Another Life

an Escaflowne fanfic

by Serenade

Written for Marie in the Yuletide 2007 challenge.

Spoilers for the end of the series.

Insert standard disclaimer here.

Dilandau clutched at the rim of the sink and threw up again. This time he was sure his stomach had nothing left in it. He ran the tap afterward, washing the remains of what had been a splendid banquet down the drain. Cupped water in his palm, rinsed out his mouth, raised his head to the scalloped mirror. He looked haggard. A few limp violets still clung to his hair; with a disgusted sound he shook them out with his fingers.

The dress was ruined, of course. Satin and lace didn't take kindly to being rolled around on a bathroom floor by someone thrashing about in a fit. And the seams had split right up the side; he might be slim for a seventeen year old boy, but not for a seventeen year old girl.

A knock on the door. "Is anyone in there?" a female voice called.

Dilandau stayed silent. The doorknob rattled, but the chair he had shoved underneath it held fast. After another moment, footsteps retreated. He sagged in relief.

He couldn't hide in here forever. How did one plan for situations like this? Of all the challenges Dilandau had ever imagined facing, his present predicament had not been among them.

First he had to get out of these clothes. He struggled out of the ruined ballgown, its seams splitting further as he worked it past his hips. And the less said about corsets and petticoats, the better. Those idiotic pointed slippers were bad enough.

He was left standing barefoot in a white linen shift. Whatever. He wasn't planning to go back out and rejoin the lords and ladies on the ballroom floor.

The bathroom was huge, as big as Celena's bedroom in the Schezar manor, but it only had the one window. Dilandau paced over to it, past tasteful mosaics of seashells and dolphins, and looked out. The pale light of the Mystic Moon illuminated the paved courtyards and marble fountains of the royal palace of Asturia. He was three storeys up, but there was a ledge that he might be able to use to make it onto the adjoining roof.

Another knock on the door, louder and firmer. "Celena?" Allen called. "They said you were in here. Are you all right?"

Dilandau froze, stomach sinking. He didn't dare answer. His voice had broken a year ago.

He levered open the window and climbed up onto the sill. He could slide out, sprint away, find somewhere to hide until dawn broke and he changed back. So what if Celena Schezar gained a reputation for fleeing from balls and running about half-naked like a wild animal. She was already thought odd. Her reputation could take it.

"Celena, are you decent? I'm coming in."

The door burst open, the chair toppling sideways to the floor. Allen stood breathless in the doorway, impeccably neat in the formal dress uniform of a Knight Caeli, his ceremonial sword by his side. Dilandau clung to the window sill, hair falling loose about his neck, clad only a thin shift that barely came down to his knees. Both of them stared in shocked silence.

Allen was first to find his voice. "Dilandau. Get down from there."

"Or what?" Automatic response, answering challenge with challenge.

"Do you want to be seen?"

Dilandau became aware of the picture he must present to anyone who happened to be passing by. One stray glance upwards would reveal him clearly silhouetted in the window. He reluctantly slid down, landing in a wary crouch.

Allen stepped inside and shut the door behind him. His gaze swept the room. Took in the overturned chair, the torn dress, the discarded slippers.

"What happened?"

"What do you think happened?" Dilandau bit out. "Too many people, too much noise, too many lights. What made you think it was a good idea to take your sister to a ball?"

"We were going to leave early. Well before midnight." Allen glanced at the dress again. "It seems I made a mistake."

"Wait," Dilandau said. "You--knew? What happened at night."

Allen didn't answer. But his eyes betrayed him.

"But why--you've been pretending?" The room reeled. "Why the hell--what kind of sick joke--have you been laughing at me?"

"Dilandau--" Allen reached out a hand.

"Don't touch me!" He swung at Allen, who stepped back. Both of them were surprised when Dilandau's fist connected with Allen's jaw. Evidently, he had a longer reach than he used to.

Allen staggered and straightened, narrowing his eyes. "You don't want to do this." He made no move towards his sword, but dropped into a guarding stance.

"Oh yeah?" Dilandau said, and launched himself at Allen.

Escaflowne stalked through the landscape of Dilandau's nightmares, huge, monstrous, unstoppable, cutting down his men like daisies in a field. So when Dilandau woke up, screaming, sweating, it hardly surprised him to see Folken standing over his bed, black wings arching above his shoulders like he was some angel of death. Another fever dream.

"I'm leaving," Folken said, brushing his knuckles against Dilandau's forehead. "I thought I owed it to you to tell you to your face."

"Leaving?" Dilandau struggled to sit up. "What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving Zaibach. I will not be a part of this war anymore."

Dilandau grabbed the other man's arm. "You're talking treason."

Folken didn't flinch, only raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to turn me in?"

Several long moments passed. Finally, Dilandau let go. "No. I owe you that much." He sank back on the pillows in disgusted resignation. "Is this because of your brother?"

"I have a number of reasons. But yes, that is one."

"What makes you think he wants to see you?"

"Nothing." The ghost of a smile. "But I want to see him, because one day it will be too late." Folken stretched his wings; a few black feathers fluttered loose and spiralled to the floor. "It's not often you get a second chance."

"Are you satisfied, now that we both look a disgrace?" Allen dabbed at his split lip with a handkerchief, eyeing his own reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Actually, yeah, I am." Dilandau sat propped up against the wall. The adrenalin had come and gone, leaving a strange lassitude behind.

Allen turned. "You should let me look at that eye."

"I said I was fine." Dilandau couldn't resist touching the swelling again though. It would be a spectacular bruise in the morning. "Scared people will think you beat your sister?"

Allen sighed. "At least put ice on it when we get home."

Dilandau leaned his head back against the cool tiles. Outside, crystal chinked, laughter sparkled, and violins played the waltz. But inside, it was a bubble of a world, where the laws of reality didn't apply.

"I wasn't laughing at you," Allen said. "I hoped you would tell me yourself when you were ready."

"How long have you known?"

"Some months." Allen paused. "I found your room empty one night. I thought you were sleepwalking. I thought it wise to keep an eye on you, in case you came to some harm unaware. So the next night, I kept watch on your door." Another pause. "I found out you weren't sleepwalking."

"Why didn't you do anything?"

"Why didn't you? You could have run away."

"Where would I run to? This is the heart of Asturia. Hostile territory."

"The old Dilandau wouldn't have cared. He would have found a way to steal a Guymelef. Wreaked havoc. Gone down in flames." Allen watched for his reaction. Perhaps on some level Allen still feared that would happen.

"Sorry to disappoint you." Dilandau thought of all the people he had seen go down in flames. His Dragonslayers. Jajuka. Eriya and Naria. Folken. Dornkirk himself. He still didn't understand why he should have been the one to survive. "Half a life is better than none at all."

Something moist and cool touched his hand. "Here," Allen said, passing him the soaked and wrung handkerchief. "Use this for now."

Dilandau accepted it without words.

Allen settled down against the wall opposite Dilandau, long legs stretched in front of him. He watched Dilandau with an unreadable expression.

He didn't know this Allen Schezar. This was not the same man who was so pleasant and accommodating towards his sister. Nor was he the same man who had challenged and infuriated him during the war.

He didn't know this man. Then again, he wasn't sure he knew himself anymore either.

"I liked the riding lessons," Dilandau said casually. "Never tried before. Different to piloting."

A startled look crossed Allen's face. Faded into something softer. "I had expected you to start demanding swordsmanship lessons."

"Why would I need lessons in swordsmanship?"

A flicker of amusement. "I suppose not."

"Why didn't you do anything?" Dilandau said again. "Why go on with this--this charade? Riding lessons and picnics and walks in the park?"

"I wanted to. Maybe I, too, believe that half a life is better than none." Allen suddenly looked straight at him, eyes intent. "You are my only living family, Dilandau. That may not mean anything to you, but it means everything to me."

Dilandau looked at the floor, face hot. "Doesn't matter what you think. If this keeps happening--if it gets more unpredictable--" He shrugged helplessly. "There's still a price on my head in Asturia."

"We can always leave Asturia."

"And go where?" Dilandau waved an arm wildly. "Where would I find welcome, Allen? In Fanelia, which I burned? In Freid, where I killed the duke? In Zaibach, whose new rulers have disowned us? There's nowhere in the world I could go and not be hunted down."

"There are worlds other than this."

Allen looked out the window. Dilandau followed his gaze, raising his eyes to the heavens, where the blue orb of the Mystic Moon shone.