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A Gift of Wings	By : anniechan Category: +. to F > Escaflowne Views: 1874 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Gift of Wings
- 1
Author’s Notes: Eee…! Another Dilandau fic from me! XD Escaflowne yaoi and shônen ai tends to weird me out for some strange reason (don’t ask me to explain, as I really don’t know why), but there are two pairings that I find cute. Go figure, they both have Dilandau in them. ^_^;; They’re FolkenxDilandau and DilandauxVan. I might write a DxV fic in the future, but for now, I’m writing FxD. This fic goes by the MOVIE TIMELINE, hence there’s no Celena, the Black Dragon Clan is in Zaibach’s place as the main troublemakers, Dilandau’s half-draconian and the Fanel brothers are full draconians, three Dragon Slayers survive, and so on. The scenes in this fic frame scenes in the movie, and I’ll try to make it obvious where we are and what’s going on. There might be discrepancies, such as the amount of time between events, but I’ll try to keep that to a minimum. Oh, yes, and there’s a risk of OOC, but oh well. Too bad. XP

Disclaimer: Tenkû no Escaflowne and all characters herein do not belong to me, but to their various copyright holders in Japan and the United States.

A Gift of Wings

By Annie-chan

Both lovers groaned as they separated and collapsed to the love-stained sheets, panting heavily. The smaller one lay sprawled on his back, his fingers clutching the bedding underneath him, his pale skin slippery and sticky at the same time with sweat and semen. The larger one rolled to the side, letting his weight fall to the mattress instead of his smaller companion, his long hair spreading out behind him over the ruffled blankets. He reached out and gathered the smaller man to him and nuzzled his shorter hair.

Dilandau Albatou groaned again and pressed in close, still shuddering with his recent orgasm. He was teetering on the brink of sleep, but willed himself to stay awake. He cherished these moments of lying in his lord’s arms, letting the troubles of the day slip away into a warm, cozy haze.

“Lord…” he murmured. “My Lord Folken…” He still marveled how this one person could move him so much. The only others he cared for were his Dragon Slayers and Jajuka, and none of them came even close to this. His crazy, sadistic exterior melted away in his lord’s arms, leaving him naked both inside and out, a creature of pure emotion. Part of him blanched at the drastic change, but most of him accepted it with no question. It felt wrong not to.

“Dilandau,” Folken Fanel responded softly. “Are you all right? Your scream sounded pained.” His fingers had threaded themselves through Dilandau’s hair, and were gently massaging the scalp underneath.

“No,” Dilandau whispered, shaking his head against Folken’s chest. “No, you never hurt me. It was just so good…so good…” He punctuated himself by placing a kiss over Folken’s heart, feeling the strong beat under his lips as he did so. He burrowed deeper into the embrace as Folken’s arms tightened around him, cradling him protectively against him. A sigh of contentment escaped him. No matter how intense the war became, no matter how much danger of death he found himself in, moments like these calmed him, allowed him to push those thoughts out of his head and let himself unwind. It was moments like these he loved the most.

The warmth around him increased as his lord pulled the bedclothes up and over them. He let his eyes drift shut as the urge to sleep got stronger, to his dismay. The opened again a moment later when a question that had been bothering him for a while surfaced in his thoughts, and he turned his eyes up to Folken’s.

Folken felt a thrill shiver through him as he met Dilandau’s deep crimson gaze. His lover was the first and only true albino he had ever seen, as well as the only half-draconian alive in the world, to his knowledge. His exoticism was hypnotizing. On top of that, his early life among wolves had given him a wild side that no amount of civilizing would completely purge.

“My Lord,” Dilandau began, his fingers playing with a few stray strands of Folken’s greenish-blue hair. “My Lord…what is it you feel for me…? You’ve never told me anything about it, and I cannot guess.”

He felt Folken’s fingers still in his hair, and the larger man’s body stiffened almost unnoticeably for a second, then relaxed again. He did not answer for quite some time, and Dilandau lay between wakefulness and sleep as he waited.

He was startled back to full consciousness by his lord’s deep voice. “I have thought about this before…for a long time,” he said softly into Dilandau’s hair. “Part of me says that I love you, that I have let you come closer to me than ever I’ve let anyone else. Another part of me says that it’s merely a lustful obsession, that it’s just a compulsory urge to be near you, to bring you to my bed night after night, due only to your beauty and your exotic nature. Both answers strive within me with equal force. I cannot decide which I truly feel. I cannot answer your question any further than that.”

Dilandau drew in a shaky breath. His body had long since stopped trembling from the aftermath of their intense lovemaking, but it now started quivering again as Folken spoke. He wasn’t even sure why. Perhaps it was the thrill of the possibility that his lord may return his tender feelings. On the other hand, it could have been from the ill feeling that swept through him as it was suggested that he was merely a toy, bedded by his lord just to satisfy sexual tension. Tears stung his eyes, and once again, he was unsure from which emotion they stemmed.

“Go to sleep now,” Folken murmured into his ear, his hot breath making Dilandau tingle. His warm fingers were again kneading his scalp, making a tired sensation wash over Dilandau, pulling him down into the depths of his mind to dream for the night. His body relaxed completely, and Folken held him softly as his breathing evened out into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

Folken continued stroking his hair long after he had fallen asleep, deep in thought. He had answered Dilandau truthfully. He really didn’t know what to call the emotions he felt toward the smaller man. Outside this room, he was as cold and uncaring with him as with any of his other soldiers, but in this room, in this bed, everything was different. He was gentle, even tender, with him, though he had proven in battle to be one of the most durable people he had ever met. His horse had once been deliberately spooked by an enemy soldier, and it had bolted down a slope much to steep to be safe. The horse had stumbled and fallen, and he had been thrown, hitting the ground hard and tumbling the rest of the way down the hill. When he had skidded to a stop at the bottom, the horse had fallen fully on top of him, crushing him down into the hard ground. Despite all that, as well as being ground into the dirt as the horse righted itself and stood up, he had come away from that with only a concussion, four broken ribs, a broken leg, and a multitude of bruises and cuts over his skin. More than luck had been needed to save him from worse injury, or even death. And yet, Folken handled him like glass between these sheets, with only the temporary madness as he neared and experienced climax risking him injuring his lover.

He smoothed a hand over Dilandau’s skin, traveling from his shoulder, down his back, and over his backside. Dilandau shivered and groaned quietly as he traced his fingers over the centerline, but did not wake.

He’s grown up beautifully, he mused, letting his hand settle over his lower back, holding them firmly together. When he had found him in the woods with the wolf pack, he had been a dirty, scrawny, sunken-eyed little thing, smaller than should have been expected for his age. Now, after several years of military training and making a conscious effort to take care of his body, he had turned into what Folken considered the most perfect example of beauty in the Black Dragon Clan. “Beautiful” seemed to have too little meaning in describing him. He was absolutely gorgeous.

His coloring as well as his physique contributed to this. White skin, silver-white hair, and startling red eyes drew the gaze like no other could, and when bathed in the light from the Iron Moon, he looked ethereal, almost ghostly. He was a nymph in the service of some long-forgotten Moon Goddess, sent to Gaea to grace the comparatively ugly world with his beauty.

Folken gently rolled him onto his back, letting the moonlight that filtered through the half-closed curtains to spill over him. He reached out and placed his hand on the shoulder facing away from him, dragging his palm over the chest and down to the flat belly to trace the musculature there. He had inherited the draconian trait of appearing hairless except on very close inspection. A draconian body harbored as many hair follicles as a human body, but they were so fine and so soft, they were all but invisible, their texture contributing to the smoothness of the skin rather than detracting from it. However, the thicker patches of silvery-white hair under his arms and between his legs testified to his half-human ancestry.

Folken lay there for a long time, silently marveling over Dilandau’s beauty and the grip his attraction had on his normally impenetrable coldness. He delighted in the soft moans and sighs his delicate touch coaxed from the younger man’s throat. A long while later, Dilandau shivered with cold and rolled over toward Folken, seeking his warmth and comfort. Folken gathered him into his arms and pulled the blankets tighter around them. He rested his cheek against Dilandau’s smooth white hair, and allowed himself to follow his half-breed lover into slumber.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau looked up from the paper he had just read to his Dragon Slayers. It was Lord Folken’s instructions for their next mission. It was simple enough: assail Allen Schezar’s battleship in a feigned attack, kidnap the Wing Goddess in the resulting uproar, and bring her back to Folken’s floating fortress. If all went well, the beast-men that would proceed them in the attack would get the girl, and Dilandau and his Slayers wouldn’t have to do anything more than cause the distraction outside.

His six Slayers were standing at attention before him, Jajuka standing off to the side. He let his gaze slide over them, from left to right: Gatty, Dallet, Ryuan, Guimel, Shesta, and Miguel. He had turned these boys from green, inexperienced children to hardened, proficient warriors, some of the best in Folken’s service. These boys had done him proud, and as he surveyed them, he knew a mission this simple would go off without a hitch. He allowed a slow smile to slide across his face.

“Dismissed,” he said, and the six youths relaxed their stances and filed out of the room to prepare for the mission, which was to take place in a canyon near Torushina at sundown. Dilandau watched them go, then turned and exited out the other door, heading back to his quarters.

“Master Dilandau,” he heard Jajuka say as the dog-man followed him out into the hallway.

“What is it, Jajuka?” Dilandau asked, not looking back. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen, but didn’t feel like telling Jajuka off, either.

“I just wanted to ask if you think it is a good idea to go out on this mission this evening,” Jajuka answered. “You don’t look like you’re focused enough.”

Dilandau stopped. He half turned to look back at Jajuka, a quizzical look on his face. “I feel fine, Jajuka,” he replied, a hardness creeping into his voice. “If I wasn’t focused enough for a simple mission like this, you can be sure I’d notice it myself. Besides, these are orders from Lord Folken. My duty is to follow them, and if I’m not focused enough, I damn well better shape myself up in time to execute them. I don’t need one of my subordinates telling me it might not be a good idea.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and continued on his way. “Go prepare for the mission, Jajuka. It’s on your own head if you’re not ready.”

What he didn’t admit was that Jajuka was partially right. He was focused enough to go out on this mission, but not as focused as he could be. His mind had been preoccupied since he woke up. Lord Folken had told him that he may only be seen as an amusement, a warm body to satisfy physical need. He had also been told that he may be loved, cherished, but that did little to ease the ache in his heart. He had long since admitted to himself and to no one else that he loved Lord Folken. He had saved him from a life in the wild, fighting for survival, and he was also the only one to really show him affection—or at least the semblance of affection. Yes, his Slayers and Jajuka all respected him, but it was a respect born of fear, not real caring.

He reached the door to his quarters, and leaned against it before opening it, his forehead pressed against the material. Oh, all the gods in Heaven, he silently prayed. Please don’t tell me I’m just a plaything. He gripped the handle on the door and opening it, slipping inside, shutting it behind him. He walked over to his bed and sat down. He chucked a bit. These were his quarters, but they were unfamiliar to him compared with Folken’s quarters. He always came here in the evenings to go to bed, but nearly every night, Folken’s summons resounded in his brain, beckoning him to come to his lord’s arms, to his lord’s bed.

Just as he thought this, a familiar presence broke into his thoughts.

Dilandau, he heard Lord Folken’s rich voice echo between his ears. Come.

Dilandau’s eyebrows drew down. That was odd. It was probably the first time he had been called while it was still daylight out. It wasn’t even noon, in fact. Considering that, he could be summoning him for any reason. On the other hand, a simple “come” with no destination meant to come to Folken’s bedchamber. There weren’t many possible reasons to be called to his lord’s inner sanctum.

Several minutes later, he found himself in front of the large double doors decorated with the Black Dragon Emblem that led to Folken. He raised his hand to knock, but the doors swung open before he could, probably controlled by his lord’s mental abilities. It was a simple trick for draconians, including himself, who had formidable telekinetic powers, though he was only a half-blood.

“Lord Folken,” he murmured in respect, entering the room and dropping down to one knee as the doors swung shut behind him.

“Stand up, Dilandau,” he heard Folken say, and he complied immediately. He looked to his lord, though not meeting his eyes. Only when given permission, or when entwined in his embrace, was he allowed to look Folken in the eyes. His odd-eyed lord gazed back at him for a moment, then spoke. “You know who you are going up against this evening to acquire the Wing Goddess, do you not?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Dilandau replied with a slight bow. “Allen Schezar and his Abaharaki resistance.”

“Not just the Abaharaki,” Folken corrected. “They count among them a young man about your age and stature, but dark and rugged in appearance.” He caught Dilandau’s eye and held his gaze. “He is Van Fanel, last of the Dragon Kings.”

“Van Fanel?” Dilandau repeated, surprised. “But…My Lord…you told me you had killed all of your family.”

“Not all,” Folken replied, sounding displeased. “My younger brother fled in terror of me, and I assumed he would die in the wild, so I did not go after him. But, he was picked up by beast-men, and taken to Adom Village in the mountains. Now, he has since joined Schezar, and counts revenge against me as his only reason for living.” He made sure he had Dilandau’s full attention. “He will guard the Wing Goddess with his life. He wants the Dragon Armor as much as I do, his reason being it is the only sure way to avenge his people and his country. For that reason, you must beware him, for he is weaker than me, but stronger than you. Let your guard down, and he will kill you.” He saw that his steady, intense gaze was making Dilandau uncomfortable.

“What must I do, then,” Dilandau asked, “if I should fight him? Should I kill him?”

“No,” Folken said. “His life is mine. I will be the one to kill him. If he confronts you, merely injure him enough to let you escape with the Wing Goddess, or find a way to escape without any altercation at all. I will be just as displeased if you kill him than if you fail to bring me the girl.”

Dilandau bowed again, his hair falling over his eyes. “Yes, Lord.”

Folken gazed at him a moment, then held his hand out in a beckoning gesture. “Come here.”

Dilandau complied, straightening up and walking over to his lord. When he came near to him, he reached out and placed his hand in Folken’s, letting himself be drawn into his superior’s embrace. A hand cradled his head against Folken’s shoulder, the other arm curled tightly around his waist.

“You look troubled,” Folken murmured into his hair. “Even simple missions such as this can be thrown if the commanding officer’s mind is elsewhere. What is on your mind?”

A stab of apprehension suddenly lanced through Dilandau’s chest. He drew in a shaky breath, and related to Folken his anxieties and unease over what Folken had said last night about his feelings toward Dilandau.

“I love you, Lord Folken!” Dilandau confessed when he had finished. “I’m scared to death that you don’t feel the same, that I am subject to being forgotten and ignored should you ever lose interest in me!”

Folken closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, unhappy. He had known for a long while that it was just a matter of time before Dilandau declared his love, but at the same time, he had hoped that it would never come to pass. An avowal of love could only hurt both of them in the long run.

“You need to relax,” he whispered to the smaller man. “Don’t think about it.” As he said this, his fingers had found the fastenings to Dilandau’s armor and were quickly undoing them.

“B-but…” Dilandau stuttered as his armored jacket and sleeveless red-and-white knee-length coat fell to the floor with a thud. He was left standing in his black-leather pants, thin violet cotton shirt, and red knee-high boots.

“Shhh,” Folken soothed, guiding him over to the bed and sitting him down. He knelt behind him on the mattress, and placed his hands on Dilandau’s shoulders. “Remove your boots.”

Dilandau bent forward to do as commanded, and when he sat back up, he gasped at the feel of Folken’s strong hands working the muscles of his shoulders and upper back. He realized the tension built up by his anxiety in just a few short hours, and the relief spreading through him from Folken’s ministrations was welcomed. “Mmm…”

“Relax…” Folken soothed, his voice dropping into the soft inflection he used when speaking privately to his lover.

Dilandau purred his appreciation, leaning back slightly toward his lord. Folken was bent closely over him, the ends of his hair brushing the skin on Dilandau’s shoulders softly. The albino gasped and arched as the hands on his shoulders slid down to his waist and up under the hem of his shirt, caressing the skin underneath. He groaned.

Folken pulled his lover back, fitting his smaller body tightly against him. His lips pressed insistently to Dilandau’s neck, sucking and nipping hungrily. He growled low in his throat as Dilandau arched again and cried out as his fingers found their way to his nipples. The younger man’s hands came up and buried themselves in Folken’s thick hair, urging his kiss to continue.

Folken’s lips left Dilandau’s neck a moment later, but before Dilandau could protest, his head was turned toward his lord, and his lips were claimed in an insistent, unrelenting kiss. He felt Folken’s tongue nuzzle between his lips, and he immediately let his lord through, a shiver sweeping through him as Folken thrust deep, drinking of him as a man dying of thirst. He was panting heavily as Folken pulled back, leaning limply against his taller lover.

“I was just thinking,” Folken whispered into Dilandau’s hair as his fingers continued to tease and play with his nipples, “of your first time. Our first time together.”

Dilandau groaned and let his head fall back against Folken’s shoulder, exposing his throat in a submissive gesture ingrained in him from his days with the wolves. As Folken nibbled and licked at the soft skin there, he let his mind travel back to his first night spent in this bed. He had been fourteen years old, and had long been aware of a strong physical attraction to his darkly beautiful lord. It had gotten so intense and so painful that it had driven him to steal into Folken’s chambers in his lord’s absence, lying in his bed with only an oversized cloak wrapped around him. Folken’s voice asking what he was doing there had caused him to stand up, gently whisper his lord’s name, and let the cloak drop, squeezing his eyes shut. He had stood there, naked before his lord, vulnerable to any scrutiny and criticism Folken may have for him. He had been surprised when two strong arms had imprisoned his waist, pulling him up against a strong, lithe body, hungry lips pressed against his shoulder. A moment later, his back had come in contact with the bedding, one of Folken’s hands gripping his shoulder as the other was wrapped tightly around his straining cock.

He realized those remembered sensations were happening all over again, and he opened his eyes to stare up at his lord. During his reminiscence, Folken had divested him completely, and pushed him down onto the bed, stroking firmly between his thighs, himself naked save for his pants. Dilandau moaned and reached up, pulling Folken down for another kiss.

Folken pulled back a few moments later, despite Dilandau’s whimpered protests. He thrust once against him, eliciting a strangled cry, feeling a jolt of pleasure shoot through him at the action.

With a groan of resignation, he stripped off his pants and fell upon the brazen temptation currently writhing below him. He felt Dilandau’s arms and legs wrap tightly around him, and lost himself completely to the sensations.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau closed the door to his room and leaned back against it, sliding down to sit on the floor. The mission he had led his Slayers on today had been simple, and yet he had failed miserably. Three of his men had died, they had failed to capture the Wing Goddess, and Dilandau had gone overboard fighting Van, nearly killing him.

He winced as his head throbbed in pain. He had come away with a concussion, and the punishment he had received for his failure got him two broken fingers, a severely bruised neck, and a blow to the face so hard that the blood spatter from his mouth and nose had literally flown, staining the floor around his head and shoulders like a gory mantle. He had nearly gone unconscious again, and had been taken to the hospital wing of the fortress. Now, an hour and a half later, the doctors had finally allowed him to return to his quarters. He was weak from pain and loss of blood, and felt altogether terrible.

It was all his fault. If he hadn’t let his lust for battle turn the feigned attack into a real assault, they would have gotten the Wing Goddess, Van wouldn’t be teetering on the brink of death, and Dallet, Miguel, and Guimel would still be alive. He groaned and let his head fall into his hands. He really could be an idiot sometimes.

The fortress and its escort of battleships were headed for Torushina. One reason was that was were the Abaharaki were headed, so logic said that Van and the Wing Goddess would probably go in that direction as well. If all went well, Folken would approach the Wing Goddess in Torushina tomorrow night, and acquire Escaflowne. Also, the Black Dragon Sorcerers had excavated an ancient Escaflowne-like battle armor called Alseides in Torushina. Alseides needed impure dragon blood to function, just as Escaflowne needed pure dragon blood to function. Dilandau’s half-draconian ancestry was just what they needed, so he was to pilot Alseides. Not only could Alseides assist Escaflowne in destroying Gaea and bringing an end to it sorrow, but if Van somehow got Escaflowne, Dilandau could fight him, and perhaps steal it away for Lord Folken. Tomorrow, when they got to the city, he would be put into and connected to the sleeping Alseides, and his blood would be used to wake it.

I’m lucky I’m the only one alive to have impure dragon blood in my veins to Lord Folken’s knowledge, he thought with a bitter smile. Otherwise, he may well have killed me for the sheer depth of my failure. He knew he deserved every bit of the punishment Folken had given him, for he had knowingly disobeyed direct orders, and then had lashed back when Folken had released the chokehold he had gotten on him. Dilandau knew Folken could have in fact killed him for such insolence, and he didn’t blame his lord for that possibility one bit. Dilandau owed him complete fealty, after all.

He looked at his left glove, which was clutched in his right hand. He couldn’t wear it with the splints and bandages holding the middle and ring fingers on his left hand together. Deserved or not, the punishment had hit him hard. Not only did it hurt like nothing else, but it had been done in front of subordinates, injuring Dilandau’s pride as well as his body. Without another thought, he stripped off his other glove, his coat, and his armored jacket. He lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Dilandau, a deep voice suddenly broke into his thoughts, startling him into sitting up straight, making a wave of dizziness wash over him. Come here.

Dilandau stood up, shaky. He was already wounded and weakened, not to mention extremely upset that he had failed his lord and lost three of his Slayers. He couldn’t read any emotions in Folken’s voice as it invaded his mind. For all he knew, he could be calling him to chastise him some more. A chastisement from Lord Folken could mean anything from a verbal reprimand to being beaten to within an inch of life.

He walked the route from his chambers to Folken’s slower than normal, due to his weariness. It wasn’t until he got to the door that he realized he wasn’t in uniform anymore. Too late to go back now. He knocked on the door.

It swung open, and he entered, lowing himself down to the floor in submission. “Lord Folken,” he said as the door closed soundlessly.

Folken was sitting in a chair he had pulled near the window, gazing out into the night. The Iron Moon and the Mystic Moon shown high in the sky, their light illuminating the room brightly, giving no need for another source of light.

“Dilandau,” he said at length. “You have yet to tell me why you disobeyed me this evening.” He would not look at his subordinate.

Dilandau’s breath caught in his throat. “I-I…I am not sure myself, My Lord.”

“Yes, you are,” Folken said, a hint of anger coming into his voice. “Not only did you attack them for real, as I instructed you not to do, but you didn’t leave off when you should have. If you had not chased down my brother and Nukushi, you would have only lost one man, and my brother’s life would not have been endangered. Nukushi may not have brought me the Wing Goddess even if you hadn’t interfered, but your intrusion on the matter only made it worse. You killed Nukushi ‘on accident’, you lost two more men, and you could have killed my brother when I specifically told you to not hurt Van more than it took to retreat. You have deeply disappointed me, Dilandau.”

Dilandau hung his head, still on his knees. “I am sorry, My Lord,” he whispered. “I let my desire for bloodshed cloud my judgment.” His voice was shaking minutely. Letting Lord Folken down like this was something he hated more than anything else.

He heard Folken rise from his chair and walk toward him. Folken had also removed his armored jacket, and was wearing a pale blue-green cotton shirt instead. Dilandau had noticed this as he had first entered, but he was not looking at his lord now.

“Stand up, Dilandau,” Folken told him, stopping just as the toes of his boots came into Dilandau’s field of vision as he stared at the floor. Dilandau complied, though none too easily.

He jolted in surprised as Folken gripped his upper arms and pulled him close. It was not an embrace, but they were standing so closely together they were almost touching. Folken’s hand came up and rested gently against the back of Dilandau’s head. Dilandau had barely enough time to wonder what he was doing before a warm, tingly sensation washed through his head, making him slightly dizzy. He held onto Folken lightly to keep from falling for a few minutes, until the realization of what he was doing almost made him fall down anyway. Folken was transferring some of his own telekinetic energy from his fingertips into Dilandau’s head, willing the tissue there to heal and restructure itself correctly from the damage done by the injuries to his head and face. It was akin to healing magic, and only highly advanced telekinetics such as Lord Folken could do it psychically, instead of magically.

“M-My Lord!” he gasped, reflexively trying to pull back. “Y-you gave me most of these injuries yourself. Why are you—”

“If you are to pilot Alseides tomorrow,” Folken replied, keeping him in place as he finished repairing the head and face injuries, moving down to the bruised skin on his neck from where he had been choked, “you must be strong and healthy. If you are weak and injured like this, you won’t be able to pilot it to your fullest ability, or the strain on your body to operate it could even kill you, rendering both you and Alseides useless. Perhaps I was too hard on you earlier.”

Dilandau stayed silent as Folken took hold of his left hand. It was not the worst injury, but it was the most thorough. The bones in his fingers had been snapped in several places. He flinched as he remembered the grinding sensation as Folken mentally bent them back the wrong way, breaking the bones like so many dry twigs. His eyes had closed, and he opened them again as Folken cracked the stiff cast and let it fall away. Dilandau opened and closed the fingers of his left hand a few times. Sure enough, they were like new again. He bowed his head. “Thank you, My Lord.”

Folken slipped his arms around Dilandau’s slender waist, pulling his lover up against him, holding him gently. He nuzzled the silvery-white hair as Dilandau’s arms wound themselves loosely about his neck. They stood like that for several minutes, merely taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“Dilandau,” Folken murmured against his ear, “it all ends tomorrow. Everything we’ve been fighting for will finally come to pass. Tomorrow…” He trailed off, sucking gently on Dilandau’s earlobe, sending tantalizing threads of pleasure coursing through the smaller body in his arms.

“Tomorrow…” Dilandau repeated hazily, tangling his fingers in Folken’s hair. “Tomorrow…” He suddenly stiffened up as his eyes flew wide. Tomorrow. Folken would take control of Escaflowne. Gaea would be laid to waste. They and everyone else would meet their end. “Tomorrow?! NO!” He clutched desperately to Folken’s larger form, his fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, even through his shirt fabric. This was their last and final time together.

“What is it?” Folken asked, startled, raising his head from where he was nibbling delicately along Dilandau’s throat. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t want this world to end!” Dilandau cried, hot tears forcing their way from his eyes and rolling down his white cheeks. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want you to die! I love you!”

Folken leaned down and gently kissed and licked the tears away, murmuring soft reassurances to his lover. Finally, he moved his mouth from the hollow of his cheek to his lips, claiming them once again with a deep, possessive, soul-shattering kiss. It made him dizzy, sent a rush of lust to the already urgent desire between his legs, and turned his knees to water. Only Folken’s tight embrace was holding him upright by the time they separated. Dilandau shamelessly pressed himself against Folken until they could come no closer.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded, feeling despair at their inevitable parting.

“Shhh,” Folken soothed. “We’ll be together in the afterlife. I promise you.” With that, he gently pushed Dilandau over to the bed and lowered him down to the mattress, lying down beside him, slipping his hands inside his clothing, pulling them off.

“You really—ngh!—promise?” Dilandau panted as Folken’s fingers entwined tightly around his hardness inside his pants before they were pulled off.

“I promise,” Folken murmured, disrobing his lover and them himself.

Their lovemaking was frantic at first, hot and quick and lustful. They slowed down after the first climax, their pace becoming more as they both liked it, drawing out the desire and pleasure, deepening and intensifying it. Folken made Dilandau shiver and sing, the tears in his eyes transforming from miserable to ecstatic in his pleasure. They each came seven times in all, both of them screaming the last time. Later, Dilandau would remember their last night together as their most unforgettable.

Dilandau collapsed facedown onto the sheets, panting and whimpering as Folken withdrew from him for the final time. Their energy was depleted utterly. Their skin and the bedding around them was sticky, stained with their lovemaking, wrapping them in a warm wetness. He felt Folken lie down upon him, his calming weight pressing him into the mattress. “My Lord,” he whispered softly.

“Mmm,” Folken purred, breathing in the thick, comforting scent of their semen, as well as the distinct, slightly musky fragrance that was Dilandau.

After a while, Folken pushed himself up, pulled the half-asleep Dilandau up as well, turned him around, and pulled him onto his lap, nestling his head into his lover’s neck. Dilandau blinked confusedly down at him, a question in his eyes.

“I have one last thing to give you,” Folken whispered, pressing a kiss to Dilandau’s neck. His hands slid around to Dilandau’s back, tracing his spine softly with his fingertips.

“My Lord, what—” Dilandau began, but broke off as a burning sensation spread along the centerline of his back, corresponding roughly with his spinal column. Folken suddenly dug his fingers into the skin there, transferring some of his own energy into Dilandau’s body, increasing the burning sensation. Dilandau bit back a scream as the hands were withdrawn, and something burst forcefully from his back. He sagged against Folken, trembling.

A few minutes later, he found the energy to lift his head and look back. He had the odd sensation he was bigger than he used to be, his balance thrown off. His eyes widened suddenly, his breath catching in his throat at what he saw.

Wings. Two large, white-feathered wings.

“Yes,” Folken affirmed, speaking softly into his ear. “All draconians have them from birth. You had no access to yours, your half-human blood somehow keeping them suppressed. I’ve broken down that wall. Now, you can extend and withdraw them at will. You’ve seen my brother do it. It’s my final gift to you.”

“Thank you, My Lord…” Dilandau whispered weakly. “I’ll help you destroy Gaea…I’ll help you break the chains of destiny.” His eyes slid closed as all the night’s activities rushed up at him at once, and he sank down into uneventful blackness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There it was. There was the huge hunk of quasi-organic material known as Alseides. Staring at the way it lay like scrap metal in the Sorcerers’ lab, Dilandau found it hard to believe that letting his blood flow into this thing would bring it to life. He looked back down to the Sorcerers, who were no taller than children. He wondered vaguely what had stunted their growth. They looked back at him expectantly. Everything was ready. All they needed was for him to get into the cockpit.

“Master Dilandau!” a voice cried from behind him, stopping him before he took more than a step forward. He turned and saw his remaining three Slayers and Jajuka running toward him. He sighed. They must have found out.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Master!” Shesta, who was ahead of everyone else, said, sounding dismayed. “You’re not getting into that thing, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Dilandau answered. “I’m the only one that Lord Folken knows about who is able to pilot it. It is an order from him.”

“But…” Shesta stammered.

“Are you suggesting I disobey, Shesta?” Dilandau asked, staring directly into his smallest Slayer’s eyes. “After yesterday’s fiasco? I think not.”

“We don’t want to see you hurt!” Shesta burst out. “Especially because of some order from that madman!” The Dragon Slayers were all loyal to Dilandau far more than they were to Folken. In fact, the Slayers didn’t like Folken at all.

Dilandau swung his hand up and slapped Shesta hard enough to knock him back into Gatty. “How dare you…?” he hissed. “It doesn’t matter if I get hurt. It doesn’t matter if I die, either. We all die; some now, some later.” He turned on his heel and marched away.

“Master…” he heard one Slayer say, though he wasn’t sure who as his thoughts partially drowned the word out. The Slayers didn’t know about Folken’s ultimate goal. Only Folken, Dilandau, and Sora knew about them. The common soldier just wouldn’t understand.

He stopped in front of the line of Sorcerers. “Well? What should I do?”

“Strip,” one of the Sorcerers said.

“Huh…?!” Dilandau hadn’t expected that…

“You heard us,” another said. “Take your clothes off. They’ll only get in the way.”

Dilandau blinked twice, then complied. At least it was warm in here.

“That’s enough,” a third Sorcerer said when he had only his underwear left. “Climb up those stairs, and get into the cockpit. We’ll take it from there.”

Dilandau nodded, and walked over to the bottom of the stairs that had been placed there for easy access for the Sorcerers to different parts of Alseides. He looked back to his Slayers and Jajuka. They were watching anxiously.

Goodbye, he thought, a wave a sadness sending a stab of remorse through his innards. He hated to fool them like this. They had no idea that the end of the world was coming tonight. He turned his eyes away, steeled himself, and climbed up to the Alseides cockpit.

It was molded to the shape of a human being, and he lowered himself into it, feeling the hardness around him and once again wondering if this fossil really could come to life. He jumped when a Sorcerer, who was standing just above the cockpit, caused a visor-like thing to set itself on his head, covering his eyes. He was blind.

“What is this?” Dilandau asked, feeling anxious. He didn’t like not being able to see. Before he got an answer though, four pointed objects stabbed into the sides of his neck, two on each side. He stiffened, but managed not to cry out. They were the needles that would take his blood and give it to Alseides.

Smaller, less painful, pricking sensations broke out over his body. Alseides was connecting itself to Dilandau, merging the two entities, transferring part of itself into Dilandau at the same time it took some of Dilandau into itself. Dozens of little needles were puncturing his skin, giving essence as well as taking it away. He felt something restraining him, holding his wrists and ankles down, but he didn’t have the state of mind to wonder what it was.

He fell into a kind of trance. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move, and he was at the mercy of this huge fighting machine. If it was going to kill him, it was too late to turn back now. He groaned.

Finally, after an endless period of lying there, he was jolted back to full consciousness by an acidic sensation shooting through his blood. He arched as much as he could within his confines and screamed. Dear gods, it hurt…he was dying…

Suddenly, the sensation vanished, and he felt the tiny needles all withdrawing at the same time, the four large ones in his neck the only needles remaining. The visor was taken away, and he blinked in the light, dim as it was. The confines around his wrists and ankles started to grow, and before long, he was encased up to his neck in something akin to metal body armor, cool and hard to the touch.

Alseides’ cockpit closed.

He lay there, panting and sweating, for a minute, overwhelmed by the sudden barrage of unexpected sensations. After a moment, he calmed again, and it hit him. It was up to him now. He was in control of this thing.

He stood up.

He looked down at Jajuka, Gatty, Shesta, and Ryuan. Goodbye, Jajuka, my boys, he thought. He squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear running down his cheek. Goodbye, My Lord Folken…I pray we meet again.

He began walking. Alseides responded easily to his motions, moving as he wanted it to move. The merging he had gone through with the thing had told him exactly what it was capable of.

As he emerged into the twilit streets of Torushina, he felt a slow grin spread across his pale face. His passion for fire and bloodshed was emerging again. His distinctive laughter bubbled up in his throat and broke free, echoing through Torushina as he let loose with the flamethrower in Alseides’ head.

The final battle had begun.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day, approaching sunset…

Dilandau lay limply on the bedding he had been provided with in the room he, Shesta, Gatty, and Ryuan had gotten at the local inn. The Black Dragon Empire had fallen at sunrise this morning, and Dilandau and his Slayers had ridden to the town nearest Torushina, and gotten a room at this inn so they could decide what they’d do next. The Black Dragon Empire was gone, so they had no allegiance to anyone at the moment. Four futons had been laid out on the floor of the room, and Dilandau was now laying on his, the other three having gone down to the ground floor to get something to eat.

He was crying. He had displayed a “what will come will come” reaction to the fall of Folken’s empire to his Slayers, but inside, he had felt like he was dying. Gaea hadn’t been destroyed, which was fine enough for Dilandau, as he enjoyed life, except for the fact that his lord was dead. He had died along with his empire, leaving Dilandau alone.

Lord Folken! he mentally wailed. My dear, dear Folken! You said you wouldn’t leave me! You said we’d be together when this was all over! He had seen with his own eyes Lord Folken’s floating fortress crumble and fall. Just before it had completely fallen apart, he had seen Folken’s little brother and the Wing Goddess fly out. He saw them, and he knew. Folken was dead. The fortress was collapsing due to his power vanishing, no longer holding it up. He didn’t know how he had died, but assumed it was Van’s doing. His mind told him he should hate that stripling and his girlfriend for what they had done, but his heart couldn’t bring himself to. Maybe later, but not now. He had no room in his heart for hate or resentment, only sorrow.

His body was wracked with sobs, and he bit a corner of one of his blankets to muffle his voice. His wings had emerged, and they lay limply behind him as he sprawled on his side, shivering, every feather trembling.

It’s not fair! he thought, his eyesight blurry from his tears. I never found out if he loved me or not…and now, I’ll never know. I’ll never see him again! Oh, My Lord…!

He lay weeping like that for a long while. He really didn’t care if his Slayers walked in and found him a teary mess. He didn’t even care if they walked in and saw his wings. All he really wanted to do at the moment was mourn his lord’s death.

As luck would have it, they didn’t return before he was finished, and after a while, he pushed himself into a sitting position, dried his tears, waited until his breathing was normal again, and let his wings dissolve into a flurry of feathers, which itself disappeared after a moment. He put his shirt on and exited the room to join his comrades.

He walked down the stairs to the dining area, and he scouted out the table his Slayers were sitting at. He walked over to them and sat down. They had all finished eating, and were making smalltalk. They noticed the somber look on his face and became concerned.

“Are you all right, Master Dilandau?” Shesta asked, laying hand on his shoulder.

“Fine, fine…” Dilandau answered noncommittally.

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” Gatty asked. “Or something to eat?”

Dilandau shook his head. He didn’t have much of an appetite right now, despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten in several hours.

“You look like you really need to relax,” Ryuan commented. “Let your hair down and let your wings stretch a bit.”

A sharp pain went through Dilandau’s chest. Wings…the last thing Lord Folken had given him. His fists clenched and his head dropped almost to the tabletop as he tried to keep from crying out in his pain.

“Master Dilandau?” Ryuan asked, alarmed. “Did I say something wrong?”

Dilandau stood up shakily, not looking at any of them. “I-I have to go…” he stammered. When one of them—he didn’t notice which—stood up and took hold of his wrist, panic suddenly lanced through him, and he bolted.

He ran out of the inn, down the road, through the streets, and out of the town itself. He ran without knowing where he was going, across the farmers fields, through tall grass and weeds that bordered the fields, and into the sparse smattering of trees that stood almost a mile from the town. When he entered the trees, the energy he had spent finally caught up to him, and he collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily, feeling sweat run down his skin. His eyes stung sharply, and he felt tears flowing from his already reddened eyes.

He knelt there, crying, for a few minutes, then started when he felt a sudden pressure building in his back. He pulled his shirt off so quickly, he almost tore it, and his wings burst from his spine, falling into their natural resting position as he bent forward slightly, reestablishing his balance. The long, white-feathered appendages wrapped around him, and he clutched at the feathers, his tears dripping from his eyes and dampening the whiteness.

He barely noticed the sound of approaching horse hooves, nor did he hear the voices of his Slayers calling out to him. He did, however, notice a strangled gasp coming from not far behind him, and he looked back to see Shesta staring wide-eyed at him, looking absolutely shocked. Gatty and Ryuan displayed similar astonishment when they saw him, as well.

The three of them noticed his tears, quickly dismounting and rushing over to him, kneeling down around him.

“Master Dilandau!” Gatty cried, brushing Dilandau’s hair aside and trying to look his leader in the eyes. “What’s wrong?!”

Dilandau raised his head a bit and looked at them each in turn through his tears. There was no reason to hide it now. Haltingly, he explained his relationship with Folken, from how they first came together to Folken’s release of his wings barely two nights ago.

“I never found out if he loved me or not,” he whimpered softly as he finished. His Slayers were all staring at him in amazement, though he didn’t really notice.

Dilandau jolted in surprise when he felt Shesta pull him into a tight embrace, the small psychic offering whatever comfort he could give. “Please, don’t cry, Master Dilandau,” he murmured, stroking Dilandau’s white hair. “I’m here. We’re all here for you. We’ll always stand by your side.”

Dilandau felt a wave of gratefulness wash through him, and his tears eventually tapered down. He let Shesta pull him up to his feet, and the four of them returned to the inn as the sun sank completely below the horizon.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Early that morning, before his Slayers had woken, Dilandau had slipped out of the inn and walked back to the trees. He didn’t really know where he was going any more than he had when he had run out here yesterday evening. However, when he got to the trees, he walked right through them, coming out the other side half a mile further. He was in an untamed patch of land, and about two hundred feet from the far edge of the trees, there stood a cliff.

He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. It looked at least five hundred feet tall, and at the bottom were cracked and broken rocks looking like they had fallen from a great height.

He looked back in the direction of the town. It was a couple hours since he left, as he had walked slowly. His Slayers would soon find out he was missing, unless they had already. No doubt they would be frantic to find him. Shesta would be able to pinpoint his location using his seeing ability, and they would of course come after him. If they got on the horses, they could be here in less than twenty minutes.

He turned his gaze out off the edge of the cliff. Some birds were flying the early-morning sunshine, and he felt an unfamiliar yet recognizable urge stir within him. He removed his shirt, dropping it to the grass, and willed his wings to emerge. It didn’t hurt to bring them out anymore, the burn being replaced by a pleasant tingling. His draconian blood rejoiced in his long-denied ability to bring his wings out.

He found himself wondering if flight was instinctual for draconians, or if it had to be learned. He looked up to the birds in the sky again. The quickest way to find out was to jump. If it were instinctual, he would take to it without having to think about it. But, if it had to be learned, he would fall to his death on the rocks below. And, even if it was instinctual, he had never flown before, so his flight muscles may not be strong enough to support him. He closed his eyes.

I don’t care if I die, he thought. It would give me a chance to be with my love again. He opened his eyes and felt his hands clench into fists. He will do it. He will jump.

His wings spread wide, and he felt another tingle spread him as he stretched them out. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and jumped.

He fell.

The wind ripped at him as he fell, and he closed his eyes, resigned. He was going to die, and he accepted his fate.

Lord Folken, he thought, will I see you again in the Other World? He opened his eyes again. He was about halfway down, and he watched the boulders below slowly get bigger.

As he watched, a sudden, strong urge to flap his wings filled him, compelling him to act. He brought his wings up and then pumped them down hard. His fall slowed, and he felt like he was floating for a second. He flapped his wings again…and again…again…again…

Barely forty feet above the ground, he felt himself pull up, changing his direction from vertical to horizontal, skimming over the tops of the tall trees that grew at the bottom of the cliff. The wind felt glorious against his skin, and he slowly brought himself up, catching an updraft and circling higher and higher, till he found himself soaring far above the top of the cliff.

He felt tears fill his eyes and spill over, scattering in the wind. Oh, My Lord Folken, he thought. This truly is the greatest gift you could have given me. Unrestrained joy was rushing through his system. He hadn’t known about it until a few moments ago, but the draconians’ thirst for riding the wind, completely denied since his birth, demanded satisfaction.

For a long time, he merely flew, letting the wind take him this way and that, though keeping the cliff within sight to ensure he’d find his way back. The wind was chilly, but he didn’t care. It felt so right to fly like this, going so high it seemed he could reach up and touch the sun. After a while, though, he began to tire, and he turned back toward the cliff he had left.

As he half expected, his Slayers were standing near the edge, watching him. Their horses were nearby, grazing. All three had their eyes fixed on him, looking amazed and anxious at the same time, impressed with his flight and fearing for his safe return. As he neared, he realized he didn’t that know how to land. Oh, well…too late to worry about that now.

He managed to land on his feet, but his momentum hadn’t slowed enough, and he pitched forward, falling first to his hands and knees, continuing forward and landing flat on his stomach. He coughed and pushed himself up. How embarrassing.

“Are you all right, Master Dilandau?” Ryuan asked, helping him into a sitting position. The other two knelt on the other side of him.

“I’m fine,” Dilandau answered, brushing himself off. “Just have to practice landing in the future.”

“You flew beautifully, Master Dilandau,” Gatty said. “You scared us to death, though. We found your shirt on the ground, and didn’t spot you in the air for a few minutes. Shesta was near frantic trying to find you.” Shesta nodded beside him.

Dilandau took his shirt back from Shesta and slipped it over his head, his wings having retracted a moment earlier. As he looked from one Slayer to another, reading the looks of relieved nervousness and bewildered admiration, he realized he couldn’t leave them. Thoughts of suicide and flitted though his mind from time to time since losing Folken, and he felt like going through with it as often as he didn’t. But, as looked into the eyes of each of his surviving Slayers, he knew they would be devastated if he suddenly left them, as much as he was now over losing his beloved lord, and he couldn’t inflict the pain he was himself feeling on the only three people left alive that he really cared about. He was bloodthirsty in battle, but he wasn’t a cruel man at heart.

He closed his eyes, sending a silent plea into the afterlife. Please, give me the strength, Lord Folken, he prayed. Help me through this. Help me get over my grief. Help me learn to live again.

He stood up, offered a wan smile to his Slayers, beckoning them to stand as well. He thanked the gods for giving him his fiery spirit. He knew that, somehow, he’d pull his life back together and learn to live on.

Owari

Author’s Notes: There you go. It took me three days to write this. I know the ending is a little abrupt, but it came out the way I wanted it, and I hope I didn’t leave loose ends. I left it up to readers as to whether Dilandau manages to fully recover from the loss of Folken. And, before anyone asks, no, Shesta is not in love with Dilandau. He pulled him into his arms like that to give him comfort. I’m sure most of you realize that, but I know there are some people out there that interpret any show of affection as evidence of romantic feelings. That said, I hope you all like this. The decision to write it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and most of my fics are contemplated for a couple weeks before I get around to writing them. Let me know how you like this in a review or an email to mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!
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A Gift of Wings