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The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea
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Part Three: West Wind



The trumpets of a prophecy! O, Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
                    Percy Shelley



******


     Almost three weeks had passed since they had come to Daedalus.
Three endlessly boring and, piecing together what little Van and Allen
had told her about the conferences, futile weeks Celena would never
get back which she had been forced to pass in Sarine's company.

     It was natural and proper that Sarine would invite the only female
member of their party, especially one so near her in age, to be her
companion for the duration of their stay; it was only courteous of
Celena to accept her invitation. Celena understood it was Allen's sole
reason for bringing her and she couldn't drudge up enough anger to
hold it against him, but Sarine, she had come to realize, was one of the
few people she actively disliked and Celena wanted to go home.

     There were plenty of surface reasons to hate Sarine. Celena had
just escaped from a session with Sarine of embroidering shawls for the
coming winter, which was always an intolerant and brutal season in
the barren flatlands of Daedalus. Celena was vehemently opposed to
sewing partly because it was useless in itself and only served as an
excuse to keep females indoors and complacent and partly because she
was horrible at it. While Sarine's needle told a detailed and fascinating
story of unicorns and peach-cheeked maidens, Celena had lost hope
after her first few knotty lumps. She had excused herself, claiming
fatigue, and shot the hell out of there.

     Sarine was too much of a lady for her taste, with her startled,
endearing little affectations and no seeming desire to try anything
interesting. Eries and Millerna, both of whom Celena rather liked,
were strong and capable even with their overtly feminine mannerisms.
Sarine was effusive and boring and content to wear pretty things and
marry rich.

     Or, Celena was beginning to speculate with a sick stomach, that
was only what Sarine wanted her to think. There was a sharpness in
Sarine's eyes, a sourness in her mouth when she thought no one was
looking. She was more calculating and shrewd than she wanted people
to know. Sarine was hiding something, a secret or a plan, and it was
bound to be superbly unpleasant.

     Celena was walking slowly through a curved stone hall, listening to
her footsteps echo off the walls, when the sound of soft, high-pitched
sobs caught her attention. She stopped, tilting her head  as she tried to
distinguish the source, then followed it to one of the many hidden little
nooks, that multiply over the decades in old castles, where a boy was
crying.

     His back was towards her and she could only see a shock of
brown-black hair, but he was wearing Fanelian colors and Celena had
a good memory. He was a page that Van brought with him on Allen's
insistence that they have some sort of company with them, currently
hugging his knees tightly to his chest and almost mewing with the
effort of controlling his mournful, hopeless tears.

     "Ren?" Celena said softly, always good with names. Ren looked up
and blanched in panic, scrubbing his eyes and nose with the back of his
hand. Celena sat next to him, close but not close enough to be
threatening. "What's the matter?"

     It's hard to be stoic when faced with kindness and Ren burst out
crying with new resolve at the sound of a sympathetic voice. Celena's
first instinct was to gather him in her arms and hug him, to show him
that he was safe, but boys found coddling shameful and Celena settled
for putting a light arm around his shoulders. "Did something happen,
Ren?"

     The boy shook his head dolefully.

     "Then is something wrong?"

     Ren's lower lip quivered and, to Celena's surprise, he buried his
head in her skirt as he wailed, "I don't want Van-sama to leave!"

     "But... Van's not leaving Ren-chan," Celena said gently, running
her hand through his hair. "Well, he'll leave when you and I and
everyone else who came with us leaves, but he's not
going anywhere right now."

     She could feel the material of her dress twist as Ren shook his
head. "He won't mean to. But Van-sama'll go away and people will be
sad at him."

     Celena was too confused by his phrasing to interpret his meaning.
"Why do you think Van will leave? Did you hear someone talking?"

     Ren stood up at attention immediately, eyes sore but dry. "I... don't
know, Celena-san. I have to go now." 

     He zoomed away in a blur of red and brown, leaving Celena to
smooth out the wrinkles he had made in her dress, muttering, "That
was weird."

******

   Exactly three weeks had past since he had lost contact with Hitomi.
Van's campaign not to think about it had been a successful one, only
marred by noting this anniversary and a general underlying grief. 

     She hadn't wanted to leave him. Van had felt her confusion and her
horror before she was ripped away, and he clung to that memory.
When the conferences were over he would travel for endless years,
create oceans of the blood of the guilty, to find out what happened and
get her back. He couldn't leave now so Van would stay in Daedalus
until its king promised to stop bullying Allen and Eries, not thinking
about how very waifish and insubstantial Hitomi's absence had left
him.

     The peace talks themselves helped. Van listened slumped down in
his chair eyes closed and arms crossed and let the undercurrent
murmurs of the debates fill up his head. He hadn't spoken often, had
usually acting bored or sleepy because he could get away with it, but
Van bathed in the conversation, let it seep through his pores and
saturate his thoughts.

     Daelin was drumming his fingers on the table, something he did
when Allen was beginning to wear on his patience. "You understand,
Allen-dono, that these are bandit attacks. Nothing more, nothing less.
Daedalus does not officially condone any breach of the law, let alone
ones involving foreign affairs. Do not act under the assumption that
the country itself is benefitting."

     "Of course. You have never actively condoned the raids. I only
suggest that you now make an active attempt to stop them."

     Allen's hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail; he hadn't had the
time to properly attend to it. The new bruised skin folded above and
below his eyes stood in stark contrast to his equally recent pallor. Van
had almost forgotten how much Allen cared, how he believed his code
of chivalry preserved justice.

     "Our laws against such activity have always been strict,
Allen-dono."

     Van was pretty certain Celena knew something was wrong. She
always had before and lately she had taken to peering up at him,
concern clouding her eyes. Most of the time Van was thankful she had
taken it upon herself to be his confidant, although most of the time he
was also thankful she lived far away. He didn't know if he could
describe this to her, didn't know if being forced to explain this travesty
would destroy all his resolves to be strong.

     Allen stood up, actually slammed his fist down on the table, three
weeks of bitterness and frustration speaking through his voice. "Well
they're obviously not strict enough!"

     "Allen," Van said, the first thing he had said all morning. The
whole room turned around to look at him. Allen did too, glaring pure
murder although he calmed down almost immediately. Allen was not a
rash man. Still Van couldn't help feeling a little guilty glee at this role
reversal and the chance to be patronizingly rational while Allen was
angry. It's easy to stay calm when someone else's homeland is in
danger.

     "Allen," he said again. "Would you mind if Daedalus and me talked
alone? Just the two of us here," he specified for Daelin's advisors.

     Allen narrowed his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the
two kings. He straightened his cravat, once again in command of his
innate dignity, nodded and brushed out of the room. Passing Van he
said, very low and quiet so only the two of them could hear, "I hope
you know what you're doing."

     Van shrugged. He never did.

     Grudgingly, the advisors filed out when Van stared at them
pointedly. The room, designed to contain the swarms of pomposity
that hovered over large gatherings of politicians, felt barren with
only two men blunted by a lifetime of unquestioned authority.

     Van took a long sip of water and glanced at Allen's notes, which
were still on the table and indecipherably written in private note-taking
scrawl. He didn't look up to say, "He's a good man."

     Daelin blinked, startled. "What?"

     Van jerked his chin slightly to the door behind him. "Allen. We
don't agree all that much but he stood with me and fought by my side
and even let himself go to prison when he didn't have to because he
believed he was doing the right thing. The thing that would help
everybody, not just himself or Asturia. I don't know a better way to
define a good man."

     "Ah."

     Van circled the rim of the water glass with one finger. "Allen hasn't
had an easy life. The past few years have been the first real break he's
ever got. He loves the princess and Asturia and he'll be a good king."
Van met Daelin's eyes, expression perfectly impassive. "And you're not
helping him any by attacking those Asturian outposts."

     Daelin, a professional, didn't miss a beat. "Fanelia-dono, I was just
explaining before, Daedalus itself is not responsible for-"

     "You've been disguising your army as bandits and attacking Asturia
for over six colors," Van interrupted. "Why?"

     Daelin didn't answer, looking out the lone, arched window like a
man with a kingdom on his shoulders, He rose to stand closer to the
window, motioning for Van to join him.

     "You see out there," he said finally, gesturing to the red ground
and the red sky and a strange silver machine buried deep within the
earth. "What do you think it is?"

     "Mining equipment?" Van hazarded.

     Daelin turned to him, faintly amused, and Van realized how very
young the other king must think he was. "Very good, Fanelia-dono.
It's a machine that breaks the surface ground. Here in Daedalus there
is mining equipment directly outside the castle walls."

     He sat down again in his chair, leaving Van starkly outlined in red
from light filtering in through window. "Things do not grow easily in
our soil. We do not have enough crops to feed a city, let alone a
kingdom. Daedalus is a mining nation, Fanelia-dono."

     Van did not answer. He was expected to ask some innocuous
question that would lead
Daelin to his main point and he refused to let this man make him sound
ignorant.

     Daelin settled back in his chair. "Until very recently the materials
Daedalus mined was used to build guymelefs."

     "There are thousands of other uses for metal."

     "Pots and pans," Daelin said scornfully, angrily. "Plates, forks. All
the utensils in the world do not equal the iron used to make one
guymelef."

     Van's expression softened. "It's impossible to make a lasting peace
treaty that doesn't outlaw the production of powerful weapons. I'm
sorry if you've lost a source of income but there are always other ways
to make money. Rivers can be diverted to run through Daedalus. After
a time it can be a land where people can farm-"

     "You do not understand the situation, Fanelia." The rage in
Daelin's voice was real and intimidating, and Van unconsciously leaned
back. "Daedalians are a proud and stubborn people, and they scorn
farming. Not having to grow one's own food is only honorable here.
Sixty-five percent of the iron mined went into guymelef production. I
approve of peace, Fanelia-dono, but not at the expense of my people's
starvation. I like to think of myself as a sensible man and I agree that
changing to a agriculturally based economy is only course Daedalus
can take. The public will not attempt that without a motivation
powerful enough to overcome generations of prejudice. I think you
will agree that only chaos can come of telling them the most powerful
motivation."

     Van nodded, eyes thoughtful and sad. "I'm... But how can pillaging
a few Asturian towns help you?"

     "It can't." Daelin hesitated. "Fanelia-dono, what do you think of my
daughter?"

     "Sarine?" Van asked, confused. "I don't know her well but she
seems... nice."

     "Nice enough to marry?"

     "What?"

     Daelin reached out as if to put a hand on Van's shoulder but redrew
it again. "You inspire people, Fanelia. It's what you're known for. If
our nations are joined and my people know you'll be their future leader
perhaps they would indulge you and try to farm."

     "I can talk to them and inspire them without being married to your
daughter."

     "Not enough," Daelin said ruefully. "Not nearly enough."

     Van sat down on the window sill, bracing his arms against it to
support his upper body. "You can't be serious."

     "Can't I? You are both of prime marriageable age, marrying into
another country is nice,
symbolic gesture and Sarine is beautiful and kind and she likes you. I
think it's perfectly
reasonable."

     "No!" Van blurted out, an immediate gut reaction. Then, trying not
to sound as harsh, "It doesn't have anything to do with you or Sarine
or politics but I can't. There have to be hundreds of other ways of
solving your problems and we'll find one that'll work."

     "That's your final say on the subject, Fanelia?"

     Van nodded. "Allen's pretty good at this sort of thing. I'm sure the
three of us together could come up with some way to-"

     "You know, there were quite a few nearly operational guymelefs in
Daedalus that weren't quite finished before the treaty was signed."
Daelin was staring out the window again, expression drawn and
unreadable. "I'm sure they would function quite readily given a few
minor tweaks."

     Van's eyes narrowed. "Would they?"

     "The bandit raids seem to be moving east," Daelin added, almost
conversationally. "They're getting quite close to Freid, actually."

     "You're threatening to attack Chid," Van explicated, standing up.

     "Don't be hasty, Fanelia. I merely--"

     "You're threatening to attack _Chid_?!" Van repeated, hearing the
growing hysteria in his voice from somewhere far away. "Because I
won't marry your daughter who've I've known for less than a month,
you'd invade a struggling kingdom ruled by an eleven year old kid?!
That's insane! Did you actually expect me to take this seriously?"

     "I'm too desperate to bluff, Fanelia. Don't be foolish or arrogant
enough to treat this as a choice."

     He might as well be crying for help from the bottom of a pit for all
the power he controlled here and that alone would have made the
problem too strange and too big. Van couldn't think. There was only a
sour twisting in his stomach and a small, sneering voice in the back of
his head mocking him and his fear.

     "Ask me for anything else," he said, quiet but hoarse. 

     Daelin turned around. "Hmm?"

     Van looked down at the carpet. He didn't want to meet Daelin's
eyes.  He didn't want Daelin to see his. "I'll give you money.  I'll
reroute rivers to pass through your borders. I'll work your land until
my fingers bleed. I'll do everything within my power, just don't ask me
to do that. Anything but that... please"

     Daelin shook his head, profile impassive and remote. Van was
almost angrier about his apathy than his ultimatum. "We're both
intelligent men, Fanelia, and skirting around the issue is beneath us. To
maintain peace, which you spent your youth creating, please marry my
daughter."

     "This doesn't make any sense!" Van cried. "Why do you care so
much? Why me?"

     Daelin turned back to the window. "Sarine is the most valuable
natural resource Daedalus has now. I will get as much for her as I
can." He paused. "If I might be so bold, Fanelia, what is your main
object--"

     "You can't." 

     "... Aa."

      Van could feel the pressure of every link of pendant's chain against
his skin. His gaze settled on a pair of heavy gold candlesticks on the
center of the table, and he realized with a kind of distant horror that he
was calculating the amount of time he needed to grab one and swing,
the force of impact required... 

     "Do I have time to think this over before I make a decision?" He
asked, almost sarcastic.

     "As long as you need, Fanelia."

     Van snorted. The door shook and settled off its hinges when he left
the room.

*****

     Allen found him in his room, sitting on the bed with rounded
shoulders and staring at the wall. The younger boy didn't respond
when he asked about the conversation.

     "Van?" Allen said again, a little tight. "What went wrong?"

     Van's voice was empty. "He wants me to marry Sarine."

     Allen hadn't expected an answer; hearing Van speak was as much
of a surprise as his words. Allen didn't know what he could say. 

     "He won't attack Asturia any more if I marry Sarine. There'll be
peace if I marry Sarine. "Van glared up at him defiantly, as if he was
issuing a challenge.

     "You can only do what you think is right, Van," Allen gently said.
"Follow your heart but don't ignore your head. Remember--"

     "They're planning to invade Fried if I don't marry her."

     Allen stopped talking to take a breath as sharp as a knife. Silence
swamped the room. Nothing else to do, he followed Van's line of
sight. There was a hole in the wall, small but very deep. The palace
walls were plastered thick to block out noise. Allen looked back at
Van. The king's right hand was red and swelling. His knuckles were
nearly raw.

     "Oh," Allen said at length. He lowered his head slightly, hair falling
over his shoulders like a curtain. "I... I don't think I can advise you
about this matter, Van."

     Van shrugged with one shoulder, as if he had expected as much.
Allen turned to go.

      "Hey, Allen?"

     Allen halted at the door. "Yes?"

     "Don't tell Celena, okay?"

     "You have my word."

     And he kept it, even though Celena alternately prodded and cajoled
him to learn why Van didn't leave his quarters for the rest of the day.

*****

          stupid! stupid! stupid! things were going well and he had to
ruin it with a damn ultimatum...

          it is not how it was originally planned. still, there could be 
worse setbacks.

                what? having him bludgeoned to death? what gave that stupid 
old man the right to think he had a say 

     you have. for the past sixteen years. be calm.

     ... apologies. please instruct on how to next act.

     be distant. don't let him know you know about this. let him
come to you. perhaps-

     yes?

     perhaps consider a different method.

     unacceptable.

     what is too difficult to accept?

     ...have spent too long preparing and training.

     indeed.

     yes. and not enough time to come up with a different method.

     sound reasoning indeed...

*****

     A little over three weeks had passed since the vision and Hitomi
was finding it much easier to cry than she ever had before. Banging
her elbow against a table, misplacing her shoes, passing a
car accident on her way to work made her throat swell and her eyes
quiver with tears she was always too proud or too embarrassed to
shed. She missed Van; she missed the simple reassurance of his
presence. She felt homesick and exposed and achingly alone. Hitomi
had forgotten how solid and oppressive loneliness could be, how it
muddled your senses and made you unclean. Being isolated in her head
was stripping Hitomi raw.

     But she never actually let herself cry and that stood for something.
Weeping was a sign of defeat and Hitomi wanted to at least know
what game she was playing before she lost at it.

     She hadn't had another vision since the one that took Van away
although she had been waiting for one more or less patiently. It was
funny in a dry, distant way that she was so desperate for something
she had spent her adolescence wishing away. Hitomi didn't really care;
finding Van, finding answers, was too important to sulk about the
methods. 

     The only problem was that she had never actively tried to have a
vision before, and she hadn't the faintest idea how to go about it.
Hitomi meditated at first, hoping that releasing conscious thought
would lead to releasing consciousness, but the back of her neck always
itched like people were snickering at her off in a corner. The polar
opposite, thinking about what happened logically as a series of steps
and people, only made her mad at how nasty all of this was, and logic
can't be born from anger.

     Hitomi would be willing to do almost anything to find and fix the
wrongs involved. She remained stagnate because there was nothing for
her to do. The situation was so devastatingly simple it rang with
finality.

     Indeed, during this hard awful time she was almost startled that the
world just kept... going. Hitomi payed her bills and went to work and
shopped for groceries and ate out with Seiko and Niabi like nothing
had changed because on the outside nothing _had_ changed.
Mundaneness was pushing her through life and Hitomi was scared that
she would end up married with three kids and Van only as a distant
memory because she couldn't stop the momentum. 

     But today was Saturday; Seiko and Niabi were out doing
something couple-y; and Hitomi was free to sit out in the middle of the
empty quad and brood in the summer humidity. Her thoughts were too
circular to pretend she was doing anything else.

     It wasn't fair that this happened. It wasn't right. It was just
senseless, meaningless cruelty and Hitomi wasn't used to being as
angry as it made her. She was naturally a mild person: what she
thought of as normal anger was someone else's indignation, and
Hitomi could hardly identify let alone handle the jagged lump of rage
cutting into a queer space behind her breastbone. She had been
snapping at everyone lately and then staying awake all night thinking it
over and hating herself for it. Hitomi wasn't an angry person but she
was a natural at self-flagellation.

     Still the anger was better than nothing because anger had to be
directed at something, even if it was vague and nameless. Hitomi had
to believe that there was someone directly and willingly responsible,
that there was any sort of reason behind this. The idea that Van was
gone forever because of a random tweak of fate or time was too hard
and cold to entertain. A kind universe couldn't be ruled by that sort of
science.

     Although it behaved oddly sometimes. Hitomi sighed and hugged
her knees to her chest, staring at the grass between her sneakers.

     And blinked. She carefully reached down, picking up a small circle
of copper and holding it up to glint against the sunlight.

     American money is fairly stable international currency and it is not
altogether uncommon to see dollar bills in Japan. Still the smaller the
amount tendered the rarer the unit, and Hitomi had almost never seen
a real American penny before. The surprise of it cheered her up a little.

     Someone had once told her - Amano maybe, or Sekio. No it must
of been Yukari, who had a cousin living in America - finding a penny
was good luck. If you found one head side up you could make a wish
on it. That was a very American-sounding superstition, using the most
common token available as a sign of good fortune, with a fifty-fifty
chance of getting a wish. It was also American in its enthusiastic
stupidity. Americans were eager to make wishes because they didn't
understand that they had real power.


     Hitomi let the penny settle on the center of her palm, thinking
about wishes and wishing and promises she had made to keep. 

     It was a ridiculous, dangerous idea, even assuming there was a way
to control destiny other than the pendant and the energists. And if
there was, would she be receptive to it or were her... talents exclusive
to one type of medium, like a chemical reaction? And didn't she have a
moral obligation to never try to change fate? Even if she had the best
intentions and only wanted to fix things. *Especially* if she wanted to
fix things. 

     Still, now that she had another option, Hitomi realized how very
sick she was of doing what was morally right and suffering in silence
for it.

     What had happened to Van and her hadn't been part of the normal
cycle of life's pain and joys. Something unfair had been done to them,
something unrelated to circumstance or eventuality. Hitomi didn't
want to reshape the world as she saw fit. She just wanted to mend a
problem, one tiny little problem. Was that so wrong?
 
     The penny's face in profile stared up at her as solemnly as she
stared down at it.

     Oh, what the hell. It wouldn't work and no one was looking.
Hitomi closed her eyes and clenched her fists and...

     Thinking it over later, she was always surprised at how silently the
light came, like it's hard to remember that storm clouds gather
noiselessly. The sky turned just electric with potential energy, with
anticipation. The pulse of the air was audible. It quivered through her
body, instantly recognizable. Hitomi had time to stand up and brush
off her jeans before the light itself came.

     She didn't become weightless as much as the column was
substantial and carried her by the force of its own weight. She moved
quickly, at almost frightening speeds, but the light surrounded her,
warm and safe and loving. Hitomi laughed out of joy as she was
carried away.

******

     They were being led on an official tour of the gardens for what the
king had declared was a pleasant diversion from the conferences. Allen
had no desire to be there although it wasn't from a lack of need.
Relationships had been strained in almost every possible direction for
the last few days. Allen had been encased in icy politeness at the talks,
which thawed only slightly in the presence of Van and Celena. The
latter, sensing something had happened and furious that no one
would tell her what, had not been particularly cordial herself. Sarine
had been snappish with her father and oddly meek around Van. Daelin
had obviously been trying to remove himself from the sphere of
negative emotions, keeping himself apart and aloof. And in the center
of it all Van had been absent in everything but body. For as long as
Allen had known him, Van was a collection of strained sinews and
strained patience, tensed to the point of snapping with sheer purpose.
For the last few days he had barely the energy to even be indifferent.
He was just... vacant.

     Celena saw it first. She and Allen were walking arm in arm at the
back of the procession, far enough away from the drone of Daelin's
and Sarine's commentary to actually look at the gardens when he felt
her hand drop from his arm. He looked back to see what was keeping
her and his eyes became as wide and amazed as her own when he did.

     The pillar of light was behind a large stone tower almost at the
other end of the expansive palace, but distance couldn't distort it.
Allen heard Sarine gasp and Daelin say, "What in the world..."  He
sensed more that saw Van rock to a halt.

     "Onisama," Celena whispered. "Onisama, I've seen that before,
haven't I? At the graveyard..."

     Van was standing tall, body wire taunt. His face was perfectly
blank except his eyes were huge and luminous and trembling, like the
moons reflected in water. The pendent shone blood red from under the
thin material of his shirt.

     Allen gestured for Van's attention. He didn't get it.

     Then, slowly at first but gaining speed, a shape descended through
the column. It was tiny, almost a doll's silhouette, but undeniably
human.

     Van's expression was still stone, but suddenly he began to run as if
the raw strength of his wings had been rerouted to his legs. A beat
later, Allen joined him although he had no hope ofcatching up. He
heard Celena sputtering behind him, then smiled in spite of himself as
she hiked up her skirts and followed.

*****

     Van felt his blood pounding in his ears to the beat of his feet
pounding on the ground and refused to let himself think about where
they were taking him. If he thought, he might slowed down or stop
and he needed to get there. He needed to see.

     Still, the light was faster than he could ever be. She was on the
ground, her back facing him, when he was still ten feet away. She
stumbled forward a little before catching herself, turning her head from
side to side.

     Van skidded to a halt. Breathing hard and afraid to move, he was
suddenly filled with the irrational, consuming conviction that this
wasn't happening. It must be some cruel delusion, and Hitomi would
crumble to dust if he touched her. Finding that to be true would kill
him and so he stood frozen.
     
     "Hi... Hitomi," he finally forced himself to say. It came out hoarse
and low. "Hitomi."

     She turned around slowly, blinking huge green-gold eyes. It looked
like Hitomi and it sounded like her when she shakily asked, "Van?"

     He nodded.

     Her smile was sunlight refracted through tears. "Van!" 

     Then she was running forward and her arms were winding around
his neck and her waist was solid and sweet beneath his hands. "Van,
what-"

     "Did you-"

     "I don't think... there was a penny-"

     "But you couldn't have been near an energist-"

     "Did the pendant-"

     "Who cares?" Van's voice was too choked to distinguish between a
laugh or a sob. "Who cares? You're here." He reached up to touch her
cheek, almost shaking with the same vulnerable wonder that shone in
his eyes. "You're here."

     "Oh God, Van," Hitomi hugged him tightly, burying her face in the
crook of his neck. "I missed you. I missed you so much, Van."

     "Hitomi," he whispered so fiercely it could have been a promise,
cradling the back of her head and hiding his face in her hair. "Hitomi."

     That's how Allen and Celena found them.

     Allen smiled through the tightness in his chest, pleased but acutely
alone. He cast a worried glance at his sister. He doubted Celena had
any romantic feelings towards Van, but she could often be quite
possessive...

     Celena's hands were clasped in front of her chest. Here eyes were
shining. "Beautiful," shesighed, completely contented. "Oh Allen,
they're perfect. How couldn't you see it?"

     Allen scowled slightly. "They weren't exactly like this when I first
knew them."

      And that's how Daelin and Sarine found them.

     The king stood several paces away, expression slowly but steadily
turned into black thunder. "Allen-dono, would you be kind enough to
tell me what exactly has happened here? And who," he indicated with
a sour jerk of his head. "Is that?"

     Allen, seeing the many-faceted disastrous outcome of the situation,
applied every speck of gentility and tact he had. "Your Majesty! Let
me introduce you to *our* old companion Kanzaki Hitomi. Van!" he
called out a little too sharply. "Introduce our hosts to Hitomi."

     Van turned his head around, disoriented. "What?"

     Allen leaned towards where Daelin and his daughter where
standing, his mouth a thin line.

     Hitomi blinked in confusion, getting a good view of her
surroundings for the first time. "Allen-san?"

     Allen's smile became a bit less forced. "Hello, Hitomi. How are
you?"

     "Ano... fine? And you?"

     "Never better, Hitomi. Never better."

     Van scowled at the exchange. Then a hint of reality crept back into
his brain, and he partially unwound himself from Hitomi, still holding
her by the waist as they walked forward. "Hey, Sarine, Daelin, this is
Hitomi. She won the Great War."

     "Really." Daelin nearly growled, a crouching tiger.

     Hitomi blushed and ducked her head, too flustered to give a
proper. "Oh, not really. Van and Allen-san and his men and
F..Folken-san did most of it. I only-" She stopped and looked up at
Van who was gazing down at her steadily.

     "We did do it, didn't we?"she said softly. "Finally, together at the
end..."

     Van grinned with stupid joy, and Hitomi giggled and threw her
arms around his neck again, both giddy with the realization. To the
amazement of many present Van picked her up and  spun around, the
outside world a haze through the champagne bubbles.

     Daelin could have modeled for vengeful warrior-god statues.

     "Hitomi was always a good friend of ours," Allen said loudly but
thinly. "We all were quite close to her during the war."

     "Indeed." Daelin watched Van lean down to touch foreheads with
her. "Some much closer than others, I imagine."

     Allen laughed weakly. Struck by a thought, he turned around to
where Sarine had been standing silently behind them. The princess'
arms were crossed. Her face was pinched, her eyes glittered hard and
empty. She looked evil and old and dry, shriveled like a mummy
entombed in its own spite. Allen almost shivered, wondering how he
ever thought her beautiful.

     "I knew you'd be back," Van was whispering. "I always knew it."

     Hitomi smiled a trembling smile. After a moment's hesitation she
stood on tip-toe, eyes closing in anticipation. Van leaned his head
down slowly, unsure in one way but supremely certain in another...

     "Van!" Allen barked.

     Van swung around, glaring. "What?!"

     Once again Allen gestured broadly to the seething royalty, startling
Van back into the present. He then turned to the king. "As you can
surely understand, Highness, this is a most unexpected and serious
development. If you would be so kind as to excuse us from the tour so
we may discuss some matters in prive-"

     "Of course. You're dismissed," Sarine spoke, for the first time since
coming to the clearing, before her father could answer. Then she
glided away, as coldly beautiful and haughty as a swan. Daelin could
only follow in her wake.

     Hitomi wiggled a little out of Van's grasp to give Allen a quick
hello and an even briefer hug before returning to the younger man's
side. "Ano... who were those people? And where are we? This isn't
Fanelia or Asturia, is it?" Her eyes settled on Celena then blinked.
"Eto..."

     "This," Allen interrupted so smoothly it didn't sound rude. "Is my
sister Celena." He smiled at Hitomi's obvious surprise. "And the rest
would be better discussed indoors. Right, Van?"

     "Ah."

     Celena bobbed a wobbly unpracticed curtsy. "I've heard so much
about you, Hitomi-san! I'm so glad to meet you."

     Hitomi said a little uncertainly, "me too." But she smiled.

     Celena smiled back. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Gaea."

End Part Three