Innocence Regained

I only realized it one day.

I was practicing, as usual. Somehow I couldn't stop, even after the war did;
the sword, the bow; they all came easily to my grasp as they always did. Too
easily, I had often thought, but I didn't have the luxury of stopping then.
There was a war going on; Fanelia needed me. Hitomi needed me.

I didn't need myself. But then again; it was a moot point. I simply didn't
think about myself like that, then.

Thunk, went the arrow. A perfect bulls-eye. Draw, nock, aim, fire. The
second one split the first in half cleanly. It
was only as I drew the third that I realized that, actually. The simple
motion of swinging my hand back, taking out one slender wooden shaft and
sighting it along my eyes had become almost repetitive; I didn't even think
anymore, that was how natural it was for me.

Somehow that worried me.

I felt suddenly tired. The arrows which had previously been as light as
feathers had become leaden weights in my hand. I threw them to the side
carelessly and went off to the other training room. A good workout was what
I needed, I reasoned; archery was a mental exercise. As I entered the room,
I found that my sword was as bright as ever, the blade still sharp and keen,
the balance as perfect as always.

The first few swings did nothing to calm me. I threw myself into the
familiar routines, the steel whistling in intricate patterns around me, but
to no avail; still the sense of something nagging at me, the vague sensation
of incompleteness and a slight apprehension all rolled into one. Sweat had
long since beaded on my brow; my hair hung down in limp strands that
plastered themselves to my face the same way my shirt did to my weary body.
But nothing. No change besides a growing sense of tiredness, both in body
and soul.

It was only when I raised my sword in the traditional position of Fanelian
swordplay, held it out before me, straightened it, and with a swift motion
centered it, that I truly realized what it was.

And then it only came slowly. Life is like that, you know? Things don't come
so fast; it's never easy. Vargas appeared first. That was no surprise; I
often thought of my old master and instructor...friend. He had drilled me in
this position more times than I cared to remember, with his own particular
mixture of coaxing, scolding, shouting and showing. So it was with a smile
on my face that I struck the empty air once again.

The blade arced through the air as smoothly as ever; the next blow
describing a perfect curve as it descended from my shoulder down to the
ground. And the next. And next. My body felt cold, the faint sensations
heightening in intensity, I remember, and then I saw Vargas again.

He was playing with me.

Oh, not the me I am now, not Van Fanel of Fanelia. Rather, a smaller,
simpler version of Van, just Van, who had never seen a sword nor needed to,
who knew only joy and happiness. Who had a brother and parents who loved
him. A dead Van, but a happy one nonetheless. I had missed that Van before,
but not with longing; rather, with a kind of wistful regret that I knew was
nothing more than a dream.

The sword thudded to the ground dully. The smile had long since disappeared.

I strode out to the fields surrounding the castle. Vargas had faded from my
thoughts, leaving only the swish of my booted stride through the knee-high
grass to distract me. I found myself thinking of Hitomi, and smiling. She
always did that to me; and then I found myself wondering what she would say
if I told her that.

And then I knew. Both things, in a flash of realization.

Love is strange, isn't it? Between worlds, thousands of miles apart, and she
could still give me the answer I needed.

Merle's cry of surprise rang out as she saw me bolting to the stables; it
took but a minute to saddle my horse, and I was off. I had to laugh at the
stunned expression on her face. She fell to all fours and began to pursue
me, but I had too much of a head start, and I was through the rebuilt town
walls in seconds, heading for my salvation.

Hitomi, I thought, hoping somehow, that my message would reach her. Thank
you. Thank you for both the memories and the answer.

The scenery of Gaia flew by me as I raced along the country roads. Towns,
farms, meadows...she would have loved them, I'm sure. The face appeared
once, giving me a single fleeting smile, and in my mind's eye I returned it.
She was gone, but I kept her in my heart forever, the way she'd done for me.
Finally, I came to a halt, tethering my horse to the nearest available tree
and vaulting down from the saddle to the mossy ground.

The way we'd both done for each other here.

It wasn't a long way to my brother's grave. I'd made sure that the grove
that would house his body wouldn't ever be too far away from the castle; I
wanted to visit him sometimes. Now I was going to, and I was going to with a
reason. It was the last thing he'd do for me, and I for him; the answer I
needed.

The final realization dawned just as I bowed my head in front of the altar
marking Fanelia's bravest warrior. My brother; Volken Fanel.

He was a great brother. He did everything a brother should; played with me,
read stories, taught me how to ride a horse, walks in the
countryside...everything. But it's amazing how war can make you forget, can
dull even the most cherished memories and turn them into mere vague
remembrances instead of the golden thoughts they once were. That's why it
was only when I knelytbefore his grave a second time, my mind clear from the
strife and terror of battle, that I could see him again.

He never wanted to fight. I can still remember now how his mouth would draw
itself into a grimace of distaste every time he picked up a blade, how he
always turned over all the instruction in swordplay to Vargas. He never took
to the way of the warrior the way I did; maybe that was why he couldn't kill
the dragon, why, with his ideals and hopes and dreams, turned to Dornkirk
instead of the people who had forced him to kill. With my eyes closed, hot
with unremembered tears, I wondered for the first time why I'd never
realized that.

Because I was still fighting, she replied.

The Escaflowne regarded me silently as I walked towards it. As I looked at
the now dim red jewel in it's side, Hitomi returned to my thoughts anew.
Only she could have done it, actually. We of Gaia had become to accustomed
to war, to the ceaseless clash of sword upon shield and the harsh whining
sounds of gaimelfs marching. It took someone from another world, with a kind
heart and soul, to make us realize. Even so, some of us will always be more
thick-headed then others. I smiled wryly as I remembered the all too clear
slap. I needed that. Oh how I needed that at that time. Silly warrior, I
told myself, to fight with no true reason, no need to besides the force of
habit.

But now it ended.

"Volken..." my voice was faint, hesitant even to myself, and I had to firm
my resolve before continuing. "Thank you." That, I had to do. I had to thank
them both before I was free of the bonds still around me. Before I could bid
farewell to the battle within my heart. 

He answered with the twittering of the birds and the calm, serene peace of
the woods around me. That was the kind of answer I had always gotten from
him; kind and to the heart.

I left for the last time that day, with the Dragon watching the soft
imprints my feet made on the moist grass. Oh, sure, I would return, but in
my heart I knew those were the last respects I would ever pay, or need to.
He was within me, in the surest, most secure resting place I could ever give
him.

The battle was over. I fell flat onto the grass, reveling in it it's moist
springiness and looked up towards the sky, wondering how come it had never
seemed to have quite so beautiful a shade of blue. The answer (her answer, I
reminded myself gently) came back to me in an instant. I had been fighting.

It takes a long time for a warrior to forget battle. But when he does, it is
one of the most incredible things in life; the soul is free, the hear
unburdened by the memories, the screams of dead and dying, the torn and
shattered hopes. I spent hours like that, thinking, more glad to be alive
that I had ever been, watching the clouds make their lazy way along the sky
and slowly turn gray, then black. So, there was to be a storm. All the better.

Hitomi, I thought. Volken. All of you. Slowly, my mind retraced the journey,
the adventure and travels we had all over Gaia. Allen, Mirana...Merle. My
dear, sweet, Merle. It's an important thing, love is. Having it, is...well,
it's like not needing to fight any longer; simply wonderful.

I raised my head to the sky, spread my arms, and smiled as the rain came
down. Life was good. More than that, it was beautiful.

*****

Took two nights; not an especially planned piece. Go easy on it. ^_^

This is yet another piece chronicling a bit of my stage of extreme
depression; I have to admit, the people who said writing helps were right.
It doesn't exactly have everything I wanted it to, but since this was more
of a quick, spontaneous thing than a plotted affair, I guess that's okay.

Van's a fighter. That's already pretty evident from the first episode, but
it continues a bit more than that. One thing I've noticed is that he doesn't
really know how or why he fights; he just does. And that's sad; I've done
the same thing far too many times. This is my take on how it ends. (BTW, If
you've read my other fic on the issue, Heart of a Warrior, it does kinda fit
into this one.) No, I don't believe for a moment that everything was happily
resolved at the end of the series. As I've said, life doesn't let people off
so easy.

But we can always do our little bit for life, ne? ^_^

Enough with the philosophizing, anyway. Oh yeah, and the last line about Van
in the rain is from the very final shot from the ending theme, Mystic Eyes.
I like it that way.

The fic is dedicated to my sister.



Zhou Tai An (kain@pacific.net.sg) "There is no one simple truth." - Rune Walsh

"Who is this? This is I. Who is I? What is I?		   - Rei Ayanami
I am myself. This object is I. The figure that forms me."

The ways of nature and of life are strange and deep. They are not to be
understood. In the midst of angers and of wars love's secret work goes on,
and binds us all by blood, and this, whether love is denied or bestowed. -
Pearl S. Buck