Disclaimer: The wonderful anime "Vision of Escaflowne" and all of its cast members are created and owned by Shouji Kawamori and Sunrise, Inc. If only use names and characters in the most illegal sense possible; this is, after all, a fanfic. Please don't sue me - I have no money to give you anyway! ************* "Feuerfest" by Kotetsu Epilogue: A Barbarian Princess at Sir Allen's Tea II ************* It’s me again. Allen Schezar. Yes, that’s right. You remember? Back to the stately old mansion in Astoria, the morning tea between brother and sister, and the sudden interruption of the barbarian princess who intruded upon my household? Good. I’m glad that you can remember. Suffice to say that when our visitor had finished telling her tale, the mood in the household had changed from amused confusion to a rather melancholy thoughtfulness. When Orinda had finished speaking, she sipped her cold tea, shifted her weight in her chair, and blinked her sapphire eyes at my sister. “Of course, even though I took up residence in the backwoods of Freid, I still had a radio, and I followed the war. I followed every battle and every news report, all the way up until the final surrender. And when the war was over, I started listening to the broadcasts from the gossip networks. Military information and politics were no longer interesting; he seemed to have disappeared from that scene completely. And I know . . . I know that you tried to keep it quiet, but there were so many witnesses on the battlefield that day, and rumors were flying, fast and furious . . . The one thing that’s protected you during this year is the fact that nobody *believes* the rumors. Half the men who witnessed the final battle don’t even believe what they saw with their own eyes. It’s just too improbable. So the expounders of the truth were dismissed from the gossip pool, and his name never surfaced in the news again. But I believed. Because I know. I know what the Madoshi are capable of. And that’s how I found you.” Serena’s eyes were half-lidded, and her expression was blank and unreadable. “I’m not sure if this constitutes a grave violation of my privacy, or . . . or something else.” It unnerved me. I couldn’t even begin to guess what my own sister was thinking. Orinda set down her teacup. “Well, I’ve had my say. I suppose that it’s time for me to be going now.” She pushed her chair away from the table and sat up. Serena practically bolted out of her chair. “What?! After you tell me all of that, you’re just - going - to leave?!” “I’ve done my part.” “Your part?!” There was something completely unfamiliar flashing across Serena’s eyes. I realized that it was anger. My sister was angry. I don’t remember ever seeing her angry before. “All I wanted was to tell our story. I hope that someday, or rather someday soon, you can understand everything. I know that I don’t. Maybe I was hoping that you could figure it out for me. But now I know that’s not the case.” “You haven’t given me any time!” They had both been standing on opposite sides of the breakfast table, but now Orinda took two strides toward my sister, and stopped directly in front of her. “Time? You’ve had a year already. What more do you need?” There was something electric in the air. I sat in my chair and watched the spectacle unfold, silent as a mouse. I’m fairly sure that at that moment, both of them were completely oblivious to my presence in the room. “This is too much information. Too much information, all at once,” Serena sighed. “Surely you’ve retained your memories as Dilandau Albatou.” “I’ve only retained what the Madoshi allowed *him* to remember. By the end of the war, that wasn’t much.” “All of the memories are there. You can’t destroy memories. You just need to . . . look harder.” And then an extraordinary thing happened. Orinda leaned forward and kissed my sister on the cheek. It was a warm kiss, more passionate than one exchanged between mere friends. And although it was a brief kiss, a flicker of recognition fluttered across Serena’s face. I think that was when I knew. That was when I knew that Dilandau Albatou wasn’t gone yet, and had never been gone in the first place. Orinda stepped away from my sister. “I believe that madness stems from loneliness. At least, that’s always been my hypothesis. I think that I shall become a madwoman now. But don’t feel sorry for me, please don’t. I did love. Once. And the old cliché is true - it’s better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all.” She turned away from my sister, and strode out of the room. “Farewell, Serena Schezar and Sir Allen Schezar,” she called over her shoulder. Down the hallway, the front door opened and then closed again. She was gone. Serena lifted her fingers to her cheek, lightly touching the place where Orinda had kissed her. She was beginning to smile serenely. My heart leapt into my throat. I felt a sudden irrational panic. “Don’t listen to her, Serena. She’s a witch.” “No, she’s not a witch,” Serena berated me softly as she shook her head. “I think I finally understand now. She actually has explained a lot to me.” “Like what?” I was confused and bewildered. I hate that. Serena began cleaning up the leftover cookies and dirty teacups. “I never told you this, but you must know by now anyway . . . Dilandau isn’t gone. Sometimes I can still feel him, all rolled up into a tiny little ball, sleeping in the back of my brain. At first I didn’t know why he refused to go away, and I was scared. I should have killed him. He should have ceased to exist. But he didn’t. Because he has his own soul. Allen, I don’t have the power to destroy another soul.” “It’s just a homemade soul, if Orinda’s story is correct.” “That doesn’t make it any less real.” “Are you so sure that he really loved her?” “Yes.” “Why did he love her?” “Well, there’s Orinda’s theory. He was fifteen years old, probably going through puberty - he was so young, wasn’t he? - and inexperienced with women. He had never encountered a person whom he could consider his equal in terms of strength and courage. And when he realized that Orinda was exactly that, he wasn’t exactly sure how to react. He went from hate to confusion to love. And then there was the simple fact that she was kind to him. He stormed her home and tried to kill her, and she in return offered him a hot meal and friendly companionship. Nobody had ever - ever - been kind to Dilandau before, except for Jajaku, who was now a mostly faded memory, thanks to the Madoshi.” “You seem upset about something.” “Oh, Allen, this is the worst part. I can’t hate him. I just can’t! His was a soul created partially because he fell in love, and that’s a rare and beautiful experience that most normal human beings will never be able to truly enjoy. I felt him, I understand him, I *was* him. He loved his men, and he hated the Madoshi because they could manipulate his men, and he respected Folken even if he didn’t understand why, and I remember how much fun it was to pilot the Alseides, and how he was taught to use the sword by Jajaku, and how funny it was when Dalet and Viole played practical jokes on the others, and how frightened they all were whenever there were Madoshi in the Vione, and how he dreamed every night of being strapped down to that cold steel table and screaming, and how he forgot the dreaming by burning, always burning, burning this and burning that because the flames seared away the dreams--” Serena crushed the teacups in her hands. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and her voice wobbled dangerously. “He was just a boy. A scared and confused boy. They ALL were!” When she began to really sob, I slowly stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She shuddered against me, and I did my best to comfort her, holding her tight and running my fingers through her hair, muttering soothing words under my breath. She clutched at my shirt, and her hands were bleeding and bloody from shards of porcelain, but I didn’t care that she was bleeding all over my shirt. I had come to the terrible realization that there would always be a small, secret part of my sister’s soul that I would never understand completely. It scared me. When the sobbing and shuddering had slowed down, and I sensed that she was done crying, I posed the inevitable question. “So . . . what are you going to do now?” “I’m not sure. Perhaps I’ll pray.” “To whom?” “To the great stone lion that protects Astoria.” It was a silly answer, but I understood its meaning. This was a private matter, and none of my business. None of my business. Which brings me to the last, and perhaps the most important, part of this tale. Since it is none of my business, I’m afraid that I am no longer qualified to serve as the narrator of this saga. My part is finished, and although I understand that you all must be terribly disappointed, I conclude by urging you to read onward. Yes, the last chapter is most definitely the most important part of this tale. I bid you adieu.