Chapter 2: The Survivor

Celena pressed her hand excitedly against the glass of the Crusade’s cockpit. Far below, the forests bordering Fanelia’s countryside spread like emerald clouds, gently rustling in the west wind. At the horizon the lush canopy met a sky of breathtaking blue. Not a blemish spotted the perfect expanse. She absorbed the trees and mountains with wide, eager eyes. "Gaddess, are there dragons down there?" she asked briskly.

"For the hundredth time, yes," he replied gruffly, leaning against the window beside her. "Why’re ya so damn interested anyway?"

Celena shrugged. "I don’t know. I’ve never seen one, but I want to. Even if Brother says they’re ugly."

"I didn’t say they were ugly," Allen corrected from beside the helm. "I said you’d probably be disappointed when you finally saw one."

"Isn’t that the same?" She grinned at him, then continued her vigil.

Allen and Gaddess exchanged a look. The latter gave his boss a thumbs up sign to indicate that everything was fine, then started to chat with the girl about her sword training. She opened up to the topic immediately. Allen watched them thoughtfully for several minutes, his arms crossed. At long last Celena’s delighted exclamation broke his repose.

"I can see it! That’s the capitol, isn’t it? Fanelia’s capitol?"

Gaddess shielded his eyes against the window glare and looked for himself. "Sure is," he confirmed. "Looks like we’ll be there in under an hour."

"I’m going to get ready. Don’t land without me!" Celena skipped away from the window, giving her brother a pat on the back as she left. He shot her a dubious glance, and she giggled.

In her room, Celena changed quickly into the outfit Misshel had helped her pick out. It was a one piece, dark blue sun dress with a sleeveless top; it flowed like silk when she moved. The top was trimmed with silver, and fit her perfectly. "Thank you, Misshel," she whispered, slipping on the finishing touches: sandal-shoes with two inch heels, and a silver chain necklace. She looked herself over in the mirror, laughed, and left to rejoin the others.

--

"Announcing the guests from Asturia!"

Van straightened on his throne, repressing the urge to jump immediately to his feet. He shifted as the grand chamber’s thick oak doors opened, revealing the travelers. Allen was in the lead, dressed in his usual knight’s outfit, looking just as he had the last time they’d met--nearly two years previous. The crew of the Crusade followed, gaping in awe at the remolded castle interior.

The King’s attention was drawn swiftly to the figure on Allen’s left: a teenage girl, dressed in elegant azure clothing with silvery-blond hair. Both colors worked to enhance the startlingly beautiful shade of her eyes. Van stumbled mentally over her identity. Of course--it’s Celena. Allen’s sister. He couldn’t help but stare momentarily. Who was really…my God, I had no idea she’d become this--

"Van." Allen stood before the throne, grinning. "It’s good to see you again."

"Allen. You too." Van descended the few steps to meet his guests. "You haven’t changed a bit, and neither has your crew," he observed with a chuckle. He nodded to them as recognition. He paused at Celena. "But your sister is another matter."

Celena smiled prettily and offered her hand, which he killed respectfully. It’s still so hard to believe what she once was. "It’s good to finally see you, King Van," she greeted gracefully. "I’ve been looking forward to this."

"Likewise." He suppressed a bit of anxiety at her words that sounded so familiar through that voice. "Shall I give you all a tour? A lot has changed."

Allen and Celena accepted; Gaddess and his crew declined, all too eager to find a tavern and some drinks. "You were right about us," the knight joked once they’d been escorted out. "We haven’t changed. But you, Van." He made a sweeping look of the king. "You’ve aged rather well. It seems that you’ve become a fine man."

Van paused, not expecting such praise. It made him feel proud, however, to receive a compliment from this man. "Thank you, Allen. I…appreciate it." Unconsciously he fingered the pendant around his neck. "But, anyway, how about that tour? We have some new melef designs I want you to see."

"Yes!" Celena exclaimed, nearly pouncing. "Please show us, King Van."

Van almost took a step back; Allen looked worried, and that was enough to raise his pulse a notch. The spark he’d seen in her eyes was a bit too familiar for his tastes. "Are you familiar with Guymelef designs?" he asked carefully.

She nodded eagerly. "I’ve been studying them, even though Brother won’t let me pilot one. He wants his women to be demure and innocent."

"C-Celena," Allen sputtered.

Van blinked in surprise, then laughed. "She’s developed quite an attitude, Allen. Shall we go?" When he looked into her eyes once more, he found them to be bright and curious. There’s no need to worry, some quiet voice told him from inside. That’s not bloodlust or hate. She’s a teenager with the blood of an adventurer in her. He took her by the hand, assuring his ancient comrade with a steady gaze. She can’t stay sheltered forever. I’ll follow your example, Hitomi. I will trust her, so that we may one day forgive each other.

--

Celena allowed the king to lead her out to the Guymelef grounds. She had an odd feeling about him--his smell, his eyes, even his aura overpowered her excitement in seeing the majestic metal giants. His hand was callused and rough, like her own skin. She felt as if she knew each of those scars, deeply; they connected her to him.

We met only three years ago, she pondered, but he looks at me as if it’s been longer. Like he knows me well--like he’s expecting something. Reflexively her hand tightened around his, which gained his quick, curious attention. He knows something. He knows me.

When they entered the Melef hanger, Celena forgot her repose. The structure was made of sturdy oak, towering above their heads in an impressive arch. Inside, both walls stretched for hundreds of meters, each lined with benches and ladders and scaffolding for repairing injured armors. Dust rose in spumes of gray cloud from the dry earth to filter about the feet of giants.

The sight of them stole Celena’s breath away. They sat like kings upon thrones of iron, magnificent in their silence despite the bustling of their attendants. Lazy sunlight slid over their shining armaments, like honey dripping over moist lips. Further down the hanger sparks flew like fiery rainbows as the machines were welded and mended. Dozens of engineers mingled about, fixing and figure, and yet their looming masters remained still, and patient, waiting.

"Celena?" Allen’s hand tightened briefly on her shoulder--she hadn’t even noticed it there. "Are you all right?"

She shook herself, and nodded, gathering her wits. "Yes. Yes, Brother, I’m fine. It’s just so…" She bit her lip. "…amazing."

"Most of the these aren’t made for battle," Van explained as they wandered down the line of machines. "We learned from past mistakes--war creates war. So these have been modified for building, fielding, and other simple tasks." He gestured to each model as they passed. "We do have one clan of samurai who are allowed to use the battle Melefs, but we’re very selective."

Allen nodded in thoughtful approval. "And Escaflowne?"

"Sleeping in the temple, as it should be." There was no regret in the king’s face. "War and hate call the dragon. Someday, its strength will be needed. I hope to postpone that."

"Those are strong words, Van. It’s good to see you’ve become so wise a king."

He smiled grimly. "In these times, I have no choice."

Celena let her gaze wander as the pair went on to discuss the modified Guymelefs. She wasn’t interested in such mundane task--she wanted to see the melefs owned by the samurai. Those would surely be astounding.

Before then, however, her eye caught something: another pair of orbs that watched her. They belonged to a young mechanic, perched on the shoulder of a large harvest melef. He seemed to be only a few years past her own age, with almost black short hair and pale gray eyes sunk into a lean countenance. He was staring at her intensely. She stopped walking to stare back--her hands slipped out of Van’s, and the pair of men went on without noticing.

The youth leapt off of the melef’s shoulder to its outstretched hand, and from there to the ground. His movements struck her--she could tell that he’d been trained in some way. His slender body approached with clipped, militaristic precision. She liked him immediately, just by the look of him: well-kept, serious, and sharp.

When they were only a few feet away he stopped, abruptly, and straightened. He stared at her, half bewildered and half suspicious. When some time had passed and he said nothing, she asked, "What is it?"

He stiffened, as if expecting some severe punishment. "I’m sorry, Ma’am," he replied hastily. "You…look familiar to me, that’s all."

"I hope that’s a compliment," she chuckled.

"Well--well yes," the youth stammered awkwardly, betraying his flawlessly strict manner of standing. "You’re…quite beautiful."

Celena blushed, and smiled coyly. "Really?" She extended her hand. "My name is Celena Schezar."

"Schezar?" His hand, which had been moving to meet hers, stopped abruptly. She took it upon herself to shake it in his momentary lapse. "As in Allen Schezar?"

"Yes," she said, beaming. "He’s my brother. And you are?"

He carefully withdrew his hand, and licked his lips. "My name is--"

"Kert." Both started, surprised to find Van standing just beside them. His manner was rushed and uncomfortable. "Kert Simmons, one of our mechanics."

The boy sent his king a queer look, ready to protest, but then Allen intervened as well. "Come on, Celena. The samurai Guymelefs are just a bit further."

Celena glanced at her brother, then the boy, then back again. "All right. And don’t worry--he didn’t try anything," she added curtly.

"I didn’t mean…." But by then she had already moved off. He shrugged and followed.

--

Jovey Garrelli watched with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes as the siblings continued on together. "Van, what was that?" he asked quietly. He spoke with far less courtesy than any of the other mechanics would have used when addressing their king. "Why did you lie about my name?"

The king sighed in relief, and muttered something under his breath that Jovey couldn’t hear. "It’s nothing important," he said. "It doesn’t really concern you, but…." He hesitated before finishing. "I think it would be better if you stayed away from Celena Schezar. She hates Zaibach passionately, because of what they did to her. Besides, I’m sure Allen wouldn’t approve."

Jovey’s tone dropped. "I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I just--"

"I know. But trust me, Jovey." Van looked him directly in the eye. "You don’t want to be around her. I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from the castle while she’s here."

"Are you saying that I’d--"

"I’m not implying anything," he assured. "Please, just trust me." He slapped the mechanic’s shoulder, and Jovey pulled away. "You’re doing good work. Keep it up." He left then to rejoin his friends.

Jovey glared at the king’s back as he departed. He then looked past his caped form, focusing on the figure of the young woman. Her movements were as familiar to him as her face. Like a shadow she stayed in his mind long after the trio had escaped his sight. He lifted a hand to his face, as his jaw had begun to ache.

--

Late that night Van lay awake in bed. The night was warm--the stuffy heat worsened his present condition of insomnia. His mind spun. When the stress became unbearable he clutched at his pendant and focused his thoughts. Several deep breaths calmed him enough to work the magic. -Hitomi?-

He waited for a response. Soon he was comforted by a warm presence--a mind, tentatively reaching for him. It settled within him, expressing concern at his anxiety.

For the past three years they had communicated this way: through the pendant they spoke with their feelings, consoling and encouraging each other through difficult times. Van never knew whether she could hear him clearly or not--to him, she spoke only in flashes of emotion and color, without voice. He wished desperately that, just once, he could hear her again.

"I’m all right," Van spoke aloud to the ceiling. He turned his head to stare out his window, gazing at the beautiful blue moon that rested low in the sky. "Allen is here."

As he’d expected, her response was a mixture of joy, inquiry, and regret. "He’s fine, too; he brought Celena this time. And…she met Jovey."

Hitomi’s comprehension was instantaneous, and she projected her concern. Van sighed. "I don’t think she recognized him at all, but…he almost recognized her, somehow." He rubbed his eyes. "Today I was wondering if it was right to hide the truth from her, and now I’m guilty of it."

"Allen doesn’t know about Jovey at all. I…didn’t want him to worry."

Van smiled grimly. "I thought you might say that," he murmured. "There might not be any better way. He should at least be aware."

"I’m fine, really." His throat tightened, but he managed to hold the emotions in. "Celena doesn’t remember Dilandau at all. Looking at her….Allen may be worried, but there’s nothing wrong with Celena. She’s just trying to live her life."

Hitomi’s mind settled, and he could almost imagine her contented simile. She was proud of him, for trusting Celena so strongly, and being so compassionate. Her pride filled and nourished him. "Thank you," he whispered, his hand tightening around his pendant. "Goodnight, Hitomi."

In the morning, he thought deftly, I’ll tell Allen.

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