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konstantyaTitle: If I Walk Down This Hallway
Fandom: Escaflowne
Genre: Drama, angst.
Characters: Eries, Folken. (Could be read as a slight Folken/Eries.)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,828
Summary: Folken comes to request asylum, and Eries tries to figure out just how she feels about him. (Driving Circles Around Me, Part 2.)
Takes place right near the beginning of episode 23.
Seeing him again was surreal. Almost as surreal as it had been to see him that first time, after a decade and a presumed death. And just as she hadn't quite known what to make of that, she similarly didn't quite know what to make of this.
Folken Fanel. Former Crown Prince of Fanelia. Now former Strategos of Zaibach. Offering his aid against the empire he had loyally served for years.
For some reason, a part of her honestly hadn't expected to see him again, following the attack on Fort Castelo. A part of her honestly hadn't wanted to see him again. There were too many memories, too much nostalgia, tied up in him, and a part of her had hoped he might simply fade back into obscurity, would go back to being dead to the world like he'd been for so long already.
But then, at Millerna's wedding, his voice had come booming down from that fortress in the sky, demanding that they hand over Hitomi, the girl from the Mystic Moon, and her heart had sunk into her stomach at the sound. Because despite everything, despite the uneasy note their last conversation had ended on, despite the cynicism she coveted like a crutch these days, she had wanted to believe in him. Had wanted to believe there was, if not the friendly boy she remembered meeting as a child, then at least a good man hidden underneath his stern features and taciturn demeanor.
And now there he was, renouncing Dornkirk, requesting asylum, and she couldn't honestly tell if she was pleased or not.
They'd caught eyes, briefly, upon his arrival with his brother and Hitomi, but aside from a very formal kneel to Dryden, there hadn't been much time wasted on proper introductions and salutations. The Council had been hastily convened, and he now stood before them, flanked by two guards, pleading his case, while everyone, Dryden included, looked on with skepticism. Eries kept herself tucked off to the side and watched the exchange with dispassionate detachment.
He'd changed since she'd last seen him, that much she could say for certain. He still wore the uniform of Zaibach's military, but gone was his dark sorcerer's cloak. In its place was a length of beige fabric, draped around his shoulders and down his right side, acting as a cover for his mechanical arm. Almost against her will, Eries remembered the feel of that hard, claw-tipped hand against her own, and tried not to stare.
There was something else, though. Something beyond the obvious sartorial choices. Something about his air and deportment. Something…sadder. Older, even. Something about the set of his shoulders—so slight, most would have missed it, and she suspected the only reason she recognized it was because she'd worn the same look, herself—that managed to convey a great weariness about his person, for all that his face remained stony as ever.
Finally, eventually, the Council moved to make a decision, and he was escorted out so that the formal deliberation process could begin. Eries took the opportunity to make her way to Dryden, and after a brief conversation with the acting king, took her own leave of the room.
The atmosphere out in the hall was an uncomfortable one, to say the least. Folken stood not too far beyond the chamber doors, more or less surrounded by the usual suspects. Van had his back thrown against the far wall, his arms crossed, his expression surly, and looked ready to go for his sword at the slightest hint of misbehavior. Allen's appearance wasn't much friendlier, though he at least stood at proper attention, as befitting his position as a Caeli Knight. Merle sat, casting pensive looks toward Van, but apparently knew better than to try to approach him just then. Hitomi stood the closest, hands held anxiously in front of her, hope written all over her face, and Eries suspected she was the one champion in all of Asturia that he could truly claim.
Millerna, she noticed, was there as well, hanging cautiously back behind Hitomi, and apparently couldn't seem to make up her mind over whether she was intrigued or intimidated by the elder Fanel brother. Eries wasn't surprised; her sister had missed him during his previous visit—too busy going horseback riding and hanging off of Allen's arm instead of attending to her duties as heir, she thought with a tinge of irritation—and so this was the first time the younger princess had seen him as an adult. And to be sure, even without his cloak, he cut a formidable figure, if only by virtue of his height, alone.
Impervious to the heavy, awkward silence, Eries stepped forward, her voice cutting clearly and calmly through the air.
"Lord Folken. The Council could be deliberating over your request for quite some time. To that effect, I've taken the liberty of having quarters prepared for you in which you can wait." She was about to add, "If you'll follow me," but it was then that Allen started, visibly taken aback by this information.
"Princess Eries, you can't be serious!"
She could have given him a dressing down for the breach of conduct—perhaps should have—but instead she just turned to the knight and blinked mildly. "Would you prefer him to stand here in the hall for what could, very likely, be hours on end?"
His mouth tightened and his eyes hardened, and there was something in his expression that told her, yes, that was exactly what Allen would have preferred—if not something even more severe—but he had the sense and the tact to not voice such an opinion outright. Instead, he firmly set his jaw, and then, all duty and chivalry, said, "At least allow me to accompany you, Princess." His hand was on his sword hilt, and it was impossible to miss the distrustful glance he cast in the former Strategos's direction. Couple that with the glares Van was sending his way, and they might as well have put the man on trial, right then and there.
Eries squared her shoulders, took a long breath, and tried to not let it turn into an exasperated sigh. "Sir Allen, I highly doubt Lord Folken would be so stupid as to physically assault me before even being granted official asylum. It would be a bit counterproductive, wouldn't you agree?" She wasn't normally a sarcastic person, but sometimes she couldn't help it. Allen in particular, it seemed, had the ability to bring the characteristic to the forefront with surprising ease.
"But—" he tried to argue, but she cut him off and continued.
"If, by chance, my body is found dead in a corridor, you will know who to blame,"—she gestured toward her would-be assailant—"at which point, rest assured, you will have my full support in exacting whatever revenge you might like. Until then, however, I would appreciate it if you would leave me to my business. Lord Folken, if you'd please." And without waiting for a reaction from either man, she turned on her heel and swept down the hall.
After a moment, she heard his footfalls, measured and muted against the carpet. He caught up to her in a matter of a few long strides, and fell in step behind her and slightly off to her right. She could feel his eyes on her, no doubt wondering, and to tell the truth, she was wondering, herself. She wasn't so deluded as to not be able to acknowledge that she had wanted to be alone with him (why else would she have refused Allen's admittedly reasonable offer?), but as far as why she wanted to be alone with him, she had no idea. To talk to him? About what? Why he had defected? He'd already made that clear: He still believed in Dornkirk's dream of a world without war, but he could no longer agree, morally, with his methods; the Emperor's callous disregard of the Intensified Luck Soldiers had been the last straw in a great bale of transgressions. So why…?
It was three and a half halls later that he finally broke the silence between them.
"I must admit, I'm surprised by your defense of me," he said, and she bristled at the sound of that deep, dark voice. Like a still pool at midnight, and she hated how he could set her on edge so easily.
"It's nothing personal," she said, curtly tossing the words over her shoulder. "It's merely pragmatism. War has unfortunately become unavoidable, and you have information that can help us win it. That's all."
"You of all people should know that Schezar's suspicions aren't exactly unfounded." Some part of her recognized that there was a compliment buried in that impassive statement, but before she could take the time to contemplate the significance of it, he continued. "After all, my seeking refuge here might simply be part of a greater plot."
They'd reached the door to the guest room, and she pivoted around to finally face him. "Is it?" she asked.
He blinked, apparently caught off guard by the direct question. His eyebrows drew together almost…entreatingly?—and he just stared at her for a few moments, as if he was trying to convey his sincerity through his gaze alone. Eries could only stare right back, almost magnetized by the force of his expression. And then he finally whispered, "No."
As simple as that. As if the word and the sentiment behind it was too delicate to withstand the full weight of his voice.
They continued to look at each other, and she found herself searching his eyes for—what, exactly? The silence stretched between them, down the otherwise empty corridor, and there they were, in the shadow of an archway, her back almost against the door, his body no more than a few scant hand-spans in front of hers, and suddenly there was something uncomfortably intimate about this entire situation. She broke the gaze, looked off to the side, down the hall, and prayed that wasn't a blush she was feeling on her cheeks. Or if it was, prayed the light was too dim for him to notice.
She gripped her hands in front of her stomach, willing them not to fidget nervously, and tried to ignore the way she could hear her heart beating in her head. Tried to think of something to say to break the silence. "The last time we spoke…" she began, carefully tasting the words, making sure they came out nice and level, "…you asked me to believe you."
Out of her peripheral vision, she could see him drop his eyes from her, and the relief she felt at being freed from his scrutiny was like coming up for a gulp of air after almost drowning. He swallowed and looked off to the side, himself, in the opposite direction. His tone was dark with shame. "And you did?"
"I wanted to," she admitted. The words came out quietly, almost as if she was afraid of them. And then she added, even softer yet, because she knew she'd never manage to say it at all if she didn't say it then, "I still want to."
His focus snapped back to her, no doubt surprised by that concession, but she didn't dare look at him to make sure. Her pulse had started to pound in her veins again. And then all he said was: "Why?" Hushed and hesitant and almost hungry in his sheer need to know.
Why, indeed. She'd been trying to figure out the answer to that, herself, for months now. Certainly, he wasn't the charismatic type, not like the leaders of legend who could inspire loyalty and confidence with a mere smile and a speech—and she was far too sophisticated to blindly buy into such things, anyway. Add to that the fact that he'd been the one in charge of the operation to kidnap Hitomi, who had ordered the attack on Palas, resulting in over one-hundred dead and close to one-thousand displaced. Really, there was no reason she shouldn't be as hostile as Allen, or at least as suspicious as Dryden and the Council. So why, then? Baleful and benevolent Jichia, why?
"…You were kind to me when I was eleven," she finally answered, and it sounded ridiculous to her own ears, but it was the truth. Or part of it, at least. "You made me laugh."
He sucked in a breath. If he were any other man, it probably would have turned into a laugh of its own, harsh and derisive—or at the very least, humorless—but Folken Fanel was not very much like any other man, and instead, all it did was sound pained. As pained as her heart felt at the memory. His voice, when he spoke, was low and even a little hoarse. "I'm not that boy anymore, Princess."
"I'm not that girl anymore," she said in turn, because that, too, was the truth. She turned back to meet his eyes, as if this might help drive her point home. His brows were knitted together in some combination of concern and contrition, and they simply watched each other for a long moment—until Eries found she had to look away again. As if she might burn herself if she stared too long into those burgundy depths of his.
She swallowed. Looked briefly down at her hands and then back down the hall. "…I can't say I'm not angry," she admitted. "Or that I don't blame you, at least partially, for the damage done to Asturia and the rest of the world… But I do know something about making hard, arguably cruel decisions for what one considers to be the greater good." She paused. "And I would be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat…sympathetic to the relationship you have with your brother." She glanced up at him, then down at her hands. Another swallow, then back down the hall. "Millerna and I… We're…not exactly close." Her voice lowered to little more than a contrite murmur, and she confessed, "Part of that is due to those hard, arguably cruel decisions."
He was watching her again, she could tell, his gaze so intense it was almost tangible. He was too close, too comparable, and their topic of conversation was too personal by far. These were things she didn't dare to discuss with anyone. Once upon a time, she might have, with Allen, but those days had come and gone. That she should deem it fit to do so with him, a man she, in truth, barely knew, who had razed multiple countries, including his own…
Before he could say anything else (before she could say anything else), before she developed claustrophobia due to the scarce space she occupied between him and the door, she turned around and opened the bedchamber.
It was nothing exceptional, by castle standards—not very different from the rooms assigned to Merle or Hitomi—but it was certainly more than adequate. Certainly better than a dungeon cell, which was no doubt where Allen wanted to throw him. He walked in, surveying the room, and she lingered near the door. It was easier with the physical distance between them. Safer.
"I'll have to post guards outside the room for the time being," she said, glad to have something official and impersonal to fall back on after their exchange in the hall; her voice had reverted back to its characteristic even tone. "Formalities, you understand." He nodded, and she went on. "Assuming you're officially granted asylum, an escort will be required whenever you leave the castle grounds, and you'll probably be given a curfew, as well."
He nodded again, taking this in stride. His eyes scanned the city outside the windows, broken buildings and all. "Do you think I will? Be granted asylum, I mean."
She blinked. Both at the question itself and the fact that he was seeking her opinion on the matter. "…I think so," she admitted. "The remains of the Vione is a big bargaining chip, and Dryden is sensible enough to be able to look beyond personal feelings to see the big picture. And if the Council still disapproves, I can lean on them a bit. They don't always like it, but they'll listen to me."
Once more, he nodded, down and up. He turned back to her, capturing her once again in that dark gaze of his, and simply, softly, said, "Thank you."
Eries blinked. And then, because she didn't know what else to say, simply replied, "You're welcome."
A silence threatened to fall upon them once again, but thankfully, before it could, he bowed to her, and formality settled back between them like a comforting gulf.
"Princess," he said, and she gracefully inclined her head in return.
"Lord Folken."
And with that, she left the room and swept down the hall, trying to convince herself her legs weren't trembling.
-----
A/N: Despite possible evidence to the contrary, I really do like Allen. It's just that I can see him having something of a prejudice against Zaibach, due to the fact that they attacked his fort and killed his dad and are, in general, pretty much ignoble, underhanded bastards. (I mean, come on—stealth cloaks? Not very sportsman-like and totally ungentlemanly.) And then of course the fact that they kidnapped and experimented on his little sister, but he wouldn't know that until after the events of this fic. But anyway, I can see him sort of turning that prejudice on Folken because, despite his heritage, Folken very much represents Zaibach. So it's not just Allen being a bitch because I don't like him and want to make him look bad; he's being a bitch because of REASONS, yo.
And since we're on the topic of Allen, I'll just take this opportunity to mention that I'm still not sure where I stand on the whole Eries/Allen (Allen/Eries?) thing. I know it's all Word of God that she's in love with him, but I personally didn't see any evidence of it in the actual series, itself, and, just—I have complicated thoughts and feelings about the pairing. So I've just decided to leave things ambiguous. I will say this, though—due to their conversations/interactions in canon, and especially the fact that he entrusts Celena to her, it seems pretty obvious to me that he deeply trusts her and values her on some level. I think it's entirely likely that they were at least friends in the past, and then maybe had a falling out of sorts—perhaps over the whole Marlene debacle? Anyway.
In other news, fic ideas for these guys just keep coming! It seems I wrote the beginning of the relationship (in Till I Wake Your Ghost), and then the end of the relationship (in As Long As We're Going Down), and now I'm filling in the blanks? I don't know; I do things out of order.
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: Escaflowne
Genre: Drama, angst.
Characters: Eries, Folken. (Could be read as a slight Folken/Eries.)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,828
Summary: Folken comes to request asylum, and Eries tries to figure out just how she feels about him. (Driving Circles Around Me, Part 2.)
Takes place right near the beginning of episode 23.
- If I Walk Down This Hallway -
Seeing him again was surreal. Almost as surreal as it had been to see him that first time, after a decade and a presumed death. And just as she hadn't quite known what to make of that, she similarly didn't quite know what to make of this.
Folken Fanel. Former Crown Prince of Fanelia. Now former Strategos of Zaibach. Offering his aid against the empire he had loyally served for years.
For some reason, a part of her honestly hadn't expected to see him again, following the attack on Fort Castelo. A part of her honestly hadn't wanted to see him again. There were too many memories, too much nostalgia, tied up in him, and a part of her had hoped he might simply fade back into obscurity, would go back to being dead to the world like he'd been for so long already.
But then, at Millerna's wedding, his voice had come booming down from that fortress in the sky, demanding that they hand over Hitomi, the girl from the Mystic Moon, and her heart had sunk into her stomach at the sound. Because despite everything, despite the uneasy note their last conversation had ended on, despite the cynicism she coveted like a crutch these days, she had wanted to believe in him. Had wanted to believe there was, if not the friendly boy she remembered meeting as a child, then at least a good man hidden underneath his stern features and taciturn demeanor.
And now there he was, renouncing Dornkirk, requesting asylum, and she couldn't honestly tell if she was pleased or not.
They'd caught eyes, briefly, upon his arrival with his brother and Hitomi, but aside from a very formal kneel to Dryden, there hadn't been much time wasted on proper introductions and salutations. The Council had been hastily convened, and he now stood before them, flanked by two guards, pleading his case, while everyone, Dryden included, looked on with skepticism. Eries kept herself tucked off to the side and watched the exchange with dispassionate detachment.
He'd changed since she'd last seen him, that much she could say for certain. He still wore the uniform of Zaibach's military, but gone was his dark sorcerer's cloak. In its place was a length of beige fabric, draped around his shoulders and down his right side, acting as a cover for his mechanical arm. Almost against her will, Eries remembered the feel of that hard, claw-tipped hand against her own, and tried not to stare.
There was something else, though. Something beyond the obvious sartorial choices. Something about his air and deportment. Something…sadder. Older, even. Something about the set of his shoulders—so slight, most would have missed it, and she suspected the only reason she recognized it was because she'd worn the same look, herself—that managed to convey a great weariness about his person, for all that his face remained stony as ever.
Finally, eventually, the Council moved to make a decision, and he was escorted out so that the formal deliberation process could begin. Eries took the opportunity to make her way to Dryden, and after a brief conversation with the acting king, took her own leave of the room.
The atmosphere out in the hall was an uncomfortable one, to say the least. Folken stood not too far beyond the chamber doors, more or less surrounded by the usual suspects. Van had his back thrown against the far wall, his arms crossed, his expression surly, and looked ready to go for his sword at the slightest hint of misbehavior. Allen's appearance wasn't much friendlier, though he at least stood at proper attention, as befitting his position as a Caeli Knight. Merle sat, casting pensive looks toward Van, but apparently knew better than to try to approach him just then. Hitomi stood the closest, hands held anxiously in front of her, hope written all over her face, and Eries suspected she was the one champion in all of Asturia that he could truly claim.
Millerna, she noticed, was there as well, hanging cautiously back behind Hitomi, and apparently couldn't seem to make up her mind over whether she was intrigued or intimidated by the elder Fanel brother. Eries wasn't surprised; her sister had missed him during his previous visit—too busy going horseback riding and hanging off of Allen's arm instead of attending to her duties as heir, she thought with a tinge of irritation—and so this was the first time the younger princess had seen him as an adult. And to be sure, even without his cloak, he cut a formidable figure, if only by virtue of his height, alone.
Impervious to the heavy, awkward silence, Eries stepped forward, her voice cutting clearly and calmly through the air.
"Lord Folken. The Council could be deliberating over your request for quite some time. To that effect, I've taken the liberty of having quarters prepared for you in which you can wait." She was about to add, "If you'll follow me," but it was then that Allen started, visibly taken aback by this information.
"Princess Eries, you can't be serious!"
She could have given him a dressing down for the breach of conduct—perhaps should have—but instead she just turned to the knight and blinked mildly. "Would you prefer him to stand here in the hall for what could, very likely, be hours on end?"
His mouth tightened and his eyes hardened, and there was something in his expression that told her, yes, that was exactly what Allen would have preferred—if not something even more severe—but he had the sense and the tact to not voice such an opinion outright. Instead, he firmly set his jaw, and then, all duty and chivalry, said, "At least allow me to accompany you, Princess." His hand was on his sword hilt, and it was impossible to miss the distrustful glance he cast in the former Strategos's direction. Couple that with the glares Van was sending his way, and they might as well have put the man on trial, right then and there.
Eries squared her shoulders, took a long breath, and tried to not let it turn into an exasperated sigh. "Sir Allen, I highly doubt Lord Folken would be so stupid as to physically assault me before even being granted official asylum. It would be a bit counterproductive, wouldn't you agree?" She wasn't normally a sarcastic person, but sometimes she couldn't help it. Allen in particular, it seemed, had the ability to bring the characteristic to the forefront with surprising ease.
"But—" he tried to argue, but she cut him off and continued.
"If, by chance, my body is found dead in a corridor, you will know who to blame,"—she gestured toward her would-be assailant—"at which point, rest assured, you will have my full support in exacting whatever revenge you might like. Until then, however, I would appreciate it if you would leave me to my business. Lord Folken, if you'd please." And without waiting for a reaction from either man, she turned on her heel and swept down the hall.
After a moment, she heard his footfalls, measured and muted against the carpet. He caught up to her in a matter of a few long strides, and fell in step behind her and slightly off to her right. She could feel his eyes on her, no doubt wondering, and to tell the truth, she was wondering, herself. She wasn't so deluded as to not be able to acknowledge that she had wanted to be alone with him (why else would she have refused Allen's admittedly reasonable offer?), but as far as why she wanted to be alone with him, she had no idea. To talk to him? About what? Why he had defected? He'd already made that clear: He still believed in Dornkirk's dream of a world without war, but he could no longer agree, morally, with his methods; the Emperor's callous disregard of the Intensified Luck Soldiers had been the last straw in a great bale of transgressions. So why…?
It was three and a half halls later that he finally broke the silence between them.
"I must admit, I'm surprised by your defense of me," he said, and she bristled at the sound of that deep, dark voice. Like a still pool at midnight, and she hated how he could set her on edge so easily.
"It's nothing personal," she said, curtly tossing the words over her shoulder. "It's merely pragmatism. War has unfortunately become unavoidable, and you have information that can help us win it. That's all."
"You of all people should know that Schezar's suspicions aren't exactly unfounded." Some part of her recognized that there was a compliment buried in that impassive statement, but before she could take the time to contemplate the significance of it, he continued. "After all, my seeking refuge here might simply be part of a greater plot."
They'd reached the door to the guest room, and she pivoted around to finally face him. "Is it?" she asked.
He blinked, apparently caught off guard by the direct question. His eyebrows drew together almost…entreatingly?—and he just stared at her for a few moments, as if he was trying to convey his sincerity through his gaze alone. Eries could only stare right back, almost magnetized by the force of his expression. And then he finally whispered, "No."
As simple as that. As if the word and the sentiment behind it was too delicate to withstand the full weight of his voice.
They continued to look at each other, and she found herself searching his eyes for—what, exactly? The silence stretched between them, down the otherwise empty corridor, and there they were, in the shadow of an archway, her back almost against the door, his body no more than a few scant hand-spans in front of hers, and suddenly there was something uncomfortably intimate about this entire situation. She broke the gaze, looked off to the side, down the hall, and prayed that wasn't a blush she was feeling on her cheeks. Or if it was, prayed the light was too dim for him to notice.
She gripped her hands in front of her stomach, willing them not to fidget nervously, and tried to ignore the way she could hear her heart beating in her head. Tried to think of something to say to break the silence. "The last time we spoke…" she began, carefully tasting the words, making sure they came out nice and level, "…you asked me to believe you."
Out of her peripheral vision, she could see him drop his eyes from her, and the relief she felt at being freed from his scrutiny was like coming up for a gulp of air after almost drowning. He swallowed and looked off to the side, himself, in the opposite direction. His tone was dark with shame. "And you did?"
"I wanted to," she admitted. The words came out quietly, almost as if she was afraid of them. And then she added, even softer yet, because she knew she'd never manage to say it at all if she didn't say it then, "I still want to."
His focus snapped back to her, no doubt surprised by that concession, but she didn't dare look at him to make sure. Her pulse had started to pound in her veins again. And then all he said was: "Why?" Hushed and hesitant and almost hungry in his sheer need to know.
Why, indeed. She'd been trying to figure out the answer to that, herself, for months now. Certainly, he wasn't the charismatic type, not like the leaders of legend who could inspire loyalty and confidence with a mere smile and a speech—and she was far too sophisticated to blindly buy into such things, anyway. Add to that the fact that he'd been the one in charge of the operation to kidnap Hitomi, who had ordered the attack on Palas, resulting in over one-hundred dead and close to one-thousand displaced. Really, there was no reason she shouldn't be as hostile as Allen, or at least as suspicious as Dryden and the Council. So why, then? Baleful and benevolent Jichia, why?
"…You were kind to me when I was eleven," she finally answered, and it sounded ridiculous to her own ears, but it was the truth. Or part of it, at least. "You made me laugh."
He sucked in a breath. If he were any other man, it probably would have turned into a laugh of its own, harsh and derisive—or at the very least, humorless—but Folken Fanel was not very much like any other man, and instead, all it did was sound pained. As pained as her heart felt at the memory. His voice, when he spoke, was low and even a little hoarse. "I'm not that boy anymore, Princess."
"I'm not that girl anymore," she said in turn, because that, too, was the truth. She turned back to meet his eyes, as if this might help drive her point home. His brows were knitted together in some combination of concern and contrition, and they simply watched each other for a long moment—until Eries found she had to look away again. As if she might burn herself if she stared too long into those burgundy depths of his.
She swallowed. Looked briefly down at her hands and then back down the hall. "…I can't say I'm not angry," she admitted. "Or that I don't blame you, at least partially, for the damage done to Asturia and the rest of the world… But I do know something about making hard, arguably cruel decisions for what one considers to be the greater good." She paused. "And I would be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat…sympathetic to the relationship you have with your brother." She glanced up at him, then down at her hands. Another swallow, then back down the hall. "Millerna and I… We're…not exactly close." Her voice lowered to little more than a contrite murmur, and she confessed, "Part of that is due to those hard, arguably cruel decisions."
He was watching her again, she could tell, his gaze so intense it was almost tangible. He was too close, too comparable, and their topic of conversation was too personal by far. These were things she didn't dare to discuss with anyone. Once upon a time, she might have, with Allen, but those days had come and gone. That she should deem it fit to do so with him, a man she, in truth, barely knew, who had razed multiple countries, including his own…
Before he could say anything else (before she could say anything else), before she developed claustrophobia due to the scarce space she occupied between him and the door, she turned around and opened the bedchamber.
It was nothing exceptional, by castle standards—not very different from the rooms assigned to Merle or Hitomi—but it was certainly more than adequate. Certainly better than a dungeon cell, which was no doubt where Allen wanted to throw him. He walked in, surveying the room, and she lingered near the door. It was easier with the physical distance between them. Safer.
"I'll have to post guards outside the room for the time being," she said, glad to have something official and impersonal to fall back on after their exchange in the hall; her voice had reverted back to its characteristic even tone. "Formalities, you understand." He nodded, and she went on. "Assuming you're officially granted asylum, an escort will be required whenever you leave the castle grounds, and you'll probably be given a curfew, as well."
He nodded again, taking this in stride. His eyes scanned the city outside the windows, broken buildings and all. "Do you think I will? Be granted asylum, I mean."
She blinked. Both at the question itself and the fact that he was seeking her opinion on the matter. "…I think so," she admitted. "The remains of the Vione is a big bargaining chip, and Dryden is sensible enough to be able to look beyond personal feelings to see the big picture. And if the Council still disapproves, I can lean on them a bit. They don't always like it, but they'll listen to me."
Once more, he nodded, down and up. He turned back to her, capturing her once again in that dark gaze of his, and simply, softly, said, "Thank you."
Eries blinked. And then, because she didn't know what else to say, simply replied, "You're welcome."
A silence threatened to fall upon them once again, but thankfully, before it could, he bowed to her, and formality settled back between them like a comforting gulf.
"Princess," he said, and she gracefully inclined her head in return.
"Lord Folken."
And with that, she left the room and swept down the hall, trying to convince herself her legs weren't trembling.
-----
A/N: Despite possible evidence to the contrary, I really do like Allen. It's just that I can see him having something of a prejudice against Zaibach, due to the fact that they attacked his fort and killed his dad and are, in general, pretty much ignoble, underhanded bastards. (I mean, come on—stealth cloaks? Not very sportsman-like and totally ungentlemanly.) And then of course the fact that they kidnapped and experimented on his little sister, but he wouldn't know that until after the events of this fic. But anyway, I can see him sort of turning that prejudice on Folken because, despite his heritage, Folken very much represents Zaibach. So it's not just Allen being a bitch because I don't like him and want to make him look bad; he's being a bitch because of REASONS, yo.
And since we're on the topic of Allen, I'll just take this opportunity to mention that I'm still not sure where I stand on the whole Eries/Allen (Allen/Eries?) thing. I know it's all Word of God that she's in love with him, but I personally didn't see any evidence of it in the actual series, itself, and, just—I have complicated thoughts and feelings about the pairing. So I've just decided to leave things ambiguous. I will say this, though—due to their conversations/interactions in canon, and especially the fact that he entrusts Celena to her, it seems pretty obvious to me that he deeply trusts her and values her on some level. I think it's entirely likely that they were at least friends in the past, and then maybe had a falling out of sorts—perhaps over the whole Marlene debacle? Anyway.
In other news, fic ideas for these guys just keep coming! It seems I wrote the beginning of the relationship (in Till I Wake Your Ghost), and then the end of the relationship (in As Long As We're Going Down), and now I'm filling in the blanks? I don't know; I do things out of order.
All other fics can be found here.
