For years the house had remained curiously empty. Leon Schezar, a black stain on the long line of honorable and devoted Knights and noblemen was a wanderer, and after visiting Zaibach termed himself an "archaeologist." Often Leon would return from his frequent quests with some strange artifact or another, carting a pouch full of jewels or coins from different lands, therefore supplementing his family in a way that was unheard of. His lovely wife, when the marriage was new, was thrilled to join him on his journeys, reveling in the adventure and the experience that awaited them around Gaea. Then, when their first son and then their daughter were born, loved him enough to endure the loneliness while he was gone.

However, Encia argued with him fervently when he mentioned searching for the ancient, cursed city of Atlantis. This, she argued, was finally madness. She screamed, wept, and begged, and at the last it seemed he agreed. Only the next day, Leon Schezar left behind his young wife, a small daughter, and a boy just taking his first steps into manhood, never to return.

One day Celena, his daughter, entered a game of hide and seek with her brother. Blessed or cursed with the same wayward nature as her father, she often took to the bordering forest, despite the dangers and the warnings. No one found her.

Soon afterwards, Encia wasted away from grief.

Allen, too young to manage the household on his own, gave leave to all but a few trusted family servants whose duty henceforth was to watch over the Schezar estate, and wandered into the forest himself. He blundered about, challenging unwary highway travelers to duels, until confronted by Balgus, one of the Three Swordsmasters of Gaea. Seeing in the young man an untamed, saddened good spirit, he took him under his wing.

Allen became a Knight Caeli, restoring his family's honourable court position. The Schezar estate once more became a home, and the servants were reinstated.

However, after a scandal involving the King's eldest daughter he was sent to the Castelo Fort, remotely located on the border of Asturia and Zaibach, a neighboring country rich in ambitions and technology. The fort was well equipped, but far, and his visits to the family estate became infrequent.

Celena resurfaced as the nightmarish Commander of the Dragonslayers, Zaibach's elite Guymelef force. However, Celena was not Celena anymore.

Dilandau Albatou, a young man who gleefully burned a country to cinders, had taken her place.

Allen, alongside King Van Slanzar de Fanel, the young lord of Fanelia, and Hitomi Kanzaki, a powerful girl from the Mystic Moon, became key figures in a war that spanned all of Gaea.

Van and Dilandau became bitter enemies. The hatred between them consumed Dilandau, and his road to madness was swift and terrible. Van watched as the young boy and his forces murdered and destroyed everything around him. His feet would have traced the same path, but the love of the strange, foreign girl saved him.

Though Allen and Dilandau crossed swords many times, eventually Allen, through both chance and knowledge of the defected Strategos of Zaibach, Folken Lacour de Fanel, Van's once lost brother, discovered the truth.

Eventually they were reunited, Celena and Allen. He took her home, intent on giving her the life she never had.

Folken perished in the war, a victim of his misguided dreams.

Hitomi returned home to Earth and resumed her life as it had been, wiser.

. . .and Van never forgave Dilandau his sins.

[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 made her way through the tall rushes and abundant flowers, taking a path through the wildlife that was familiar only to her. Through the rustling of the plants and the chirps of disturbed birds she heard the women scrambling about, crying out her name in frustration.

The rushes would not cover her fully; she was tall for her age. Instead, she found a familiar dry stone to sit upon, one that neighbored a tiny, bubbling stream and had a marvelous view of the nearby forest. They'd give up soon enough. She removed the tight satin baby-blue shoes that they had been making her stand in for what felt like half a day. They plopped delightfully in a nearly mud puddle. The shoes were pretty, she had to admit, but oh so uncomfortable. Sighing, 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 profanity, 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 as she backstepped into the woods. So what if she wanted to stay cooped at home? She'd already dragged herself to a few of those little social gatherings. They always began with the formal introductions and usual pish-posh: My Lord Allen, how good of you to come! Who is this? Your sister is it? What a fine young woman, with such an. . . unusual look! Really now Allen, why haven't you brought this delightful creature here before? Shy is it? Sickly? Well she absolutely must be introduced to my son. No? Too early to think of things such as that? You do realize how old you both are. Oh I suppose I will have to let you go.

"Well, damn him and damn all of them!" she cried, hurling the remains of the dress tie into a nearby bush. Why did she put herself through that drivel? If only. . .

If only Allen didn't smile when she put on those dresses. If only he wouldn't be so kind to her all the time. If only he wasn't so patient, so loving, so caring. If only she could forget that he'd rescued her and brought her home. If only there was someone else who could ease the pain of a tortured, stolen childhood. . .

. . .Folken. . .

Celena shook her head against some painful, half-forgotten memory, and smiled a little. All right, she decided. She would go to another damnable social gathering. Time to brush up on the fake smiles and prepare 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.

A burning pain rushed up the right side of her cheek.

She fell onto her knees and elbows, her breath caught in her throat, one hand clutching her stomach and the other grasping desperately at the earth and grass before her. Her teeth were clenched tight, though her lungs screamed for air, while the rest of her face contorted in an expression of staggering agony. Nausea coupled itself with searing, tearing pain, as if all of her muscles were trying to break themselves away from her bones. With a practise born from a year's worth of experience she held herself back from retching and bit back her screams. When it passed, she swallowed a few gulps of precious air and stood, pale and shaking uncontrollably. She waited a bit while her color returned, then adjusted her clothing and her hair. No one would know of this, or any other, of these episodes.

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

"I'm sorry."

The head maid stomped her foot. Celena's bowed head hid her quivering lip corners. The reddish-purplish (not to mention flopping) cheeks of the elder, fatter 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, slightly dusty from the lengthy ride back from the palace, stood Allen Schezar. His eyes bore down on the only other pair on Gaea to share such an astonishingly beautiful blue, while his other handsome features were marred by a reproachful frown. Despite this, Celena found she was unable to help herself.

"Allen!" she exclaimed, a smile brightening her face as she rushed to clasp him around the chest. Allen's lungs released a slight oomph in objection, but his face lightened 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! Think of the public disaster! It's 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 in a tone that was gentle, but demanded a finality to the matter. "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 also pulled and dropped, "Why? Why do you make me do these things when you know what I was and what I've done?"

While she threw her fit, Allen removed his gloves and shrugged out of his vest. At her last statement he looked at her sharply, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in shock and anger. 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 stillhaven't come to terms with it, have you?"

Celena sighed, her eyes stinging with unwanted tears. Allen gathered her to his breast.

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

Celena squeezed her eyes shut, clamping both the Voice and her tears. Her grip on her brother's shirt whitened her knuckles. Allen winced, helpless against a pain that he would never fully understand. He sighed and smiled softly. "You can pick your own clothes next time. You're probably getting old enough to choose for yourself."

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

He 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 as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a document bearing Asturia's Royal Family Crest.

[2 ]

It was the same. The looks, the eyes, the whispers; all of them were still there. "Should have expected it," Celena grumbled to herself, glaring disparagingly at the mirror on her vanity desk. Well, she decided, pulling violently at the strings holding the front of her dress together, that would be the last one.

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 at least she could say that it was "getting there." 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, but when it did, they could stop silently haranguing her for being unfashionable.

Her finger froze. The silver strands of hair unraveled 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. Everyone should appreciate something so unerringly beautiful. A smile of self-appreciation crawled to her lips as she gazed longingly upon her reflection. She found a familiar path to trace along her right jaw and her smile grew wider. . .

"No!" Celena cried hoarsely in frustration, pounding one tightly clenched fist into the mirror. The entire desk shook, rattling containers of makeup and boxes of expensive jewelry, while the mirror gave birth to a tiny crack in protest. She bit her knuckles to prevent herself from crying out any further, for fear of exposing herself to any overly-curious servants.

"How long?" she whispered, "How long can I keep hiding it?"

. . .Not for too much longer now. And then. . .

. . ..I'll destroy you.

The flowers! The fields! She ran through them as she did as a child, waving her arms around like a bird, 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. Her mother or Allen had often called out after her to be more careful, reaching out with hopeful arms for her to return. Her mother she always returned to with muddy shoes and some sort of interesting form of plantlife that had caught her eye. With Allen it was more likely that she'd expose a candy-colored tongue in their 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 then gaze up at him, eyes innocent and adoring, a flower held up in one dirty hand, and he couldn't help but forgive her. Now her beloved mother was dead, and Allen merely watched, allowing her indulgence while a sad, wistful smile held his lips.

Things seemed so peaceful and normal at first. Allen and the house servants did their very best to act as if she'd never left. They laid out foods that were once her favourite, and who was to argue if she said that perhaps she liked her meat a bit rarer nowadays? Pink dresses suited her quite well, though she was right, the darker the red the better it brought out her complexion. And who was to do anything other than compliment the fact that she already knew how to read and understand the latest essays regarding the Gaean recovery from the War of Destiny?

Then she began to notice that discussions regarding anything remotely Zaibach halted or turned quickly when she came into earshot. She brought up the issue with Allen, vehemently demanding to know what people were hiding from her. He sat her down and asked simply if she remember a young man named 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, and feelings that were there that could not be hers, but were fragmented and hazy. Late at night, while trying to sleep, she would grasp at one, trying to hold on to a murderous intent, the smell of blood, the silky touch of the Guymelef's chemicals surrounding her (his) body. She'd sniff, feel, and her heart would race, but it would slip away swiftly, leaving her confused and empty. 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.

Then her muscles threatened to tear from their tendons making her incapable of movement. She collapsed onto the ground. An unbearable pain ripped through her head as a voice as familiar as her own screamed frustrated obscenities at the body that had become a prison. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream, and her body contorted and froze in a shuddering curled position on the muddy earth.

It faded after several minutes, leaving her feeling physically and emotionally weak. 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 to where it was nearly a daily battle, and with experience it was easy to make up the stories and to hide herself when necessary.

Soon after the Sickness came the Nightmares, in which she regretted ever wondering about her former life. There were those that were pleasurable to Dilandau, sickening to Celena. He gleefully reminisced of towns burning, soldiers being crushed underneath Guymelef feet, knuckles cracking the faces of insubordinates, murders, as sadistic as they were bloody, and through it all 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. 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.

[3 ]

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, scooping things into rough and tasty 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 civilized person. 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.

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 a maidservant had poured them all after-breakfast tea, Allen pushed an open scroll towards his sister. She picked it up, enthused by the officious wax seal and the flourishing script within.

"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 the Oh So Mighty Royal Knight Caeli to find the date. "Oh! This is three weeks from now!"

"Yes," Allen replied.

"And I get to go too!" Excitedly, she bounced up and down in her seat.

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

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 drew breath 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 lady's shoes," piped Gaddes.

"Aww."

"Or at least some dress boots," her brother remedied.

"Wonderful!"

"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."

The young girl 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 troubled expression clouding his handsome features. "I know she's been sick in one way or another. She's been trying to hide it, and she's done well, but a simple tumble down a slope would not account for her sickly pallor."

"Then why are you letting her--?"

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

"You know what the worst case will be."

Allen nodded, his face shadowed by a weary, saddened look that only this soldier, companion, friend would ever see. "At least then I'll know for sure."

Gaddes was grim. "What if it's better not knowing?"

"It's never better not knowing."

Crushed by the weight of disastrous possibilities, Allen sighed. "If I have to," he whispered, "I'll do what I must."

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 forward, "give me a kiss!"

Celena's lips thinned in irritation. Her opponentıs 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 the elder man.

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 her brotherıs closet (nearly two sizes too large) and a blouse of her own, swinging a sword around in the middle of a small clearing in the nearby forest. Upon the vanquish of some shadowy opponent, she had posed in a knight's salute undoubtedly picked up from observing the illustrious Knight. Gaddes applauded, genuinely impressed. She had jumped and dropped the sword from nerveless fingers, pleading for him not to let Allen know what she had been doing. His first concern was that she had resorted to thievery in securing the sword. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be one from Allenıs swordsmanship training which she had discovered shortly after her return. The blade was chipped in several places 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 one of Dilandau's talents having slipped through, 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. The hardy soldier now found himself frequently facing the blunted point of Celena's inferior 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 her alterego.

Would it be Dilandau Albatou one day grasping the hilt of that broken sword?

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" Celena was pulling his arm, trying to get him to stand. The sharp pain had reduced to a dull throbbing, and Gaddes allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. While he regained his composure, the silver-haired girl began to go through some elementary 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 tree trunk, 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 young girl was complimented by a mouth distorted by the same emotion.

Gaddes tripped, whispering an obscenity.

Dwn 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 his opponent 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 spat obscenities, trying to kick out backwards at whatever part of her brother's body was closest. Nothing connected, as her movements were clumsy and 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. The Knight 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 released 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. He looked up, peering angrily at the Crusade First Officer.

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

[4 ]

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."

"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 my sister 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, 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?"

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

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

"Do you know what happened?"

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

"No, Celena." Her brother 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."

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

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

"I feel fine," she grumbled. "Nothing to worry. Remember? I'm now Celena and no one else." 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.

She 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." A cry of frustration tore from her lips as she lifted 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, friendly or not. Within her still lingered pre-Dilandau memories of... something they did; something that was not worth repeating by any means. 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 the young girl 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."

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. 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 in shrieking, violent tones 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, 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 of pain tore through the back of her eyes and ripped through all the nerves in 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. [5]

Allen, of course, questioned Celena's 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. Despite the reassurance, he was quick to notice the way her eyes glazed over at breakfast and the way she jumped whenever someone spoke to her. 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. Celena followed soon afterwards and sat across from him. Gaddes barked at the horses, the crack of a whip followed and they were on their way. Allen reached over and took his sister's 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. "All the excitement kept me awake last night." A smile blossomed on her pretty face.

There was no doubt Allen disbelieved her, but there was also no gain in telling him the truth. Without letting him get another word regarding the matter, Celena began firing enthusiastic questions 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, parts of Pallas, and to the palace, and she would not let him for an instant think of turning the carriage around and dumping her back at the family estate.

While she faked listening to her brother's descriptions of various figures of the royal court, she forcefully crammed down another 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 forced 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 consciousness, 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, gritting her teeth and clutching her legs to her chest, forcing herself to bear through the onslaught. Dilandau was determined to prevent his obliteration, even if it meant driving her insane. He'd forgotten, however, that through the years, Celena had managed to survive even if buried, and her resolve had strengthened since she became the dominant personality. Daylight had colored 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, Allen," 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 her eyes. He clasped gloved hands together, reflecting on how her hand had twitched in her lap, 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 little mishap the night before. Confronting her directly could possibly be disasterous, especially if her sanity was at sake. The courier who had delivered his invitation had mentioned an invitation was also being sent to Zaibach. Allen only hoped that a Madoushi or two would be sent along with the usual pack of politicians and military figures.

Celena felt her brother's eyes drive into her. The scrutinization was almost unbearable, but she knew 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.

Author's Notes

Not much to be noted here. Most of the stuff in the beginning is "made up" and my wacky attempt at closing some of the Escaflowne plotholes. But if you're reading this fic you've already seen the series and you know where the "real" stuff begins anyways. And if you're reading this without seeing the series, wow, I bet you're lost as hell on the plot. ^^;;

Soooo... I revised this again on December 1, 2000 finally. I think this is really really close to being a final draft ^.^ I just couldn't go on knowing that the previous chapters were so icky. I hadn't even looked at 1 - 3 for a long, long time and when I did, I realized that a lot of things that happened later made no damn sense. Well, here's hoping for some progress!