Hellooo! Reposting this portion of my fic with most of the revisions made (there's that one glaring one in Chapter 3 that I haven't had time to think about yet >.<). Any C&C on this and the next post are welcome!

- Kus Kus

archived at: http://www.crosswinds.net/~dilandau/nv/



** SPOILER WARNING!! **

This takes place post the events that occur in the series the Vision of Escaflowne and contains spoilers pertaining to well.. just about everybody^^;;

Chapter 1

The door to the mansion burst open. A young woman, chin-length silver hair flying in the wind, flew out of the entrance, leaving behind two outraged maids and trailing behind her the cloth of an untied dress ribbon. She laughed as she ran into the garden, her deliciously sweet not-quite-grown yet no-longer-childish voice blending in with the chirps of birds and the rustle of plantlife. Although she was tall for a girl her age, there were some bright bursting stalks of flowers that managed to cover her from head to toe. These she hid among, giggling softly, as the maids who had been attempting to dress her scrambled about calling her name.

She removed the tight satin baby-blue shoes that they had been making her stand in for what had been perhaps an hour and half-angrily, half-triumphantly tossed into a nearby clump of mud. The shoes were pretty, she had to admit. But they were oh so uncomfortable. She wiggled her toes in her stockings. A pair of men's soft leather boots would have done just as well, in her opinion.

After several minutes of quietly waiting, one of the maids uttered a curse, adding that Allen could come out and find his own blasted sister. Celena sighed in relief, and walked shoeless towards the woods. It had taken much well-planned wiggling and an "accidental" trip to get out of that one. Some dinner Allen wanted to take her to. Some people her age he wanted her to meet. Be more social! He would laugh. You keep cooped up here so long I might start thinking you want to become a nun.

Celena stuck out her tongue at the mansion in the distance. So what if she wanted to stay cooped at home? She'd dragged herself to a few of those little social gatherings since she'd returned home and just couldn't stand it. The stares at her unfashionably short hair. The quickly hid glances at her clumsy way of walking in heels. And, most loathing of all, the questioning expressions. The whispers behind delicately gloved hands.

Where had she been all this time?

She sighed, patted the crook between some roots of a dry looking tree. On discovering that it was relatively suitable, she sat down. Eventually Allen would find her, he always would. Allen Allen Allen, she reflected. She loved her brother, of that there was no question, despite the constant badgering. Even just thinking of his handsome, smiling face toned down her frustration. Behind the badgering she knew there was that driving urge to protect that which he had thought lost all those years. So frightened was he of losing her again that he had sworn to secrecy all the knights on the battlefield that had witnessed the incredulous emergence of sweet looking Celena from the sadistic Dragonslayer Captain Dilandau. While Celena, disoriented and heartsick, shivered in the warmth of Allen's embrace, clutching his soft, yet sweat-dampened, white tunic, Allen threatened with honor, and some with blade, to those that gawked to keep her secret concealed. He had seen it in their eyes, the varying spectrums between pity for her plight and hate-filled fury for the revenge that would never be theirs. Allen knew that similar eyes waited for her at home.

"My sister deserves a second chance," Allen had finished, his tone demanding a finality to the matter, daring anyone to defy him.

Celena smiled a little. All right, she decided. She would go to another damnable social gathering, if only because Allen looked so much brighter when she agreed. Time to brush up on the fake smiles and build up that little shield that protected her from the stares and the whispers. She stood up, brushing the back of the dirtied dress (only to find the process smeared the mud instead of removing it), and prepared to turn herself in rather than wait out being found.

Then the Sickness struck.

Down on her knees she went, clutching her stomach, and then her head, as rolling waves of nausea sang with searing flashes behind her eyes. A series of muscle spasms accompanied the symphony while her bones tried to tear themselves from her ligaments. With a practise born from a year's worth of experience she held herself back from retching and waited out the terrible ordeal. When it passed, she stood, pale but composed. A few shakes of the silver curly mop, some further adjustments to her clothing and she looked nearly the same as before. No one would have ever known she'd had such an episode.

Nor would anyone know of the Voice that had pierced her head with its outraged screams.


Chapter 2

"I'm sorry."

"You've ruined the dress! And look at your feet!"

"I'm sorry."

"And WHERE are those shoes? I spent positively hours pondering over the exact ones that would go with this splendid outfit!"

"I'm sorry."

The maid stomped her foot. Celena's bowed head hid her quivering lip corners. The reddish-purplish (not to mention flopping) cheeks of the babbling woman would have set her off into a fit of giggles.

"That would be enough, Eliste."

Celena looked up at the man in the doorway. Resplendant in his Asturian Honour Guard's uniform, long blonde hair swept down over shoulders and back, stood Allen Schezar. Despite the reproachful look he cast her, Celena couldn't help herself.

"Brother!" she exclaimed, rushing to clasp him around the chest. Allen's lungs released a slight oomph of air in objection, but his face smiled in response to her tight squeeze. He smoothed back stray locks of her hair.

"Sir Allen! If you are going to let your sister run wild like a little boy then you'll have everyone up in arms about the Schezar tomboy! A public disaster it will be! Just like that disturbing princess, Millerna!" Eliste punctuated each sentence with a sharp strike to the air with an gnarled, liver-spotted hand.

At that, Allen frowned. "That would be enough, Eliste."

Eliste drew in another heaving breath to protest. Allen interrupted before one syllable managed to escape. "I said, that would be enough."

Celena snuck a peek at the frustrated woman. Nose high in the air, Eliste made a small, perfunctory curtsey, and flounced out of the room, murmuring her dissention. Once the door had closed, and she and her brother were alone, Celena flung herself out of Allen's grasp and plopped into a chair.

"Oh, Allen!" she wailed, "I hate this! I hate these stockings-" which she pulled and tossed, "I hate these ribbons-" brilliant blue ribbons that hung stubbornly to the ends of a few strands of hair were pulled and dropped, "I hate it! I hate it! All because of That Thing!"

While she threw her fit, Allen removed his gloves, shrugged out of his vest, a small smile playing at his lips. At her last statement he looked at her sharply, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Celena noticed the quick, startled look and cringed. "I'm sorry."

"Was that an answer for Eliste or myself?" was his soft reply. He sat down in the plush chair next to her and grasped her hands. "You still haven't come to terms with it, have you?"

A sigh quivered out of her. Allen gathered her to his breast, held her while a series of involuntary tremors rippled through her body.

Let me out! LET ME OUT! You know damn well you can't shut me away forever!

Shut up. Leave me alone. It's my turn. Leave me alone. Celena squeezed her eyes shut, forcibly driving away the temptation to let escape a stream of tears. Her grip on her brother's shirt whitened her knuckles.

Allen was the first to cut through the silence. "You can pick your own clothes next time." You're probably getting old enough to choose for yourself."

Celena loosened her death grip on Allen's uniform. "I'll go to your party." She cast a hopeful look up at him. "Can I wear some boots with my dress?"

Allen smiled down at her. "I'll see what I can do."

Celena smiled brightly back up at him and let loose a whoop of joy. "Thank you!" she cried, prior to planting a quick kiss to his cheek. A minute later she was streaking out the door, a triangular smudge of brown on her bottom revealing to her brother where she'd been hiding herself. Celena continued a run down the hallways, proclaiming her good fortune.

Allen listened to her fading voice. His smile fell.

Celena called out for Jajuka.


Ch 3.

It was the same. The looks, the eyes, the whispers; all of them were still there. "Should have expected it," Celena grumbled to herself. Well, she decided, pulling violently at the strings holding the front of her dress together, that would be the last one. Of course, she'd said that last time too.

Slim fingers easily untangled her short curly hair, after she had managed to free it from the pompous style Eliste had put it in to try and hide the fact that her tresses were shorter than her brother's. It had grown nicely within the last year and a half, so now she could at least say she wasn't a complete duplicate of the Dragonslayer Captain. She twirled around a lock of hair absentmindedly. Years would pass before her hair could get as long as some of those uppity noble women's.

Her finger froze. The soft strands of hair unravelled themselves from her finger and fell back to her skull. Unerringly she knew that she LIKED her hair short. That it was attractive that way. That she was attractive that way. Well, everyone should appreciate something so beautiful. A smile of pleasure crawled to her lips as she gazed upon her reflection. Her index finger found a familiar path to trace along her right jaw.

"No!" Celena whispered hoarsely in frustration, and pounded one delicate fist into the mirror. The entire vanity desk shook, rattling containers of makeup and boxes of expensive jewelry, while the mirror gave birth to a tiny crack in protest. These were not Celena's thoughts and feelings...

Celena bit her knuckles to prevent herself from crying out any further, for fear of exposing herself to any overly-curious servants. Especially since Allen would find her out.

Homecoming, at first, was a thrilling experience. Celena couldn't remember ever having been happier at seeing the Schezar mansion, and it was more than her long absence. There was an safitisfying feeling of security, of family, that she knew she had been lacking for years.

The flowers! The fields! She remembered running in them as a child, waving her arms around like mad, chasing butterflies and lizards, falling more than once over a rock or into a mud puddle to only pick herself within seconds to resume the chase. Allen had often called out after her to be more prudent, reaching out with his arms for her to return. Sometimes she returned to him with muddy shoes and some sort of interesting form of plantlife that had caught her eye. More likely she'd expose a candy-colored tongue in his direction, then turn heel and keep on running. His long legs would catch up to her easily, and his words would be sharp. Celena would gaze up at him, eyes innocent and adoring, and his lips would bow into a smile. When she saw them once again she exploded into a sprint. Her brother merely watched her with a smile as she whooped and danced among the wildlife.

She was happy. For the most part. Discussions regarding anything remotely Zaibach were often steered away when she came into earshot. It became a curiousity at first, then an irritation. She brought up the issue with Allen, vehemently demanding to know what people were hiding from her. He had led her outside and sat her down on a bench. Eyes piercing her, hands lying over hers between them, he simply asked whether or not she remembered the young man known as Dilandau Albatou.

Celena had paused, cocked her head, and thought for a good long moment. She did, and she did not. She knew of him, from the whispered talk that she'd managed to catch. And she knew that she had been him, of that there was no doubt. She had tapped her head. There were visions, terrors, feelings, confusions that were there that were no doubt his, but were intangible. From the moment she assumed she had become the final version of Dilandau, to the moment where she had stepped out from Alseides, everything was hazy. Late at night, while trying to sleep, she would stab a memory down, trying to examine it for what it was. It would slide from her grasp only moments after she'd had an initial glance, and then bury itself back into the mists. Allen had blinked in confusion, and she had smiled brightly. It was nothing for him to worry about, she assured him.

"I am Celena Schezar now! And no one else!"

And then, six months later, the Sickness began.

One day while exploring the Schezar estates (one of her first valiant escapes from the Terrible Eliste) she had been struck suddenly by a terrible nausea. She had vomited violently among a grove of trees. At first she attributed the sickness to that entirely unenticing new experience called menstruation. She had started covering up the mess with a pile of dirt.

Celena had suddenly fallen backwards, mouth open in a silent scream, her head threatening to split apart. Her bones and muscles attempted to seperate. She writhed in agony on the ground, as a voice as familiar as her own screamed frustrated obscenities at the body that had become a prison.

It faded after several minutes, leaving her physically weak and emotionally disturbed. The back of her dress was caked in dirt, and there were more tears in the delicate fabric than she could count. Slowly she picked herself up, ran home in tears, exploded out with some half-baked story about falling down a hillside, and was sent to bed after a thorough bath and a small dinner.

Further incidents became more and more frequent, and with experience it was easy to make up the stories and to hide herself when necessary. At first it was bewildering, and frightening. Then it just became frightening. By now, the battle with Dilandau Albatou for domination had become a daily struggle.

Sleep was a respite, for the most part. The Sickness was far more frequent than the Nightmares, which was a thankful lesser of the two evils. It seemed her prior late-night attempts to grasp at Dilandau's memories eventually met with success.

There were those that were pleasurable to Dilandau, sickening to Celena. Images of towns burning, soldiers being crushed underneath Guymelef feet, knuckles cracking the faces of insubordinates. Murders, as sadistic as they were bloody. Through it all was Dilandau's boy-sweet voice and piercing laughter, coming from what felt like her own mouth.

Then there were those that terrified the both of them. Escaflowne, slaughtering every Dragonslayer one after the other while he (she) looked on in helpless horror. More rattling were those of being strapped down to a table, crying out for Allen, Jajuka, anyone, while black-robed Zaibach sorcerers prodded, pricked, and spoke in deep, monotone voices to one another of changes of fate. Celena woke up from these, sweating profusely, thankfully not screaming, and did not sleep.

Celena slid out of her evening dress and into a light, soft nightshift. She closed the window, as if closing this one could close the one on her that Dilandau was trying to crawl through. Under the feather covers she went, curled up on a bed that was obviously far too small for her current frame. Exhaustion, permeating mind and body, swiftly spiralled her into sleep.


Chapter 4

Sunshine invited itself in from the windows near the meal table, making pleasant a warm spring's breakfast. Celena ate somewhat like a rough soldier, something of Dilandau that had unfortunately been carried over; scooping things into rough piles before jamming them into her mouth. With Eliste and Allen's prodding, however, they'd managed to get her to stop chugging her drinks and had her sipping them, if not like a lady, then like a normal citizen. Allen ate beside her, in a far more dignified manner.

Celena belched out triumphantly at the end. She'd managed not to do so when most other people were around, but present company was excepted. Gaddes, at the other end of the table, pointed and laughed uproariously. "She's better than you, boss!" he managed to choke.

Allen cast a glare in her direction. "Please don't do that, Celena. It's not becoming of a lady."

"But Gaddes doesn't mind," she protested.

"I mind, Celena," Allen reproached. She nodded sheepishly.

Once he'd stopped looking, she grabbed for the officious looking letter that had arrived at the crack of dawn and was now lying to the opposite side of her brother. For some reason, Allen had forbade her to look at it. Her brother, in the meantime, choked on an egg in surprise, and the letter was hers. While Gaddess pounded the table in laughter and pointed, blurry-eyed, at his red-faced compatriot, Celena's eyebrows flew to the top of her forehead. Her name was beside her brother's.

"Gracious invitations to the Schezars, Allen Crusade and Celena," she read. "As hero and family in the great war against Zaibach and invaluable aide to the afore mentioned victory, your presence would be appreciated in the grand welcoming ceremonies to His Royal Highness, and fellow hero, Van Slanzar de Fanel. Please arrive the morning of the designated date for proper rehearsal and preperations." She scanned down the rest of the praise and appeal towards her brother to find the date. "Oh! This is three weeks from now!"

"Yes," Allen croaked, after having dislodged the egg.

"And I get to go too!" Her light frame bounced in excitement.

Both Allen and Gaddes cast surprised looks. "You actually want to go?" Allen murmured.

Celena blinked, as if the answer should be obvious. "Why?"

"It's just, little lady," Gaddes replied, "this is the first time you've even showed the slightest desire to step foot out of these grounds."

"So?"

Gaddes began to explain the abnormality of her eagerness when Allen interrupted. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"You realize you'll have to wear an expensive dress, fitting for the royal court.'

"Yes."

"And probably some of those eenie weenie shoes," piped Gaddes.

"Aww."

"Or at least some dress boots," fixed Allen.

"Hooray!"

"Then it's settled," Allen finished. "We leave in three weeks! You'd better pack at least a week's worth of clothing." He tweaked her nose affectionately. "Since you've finally decided not to deny the public your lovely appearance, we'll have to site-see the capital."

Celena rubbed her nose and nodded in agreement. "But only if I get those boots!"

"Of course."

Celena let out a whoop of joy to rival the one she'd made the day before. Gaddes covered his ears in appreciation as she streaked upstairs to decide what she was going to bring. He looked at Allen. Their long standing relationship gave the him no need to verbally ask the question that his face could project.

"Because she's finally excited," Allen answered.

"What about your suspicions?"

Allen placed his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. He sighed, eyes closed, a disturbed expression clouding his handsome features. "I know she's been sick. She's been trying to hide it, and she's done well, but an observant soldier knows the difference in appearance between having tumbled down a slope and having writhed about on the ground.

"Yesterday," he sighed, "she called out for Jajuka."

"Jajuka?" Gaddes thought a moment on the name. "Wasn't that--?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you letting her--?"

"Because she's finally excited to be out. It's been nearly two years, and she refuses to step outside of the estate unless I request it."

"You know what the worst case will be."

Allen nodded, looked at his soldier, companion, friend. "At least then I'll know for sure."

Gaddes gave him a grim look. "What if it's better not knowing?"

"It's never better not knowing."

The grim look was unrelenting. Allen felt crushed by its weight.

"If I have to," he whispered, "I'll do what I must."


Chapter 5

The combatants circled each other. It'd had been a long, grueling fight, and both of their shirts were sopping; proof of the energy that had been spent. Swordarms quivered in exhaustion, yet adrenalin-pumped excitement still shone in both their eyes. Finally, one of the fighter's patience was lost, and the shining metal blades clanged together once again.

Thrust, parry, thrust, parry. Hack downwards blocked by a swing upwards. Foot swing out from the opposite side, cracked aside by one leather encased arm. Slice to the head missed by mere hairs due to a quick roll forward. Spring to the feet, sword swung to one side to parry a followup. Swinging sword to knees, jump upwards to avoid. Back onto both pairs of feet, thrust, parry, thrust, parry. Stronger of the two pushing the weaker back, metal cross inches away from sweating faces. Neither looking away from the other's eyes, the weaker baring teeth in strain.

"C'mon Celena," Gaddes grinned, leaning pursed lips forwad, "give me a kiss!"

Celena's lips thinned in irritation. Gaddes' eyes suddenly went wide in shock and pain, and his sword dropped to her feet. A few seconds later he was down on the ground, clutching a bruised manhood.

"Now that's not very fair," groaned Gaddes.

They had been practising swordmanship since a few months after her homecoming. He had caught her completely by accident, wearing a pair of pants borrowed from a pageboy and a blouse of her own, swinging a sword around in the middle of a small clearing in the nearby forests. Upon the vanquish of some shadowy opponent, she had posed in a knight's salute undoubtedly picked up from observing her brother. He appluaded, genuinely impressed. She had jumped, dropping the sword from nerveless fingers, and began to plead for him not to let Allen know what she had been doing. His first concern was that she had resorted to thievary in securing the blade. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be one from Allen's training, which she had known the location of even before her absence. The blade was chipped and the hilt had been swiftly repaired with tree sap glue and some strong, light rope.

Gaddes recognized talent when he saw it, and there was no reason to let this one slip by, girl or no girl. Although he realized he was witnessing another one of Dilandau's talents having slipped through to Celena, he couldn't resist the temptation. Scampering around behind the boss' back was a boyish thrill, and Celena promised to be an eager opponent.

Although she hesitated at first, the deal was set, and they met once a week after that, always in the same spot at the same time. At first, Gaddes spent time watching her adjust to her weaker, clumsier female frame. Many of the mock fights ended with her on the floor, ankle twisted from some root or rock her foot had managed to catch, and Gaddes' sword pointed at her throat. After several weeks of such training, however, Celena's (Dilandau's?) peak form had asserted itself. Gaddes now found himself frequently facing the blunted point of Celena's chipped blade from some awkward position in the dirt, her smirk on the other end.

There were times, Gaddes felt, that the endeavor had become too risky even for him. Dilandau's fighting style was undeniably dirty. Celena had no qualms about kicking him when he was down, slicing at his unguarded backside, or striking those places that an honorable knight (or in this case, a fellow man) would have never dared. Although Celena would apologize profusely afterwards, it still left an uncomfortable question dangling over Gaddes' head, especially after Allen's continued suspicions and recent revelations concerning Celena's alterego.

Would he find himself one day facing Dilandau, rather than Celena?

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" Celena was pulling his arm, trying to get him to stand. The sharp pain had reduced itself to a dull throbbing, and Gaddes allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. While he regained his composure, Celena began to go through some elementary noble-style fencing moves that he had shown her the week before.

"I'm just so nervous," she quipped. "Going to the capital, meeting the king, seeing everything!"

Gaddes leaned on a treetrunk, smearing sweat on his brow with his sleeve. "Why are you so excited, little hermit? You know there'll be all those people there."

Celena frowned, freezing in a customary attack position. Her sword quivered in front of her, free hand wavering up near perspiration moist locks. "I don't know," she confessed. "Something inside of me really wants to go. And I haven't seen the King since, you know, the war. Don't you think he might look different?"

"The King, eh?"

She dropped her position to throw him a confused look. "What?"

"Have you been harboring a little crush on him all this time?"

"What!" she cried, voice sharpening with indignation.

"I see," nodded Gaddes, an amused grin decorating his unshaven maw. "So THAT would be why you're so bent on going!"

"That's not true!"

Gaddes walked up and pinched her on the cheek. "Then why are you blushing?"

He expected a slap, or even another knee to the groin. To his surprise, and his dismay, Celena's response was far more deadly.

A snarl rippled from lips curled to bare slightly pointed canines. Her sword swung from her right side, the worn handle grasped in two delicate hands, and hacked downwards. Fortunately, he hadn't sheathed his sword, and a blade aimed to split his skull was deflected effectively if awkwardly. The ensuing conflict was completely different than any of the others they'd had before. Blows that would have been cautiously deflected in such unarmoured sparring were not, and her precision was uncanny. Slices to the jugular, stabs to the heart, swings meant to open his belly and spill his innards on the ground were all dodged or blocked, but he was weary, and he found himself forced onto the defensive.

Celena, on the other hand, fought as if fresh. She swung and stabbed, consistently on the offensive, whacking away any attempts by Gaddes to be so. Eyes narrowed by a rage entirely uncharacteristic of the cheerful, childish Celena was complimented by a mouth distorted by the same emotion.

Gaddes tripped, whispering an obscenity.

Down on his knees he went. The chipped and worn blade came flying down, and their blades met in another cross, only this time it was Celena who held the superior position. Gaddes' arms quivered. He grunted with the effort of holding her back, surprised that her small frame could exert so much pressure. The menacing glint off his own blade forced him to look to one side.

"Enough already," he growled. "Let me up! It was a joke!"

Dilandau snickered.

Gaddes' breath caught in his throat. He peered through the stabbing light reflecting off his sword. Celena's mouth had stretched in a wide, maddening grin, her narrowed eyes burning with the thrill of the upcoming kill. The snickering escalated into a shrill mocking laugh. It was sung with Celena's high tone, but with none of her gentle demeanor. Replacing her normal bright color was something dark, cruel, and sadistic.

"Van." The name came like poison from her tongue, spat it out with all the hatred that could be mustered. "I will show you what I think of Van."

Celena's sword came up in a stroke that Gaddes knew his twisted ankle and worn muscles could not dodge completely. Perhaps, he thought, sword flying back to try and meet the blow, he could get away maimed instead of dead.

Then Celena screeched out a cry of indignation. Gaddes caught a glimpse of flowing blonde hair through the sweat dripping into his eyes.

Allen gripped Celena's sword hand tightly around the wrist, pressing against nerves and ligaments until the blade fell. His free hand gripped the other wrist, twisting it behind her viciously. Celena, in the meantime, spat obscenities, trying to kick out backwards at whatever part of her brother's body was closest. Nothing connected, as Allen danced out of the way of the uncontrolled attacks.

"Yield!" he barked, pretzeling Celena's arms into a more painful and maneuverable position. A feminine, frightened cry of pain burst from her lips. Allen recognized the nature of the noise and released her.

Celena staggered forward, wrists bearing red marks from her brother's fingers. She clutched her head, and fell over some roots. Fingers tightly gripped silvery locks, while her throat wrenched out an ear-splitting scream that sent shivers running down both men's spines. Allen rushed forward, and gently gathered her curled up form to his chest. Upon being cradled, her body collapsed, the strings cut. Allen's head bowed over his sister's for a  moment, his arms folding over her protectively, then rose. He peered angrily at the Crusade First Officer.

"I'm in deep shit," Gaddes mumbled, "aren't I?"


Chapter 6

The room was uncomfortably silent. Celena, whom Eliste (long experienced at handling noblemen and women unconscious after stumbling home from late parties) had bathed and dressed, now lay pale but calm, almost buried within the soft folds of her bed. At her side sat her brother, fingers interlocked, elbows on his knees, and eyes closed. Furrowed eyebrows revealed his agitation. Leaning against her dresser was Gaddes, still in the same dirty state he'd been in the forest several hours before. He drummed his fingers on the polished wood, head bowed.

"Look boss, I'm really sor--"

"Don't be," growled Allen.

"I really didn't know this was gonna hap--"

"You should have thought a little more, then."

Gaddes resumed drumming his fingers. "How did you know we were there?"

Allen's eyes opened and slid over to his First Officer. "You go to the same place at the same time on the same day every week. Someone would notice."

There was no arguing that. Gaddes cursed silently and scratched his head, made itchy by unwashed sweat. "Well, why didn't you stop us beforehand?"

Eyes closed once more, and a sigh pushed out Allen's first sentence. "I don't think I was thinking. All I wanted was for Celena to be happy." He slid his palm to his eyes and leaned into it. "I watched her from behind a tree at a safe distance. Gods, when she hit the shadows..." He swallowed. "When she got back into the light it was Celena again, smiling. I couldn't make her stop doing something that obviously she enjoyed. I thought it might make her run away from me again."

Allen glanced at his sister. Celena, even prior to her abduction, always had this dreadful habit of turning tail and running when confronted with options that she didn't agree to. Just like the dress incident two weeks before, she would eventually return to grudgingly accept the terms. Every time she fled, Allen's mind's eye kept seeing a far younger Celena, racing down the fields while he chased afterwards. Somehow she'd keep ahead of him, and while she did she was fading away...disappearing...another loved one falling out of his life...

"Shit." Gaddes walked over to the opposite side of the bed and kneeled down. "Those Zaibach bastards."

Allen brushed at stray locks of Celena's hair. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" he whispered.

Celena stirred, looked blearily at her brother. She croaked, "Allen?"

Allen smiled at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." Celena sighed and curled up under the comforter.

"Do you know what happened?"

Celena's eyes went wide with fright. She nodded slightly. She buried herself under the comforter. "Are we in trouble?"

"No, Celena." Allen lifted the comforter off her head. "However, we do need to decide what to do now."

"What? Are you going to ground me for stealing your sword?"

Allen's hand gently grasped the bottom of her chin. "Celena, there's no use hiding it anymore. I know you're still very...sick."

Celena sat up slowly, blinking questioningly at her brother. "What do you mean, sick?"

"He means, little lady," inserted Gaddes, "that whatever those shitheaded Zaibach Madoushi did to you is still messing with your system."

"I feel fine," she grumbled. "Nothing to worry. Remember? I'm still Celena." She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"Celena would not have acted the way you did earlier today," Allen remarked quietly.

Celena waved a hand. "I was just...upset because you were teasing me, that's all." The two men exchanged glances. "What? You don't believe me? Look! Van Van Van. I like Van. See? Nothing."

"It's a concern," Allen continued. "These sickness spells of yours. That incident today. It's obvious specific things are triggering it now. What will happen when you see Van in person?"

She frowned and pulled at a few of her curly locks. "You mean you don't want me causing a public spectacle. Exposing myself." She wailed, lifting the covers back over her head, "Let them find out already! Then at least they can start belittling me in my face than behind my back."

Gaddes folded his arms. "Tell the truth, boss, if we don't bring her it'll just raise more suspicions."

Allen sighed. He leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. "All right. You can still come to the ceremony, Celena. Provided," he added, "nothing like this happens in the next week. But when we get home, I'm sending a courier to Zaibach for help."

Celena cringed. Neither her (nor Dilandau) relished the thought of being inspected once again by Zaibach sorcerers. Within her still lingered pre-Dilandau memories of being strapped to tables, inserted with medications, or being locked into chambers of gas or liquid. Although her natural instincts had buried any specific images, she could still recall feeling terrified, confused, and, most of all, lonely. However, the alternative, living the rest of her life in such a state, battling dominance with Dilandau every day (what if it became every hour? every minute?) was far worse.

"When the Madoushi comes," she finally whispered, "will you stay with me?" Not be away, she added to herself. Not like before.

"Of course, Celena," he responded softly. He leaned into the bed and gathered her into his arms. Gaddes quietly left the room, while Celena began to sob into her brother's sleeves. Allen's eyes teared slightly. There was no telling what horrid procedures the Madoushi had used the first time around to alter her fate, but there was unfortunately no one else with such information. He held her as close as possible, relishing the feel of having his sister once again with him, heart pounding with the fear that he may be losing her once again.

"I'll be there this time for you."


Chapter 7

She walked down the hallway, boots clacking on the stone floor. The news awaiting her commander was not entirely unpleasant, nor would it be unexpected, but she wasn't thrilled about meeting his response.

The hallway opened into her commander's sitting room, where he was draped onto a throne-like chair. By his wide, staring eyes and the mechanical way the tip of his fingers scraped along the chair's backside, she surmised that this was one report she wished she could have passed along to someone else. She snapped to attention and saluted.

What is this? What am I doing here?

"What is it?" growled the impatient figure.

"Sir!" she kneeled to the ground, fist over her heart. "I am sorry to report, Commander..." Report? What was she here to report?

"Well? Hurry up!" The commander swung his legs over the side of his chair and stood. His footsteps echoed through the chamber, crescendoing as they approached. It paused in front of her, the tips of the boots barely within her peripheral vision.

"I...I...the Madoushi..." She was bewildered. Hoping for some answers, she looked up.

Her own face leered down at her.

Leather-encased knuckles, colored as if dipped in blood, cracked into her right cheek bone. She fell to the floor with a cry. Immediately she tried to get back up, enraged that anyone would strike her so, and was felled by a kick to the abdomen. She curled up into a ball, coughing.

Her "commander" reached down and hauled her up by the front of her uniform. "Celena, Ce-le-na," he said, drawing out each syllable as if relishing the bitter taste of it. He brought her to her feet by the front of her uniform. The distance between them was such that had she leaned forward, their lips would have met. Instead, she recoiled, and began pounding on his shoulders and arms, demanding that he release her. None seemed to have any effect. He shook her violently until she stopped.

"You're letting your foolish brother bring in those sorcerers?" Dilandau screamed, emphasizing his question with another shake.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely, "to be rid of you. So I can forget that I ever became you!"  Her voice rose. "You're vile, horrid! Leave me alone! I never want to be you again!"

Dilandau barked out an obscenity and shoved her. She stumbled backwards into his audience chair, landing hard onto the stone. Celena tried to get up, her fear motivating her to move, despite the stabbing pain that began at her tailbone and was edging its way down her legs. Dilandau was there even before she'd had the chance to take a single step, one hand pinning one of hers to the chair, the fingers of the other wrapped around her neck.

"Running away." He giggled, whispering the phrase twice more, tightening the grip around her neck. "It's all you're good for. Running. Running from Eliste, from Allen, from Jajuka." The giggle escalated, becoming a full fledged maniacal laugh. "But you can't run away from me! Because you were me, Celena, no matter how much you want to forget!"

Both hands moved to crush her larynx. She gasped and tried pulling at his wrists. Kicking had no effect, and the effort only seemed to increase Dilandau's elation at her expense. His laughing visage began fading away...

Celena awoke, bolting upright to a sitting position. For some reason, she discovered she still couldn't breathe.  The panic only rose when she discovered that her own hands were at her throat.

She shakingly removed her fingers from her larynx. Bent over her covers, she tried to refill her lungs with minimal noise. She bit her knuckles, hard enough that her teeth pierced the skin. A small trickle of blood raced down her hand as her eyes widened with horror, sweat soaking her thin nightgown. She hadn't been sitting in Dilandau's shoes this time. She'd been facing Dilandau, speaking to him, while he shoved her, hurt her, tried to kill her. Fleetingly, she told herself that seeing his memories, however horrific, were far more preferable.

Something mocked her, chuckling for her ears alone. A searing flash tore through the back of her eyes and ripped through her head. Celena gripped her comforter tight enough to make her fists turn white, and ground her teeth together. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.

"If you want them, you can have them."


Chapter 8

Allen, of course, questioned Celena's pale pallor and her tendancy to yawn throughout the morning, but the day before had been spent shopping and packing, and she convinced him those were the causes. However, the way she jumped when someone tapped her on the back, or the way her eyes glazed over at breakfast, did not go unnoticed. Allen suspected something had happened the night before, and it crossed his mind to convince her not to go at the very last minute. He turned to her as they were walking to the carriage.

Celena folded her arms and frowned. "Don't even start."

Gaddes leaned to one side and smirked from the driver's seat. "Gotcha before you even opened your mouth, boss."

Allen sighed and entered the confines of the carriage. Celena followed soon afterwards and sat across from him. Within moments there was the crack of a whip, Gaddes' bark to the horses, and they were on their way. He reached over and took her hand.

"Are you completely certain you feel all right?" he asked, gazing worriedly into her bag-heavy eyes.

"Just anxious." She waved her free hand at him, nonchalant. "Just couldn't sleep last night. Too much excitement for me!" A smile brightened her expression.

There was no doubt Allen disbelieved her, but there was also no advantage in telling him the truth. Without letting him get another word regarding the matter, Celena began firing question after question about this, that, and everything having to do with the upcoming ceremonies. The trip would not take very long, perhaps a few hours through the countryside and to the palace, and she would not let him for an instant think of turning the carriage around and dump her back at the family estate.

While she somewhat listened to his descriptions of various figures of the royal court, she again crammed down the rising throng of memories. It had taken the better part of the night before to regain her composure. Whereas before she'd had some scattered remanents of what remained of Dilandau (her eating habits, her sword skills), as well as those repeated terrifying experiences in her dreams, she'd never felt fully connected with him. It was if she'd been a witness, but never a participant. Now she was being filled to the brim and beyond with every sensation, visualization, and psychological turnings that had ever occured to the body that had once been hers, and hers alone.

And now she was losing sight of where Dilandau ended and Celena began.

Despite the overbearing headache, she discovered an eerie calm to her subconscious, as if penting up those memories had been perpetuating her Sickness. Her prime difficulty was an utter sense of disorientation. A whirlwind of visuals and emotions ran across her mind's eye, all clamoring for attention at once. Several early morning hours passed while she lay, curled in a fetal position, forcing herself to bear through the onslaught. Dilandau was determined to prevent his removal, even if it meant driving her insane. He'd forgotten, however, that through the trauma, Celena had managed to survive, even if buried, and her resolve had strengthened since she became the dominant personality. Daylight had enveloped the skies by the time she'd emerged victorious, and she realized that her time spent sleeping had been sorrowfully brief.

"...Although sometimes he occassionally drops by to give Princess Millerna a present or two. It's quite remarkable sometimes the items Dryden brings from those...far away...lands..." Allen trailed off when he noticed Celena's blank expression. She made a perfunctory nod at the end of his sentence. Frowning, he snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.

Celena blinked at him. One instinct told her to slap the insolent dolt. The other froze, startled that she would even think of doing so. She apologized and forced out a yawn.

"Sorry, brother," she murmured. "I must be more tired than I thought. Do you mind if I take a nap? Things will probably be very busy at the palace."

"Certainly, Celena." Allen smiled. "You'll need your energy."

Allen watched as Celena nestled down in the cushioned seat. She threw him an affectionate smile before closing his eyes. He clasped gloved hands together, reflecting on how her hand had twitched in her lap when he had startled her, and the uncharacteristic irritation that had flashed across her face. A frown creased his lips. She was hiding something again, and it was more than some mishap the night before. Confronting her directly would possibly be disasterous, especially if her sanity was at sake. The courier who had delivered his invitation had mentioned an invitation being sent to Zaibach. Allen only hoped that a Madoushi would be sent along with the usual pack of politicians.

Celena felt her brother's eyes drive into her. The scrutinization was almost unbearable, too closely associated with being treated as an experiment in the name of Fate. She knew, though, that her brother wasn't fooled by any of her explanations (not to mention her "nap"). But she knew, without a doubt, that Allen would do what was best, especially since her own abilities to determine up from down was severely crippled. Regardless of all the confusion, one driving urge kept her determined to make it through this trip.

She (he) absolutely had to see Van.

*****

- Kus Kus
http://anime.at/kuskus/
AOL: Kusanagi Mamoru
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