melef hold. It was a huge room with high, arched windows on two sides that let the moonlight in and a giant door, large enough to allow two melefs pass shoulder to shoulder (with space) made up the third wall. The only things casting shadows were the guymelefs.

Scherazade was there, along with one or two other guymelefs that Allen had and Celena took Dilandau in to show them to him. Apart from Scherezade, there were two older models that seemed to be outdated but in good shape; another that looked to be an extremely expensive Ispano; and finally, one black that looked like it was modelled after Dilandau's own Alseides.

He stared at it in awe then turned to Celena and asked, "Have you ever piloted one of these things before?"

"No."

"You do know that you challenged him to a melef battle, do you not?"

"Yes."

"Then you need training," he said, eyes bright with excitement. "Do you know how to get these out onto the courts?"

"'Courts'?" she asked.

"Where does Allen train?" he asked by way of explanation.

"Oh, the arena! Of course I can get you out there."

"Arena? When I thought Schezar couldn't get any worse." He mumbled and Celena shot him a disapproving look that he ignored, "Good. I'm going to teach you how to use these things."

"Why?"

"You're not the only who would like me to live to see the next colour," he answered, giving her a feral grin. She smiled back and he walked around the room, which was obviously the soldier training room also because of the irrational amount of open space left in the centre of the circle of guymelefs.

Coming up to one of the many weapons racks located at various points in the circle, he pulled out two very fine and extremely sharp swords. Weighing them, he decided to keep one and walked over to her, the mounting of the second sword held out to her. Taking the hint, she gripped it and was amazed to find that it felt like a second nature holding it. It was almost like an extension of her arm; completely natural and at the same time seductive in the fact that she would never be able to hold one of these again if Allen had anything to say about it. Regardless of the fact that she never held a sword in her life, or at least in the portions which she remembered, she felt at ease instantly.

"Feel familiar to you, Lady Schezar?" he asked, a slightly amused to tone to his normally cold voice. He was studying her reaction with interest. How much had she been conscious of? Could she remember things that he had learnt, that he had thought and, especially, things that he had felt? Well, here was his chance to find out. From the expression on her moonlit face, he gathered that she didn't realise she had his memories stored deep inside her. It would be fun watching her find knowledge she didn't know she possessed.

"Actually, yes," she said, smiling with a hint of wickedness in her voice. "In fact, I think, I remember Folken taking me through my paces over and over while on the Vione. I hated it!" she finished; her laughter tainted with sadness.

Dilandau knew. Although she had said 'me' it had been him going though those paces. She had lived his life and he remembered hating going through his paces when he really wanted to get into his Alseides and burn something down. He remembered Folken watching like hawk, circling him, observing his every movement from every angle, finding faults in his stance, attacks and, occasionally, even his grip.

He remembered everything that Folken had ever said to him during those sessions. He remembered replaying the insults to help build up his rage. And he remembered relishing secretly the rare and valuable praise bestowed upon him after particularly good sessions. He had loved Folken, not as he would a lover, but as one would a surrogate elder brother. He'd never have admitted it to anyone though.

Strangely enough Folken had been a Fanel, was supposed to have been the heir to all of Fanelia at one point in time. But Folken was dead now, so were the Slayers and all he had left to remind him that they lived and that he hadn't woken up one strange day from a terrible, horrifying and, not to mention, long dream, was Celena.

Suddenly, he had to stop. Walking over to her, he quietly took the sword from her hand, his fingers never coming into contact with hers, and replaced both.

"Tomorrow, at dawn." With that, he turned and walked away, out of the hold. He wandered some but finally managed to find himself in a secluded part of the house on a balcony that stared out over wide, rolling, hilly expanses of forest. He stared up at the mystic moon.

"WHY THEM? WHY ME? WHY HER? WHY?" he screamed at it as though it had answers no one else had. "BASTARDS! I HATE YOU ALL! I HATE THEM! I HATE HER! I HATE YOU TOO, FOLKEN! BLOODY BASTARDS, ALL OF YOU! FUCK OFF! FUCK YOU AND GOODNIGHT!" He sighed. If only he could burn something.

Finally somewhat relieved, he closed his eyes and let his memories wash over him. Faces, places, events…they all came back. He hated all of it. He couldn't escape it, he couldn't deny it, he didn't want to loose it but he hated it. For some reason, in a time when he was unsure of everything around him, he knew two things for sure. He remembered.

And he hated it.

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An: There you go! It's not as much of a cliffhanger as I'd liked it to be, but it works.

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