Okee doo! Here's a repost of my Vision of Escaflowne fic (with the suggested txt file correction). Hopefully it comes out okay X.x
Archived at: http://www.crosswinds.net/~dilandau/
Disclaimer: All iz not owned by me!
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: dil1.txt
** Chapter 1 **
The door to the mansion burst open. A young woman, chin-length
silver hair flying in the wind, flew out of the entrance, leaving
behind two outraged maids and trailing behind her the cloth of
an untied dress ribbon. She laughed as she ran into the garden,
her deliciously sweet not-quite-grown yet no-longer-childish voice
blending in with the chirps of birds and the rustle of plantlife.
Although she was tall for a girl her age, there were some bright
bursting stalks of flowers that managed to cover her from head to
toe. These she hid among, giggling softly, as the maids who had
been attempting to dress her scrambled about calling her name.
She removed the tight satin baby-blue shoes that they had been
making her stand in for what had been perhaps an hour and
half-angrily, half-triumphantly tossed into a nearby clump of
mud. The shoes were pretty, she had to admit. But they were oh
so uncomfortable. She wiggled her toes in her stockings. A pair
of men's soft leather boots would have done just as well, in
her opinion.
After several minutes of quietly waiting, one of the maids
uttered a curse, adding that Allen could come out and find his
own blasted sister. Celena sighed in relief, and walked shoeless
towards the woods. It had taken much well-planned wiggling and
an "accidental" trip to get out of that one. Some dinner Allen
wanted to take her to. Some people her age he wanted her to meet.
Be more social! He would laugh. You keep cooped up here so long
I might start thinking you want to become a nun.
Celena stuck out her tongue at the mansion in the distance.
So what if she wanted to stay cooped at home? She'd dragged
herself to a few of those little social gatherings since she'd
returned home and just couldn't stand it. The stares at her
unfashionably short hair. The quickly hid glances at her clumsy
way of walking in heels. And, most loathing of all, the
questioning expressions. The whispers behind delicately gloved
hands.
Where had she been all this time?
She sighed, patted the crook between some roots of a dry
looking tree. On discovering that it was relatively suitable,
she sat down. Eventually Allen would find her, he always would.
Allen Allen Allen, she reflected. She loved her brother, of that
tere was no question, despite the constant badgering. Even just
thinking of his handsome, smiling face toned down her frustration.
Behind the badgering she knew there was that driving urge to
protect that which he had thought lost all those years. So
frightened was he of losing her again that he had sworn to
secrecy all the knights on the battlefield that had witnessed
the incredulous emergence of sweet looking Celena from the
sadistic Dragonslayer Captain Dilandau. While Celena, disoriented
and heartsick, shivered in the warmth of Allen's embrace,
clutching his soft, yet sweat-dampened, white tunic, Allen
threatened with honor, and some with blade, to those that gawked
to keep her secret concealed. He had seen it in their eyes, the
varying spectrums between pity for her plight and hate-filled
fury for the revenge that would never be theirs. Allen knew that
similar eyes waited for her at home.
"My sister deserves a second chance," Allen had finished, his
tone demanding a finality to the matter, daring anyone to defy
him.
Celena smiled a little. All right, she decided. She would go to
another damnable social gathering, if only because Allen looked
so much brighter when she agreed. Time to brush up on the fake
smiles and build up that little shield that protected her from
the stares and the whispers. She stood up, brushing the back of
the dirtied dress (only to find the process smeared the mud
instead of removing it), and prepared to turn herself in rather
than wait out being found.
Then the Sickness struck.
Down on her knees she went, clutching her stomach, and then her
head, as rolling waves of nausea sang with searing flashes
behind her eyes. A series of muscle spasms accompanied the
symphony while her bones tried to tear themselves from her
ligaments. With a practise born from a year's worth of experience
she held herself back from retching and waited out the terrible
ordeal. When it passed, she stood, pale but composed. A few
shakes of the silver curly mop, some further adjustments to
her clothing and she looked nearly the same as before. No one
would have ever known she'd had such an episode.
Nor would anyone know of the Voice that had pierced her head
with its outraged screams.
** Chapter 2 **
"I'm sorry."
"You've ruined the dress! And look at your feet!"
"I'm sorry."
"And WHERE are those shoes? I spent positively hours pondering
over the exact ones that would go with this splendid outfit!"
"I'm sorry."
The maid stomped her foot. Celena's bowed head hid her
quivering lip corners. The reddish-purplish (not to mention
flopping) cheeks of the babbling woman would have set her
off into a fit of giggles.
"That would be enough, Eliste."
Celena looked up at the man in the doorway. Resplendant in
his Asturian Honour Guard's uniform, long blonde hair swept
down over shoulders and back, stood Allen Schezar. Despite
the reproachful look he cast her, Celena couldn't help herself.
"Brother!" she exclaimed, rushing to clasp him around the
chest. Allen's lungs released a slight oomph of air in objection,
but his face smiled in response to her tight squeeze. He
smoothed back stray locks of her hair.
"Sir Allen! If you are going to let your sister run wild
like a little boy then you'll have everyone up in arms about
the Schezar tomboy! A public disaster it will be! Just like that
disturbing princess, Millerna!" Eliste punctuated each sentence
with a sharp strike to the air with an gnarled, liver-spotted
hand.
At that, Allen frowned. "That would be enough, Eliste."
Eliste drew in another heaving breath to protest. Allen
interrupted before one syllable managed to escape. "I said,
that would be
enough."
Celena snuck a peek at the frustrated woman. Nose high in the
air, Eliste made a small, perfunctory curtsey, and flounced
out of the room, murmuring her dissention. Once the door had
closed, and she and her brother were alone, Celena flung herself
out of Allen's grasp and plopped into a chair.
"Oh, Allen!" she wailed, "I hate this! I hate these stockings-"
which she pulled and tossed, "I hate these ribbons-" brilliant
blue ribbons that hung stubbornly to the ends of a few strands
of hair were pulled and dropped, "I hate it! I hate it! All
because of That Thing!"
While she threw her fit, Allen removed his gloves, shrugged out
of his vest, a small smile playing at his lips. At her last
statement he looked at her sharply, eyes wide and mouth
slightly open. Celena noticed the quick, startled look and
cringed. "I'm sorry."
"Was that an answer for Eliste or myself?" was his soft reply.
He sat down in the plush chair next to her and grasped her hands.
"You still haven't come to terms with it, have you?"
A sigh quivered out of her. Allen gathered her to his breast,
held her while a series of involuntary tremors rippled through
her body.
// Let me out! LET ME OUT! You know damn well you can't shut
me away forever! //
/ Shut up. Leave me alone. It's my turn. Leave me alone. /
Celena squeezed her eyes shut, forcibly driving away the
temptation to let escape a stream of tears. Her grip on her
brother's shirt whitened her knuckles.
Allen was the first to cut through the silence. "You can pick
your own clothes next time." You're probably getting old enough
to choose for yourself."
Celena loosened her death grip on Allen's uniform. "I'll go to
your party." She cast a hopeful look up at him. "Can I wear
some boots with my dress?"
Allen smiled down at her. "I'll see what I can do."
Celena smiled brightly back up at him and let loose a whoop of
joy. "Thank you!" she cried, prior to planting a quick kiss to
his cheek. A minute later she was streaking out the door, a
triangular smudge of brown on her bottom revealing to her brother
where she'd been hiding herself. Celena continued a run down the
hallways, proclaiming her good fortune.
Allen listened to her fading voice. His smile fell.
Celena called out for Jajuka.
** Chapter 3 **
It was the same. The looks, the eyes, the whispers; all of them
were still there. "Should have expected it," Celena grumbled to
herself. Well, she decided, pulling violently at the strings
holding the front of her dress together, that would be the last
one. Of course, she'd said that last time too.
Slim fingers easily untangled her short curly hair, after she had
managed to free it from the pompous style Eliste had put it in to
try and hide the fact that her tresses were shorter than her
brother's. It had grown nicely within the last year and a half,
so now she could at least say she wasn't a complete duplicate of
the Dragonslayer Captain. She twirled around a lock of hair
absentmindedly. Years would pass before her hair could get as
long as some of those uppity noble women's.
Her finger froze. The soft strands of hair unravelled themselves
from her finger and fell back to her skull. Unerringly she knew
that she LIKED her hair short. That it was attractive that way.
That she was attractive that way. Well, everyone should
appreciate something so beautiful. A smile of pleasure crawled
to her lips as she gazed upon her reflection. Her index finger
found a familiar path to trace along her right jaw.
"No!" Celena whispered hoarsely in frustration, and pounded
one delicate fist into the mirror. The entire vanity desk shook,
rattling containers of makeup and boxes of expensive jewelry,
while the mirror gave birth to a tiny crack in protest. These
were not Celena's thoughts and feelings...
Celena bit her knuckles to prevent herself from crying out any
further, for fear of exposing herself to any overly-curious
servants. Especially since Allen would find her out...
...Homecoming, at first, was a thrilling experience. Celena
couldn't remember ever having been happier at seeing the Schezar
mansion, and it was more than her long absence. There was a
safitisfying feeling of security, of family, that she knew she
had been lacking for years.
The flowers! The fields! She remembered running in them as a
child, waving her arms around like mad, chasing butterflies and
izards, falling more than once over a rock or into a mud puddle
to only pick herself within seconds to resume the chase. Allen
had often called out after her to be more prudent, reaching out
with his arms for her to return. Sometimes she returned to him
with muddy shoes and some sort of interesting form of plantlife
that had caught her eye. More likely she'd expose a candy-colored
tongue in his direction, then turn heel and keep on running.
His long legs would catch up to her easily, and his words would
be sharp. Celena would gaze up at him, eyes innocent and adoring,
and his lips would bow into a smile. When she saw them once
again she exploded into a sprint. Her brother merely watched her
with a smile as she whooped and danced among the wildlife.
She was happy. For the most part. Discussions regarding anything
remotely Zaibach were often steered away when she came into
earshot. It became a curiousity at first, then an irritation.
She brought up the issue with Allen, vehemently demanding to know
what people were hiding from her. He had led her outside and sat
her down on a bench. Eyes piercing her, hands lying over hers
between them, he simply asked whether or not she remembered the
young man known as Dilandau Albatou.
Celena had paused, cocked her head, and thought for a good long
moment. She did, and she did not. She knew of him, from the
whispered talk that she'd managed to catch. And she knew that
she had been him, of that there was no doubt. She had tapped her
head. There were visions, terrors, feelings, confusions that were
there that were no doubt his, but were intangible. From the moment
she assumed she had become the final version of Dilandau, to the
moment where she had stepped out from Alseides, everything was
hazy. Late at night, while trying to sleep, she would stab a
memory down, trying to examine it for what it was. It would slide
from her grasp only moments after she'd had an initial glance, and
then bury itself back into the mists. Allen had blinked in
confusion, and she had smiled brightly. It was nothing for him to
worry about, she assured him.
"I am Celena Schezar now! And no one else!"
And then, six months later, the Sickness began.
One day while exploring the Schezar estates (one of her first
valiant escapes from the Terrible Eliste) she had been struck
suddenly by a terrible nausea. She had vomited violently among a
grove of trees. At first she attributed the sickness to that
entirely unenticing new experience called menstruation. She had
started covering up the mess with a pile of dirt.
Celena had suddenly fallen backwards, mouth open in a silent
scream, her head threatening to split apart. Her bones and muscles
attempted to seperate. She writhed in agony on the ground, as a
voice as familiar as her own screamed frustrated obscenities at
the body that had become a prison.
It faded after several minutes, leaving her physically weak and
emotionally disturbed. The back of her dress was caked in dirt,
and there were more tears in the delicate fabric than she could
count. Slowly she picked herself up, ran home in tears, exploded
out with some half-baked story about falling down a hillside, and
was sent to bed after a thorough bath and a small dinner.
Further incidents became more and more frequent, and with
experience it was easy to make up the stories and to hide herself
when necessary. At first it was bewildering, and frightening. Then
it just became frightening. By now, the battle with Dilandau
Albatou for domination had become a daily struggle.
Sleep was a respite, for the most part. The Sickness was far more
frequent than the Nightmares, which was a thankful lesser of the
two evils. It seemed her prior late-night attempts to grasp at
Dilandau's memories eventually met with success.
There were those that were pleasurable to Dilandau, sickening to
Celena. Images of towns burning, soldiers being crushed underneath
Guymelef feet, knuckles cracking the faces of insubordinates.
Murders, as sadistic as they were bloody. Through it all was
Dilandau's boy-sweet voice and piercing laughter, coming from what
felt like her own mouth.
Then there were those that terrified the both of them.
Escaflowne, slaughtering every Dragonslayer one after the other
while he (she) looked on in helpless horror. More rattling were
those of being strapped down to a table, crying out for Allen,
Jajuka, anyone, while black-robed Zaibach sorcerers prodded,
pricked, and spoke in deep, monotone voices to one another of
changes of fate. Celena woke up from these, sweating profusely,
thankfully not screaming, and did not sleep.
Celena slid out of her evening dress and into a light, soft
nightshift. She closed the window, as if closing this one could
close the one on her that Dilandau was trying to crawl through.
Under the feather covers she went, curled up on a bed that was
obviously far too small for her current frame. Exhaustion,
permeating mind and body, swiftly spiralled her into sleep.
** Chapter 4 **
Sunshine invited itself in from the windows near the meal table,
making pleasant a warm spring's breakfast. Celena ate somewhat
like a rough soldier, something of Dilandau that had unfortunately
been carried over; scooping things into rough piles before
jamming them into her mouth. With Eliste and Allen's prodding,
however, they'd managed to get her to stop chugging her drinks
and had her sipping them, if not like a lady, then like a normal
citizen. Allen ate beside her, in a far more dignified manner.
Celena belched out triumphantly at the end. She'd managed not to
do so when most other people were around, but present company was
excepted. Gaddes, at the other end of the table, pointed and
laughed uproariously. "She's better than you, boss!" he managed
to choke.
Allen cast a glare in her direction. "Please don't do that,
Celena. It's not becoming of a lady."
"But Gaddes doesn't mind," she protested.
"I mind, Celena," Allen reproached. She nodded sheepishly.
Once he'd stopped looking, she grabbed for the officious looking
letter that had arrived at the crack of dawn and was now lying
to the opposite side of her brother. For some reason, Allen had
forbade her to look at it. Her brother, in the meantime, choked
on an egg in surprise, and the letter was hers. While Gaddess
pounded the table in laughter and pointed, blurry-eyed, at his
red-faced compatriot, Celena's eyebrows flew to the top of her
forehead. Her name was beside her brother's.
"Gracious invitations to the Schezars, Allen Crusade and Celena,"
she read. "As hero and family in the great war against Zaibach
and invaluable aide to the afore mentioned victory, your presence
would be appreciated in the grand welcoming ceremonies to His
Royal Highness, and fellow hero, Van Slanzar de Fanel. Please
arrive the morning of the designated date for proper rehearsal
and preperations." She scanned down the rest of the praise and
appeal towards her brother to find the date. "Oh! This is three
weeks from now!"
"Yes," Allen croaked, after having dislodged the egg.
"And I get to go too!" Her light frame bounced in excitement.
Both Allen and Gaddes cast surprised looks. "You actually want
to go?" Allen murmured.
Celena blinked, as if the answer should be obvious. "Why?"
"It's just, little lady," Gaddes replied, "this is the first time
you've even showed the slightest desire to step foot out of these
grounds."
"So?"
Gaddes began to explain the abnormality of her eagerness when
Allen interrupted. "Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"You realize you'll have to wear an expensive dress, fitting for
the royal court.'
"Yes."
"And probably some of those eenie weenie shoes," piped Gaddes.
"Aww."
"Or at least some dress boots," fixed Allen.
"Hooray!"
"Then it's settled," Allen finished. "We leave in three weeks!
You'd better pack at least a week's worth of clothing." He
tweaked her nose affectionately. "Since you've finally decided
not to deny the public your lovely appearance, we'll have to
site-see the capital."
Celena rubbed her nose and nodded in agreement. "But only if I
get those boots!"
"Of course."
Celena let out a whoop of joy to rival the one she'd made the day
before. Gaddes covered his ears in appreciation as she streaked
upstairs to decide what she was going to bring. He looked at Allen.
Their long standing relationship gave the him no need to verbally
ask the question that his face could project.
"Because she's finally excited," Allen answered.
"What about your suspicions?"
Allen placed his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers.
He sighed, eyes closed, a disturbed expression clouding his
handsome features. "I know she's been sick. She's been trying to
hide it, and she's done well, but an observant soldier knows the
difference in appearance between having tumbled down a slope and
having writhed about on the ground.
"Yesterday," he sighed, "she called out for Jajuka."
"Jajuka?" Gaddes thought a moment on the name. "Wasn't that--?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you letting her--?"
"Because she's finally excited to be out. It's been nearly two
years, and she refuses to step outside of the estate unless I
request it."
"You know what the worst case will be."
Allen nodded, looked at his soldier, companion, friend. "At least
then I'll know for sure."
Gaddes gave him a grim look. "What if it's better not knowing?"
"It's never better not knowing."
The grim look was unrelenting. Allen felt crushed by its weight.
"If I have to," he whispered, "I'll do what I must."