Forgotten Warrior
By Lady of the Ink
Pairing: Eries Aston/Allen Schezar
Fandom: Escaflowne, (The Vision of)
Theme: # 2 – news; letter
Disclaimer: I don’t own Escaflowne, but you knew that ...I hope.
Summery: A/U – There’s a town legend that speaks of a ghostly knight who foretells of doomed love. When an accident brings Eries face to face with him, she learns the truth behind the myth.
Chapter Two
What Allen Found
Allen Schezar had had enough. His mood was dark, his temper was strained to its limits, and the store of composure that he prided himself on was running thin. He’d returned to his family home just the week before and had already suffered more mishaps there than in the entire eight years he’d been gone.
It had begun the very night of his arrival when he’d gone to rest in his old room only to find the bed had been soaked through with water. He’d been too tired to do more than toss his things aside and make a poor substitute on the floor with his cloak for a blanket and his saddlebag for a pillow.
The morning had brought with it a door that refused to open, no matter how hard he pulled. His annoyed shouts had finally summoned one of the few servants left who fumbled audibly with something before releasing him from his prison. The poor old man had stuttered so much at his scowling face that Allen hadn’t been able to understand a word he said but the small, wedge-shaped piece of wood he held spoke for itself. He’d managed to control his anger enough to calm the man before taking the item and consigning it to the nearest fire.
He’d been on guard the next morning, approaching the door with the cautious air one might usually afford a snake or other dangerous animal. He’d given it a testing tug and been unsurprised when it didn’t budge. Grasping the doorknob with both hands, he’d braced his feet and pulled with all his might. The door had flown open with only a small groan, leaving him fighting to keep his balance at the unexpected lose of resistance. It had taken all his dexterity to just to stay on his feet. He’d approached the doorway with a puzzled frown, intent on figuring out this new trick. Instead, he’d gotten a single glimpse of an old pot as it swung in a graceful arc toward his head. The impact had sent him straight to the floor, a large knot already rising on his forehead.
Things had only gotten worse from there. His food was tainted with an excess of salt, a dead animal managed to lock itself in his trunk, holes appeared in all the clothes but the ones he was wearing, and sprigs of one poisonous plant or another had found their way into the bottom of his boots. If he hadn’t taken to checking them each morning before donning them, he knew he wouldn’t have been walking anywhere for quite some time. As it was, the hand he had used to pull them free had suffered instead, an equally annoying but less debilitating injury.
His hand was still burning three days later when he walked slowly from the house as if the only thought in his mind was taking a stroll in the warm spring air. Not for anything would he allow himself to be seen looking like he was running away, even if that was exactly what he was doing. He’d been to war, killed countless men in bloody battles that still haunted his dreams, but he’d never faced an enemy like the one troubling him now. His considerable experience seemed to be of no use unless he wanted to treat the situation like just another battle. But even then, there were problems - such as how exactly one went about waging war on one’s own sister.
Allen sighed and pushed a hand through his already disheveled hair, wincing when he accidentally hit the still tender lump just below his hairline. He knew that Celena was angry with him and he also knew that she had every right to be. He’d been furious when their father had simply left one day and never come back; it was hard to admit that he’d done little better himself.
It hadn’t started that way, though. He’d left home at eleven to try to find work, a way of supporting his mother and sister. When no legitimate means had presented themselves, he’d tried his hand at some illegitimate ones and found success. Staying just far enough away from home that he wouldn’t run into people who might recognize him and get word back to his mother, he had started living the life of a thief. The money wasn’t much but he was able to return home every few days with enough to tide them all over. As he grew up, he found himself a group of other likeminded boys and they had turned to bigger prizes. Before long, they had armed themselves and taken to holding up merchants that made the mistake of traveling through their domain.
He’d never been proud of his banditry and he’d jumped at the first chance to leave it behind. A botched robbery when he was fourteen had brought a master swordsman into his life and pure luck had saved that life mere moments later. The quickness he’d been forced to learn had allowed him to dodge the first of the older man’s blows, successfully gaining his attention. For reasons that he had never disclosed, Balgus had decided to take him as his pupil and teach him what it took to be a true swordsman. It had required his willingness to travel far from the town where he’d been raised and after a full day’s consideration, Allen had agreed and packed his bags.
It hadn’t been an easy decision, although he knew Celena would never believe him if he told her that. Leaving everything that he had ever known had been hard; knowing he was leaving his mother and sister basically alone was even harder. They’d stayed foremost in his thoughts as he went through Balgus’ grueling training. Every skill that he gained he saw as one more thing to use for them, whether to protect them or to earn money to support them. By the time he was knighted Balgus had moved on and word of his talent had spread. It didn’t take long for him to find a lord willing to give him a place in his guard.
That had been more than two years before, time during which he had sent every spare coin that came his way home but never quite managed a visit. It was all too easy to picture his family’s faces and arguments should he return. Leaving for a second time would have been worse than the first and he wasn’t so proud as to deny that he wanted to avoid that moment for as long as he could manage.
Only it turned out he’d waited a little too long. A messenger had arrived as soon as the heaviest snows melted and cleared the roads enough for travel. The letter announcing his mother’s illness had been placed in his hand just after dawn; by noon he had packed his things and been traveling south. He hadn’t arrived home until nearly two weeks later only to be greeted at the door with the news that she’d already passed away. It was a moment burned into his memory and something for which he knew he’d never forgive himself.
He couldn’t bring back his mother or undue the wrongs he’d done. All he could do was try to mend the relationship with his sister and make sure that he didn’t repeat his mistake. He had come home with the hopes of coming to really know his sister, of learning who she was and what she wanted out of life and doing his best to help her achieve it.
So far, things were not going so well. He’d been in residence for nine days and hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Celena. She somehow managed to know where he was and what he was doing and set up all her little traps without being seen by him. Buried somewhere deep, deep beneath the annoyance he felt was a grudging sort of admiration at her skill. If they ever managed to speak to one another, he might even consider asking her for some tips.
He sighed again. More ifs. He didn’t have time for ifs. The leave he had been granted by his lord was generous but not unending. The time when he would have to start his return trip was drawing close at an alarming rate. It would nothing short of a crime to his mind to have go back without making any progress at all.
‘Maybe I should tie myself to a pole and offer to let her throw things at me for an entire day,’ he thought darkly. ‘At least then I’d be able to see what she looks like.”
His last memory of her was the day he’d left for good. She’d been eight at the time, a child with tousled curls and big eyes, crying from behind their mother’s skirt. She’d begged him not to go, promising to be good from then on if he would only stay. Celena had been just five when Leon had vanished and Allen knew that she saw him as something closer to a father than a brother. That knowledge had weighed heavily on his mind when he forced himself to walk away with nothing more than a final pat on her head.
He didn’t want another painful parting. Even if they couldn’t be as close as they had been as children, he wanted her to know that he was there for her and always would be. If he could just convince her to talk to him, he could start working on arranging her future so that she could be happy. There had to be a way to show her that, contrary to what she seemed to believe, he only wanted the best for her.
Allen continued his meandering walk, so lost in thought that he barely noticed the scenery as he passed it. He’d spent his youth running wild through that forest; it would take more than eight years away to change it enough that he couldn’t navigate it with his eyes closed. He didn’t even have to think to step around the boulder that had once been his fortress or hop over the small stream with the huddled form resting in its center.
That sight was startling enough to push all thoughts of Celena from his mind. In seconds he was kneeling by the figure’s side, quickly checking for injuries. He didn’t see any blood or feel any broken bones but there seemed to be fabric of some sort wrapped around the body’s head, sodden and clinging closely. He frowned a bit at the coldness of it as he started untangling it; even in this shaded area, the sun and air should have warmed to something other than this winter like chill.
Finally managing to pull the fabric away from the person’s head, Allen felt his heart seize in his chest. The silvery blond strands that spilled free looked all too familiar, having just replayed in his mind surrounding his little sister’s face. He remembered their mother stroking their hair, laughingly referring to them as her sun and moon children.
‘Not Celena, not Celena,” his mind chanted. With hands that shook more than he wanted to admit, he grasped the girl’s shoulders and gently eased her on to her back. The breath whooshed from his lungs as a face that he had never seen before was revealed. This girl was probably closer to his own age than his sisters, although it was difficult to judge. Her skin was smooth and free of scars and although her clothing was oddly made, it appeared to be of quality and in good condition, her soaking aside.
Since he had found no obvious wounds, Allen knew there was nothing more he could do until she woke up. With that goal in mind, he gently patted her cheeks. When that garnered no response, he shook her lightly and was rewarded with a groan. She turned her head, a frown pulling at her lips as her forehead wrinkled. With a heavy exhalation, her eyes began to flutter open, revealing their color to be like the gray tinged sky present just before a storm.
He watched as they slowly focused on the branchy canopy over their heads, causing her frown to deepen. She blinked slowly as though to trying to clear her vision. It mustn’t have helped because she muttered something he didn’t understand to herself and tried to sit up. Not wanting to risk her hurting herself before she was fully aware, Allen gently pressed her shoulders back toward the ground.
This action served to shift her attention to him, alerting her to his presence for the first time. He was startled as her eyes widened first in recognition and then narrowed in irritation. She started speaking again, the words flowing out quickly and making it obvious her annoyance was directed straight at him. He listened in dumbfounded silence, realizing that wasn’t speaking an unknown language after all but some form of his own. Her speech was strangely accented but if he concentrated, he could make out most of the words. He almost wished he hadn’t when she glared at him and finished her tirade with, “This is all your fault.”
The moment the accusation was out her eyes fluttered closed and she went limp in his arms. Allen stared down at her in confusion, wondering what he could have done to her when she’d been, and still technically was, a stranger to him. Shaking his head in resignation, he lifted her in his arms and began the walk home. At worst, he would have two angry females to deal with for the duration of his stay. At best, Celena or one of servants would be able to identify the woman and he could quickly send her on her way. If nothing else, asking about her might be enough to pull his sister from hiding for at least a moment or two.