Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H.

Betaed by: Trackula and Zim'smostloyalservant

NOTES: Time passes quickly in here. Skipping down the line, may be a bit jarring.

Chapter 8

Lives and War

"The Blight, that is the term we have attached to it," Van reported. Phobos picked up the nearest sheet of paper and skimmed its contents again. Van and the puppet Priestess had brought a great deal of paper to explain what had been made clear already.

"So, Meridian is dying?" he asked. The Sister flinched at the blunt words, as if treating such a situation delicately would improve it. Van did not flinch, rolling her eyes instead.

"No, weakening. If allowed to run its full course, I am certain it would still support a diminished ecosystem of the hardier plants and various species of insects and microorganisms."

"Well, assuming for a moment we do not want to leave this world to bugs, can it be reversed? Or at least slowed?" Phobos asked.

"Certainly. As it is, we have roughly twenty years before we reach the point of no return, according to the Sisterhood's sealed archives. But in the meantime, Crown City will soon be one of the most afflicted areas. Things are already getting ugly around here," Van pointed out.

"All because of my missing sister?" Phobos probed.

"And the Veil. Meridian has no Heart, and the result will be a fading of life and light. This city was constantly exposed to that energy in a more direct manner, so this region will be among the least able to cope. The greater concern may be weather patterns altering, even in areas not directly blighted."

"Famine?" Phobos asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Drought, crops rotting in floodwaters, longer winters or cooler summers. There will be nothing for it until we are there and can take stock of the damage," Van admitted. The Priestess finally got a word in edgewise too.

"May the Shaper watch over those poor people."

"Well, unless she has a Heart to spare, that will do little good," the Prince remarked.

XXX

Miranda was bored. Lots of stuff was happening, and no one had time to train her anymore. It was nice to be staying in one place again, but this was nothing like the farm. Granted, it wasn't as scary now that she had been here awhile.

Cedric had suspended her from further missions after disgracing herself with her utter failure at scouting the Castle. That had hurt, as had the half rations she was on.

She had been wandering the nighttime corridors, wearing a badge that declared her a Changeling of the Legion. Though she was pretty sure she wasn't – wouldn't she be doing something if she were a legionnaire? There wasn't even firewood to gather or dung holes to fill in here.

So, getting a better grasp of the Castle to avoid a repeat of her disgrace seemed the best idea. At night of course, when there were fewer people to avoid. And now she could shift if needed; yes, she had this completely in her hands.

Her stomach growled as she reached an intersection. Maybe if she scrubbed floors she could get full rations back? Or at least they could finally teach her to trap. Though she didn't smell any lapins or tree-wees here.

Hunger reminded her of the Frog Lady. Cedric said she was no Changeling, which seemed to upset him. That was strange, she smelled nice. And there had been food. Maybe if she found that office, the Lady would give her some scraps in exchange for some work?

Cleos said a Lady's scraps could make three meals. He was wrong about a lot, but just half a meal to make a whole dinner would be nice, Miranda thought.

So, nodding to herself, she shifted and took to the ceiling, trying to retrace her steps to the office.

Which she soon realized wasn't working. So she asked a guard for directions. Changing back first might have been a good idea, and coming down. Oh well, after he started breathing normally he was able to tell her.

XXX

Van smiled as the girl ate. It was not fresh, stale bread and some raw vegetables and cheese from the pantry the servants had fetched at her command.

But the girl's eyes had lit up when she placed the order. And when Van said she could spin while she waited, the girl had been quite eager. It was fascinating, watching her work.

And now Van stood up from the paperwork on her desk to inspect what was basically a hammock of spider silk. Very good quality silk, she thought, rubbing a chord between two slippery fingers.

"Uh," Mimira said behind her. The doctor glanced over and saw the girl watching her, a look of unease in her eyes and her posture.

It hit home, to Van's surprise and relief.

"Sorry, would you rather I not touch your webs?" Van asked.

"Not a web, that's a nest," Mimira huffed, then blushed, looking away.

"Nest, my apologies. This is very good silk. We could use it at the Hospit. Could I have some to test?" Van asked. The girl smiled, got down from her chair, turned into her demi-spider form, and proceeded to spit a glob of silk a quarter her size onto the floor, dripping.

She turned back to her human form and cocked her head. Van, while surprised at the size, was long past the point where a little vomiting action would faze her.

"That should be more than enough, thank you Mimira.

"It's rather late. Since you already made a nest, would you rather stay here for the night?" Van asked.

"Um, I don't know," the girl said, as Van crossed the room and knelt to inspect the silk. Hmm, it would need a washing, but other than that it looked like quality material. Silk was only common in the southern reaches of the kingdom.

"Well, I will be sleeping here tonight. I would like some company for a change," Van remarked, managing a smile.

"Oh, okay," the girl who might become Miranda said with a small smile. Then she resumed her meal, with bad table manners.

'I should get her at least up to my dubious standards,' Van decided. And she decided Princey wouldn't be her only project.

Six Months ADWN(1):

Van stood in the doorway to her new quarters. She had been surprised when Phobos turned up in her office to tell her about it. She had been sleeping in her office, and assumed that would continue, with her old room wrecked by whatever spells the Sisters had tried to use against her.

Frankly, she had been thankful for her frog polish having survived that.

"Seriously?" she whispered, glancing to the smirking Prince.

The room was balmy, humid even, with bright sunlight coming down from what seemed a painted mural roof of a canopy, with breaks in the dark greenery for deep blue sky.

It had been a suite, she realized from the castle layout, but the walls had been removed, making it a very big chamber, most of the floor space being taken up by a pool with only the edge and three tiled "islands" with furniture, connected to the edge by tile covered bridges.

The water had green algae on it, and plants sticking up from it. And was alive with noise.

Taking off her robe, she heard Phobos close the door as she stepped into the water. It only went up to her shoulders, but there was mud at the bottom. Sticking her head under, she confirmed the fish, bugs, and other details.

It was an indoor, climate-controlled swamp. She put her head back up and looked to Phobos, who was smiling.

"This is why you weren't using your magic to help with repairs?" she asked.

"It took some research, and a few engineering consultations. But it would not be proper for one of the highest members of the court to only have a country residence and otherwise sleep in her offices," he remarked.

"And I suppose you only picked the royal wing because of spacing issues?" Van asked. These chambers were quite close to Phobos' own, she noted.

"Keep your friends close, Van," he remarked.

"And enemies closer?" she asked. He paused and squinted at her a bit.

"I truly hope that is not the kind of counsel you plan on giving," Princey said.

"Eheh. Well, thanks. This is awesome," she smiled. She probably should have said more, but it seemed inappropriate.

Truth was, she was accustomed to being detached and reattaching was harder than you might think. And she did not want to force things around Phobos for some reason. Underwhelming though it might be, she felt he deserved the honest reaction more than some fake gushing.

XXX

Van sat on the cobblestones, letting the rain wash her. Her uniform was gathered and folded on her lap, but she did not bother putting it on.

The wreck of the carriage was behind her, the dead guards and rebels still leaking fluids. The sole surviving guard groaned; she had ministered to him before sitting down. The doctors at the Hospit would look him over.

For now, she let the sky wash her as she sat in her underwear on one of the main avenues of Crown City.

Assassination. No one had tried on Phobos yet. She had not expected it, despite his worry. After the blast failed to kill her, they should have run, as if one Sister and a group of rebel soldiers could kill her!

They had killed her escort. And she had only been going to check on preparations for the Grand Hospit's ceremonial opening. Nothing sinister, and they would have killed her.

She had hesitated, landing on cobbles. But she had recalled Alric's words – survive. And her irritation at the attack, and low burning but no less hot anger over the slain guards.

Van had helped her. That was why she sat waiting.

Wilhelmina Vandom was her, and not her. At some point, that Guardian had faded into something else. And Van was the role she had played, the mask that had become her face.

She tried to distance herself from both now, but she could not. They were her. And who was she without them?

Will was sadly weak. Not as a matter of will or power, but as a presence. There was so little evidence of that wonderful girl. Only a small box full of tiny pieces of broken stone.

Van had so much more to hold her in place, reputation good and bad. The friendship of Panleus, and the respect and dislike from so many colleagues and strangers. And of course, there was Phobos.

And Van had an offer to make, unlike poor Will. To just go back to being that Other Van, to treating it all as a game, an illusion. Her empathy was atrophied; there were only three people she could honestly say she didn't have to 'remember' to care about. Maybe four.

The Other Van offered peace and detachment from fear and guilt. Phobos cared about her either way, she had come to sense.

And that shouldn't be a deciding factor, should it?

No, though, Will did offer something. A conscience, compassion, whatever you called it. Something that, while painful, felt real and seemed to ground her in a way her days of delusion had often failed to.

Was it enough?

When the guards arrived, she instructed them to take the patient to the Hospit. They rode, and she walked as she was to the Compound, flanked by guards as eyes peeked out from door and windows. She did not glance back at them, letting them witness her unflinching, scandalous walk.

Apparently it would have to be enough.

1 Year ADWN:

"This is it then?" Van asked, holding the near prismatic mushroom up as she lowered the log back into place. The swamp stretched around her, buzzing and moving with its nighttime activity. It never slept, not even close.

YES, A POWERFUL POISON. DEATH ON ITS OWN WHEN REDUCED TO POWDER, BUT IT CAN BE MUCH MORE FUN IF MIXED WITH OTHER SUBSTANCES. FOR EXAMPLE, A POWRERFUL PARALYTIC, WHICH KEEPS THE VICTIM AWAKE, UNNUMBED, BUT UNMOVING FOR DAYS.

AH, SUCH MEMORIES OF WHAT PAST AVATARS HAVE DONE.

"This won't be much use against a Guardian," Van pointed out, taking a seat. Several frogs of various sizes jumped up to join her.

OF COURSE NOT. FOR MORTALS, THEY HAVE A HABIT OF NOT DYING. AND ONLY THE MOST POTENT POISONS WILL AFFECT THEM, AND THAT EFFORT IS HARDLY WORTH BOTHERING WITH. YOU WOULD HAVE TO GET THEM ALL IN ONE STROKE FOR IT TO HAVE ANY CHANCE OF WORKING.

"One doesn't fight a Guardian," Van stated, "One fights the Guardians. That's their strength."

She stared off, recalling so much from so long ago. That still hurt, a mixed blessing. Would there ever be anything to equal that? She was deluded about much, she admitted, but not that there was going back to that.

AH, SO YOU DO UNDERSTAND? YES, EVEN ESCANNOR AND MY KIN RESPECTED THEM BECAUSE THEIR INDIVIDUAL POWER WAS VASTLY AUGMENTED BY THEIR COORDINATION.

IF YOU WOULD DO BATTLE WITH SUCH, YOU MUST SEEK TO DIVIDE. EVASION, TERROR, DOUBT, AND THE UNSEEN ARTS. AND IT NEVER HURTS TO SEND EXENDABLE ALLIES OR EVEN FOES TO BLOOD THEM IN ADVANCE OF YOU.

"So I have to be sneaky? Heh, well, that's not unheard of," Van remarked. Putting her hand into the water, she lifted the handful to her face and watched a tiny crimson frog surface, peering at her.

"I'm not sure what my goal will be, then. But a doctor strives to prepare for any occasion," Van smiled.

"Then you should be more aware," a man said. Van's neck puffed out as she hopped onto the log, it crunching under her weight.

The speaker rose, revealing himself as another log, or a man with camo and a leather mask with yellow eye lenses on. His dripping cloak looked like mosses and sticks, nothing like a log now.

Five more men likewise emerged around her, detaching from trees, bushes, and even a tree stump covered in moss.

The first one drew a short trident from beneath his cloak, black metal prongs and dark wood for the shaft, the blade spread wide like extended fingers. He turned it to face down, and knelt despite it putting him neck deep in water. The others likewise went to one knee.

"Avatar, we of the Unseen come on behalf of the Six Clans, to renew our allegiance to the Most Ancient and his Chosen," the strange man said. Van watched as he pulled a necklace out from the moss-riddled tunic, a simple chord, but it held a round, dark grey stone with a hole drilled through it. The others held out similar stones as offerings.

MORTALS HAVE A THING ABOUT WORSHIPPING ME. ENJOY THEM.

XXX

Battle swept across the damp meadow. The dramatic term, she supposed, was rage, but Van did not think that word fit. Fear, desperation, anger, and sheer desperate aggression trying to be guided by cooler heads, yes. But rage simplified it too much.

Fredrick, her mount, lashed out with his tongue at her request, and the rebel barely cried out before being yanked into the great frog's mouth. Not swallowed, too big for that, but his rib cage and possibly some vertebrae snapped as Fredrick closed his powerful jaws on him.

She patted the frog as he spat the enemy out. He was pleased to be here; his blood remembered what his kind had been bred for so long ago. At another mental nudge, he leapt high into the air, leaving the current formation and letting her survey the battlefield.

Phobos had been stubborn, and such a prince, about her coming. With Raythor and Cedric already deployed, this new offensive by the Rebels had to be met by someone to counter the surprising competence and number of Battle Sisters. Phobos needed to be in the Capital – he was the Prince, and holding the Castle was a big part of his claim right now.

What was he thinking even daring to clearly consider forbidding her from taking to the field?

Despite his stupid protests, she was the only real choice. And it had worked. They had not thought she could call a flashflood from the ford up to sweep away their rear in disarray. Or that when she was prepared, she could outmaneuver Battle Sisters.

Speaking of which, she pulled one of the last tridents from the holster tied to her newest friend, and when he hit the ground, crushing a few more rebels, she directed him.

The left wing was suffering a Sister in civvies, dressed like some peasant levee. Clever. The steely-eyed woman hurled magic at her, familiar corrosive stuff. A jet of clean water sent it back to sender, diluted. But the trident Van threw sunk into her chest up to shaft.

"Well I guess that's-" Van began, when something caught her eye to the left.

Her froggy mount let out a horrible sound as a greatsword sliced into his head, one of his big pretty eyes popping out. Van blinked as he collapsed under her, the rebel officer pulling his sword out.

"They are not unbeatable! Rally, for the Queen!" the dark-haired man commanded.

Recently trained reflexes had her snatch a trident from the holster and catch the blade between the prongs. It was not a good position, but grown man or no, her legs were quite enough leverage to throw him back. Though somehow he kept his blade, instead of it being twisted out of his grip.

She needed the Unseen to teach her more. Hopping off the corpse, she stood to face the rebel, his men pulling back. Hmm, he seemed a bit familiar.

As it turned out, he was also quite a doughty swordsman, as Panleus would say. She never scratched him once with her paralytic coated trident, and her magic tantrum after he cut her face had killed many a rebel, but not him.

At some point, when she was spitting water, he gave her the slip. The fact he retreated gave some satisfaction. But still, he had gotten away with it, killing Fredrick like that.

The day of course was won, a great victory for the Prince's host. Then, as she used a mirror to patch up her face, she got an interesting report. Commander Julian, it clicked. She had been in a life and death duel with Caleb's dad.

Her little laughing fit probably didn't do any favors for her reputation, but she did agree to join the officers in emptying a few bottles of red to celebrate victory, and toast the fallen.

A fine toast; it seemed to boldly declare even victory was dirty.

1.5 Years ADWN

"Sonder Hill," Van read. She recalled the name from her past life. What exactly it meant eluded her, but it had been tragic. Not that that really narrowed events in these years down a great deal.

"Your actions were not authorized. The substance was yours to transport to the facility-depot at Delgrey," Van pointed out. Phobos held up a hand, silencing her. Lady Van nodded assent and stepped back into the shadow of Phobos' throne.

The Rose Throne, like much of the castle, was losing its luster. It remained healthy, but was losing its trinkets in favor of the essentials. In short, every rose has a thorn, but not every thorn gets a rose.

Phobos could have averted this, but he saw combating the Blight better left to practical things. And he had told Van he considered it an excellent reminder that Allora and her matriarchy no longer ruled.

It certainly wasn't feminine. But she didn't think masculinity would stake a claim to the pointy dreariness with any gusto.

But it did suit the Prince's person, she thought.

The middle-aged doctor and young officer knelt before the assembled court, much diminished but functional as it was. Fear for the lives of precious daughters and sisters saw the Houses allied to the Prince send men instead more often than not, and likewise the merchants who bought titles tended to be bold men eager to roll dice.

And of course the Guard was in force, and Changelings too clearly marked by their uniforms and wary arrogance towards their peers.

Such was the Prince's Court.

"My Prince, as an officer of your Guard, I felt it was my duty to take initiative. The villagers of Sonder Hill bent the knee to you after the Battle of Surging Ford. By harboring and supplying the Rebellion, they were less than rebels, they were oath breakers and traitors," the young captain stated. Raythor spoke up from his place in the court.

"Regardless, such extreme action was not yours to take. You could have reported the matter, as they posed no threat to your unit. As Lady Van points out, the gas weapon was entrusted to you for transportation, not to use. Your orders were only to release it if there was danger of the Rebellion capturing it. Insubordination, and reckless endangerment to your unit."

That set off whispering, while Phobos only sat looking on impassively, almost bored. But that was his default for court.

The whispering stopped when Phobos stood from his throne, his eyes resting briefly on Cedric, Van, and Raythor, before he vanished in a snap of light. The three understood the summons and proceeded with courtly measure to the side door, into the Privy Council chamber.

Phobos was already seated at the head of the small black table. The truest and urgent business of the court happened in this small chamber, those who had to wait outside reminded of their status in the greater scheme of the regime.

Raythor, as the last through, closed the door behind himself. He elected to stand by the door at attention, while Cedric and Van took their seats at the table.

"Loyal disobedience. What say you?" the Prince asked casually.

"My Prince, his motive matters less. Using the gas was unnecessary and dishonorable. He did not quite break his word, but violated its spirit utterly. It tarnishes the Guard," Raythor said.

Cedric spoke up next, calm and collected.

"It also kept your Guards from suffering casualties. The villagers took an officer hostage and extracted a vow to not enter or interfere with their evacuation at knifepoint.

"Had they succeeded, it would have emboldened other peasants into such tactics. Preventing that long-term problem, eliminating a nest of rebel sympathizers, and keeping his word. We should be discussing his promotion or other rewards."

"And then what, Lord Cedric?" Van spoke up, "This massacre is more than a military matter. The entire population of Sonder Hill has been wiped out, barring any who had the good fortune to be away. You call it a nest of rebel sympathizers, but I highly doubt everyone there supported the Rebellion. The slaughter of such will further alienate the populace."

"They will be too terrified after this to dare defy us," Cedric asserted.

"Not the ones motivated by vengeance now. And while we won't likely see a repeat of this exact scenario, it means next time they just kill the officer and attack the soldiers anyway. Why not do something so foolhardy if getting gassed is the outcome of trying to be even somewhat civilized in their tactics?" Van asked.

"Civilized? War is not civilized. I would have thought your experience at the Surging Ford would teach you to not treat it as some experiment you can control at your leisure, Grand Doctor."

"War is hard and cruel," Raythor spoke up, "But you and your Legion turn it into a grotesque spectacle. And I have yet to see the terror you inspire break the Rebellion, Legatus."

Phobos audibly snapped his fingers.

"I did not call you in here to debate ethics. This is about how to react to this incident here and now. Cedric says reward him. Raythor, you want him disciplined. Van, do be concise and say what you want on this matter," Phobos commanded.

"…This is not as clean a matter as Cedric says. Sonder Hill was not isolated; its loss will be keenly felt. Resentment will spring up anew among those affected by this. We need to make an example.

"And I would remind you we cannot mass produce this gas. That was nearly a year's worth of the substance thrown away to indulge one officer's wounded pride and bloodthirstiness," Van said.

Phobos tapped his fingers on the chair and looked thoughtful as he mulled it over for a few moments before speaking.

"Well then, it seems something must be done lest we generate more resentment than fear. But as it was done in our name and effectively, we cannot be too harsh.

"Strip this officer of his battle rank, and any decorations. It's not like he exerted any great effort himself. The Underwater Mines warden dropped dead a few days ago. He will receive a new commission as warden there. A lack of morals and a sadistic sense of initiative may be poor qualities in a battle guard, but in a mine guard it should serve well.

"Cedric, your petition to grant the vacated town a charter as a Changeling settlement is also granted. With any luck, the new locals will help instill stability in the area," Phobos decided. And just like that, he seemed to think the matter of Sonder Hill closed.

"The peasants will not be satisfied with that. At the very least. he should lose a hand," Van protested grouchily.

"They were content enough with Allora's tyranny. But we must not encourage disobedience by a lack of clear punishment, I suppose. Hmm, I suppose he doesn't need that to be a warden. Very well. Now let us return to other business," Phobos got back to his feet.

They returned to the court, Van holding her bored expression with habitual ease. It did not erase the atrocity her work had been used for. But a little justice was better than none.

And should this butcher go too far in something else or fail, she would have him on her table in Level Zero. And there she could administer more suitable justice.

Hmm, perhaps she could arrange for him to "mess up"? There were guards in the mines who wanted out, after all.

Oh, yes.

2 Years ADWN

When the door to the inn opened, several of the rowdy and bleary customers looked up. And the far more focused eyes of the proprietor glanced from wiping a dented mug. The cloaked figure had a hood up, hiding his face, and everyone resumed their drinking.

The world had become a place where travelers wanting to hide their identity were too common to note. Bounty Hunting was something any but the most foolish left to the professionals; secrets revealed also tended to prove fatal, one way or another.

The new arrival's striding gait took him past the bar, and his hand jerked. A coin hit the bar with the 'thunk' of metal on hard wood. The wrinkled hand of the Galhot behind the bar smacked down on the coin before any watcher could have told what kind it was in the dim light.

Without missing a step, the traveler made his way to the stairs in the back of the room and took them two at a time.

The hallway was thick with doors on the left wall. It all but declared how cramped the sleeping quarters were.

He walked the length of the hall and opened the last door as if he had every right.

And saw the clean but plain bed had a beautiful woman lounging on it.

"Didn't know Oreg was expanding his business," the traveler chuckled, pulling back his hood.

"I will let that slide. Not surprised to see me, Tegus?" Van asked.

"Only surprised you took so long," Tegus remarked, closing the door.

"You act as if I was expected," Van said, raising an eyebrow. She looked very good, Tegus noted. She had indeed grown into a beautiful woman. The frog stuff, rather than detracting, seemed to perfectly compliment it.

This is no curse, it's just like women and men of other kinds growing into themselves, he decided.

"I laid that trail for you to follow. I heard you were looking for me, and I was pleased at the notion of seeing you again," he remarked. Reaching into his knapsack, he pulled out his hat and shoved it on his head.

Van crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks out.

"So inconsiderate. All these years and you deny me a suitably dramatic entrance by expecting it. You could at least have pretended to be surprised."

"Heh, no. Besides, you should be more careful. A woman alone in this part of town is dangerous, and a high official of the Prince's Court? This could have been an ambush," he pointed out to the sulking woman.

Van deflated her cheeks at that, and grinned. Her neck puffed out, and she gave a loud croak. And dozens of brightly colored frogs jumped down from the rafters, small ones the size of his thumbnails.

Tegus stood rigid and gingerly took his hat off, confirming that one of the tiny amphibian things was sitting atop the treated leather.

Turning the hat sideways, he tried to shake it off. To no effect, as the frog held on and croaked in annoyance.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from the adorable little amphibian," Van said. Walking up to him, she snatched his hat and the frog jumped onto her shoulder and then onto her head, disappearing into her hair.

"So what was that about ambushes?" Van asked, smirking and waving her hand as if dispersing an odor.

Tegus stared, and then grabbed her in a hug, really hoping she was not hiding more frogs under the robe.

"Uh, hello?" Van said, patting him on the back.

He released her and took a step back, watching the little frogs retreat under the bed now.

"Not used to that? Guess those rumors regarding the Prince were just that," Tegus remarked.

"Well, he's never been the hugging type. The only hugs I get seem to be from someone much smaller, too," Van admitted. She seemed a bit surprised by the thought, seemingly noticing the lacking for the first time in a great while.

"Glad to see maturity hasn't made you any less awkward when someone knocks a foot out from under you. All these years, and the rumors… Wasn't sure if you were anything like that girl who would walk home naked save for a coat of mud with her nose turned up," Tegus said.

"Panleus told me you had run off like you always said you would. That was cruel, leaving him. At least I had no choice," Van sighed. Putting her hands on her hips, she gave him a glare. Not too intense, less than an "under tipped prostitute" glare but more than "vendor who thinks you might have flinched from her stand about a month ago".

"I had less choice than you might think, Van. He wouldn't have left, and staying… I was being worn down. I might have become what my family wanted, and I couldn't let that happen.

"And it wasn't easy. Living off theft and the land. It's not as fun as playing thief and camping, you know. While you were part of a guild, and rubbing elbows with royalty, I was worrying about having enough food and how to get more.

"But, you mentioned Pan. How is he?" Tegus asked.

"Squad commander in the Crown City guard after the Night, now a Guard Captain for valor in the field," Van smiled.

"Hey now, you let him go into battle?" Tegus demanded. He put a hand on her shoulder; she frowned a bit at that, or the question.

"Pan is not as proud as us, that doesn't mean he doesn't have pride. He never wanted a promotion in the first place."

"…Van, nice as it is to see an old friend, I doubt you came here with a pack of poison frogs just to catch up," Tegus stated.

"Very well. I have heard about you – Tegus the Portal Plunger, a brigand across the Veil, with a knack for finding the oh-so-brief portals. With the Passlings migrating away from the civil war, you do a tidy black market business in Earth goods.

"And more recently, you have taken up helping wealthy refugees escape both sides in the conflict," Van remarked.

"I won't tell you my secret, Van," Tegus stated, narrowing his eyes. Seemed it was business now.

"That is regrettable. But not unexpected. After all, that trade secret has granted you the fame and fortune by your own hands you wanted, hasn't it?" Van sighed.

"Yes, it has. The Rebels tried to contract me, thinking to look for their lost princess. I told them I only take people through one way. That's the rule, only one comes back," Tegus snapped.

"Hmm, your rule? Or the rule of whatever power has granted you this? But that isn't the only reason you refused the Council's offer, is it?" Van pressed.

"I live free Van, even before the portals, as modest as that was. I have no interest in reporting to anyone as a master.

"Besides, a three-year-old won't turn the tide in this war, if I delivered her to them. Only prolong it. And frankly, if I helped you find her, I can't be sure I'm not sending a child to her death."

"That hurts, Tegus," Van frowned.

"Yeah, but you invented that gas, didn't you? Or are you going to tell me you never expected to have it used?" he asked, pulling his hat down to cover his eyes.

"…I intended it as a deterrent. And I say that as an explanation, not an excuse. I like to figure out how things work and make things, Tegus. They aren't always nice things, but people don't talk about the good stuff much, in my defense.

"But anyway, to the matter at hand.

"While you claim neutrality, your actions benefit my Prince's enemies more than him. So, to give you some protection, I would like to contract you for a certain long-term job.

"Nothing to do with the Lost Princess. The Rebels are fools – Allora sent her to hide, and likely used powerful magic to ensure she would not be found until her power started to awaken. It will be years before the needle begins to peak in the haystack, Tegus."

"They call you rebels too, you know."

"That won't last."

"This job, you want it to be known I serve both sides? Playing them off to keep me safe from both? Nice, but you do want something. Why not ask a Passling? They can be quite trustworthy, in their way."

"Because I need someone I can trust. This is personal, not my Prince's business. A simple job. You go mostly to a city called Heatherfield, yes? When you are there, I want you to keep an eye out for something. Let me know if you find it, we talk from there," Van said, leaning back to rest her head against the wall.

"Look out for what?"

"The Silver Dragon," she said.

"The locals say there are no dragons on Earth." Van just smiled, and Tegus knew there were secrets enough to be tangled in. The wise move would be to go another way.

But he was curious, and never thought himself particularly wise.

5 Years ADWN

Mimira sat in her nest, reading the book Van had lent her.

Her nest was a simple hanging bed, with a few items bundled out of sight in her sealed silk. The nest was silk too. She had ten of them scattered around the catacombs and dungeons. She had been assigned by the Prince to patrol it to make sure no further secrets Allora had taken to her grave came forth.

Mimira had been ordered to accept it and watch the palace's lower levels and listen by Cedric. Just as he had other eyes and ears elsewhere. Loyalty to the Prince did not mean he would always be loyal to them.

'And the best way to stop secrets from being kept from you is to watch and listen everywhere.'

Per his suggestion, she never talked with guards or prisoners unless absolutely necessary. She only showed them her spider self; the fools likely had not connected the two monsters as one, much less the girl who followed Lady Van around on certain days.

Lady Van… she could smell the frog woman on the book still. A safe scent. She had only four, and the duck and weasel were both gone forever.

Cedric, her serpent savior, was either gone on the business of crushing the Rebellion, or too busy to do more than take her reports.

Van was not a savior but she was safe, and powerful in different ways. She had let Mimira put nests in two of her offices. She could use the bed in Van's chambers; the magic let her in. She knew only Van's frogs and Prince Phobos shared that.

Van's books were not fun, boring even. But Van was kind, and what time there was with her, was enjoyable. Especially in the remarkable chamber. The bed in there was some fungus Van had taken from her swamp realm; there was never a nightmare there.

And it was sweet Van never told her the price to be paid, as Cedric did. But there was always a price, so Miranda would read these books and other tasks Van put to her. She gladly paid the price, because nothing was free.

XXX

Van was pleased as she shook hands with the City Lord before stepping out into the hallway. The architectural style was different from what she was used to. This city was far from the Crown Province, and like America, being under the same government in no way kept diverse takes on the "same" culture from existing.

Hmm, given value for diverse though, she thought, stopping by a window. The new Prio Hospit was a gleaming structure compared to the rundown look of most of the buildings around it. The Blight was pervasive, and while not as bad here as in the Crown Province, the look of exhaustion seeping into Meridian still could not be hidden.

It was good to visit Prio again. The great Merchant City had chafed under the old regime. The merchants and their de facto meritocracy, ignoring gender, had all but defeated the old nobility in economics. So instead, the great Merchant Houses and their guild cousins for some reason had been excluded from government to an unprecedented degree.

Also, it seemed a local sect of the Sisterhood had been operating dissentingly for some time, appealing to the new elite by some theological quirks or other over the main Sisterhood. Van did not care about the details, but the point was this was a city that had all but liberated itself and bent the knee to Phobos. They agreed to support him, accept a new guard garrison, and a governor of his choice. And in exchange, a Quorum of notables elected the City Lord from amongst their own, and their own City Patrol kept the daily peace.

When she inspected the new hospital and certified it to the Guild standards, crowds had cheered her in her carriage. The city prospered, and people credited her for securing their terms to the Prince that allowed it to do so. The City Lord actually listened to her ideas based on what she recalled of Earth engineering, and got people together to see if they could turn those ideas into something workable.

It wasn't the ease of the Swamp. It was a different kind. Beyond the respect of the Crown City.

She liked it. Now if only the feeling was more pervasive.

XXX

Caleb was sharpening his sword when the Mage walked up. She looked out of place in the well-lit forest; truly the Infinite City was her realm, he thought.

"Great Mage," he said, moving from the tree stump to kneel. She waved her hand, bidding him to rise.

"There is no need for such ceremony when we are alone, young Caleb. And otherwise, it is only so others will not think you lacking in respect. Though one day…" The Mage left her thoughts spoken but unfinished. A habit of hers – annoying, yes, but she was nothing but helpful indeed. And he had been told she was impossibly old, so maybe her cryptic comments were just part of her personality?

"My training progresses. Do you haves some news of the war?" he asked.

"War? The Council's efforts might be given too much credit to call it a war now. The Usurper's forces grow bolder, and not without reason," The Mage remarked. She sounded more exasperated than mournful or angry.

She was strange.

"Is it time then?" he asked her.

"No. Not yet. You have grown strong, son of Julian and Trill. But your time has not yet come. Be patient," she admonished him with a wagging finger.

"Ever since my father died, you brought me to the wilds to be trained by these men. You said I was destined to lead the people against the Usurper. Yet I feel no closer to avenging my father, and have not seen my mother in years. I have been patient," he remarked. He glanced off to the side. He wanted to argue, but experience showed how good the Mage was at picking his arguments apart.

The Mage regarded him and slipped two fingers into a pouch on her belt. She pulled out one of the folded message papers his mother favored. It took some will to take it from her calmly and tuck it into a pocket.

"Your mother misses you as well. But she understands the greater good. She serves in the Castle, faithfully for now, so in time she will not be suspected when she can aid you.

"Now that I am here, is there anything you would ask? As ever, I know not when I will be able to return next, and my time is limited," the ancient magic wielder stated.

"Yes, I have been thinking. You've told me much of Phobos, Lord Cedric, General Raythor, and many others. All, you say, to prepare me for the war for Meridian's future.

"But one is missing. What of Phobos' Harlot of Pestilence? What of Lady Van of the Rivers?" Caleb asked.

"…I suppose it is time," the Mage said.

She gestured him to sit on the nearby tree stump, which he did. The Mage herself sat upon the ground, in what he believed was a meditative pose.

"You have heard rumors about her, I am sure.

"Even I do not know all the answers regarding Lady Van. By all accounts, she was simply carried naked by a river to a village of little significance. Where she came from, if she came from anywhere before the river, is unknown. If Van herself knows, she has never said, they say.

"That town had a doctor, an old man exiled by his peers to the countryside for his immoral practices. From the start, the good people sensed something off in the orphan girl. But it appealed to the old man.

"He took her as his apprentice, and she was a quick study. But her strangeness became ever more apparent. She had no compassion for the suffering of others; indeed, she seemed fascinated and excited to cause them little torments, such as playing with severed limbs.

"Eventually, the Sisterhood sought to seize her from her twisted old mentor. But he was wily and sent her to the capital. It was the year of the last great plague, the doctors of Crown City needed all the hands they could get, and did not question when they should have.

"I don't know exactly how, but somehow the girl Van met the boy that was Prince Phobos. And the two took a liking to one another. Twisted souls, I would say now, able to understand one another as others never could.

"Weira was a kind queen; she gave the girl patronage and brought her into the Castle. She told me she hoped a friend would draw her son out of the darkness that seemed to hang about him. If anything, Van made it worse, but such is hindsight.

"Van has an appeal to her, a charisma of brilliance. The signs of darkness were about her, but I saw her potential and believed it worth the risk to try and cultivate it. I arrogantly believed I could mend her with discipline.

"A trial of magic revealed the inadequacy of her spirit to me, and I cast her out. The same trial that shaped her body to better match her spirit.

"It was too little, too late, to stop her rise, I admit. She thirsted for power, and already had the means to gain more without me. She sought out the last of the Old Gods and sold herself to it. Or perhaps she belonged to it from the start?

"The rest you know, more or less.

"She is dangerous. Not as mighty as Phobos or as strong as Lord Cedric, but she can still take her bloodstained hands and inspire the tyrant's followers. She can craft weapons to aid them without magic, and knows mysteries that, lacking grandeur, hold subtle power to destroy her foes.

"Do not let her absence from battles make you underestimate her, young man. If she controls the encounter against her, you will lose because she will already have won before the first blow falls. Flee; it will be another's destiny to end her torment of this world."

XXX

Mimira looked at her blood in the vial. It had turned purple; the top was black though.

"Is this bad?" she asked Van.

"No, and please don't touch," Van said, plucking the sealed vial from the Changeling's hand and inserting it into a slot on the apparatus. The lens and the illumination sphere Phobos provided were supposed to help Van look at blood.

Strange, however much Van explained it.

Though she no longer felt out of place here in Van's private lab, she was hardly at ease. Van had her change into apprentice clothes and bathe every time she entered. Apparently dirt was the enemy of medicine, along with any bodily fluids not destined for analysis.

"Oh, very interesting," Van smiled, looking up from the lens to grab a notebook and start jotting away before she realized the quill was dry. Mimira held out the inkwell.

"Thank you," Van said, wetting her quill.

"So, have you figured out the secret?" Mimira asked. It was a double secret, one that was hers to know among only a few, and one to keep even from others she trusted. Lord Cedric had a secret for her to keep from Van, and Van had a secret to keep from him. She did not understand why these particular things had to be secrets, but it showed she was valued, that she knew. That was more than enough to keep the secret.

"No. But I'm getting closer, dear. The secret of the Changelings, complete stable metamorphosis without exterior power sources. And passed down genetically as a progressive trait.

"I'm now certain of what direction to look. Once it's isolated, Mimira, I will understand it, and then it's only a matter of sufficient power to make it happen."

"And you will become one of us," Mimira smiled. As shocking as the notion had been, she was eager for it. It would erase a line between them, and perhaps Lord Cedric and her could finally stop arguing over everything.

Well, maybe not. But at least they would not want to kill each other. Yes, that would be quite sufficient. There would be so much more if Van was one of them. But others taking it, like Van wanted, that seemed odd.

"Dear, fetch the next orb, this one is beginning to fade." The girl went to fetch it, of course. It had never been necessary for her to understand why the adult wanted things, after all.

7+ Years ADWN

Van stood back, looking at the patient. Deld, a Galhot, age 32, rank squad leader. Left leg and left forearm amputated after being hit with corrosive magic during the Tl'et Highlands campaign half a year ago.

Record excellent, and application accepted for Level Zero.

He looked better than most, stoic, patient, holding together. This was why she preferred guards – they knew how to face this.

"My Lady," he greeted, as she walked up to the adjustable bed. Another of her inventions, it had yet to be turned into a weapon or torture device, to her knowledge. Granted, it did have restraining coils.

He smiled at her, and even nodded at the apprentice behind her holding the box.

"Squad Leader. You understand this procedure is experimental and will quite possibly result in your death. Furthermore, if you survive, your condition may be worsened, affecting your quality of life," Grand Doctor Van said.

"Aye, Grand Doctor. But as I said from the start, the Guard's my life, mine and five generations before me. I risked my life in battle for the honor of the Guard. I have no regrets risking it for a chance to return to them. Better to die for that than live as a load on the back of Meridian," he declared proudly.

She cast a look to the resident sergeant, the Guard's witness. The man only nodded, but his eyes held that light of approval.

She had known plenty of people in her Will days who made do just fine minus some limbs, or having them without the function. But Meridianites had a firm view on "cripples", it seemed. Magical healing could not regrow limbs in the Sisters' experience, which had at some point transformed into it being seen as detraction of the spirit as well as flesh. Mundane relatable feelings of self-loathing aside, there were aspects at work she did not quite grasp.

But it made the work more important.

Strapping him down, she began the surgery; the leg was the focus. The stump was fresh, wet and ready, when the replacement was brought in. Donated by a rapist – against his will – that had the right blood.

The box was opened, and Van took out the syringe, revealing the glowing liquid. The assisting doctor did the last of the work as she turned to the scholar doctor who was documenting this.

"We now proceed – Formula 5, Procedure 3, Experiment 4. Part of the Limb Replacement and Assimilation Project. Grand Doctor, Van Rivers, chief and supervising," she recited.

Four Days Later:

"Another failure," she sighed, letting out a croak, sinking into the steaming water with its light oil surface.

The bathwater was not as appealing as good marsh, but she appreciated the temperature. And it came with some company.

"Well, we never get anything right quickly. That's why one documents experiments," Phobos remarked. He was naked on the other side of the stone bath, under the water but still. For her part, she was topless, but her shorts were still in place.

The first time she had done it without asking, and his expression had been priceless. Though his own exposure had gotten him an even score.

"I have killed a lot of Guards these last years," she remarked blandly. A simple statement of fact, well worn, just like his response.

"They see it as no different than honorable death in battle. Perhaps more so – after all, their deaths, while not killing their enemies, could aid their comrades, present and future," the Prince remarked, shifting in the water.

"Hmm, the criminals aren't lasting like they used to. You hoard the able bodied ones for the mines," she shifted the subject.

"You could always fatten the wretches up first. You demand healthy and heinous crimes Van, it's not so simple unless we start making charges up," Phobos pointed out.

"You could improve the mine facilities and just pay people to work it like a regular mine. My testing procedures and training regimens for the doctors require specimens who will not expire before they can be useful. Besides, its easier to sell the masses on criminals suffering for their benefit, rather than cheap ore for the Throne," Van pointed out.

"Ha! They may love the care you provide, Van, but I hear for a fact that many consider Level Zero a far worse fate than the mines. After all, sometimes prisoners leave the mines. But, I suppose you and your doctors are far more efficient getting the most use out of undesirables," Phobos chuckled.

He ducked his head underwater and emerged beside Van. Or rather, where she had been. Glancing up, he saw her looking down with a small frown. Not a bad view, he noted.

"The Guard loves me. I don't need to be reminded that near all the rest of Meridian sees me as carrying bounty in one hand and horror in the other," she told him.

"Oh Van, you may claim to not care what they think, but you need to be reminded. They hate Cedric without reservation, our enemies, and they would kill you just as quick as him, given the chance. Complexity means nothing when the concerned parties see only black and white," he stated.

"Hmm, enjoy the bath," she said. She squatted down and tapped the surface with all her fingertips. The steam dispersed with a whoosh, and Phobos gave a startled shout, standing up in the water.

"You'll pay for that," he said through chattering teeth as she collected her top. She was still adjusting it when she closed the door behind her, nodding to the guards on duty.

"I may have left him in a foul mood," she advised them plainly.

10 Years ADWN:

Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths and keeping in mind the task before them. Not just him, but 'them'. Those were the two pieces of advice the Mage had given him in private when he'd told her of the news. It was saving him now, helped him see past the skeptical eyes watching, judging, as he slowly walked up the makeshift ramp, the skeleton crew of his comrades seated out before him.

They were a motley group, hardly impressive at first glance compared to the Guard's uniform and discipline, or the predatory terror the Legion invoked. A precious few had been Guards once; more had been peasants or townsfolk and had remained, despite the turn of the war.

It was only when you took the time to find their hardened eyes, and read their postures, even here in their sanctum, you realized how dangerous they were.

The Mage was silent and impassive, as though unmoved by this event, and she likely wasn't. Just how many rebellions and regime changes had the strange old mystic lived through? Even Escannor had not moved her from her stance apart and yet watchful over this world. Perhaps this was just one more moment among many, lost in the shuffle of history. Unremarkable and forgettable in ages to come.

In that sense it was almost funny, and made the task before him seem less arduous, thinking that in the big picture none of this mattered.

But he shook away the thought – that elitist view from above was the perspective of their enemies. He needed to see the people in front of him, these patriots who were willing to risk their lives for a free Meridian, wrestled from the grip of a tyrant and his psychopathic she-beast of a bride.

The opportunists, the connivers, so-called great ladies, the sell-swords, they had all gone. Surrendered, killed, executed, deserted, or in hiding awaiting a so-called opportunity. Only the true believers remained, wheat separated from chaff. Few as they were, each was worth a hundred of Phobos' fat, traitorous soldiers. And the Prince knew it. Why else would he side with mercurial beasts to do what his minions could not? As for the she-beast, mad and unpredictable, concocting new and exciting ways to kill and maim…

The Mage was their ace there – already, she was developing a countermeasure to that hideous poison, something for the beast and her monsters to choke on. Perhaps being on the receiving end of such an abomination would make them rethink the morality of their actions. Caleb burned to think of the survivors scarred and disfigured by those gas attacks, not only soldiers, but women and children. Most were put down to die as a mercy.

Lady Van had only set foot on one battlefield, but her presence was felt far in the war. Sapping the people's will to resist with the horrors her white robed minions brought forth from the capital.

But now, with his true patriots and the Mage's more active role to counter the witchcraft of Phobos' whore, they were ready. He didn't see a ragtag group of survivors whittled down to their desperate last. He saw the heroes for a new age of peace, and he would not rest until it was won and the would-be prince and his demons were left broken in ruins for all to see at the foot of the castle.

Looking with pride at his brave men and women, skeptical as they may have been, he swallowed, opened his mouth, and spoke his first words as the new leader of the Rebellion.

"Comrades," he began, "I thank you for letting me speak before you. You know me as General Julian's son, one martyr amongst many at the Battle of the Gray Woods. But I don't come to you as his son."

"Then why should we waste time on you?" Velcen snapped. As thought, he would be trouble. The veteran of the Guard, a former squad leader, the older man saw himself as a natural choice for leader. Except he wasn't, which was why he had never risen past his old rank in either army even when officers became rare. A fine warrior, loyal and brave to a fault, but he had no vision beyond the near, and no patience or respect for contemplation or forming strategy. He would lead these people at best to a glorious destruction.

"I come to you as a fellow rebel. An enemy of the Usurper. Are you so comfortable you can turn away from one of your own?" he asked. One of the few women present stood up at that, one of the last True Sisters of significant power, a healer, old before her time from tragedy. She did not dare wear any badge of her office even here.

"Rebels? You would name us as Phobos does? We are loyalists to the true House of Escannor!" she declared. There were some nods, but most simply ignore the statement, only watching for how he responded.

"Perhaps once you could claim that. But nothing remains of the reign of Queen Weira to be loyal to. The Council is dead or has abandoned us. Every Great House still standing has either given up and made accommodations with the Prince or joined him outright. Even the Sisterhood has been broken, a puppet mockery raised in its place.

"Phobos, with his minions and his monsters, has taken our world. We are rebels – we do not defend something that no longer exists, we fight to end the tyranny we are under now.

"My father, before the Battle of Breven, had revealed to him the town elders planned to betray him. They were not friends of Phobos; they had earnestly supported our side in the war for more than a year. But when the war came to their walls, they were afraid that if we lost they would suffer the most. Their town destroyed for defiance.

"Councilor Adria had the elders publicly executed for their conspiracy. We lost the battle anyway, and since then the town has been firmly neutral, recalling seven respected elders who were killed for nothing.

"I don't ask you to fight for a vanished princess, believe in her if you like. Or for the Shaper's will, whatever you claim it is. I won't ask you to forget your vengeance, for I remember my father.

"What I ask of you is to fight for the people of Meridian. For the Gallians and Galhots of all classes who must live under the menace of Lurdens, Changelings, armies, and white robed poison, every day.

"The people have given up because they feel there is nothing to believe in but Phobos' power. I would give them a better choice. Would you?"

Six Months Later:

Caleb had taken command.

Van sat behind her desk as Mimira bound more silk around the next peg.

She had wondered if it would happen. A great deal had changed after all. But in spite of many a nail, the son of Julian was taking control.

Dangerous news. She had fought Julian at Surging Ford and picked up a scar for it. The line had faded under her careful care, but it had cost her a dear frog. But more importantly, Caleb's rise meant other things could come to pass.

After Gray Woods, she had wondered if Julian was still alive in the mines. He was reported as dead, and a burned head that might have been his was produced. But in that other life, he had slipped through the cracks.

And what if he had? Was that a threat to investigate? Or a friend from times gone by?

Those battles and times, they had not faded as she might have expected or wanted. They had been epic. But what were they compared to this life? The thought of Phobos locked away in some cell revolted her. And Mimira…

There were other matters to consider as well.

She had a rapport with the Lurdens. They had no magical healing to rely on, with only an herb lore that was half superstition. They had been shockingly pragmatic to offer their dead for the sake of the living. Their dying and elderly considered it a great honor to give their cadavers in service to their descendants.

And she had done well – their mortality rate had declined sharply with the new medicines and procedures to aid in birthing. No doctors from their ranks though, apparently some cultural taboo regarding their shaman leaders. It was okay to accept outside aid, but not compete themselves or something. Hard to understand, since the shamans and chieftains seemed quite on board with the aid themselves.

Point was, they were not monsters she would see massacred and shed back like Caleb wanted.

And while Mimira may be the only Changeling to like her, and the Legion seemed determined to become synonymous with atrocity, their race was not malign, and more innocents would suffer than guilty if the regime swung back.

Also, one of the copies made of one of his little speeches claimed he called her a whore. Really, Caleb? He had to go there? She hadn't let Phobos have anything more than a feel and a kiss.

Still, she supposed it was out of her hands. Having proved herself in battle, her role had been and would for the time being remain in court, office, and compound.

The paralysis gas proved her focus had to be better. Meant to immobilize rather than kill, and it had worked. For adults. An ethical stance on child testing had made her look like a monster. Again. Proclamations assured the loyal and set the neutrals back to muttering, but those with Rebel hearts ever thought the worst of her.

There was nothing for it, she supposed. She would try and make weapons to hasten the war's end before W.I.T.C.H. could be dragged in, and work on Phobos to avoid any sibling killing schemes. And try to use her talents to help the people however she could, even if they thought her medicine was poison.

"Done," Mimira said, shifting back to her Gallian form and handing Van the large spool of fresh silk. It would have to be cleaned, but otherwise perfect for the Hospit.

"Well done, Mimira. Hmm, time for a break. Lunch?"

"The speckled beetles?" the girl beamed.

"With diced vegetables," Van asserted.

12 Years ADWN:

"What I am saying is that you need to take this seriously, my Prince. These reprisals have been out of hand since you anointed the Legion. But this latest brutality, they become a hazard to your very reign," Van said.

She stood before the throne in the blighted courtroom, alone with the Prince on his throne and the Legatus himself. Cedric sneered at her, almost surprisingly not showing fangs.

"The Legion is peerless in its loyalty to His Highness. Have you become nothing more than General Raythor's mouthpiece?" he said.

"The good General despises court politics; he sees it as beneath a soldier to extend their reach so beyond their role. But I won't deny he also shares this opinion."

"You sit here comfortable in your offices and labs and tell me how to fight a war. Typical Lady," Cedric rolled his eyes.

"Cedric, there is nothing typical about Lady Van," Phobos spoke up, casting a look of some irritation at the Changeling.

"But Van, it seems you are circling the issue. Reprisals – Meridian is thick with attacks and reprisals of late. Do clear the room of any doubt of what has displeased that idle heart of yours," Phobos commanded, looking back to her.

"The Legion's methods in claiming their spoils. I know you have heard of it."

"Slaughter of those who first raised their hands against me, and possibly conspired with Allora, along with their treacherous kin. Van, you make a poor showing if you wish to advocate for my enemies."

"I'm not talking about just butchery and burning mansions-"

"Burn estates? Perish the thought, my Lady. Those habitations find a fuller existence housing entire Changeling clans each. Private greens and flower gardens make quick conversion to grazing and real gardening," Cedric chuckled.

"You and your thugs murder the boys and rape the women of childbearing age," Van seethed.

"Well of course, spoils. And revenge. You'd be hard pressed to find a noble line that at some point hasn't sponsored or taken part in Changeling purges or hunts. And Mars is generous – the worst offenders seem to have thrown in with the enemy. This latest round of exposed covert Rebel supporters has proven many of my long-term suspicions, I might add.

"What better revenge for generations of murder than to have their bloodlines become Changeling bloodlines. They are not even slaves, second and third wives the lot of them, with honest work and a place in the clan."

"Do they have a choice?"

"No. It is revenge – they scrub floors, shovel dung, haul water, wood, and anything else. A harsh life is the least they deserve. And for ones on high to be cast down intimidates the others into line."

"No place for mercy to children even."

"My mercy is the fact I forfeit vengeance on those who bent the knee to our Prince. And did not use that mercy as a curtain to hide behind as they plot against him. And that the boys are given quick deaths."

"My, such mercy that supports your bloodthirst. Or should I say bloodlust?" Van remarked. She turned away from Cedric to face the Prince, drumming his fingers on the throne's armrest.

"My Prince. His methods 'are' too brutal. He speaks of fighting a war, but these acts are committed against people in their homes. They don't surrender, and often fight as best they can before being overwhelmed, because they expect these atrocities. Such cruel fates would make all but the most jaded peasants feel sympathy to some degree for the nobility.

"And your argument, Cedric, hinges on victory through terror. That if you beat the opposition often enough, horrifically enough, they will either perish or give up," Van asked, tilting her toward him.

"Yes, that has worked quite well," Cedric remarked. Van smiled and Cedric's eyes widened slightly, perhaps realizing he had walked into her snare.

"Well, it worked so well for the Dynasty trying to crush the Changelings for centuries. It's not like they remained not only alive but fighting back," Van said. Cedric stiffened, and his jaw clenched before he spoke.

"Don't you dare compare-" he hissed. Then Phobos spoke up.

"Well, as interesting as your argument can be, if it's about to come to blows, it seems to be over for now. Attend to your duties while I consider. The City, and the War," Phobos dismissed them.

The two members of the court both left unhappy.

Three Weeks Later:

"That is one ugly tree," Van remarked.

"The locals call it the Edelwood(2). Supposedly the souls of children lost to the woods become trapped here, and every axe blow against it is turned on the swinger, or flame upon the striker. Hard to find and few dare to seek it," Phobos said. They stood at the edge of the clearing the evil tree stood in.

There was no doubt to Phobos the tree was malign. Its bark twisted into images of faces in pain and terror, the shadows creating black empty eyes of hopeless pleading. And despite the late spring weather, the leaves were a red brown, the color of dried blood. And the branches were too twisted and warped for the clear sky it had.

The clearing was no meadow; the soil was barren, a powdery white broken by black roots rising and falling into it like snakes slowly swimming through the soil.

Despite his power he felt hesitant to step from the living wood into the dead clearing.

"Magnificent, it really is him," Phobos said, stepping over the border, the bone powder puffing up around his robes.

The tree groaned, a choir of fear. And the bats emerged from the branches shrieking, fangs bared.

"Is it? You were so confident back in the old days. And how many tombs have we desecrated? Recall the one where the creepy cave was just a creepy cave? No magic, just strangely creepy," Van quipped.

Without breaking his stride, he slipped a thin dagger from his right sleeve and opened a red line on his left palm. He held the blood up to the bats, and they broke around him, diverted by an unseen force.

The groaning stopped, and silence descended, broken only by his footfalls on the cursed ground.

"Yes, I carry the blood of Escannor. You cannot deny me without denying yourself. You have served your purpose well, Prison of Lament, but your time is done. I have need of your killer and prisoner," Phobos commanded, as he reached the twisted trunk.

Fear and anger rose in a whisper, dozens of black eyes fixed on him. Smirking, the Prince pressed his bleeding hand to the black wood. He could feel the tree drink it up.

"You are released from your charge. Move on to whatever end awaits! The Blood of Escannor demands it!" he commanded.

The tree groaned, and a drop struck his sleeve. Oil? Black drops started to rain down around him, and glancing up confirmed it. The tree was melting.

Disgusted, he retreated a few steps, trying to get out from under the branches. Then the tree exploded in a shower of oil and wood.

The shield was reflexive, not as strong as he would have wanted. It caught the disgusting debris well enough, but a large fist shattered the barrier, sending him reeling back.

"Told you," Van called.

"Everything is under control," Phobos snapped, getting to his feet and brushing hair from his face. The oil coated figure before him was revealed as the residue rapidly evaporated.

He was as described, a massive dried corpse in the archaic attire of the profession, lips drawn back, revealing teeth in rictus, and eyes red and full of hatred.

"Tracker, welcome to my service," Phobos greeted him. He vanished in a snap of light as a flail struck the spot he had been standing on, sending up a cloud of dust. Tracker drew a rattling breath, pulling the flail back to himself.

Phobos reappeared to his left, hand raised. Tracker swung his weapon, and was sent careening back as a bolt of magic struck him. Hitting a tree at the clearing's edge, it crunched as it arrested him. Phobos let the magic go.

The Tracker did not slump as the pressure released. He stood, and flicked his cape aside.

"Also as recorded. Escannor might have made you, but even she could not bind your dark soul to serve her blood. And so you were sealed against the day you turn on the blood of your maker.

"But I am not like Halia or those other worthless cowards. One will never achieve anything if one is ruled by fear. Not that you care.

"I come to you with a deal," Phobos said, advancing slowly on the undead.

Tracker removed his broad brimmed hat, and shook it off, sparing a glance for the Prince, as if saying he was listening but hardly cared.

"I didn't free you out of some compassion, Tracker. I have enemies, and require a hunter. The hunt was your life and it is your unlife; care to get back to it?" Phobos smirked.

Within reach of the Tracker now, he watched the construct of dead flesh and ancient magic consider in whatever excuse for a mind it had. Finally, it looked back at him, pressed its hat to its chest, and nodded.

Not submission, but acceptance. Good enough.

"Told you," he said to Van, who was still loitering by the trees.

XXX

Van looked around the homestead, hands on hips, letting a little smile quirk. Homestead was the term she had settled on for her retreat in the swamp. The old ironwood tree was an anomaly on this isle near the swamp's steaming center.

Most of it had been petrified in death, but much of it had rotted away inside. It had already been unnaturally broad even for that breed of tree, an effect of taking root here, she expected. Mined out, it made for a living space only slightly less than Alric's cabin had been. Granted, it was much more irregular in space shape, with several "veins" that amounted to crawl space off the three chambers she had cleared out.

She ran her hand over the smooth, petrified wood. Dead now, but it had lived, and the magic that altered this tree in life and death left its mark. A thing of beauty, like wallpaper only she could perceive.

Furniture would be trouble. The Voice was going of its way to rot things she brought here. Including her swimsuits, she thought. Fingering a suspiciously soft edge on the strap she gave a mental call.

"Are you so determined to see me naked and sleeping on rushes?" she demanded?

ONLY DESIRING YOU GIVE A CHANCE TO EMBRACE YOUR NATURE. IF YOU WOULD EXCLUDE MAGIC FROM YOUR CRAFT IN THE HOSPIT, IT SEEMS ONLY FAIR YOU LEAVE CIVILIZATION BEHIND HERE.

"Fair, you mean entertaining, right?" Van said.

YES. AS FOR FURNISHINGS, THAT IS YOUR FAULT. YOU HAVE PLENTY OF RESOURCES HERE, AND EVEN A CHANGELNG LACKEY TO AID IN THE LEGWORK.

"You seem in a bad mood lately. I'm setting up homestead here to harvest those resources. Your amoral heart should be soaring. Is your Van Rivers show not as riveting as expected?" Van said. She held her hands out parallel to survey the space. Did its comment mean she needed furniture crafted from swamp wood? It was certainly doable; her stipend didn't all go into "stuff".

WELL, YOU COULD GO INTO BATTLE AGAIN. COURT DRAMA AND YOUR PRACTICE, WHILE FUN, COULD BE BROKEN UP WITH SOME OLD FASHIONED SLUGHTER AND MAYHEM.

"Princey seems to have something for me to take care of when big battles come up. There is more to running this kingdom than killing your enemies."

THE UPSTART CHANGELING SEEMS TO DISAGREE. WHY NOT KILL YOUR RIVAL?

"You know how powerful I am," Van snapped. Cedric she would not have wanted to fight alone as a Guardian. And this Cedric… familiarity did not make him less menacing. He was so 'human' at times that it only made his love of slaughter more disconcerting. And his snake form, well, snakes and frogs do not mix well.

She would kill him someday, but it would be a certain thing, a trap of some kind.

"Well, it's not like I only do desk work and operations. Just a few days ago, Phobos and I were binding the Sandpit," she asserted.

THE WHAT?

The words had a somewhat harsh edge and she frowned, shaking off the disorientation. "The Sandpit, we found this… I dunno, living mass of sand, and managed to move it to this cave Phobos has plans for. It's actually pretty neat, whatever it is."

RATHER SHOWS YOUR LACK OF EXPERIENCE THAT A SMUDGE OF EARTH EARNS YOUR FANCY.

"Well, why shouldn't it? It's pretty old, it seems, and smart for something without a brain," she humphed, "If biology wasn't my field, I could see wasting some time studying it."

IT WOULD INDEED BE A WASTE OF TIME. A PATHETIC SPRIG BARELY OUT OF ITS POD OR EGG. CAN IT EVEN AFFECT ANYTHING MORE THAN SAND?

"Uh, no, doesn't seem to. Still, it's apparently been giving grief to the desert tribes for some time with impunity. Half of the desert folk didn't even believe it existed, as such. Thought it was just people disappearing in the desert for mundane reasons."

YOU SEE, CLEARLY INFERIOR. ONLY ONE TRICK AND CAN'T EVEN GET THE FACT OF ITS EXISTENCE ACROSS TO A BUNCH OF MORTALS WHO SHOULD BE TREMBLING WITH SUPERNATURAL TERROR BEFORE IT.

HARDLY WORTH HIS TIME, MUCH LESS YOURS.

"…I pondered if it might be related to you," Van remarked, glancing around.

ABSURD! A PATHETIC SPLINTER LIKE THAT?! IT IS UNWORTHY OF ATTENTION! AMPHIBIANS DON'T EVEN THRIVE IN DESERTS, HOW MUCH MAGIC DID YOU HAVE TO WASTE TO KEEP YOUR SKIN FROM CRACKING?

HERE, ON THE OTHER HAND, YOU ARE NOT ONLY AN APEX PREDATOR WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE IT, BUT YOUR POWER AND PERCEPTION SO MUCH GREATER.

"Well it's more couth than you," Van said.

YOU CONVERSED WITH IT?!

"No, but I see you're jealous. Worried you're too old and not enough ancient elemental horror for a modern girl?"

YOU ARE DELUSIONAL, YOU NEED TO DRINK MORE WATER AND EAT MORE FUNGUS AND FLIES. THE MORE AUDACIOUSLY COLOFRUL THE BETTER.

"Heh," Van grinned, sitting down to recline against the wall, "Maybe if you give me advice on how to get this good and livable, I won't mention to the cult that there is in fact something that scares you?"

XXX

Van grit her teeth as the flesh collapsed under her hands. Pushing it back into place, blacked flecked blood squirted out from under her webbing, her free hand stitching.

Fine needlework, best thread, sutures and tourniquets. So why couldn't she stop the bleeding?

"Heal!" she snapped, stepping back from the table. The patient only groaned as ever. Her eye twitched, feeling some accusation in the sound and the lack cooperation.

Grabbing a fresh syringe from a tray, she injected the contents into the patient's straining, pulsing flesh. She had not injured him; she was trying to fix this.

Van massaged her forehead, past caring about the blood on her face. She stood naked in the operating theater, the fluorescents cooking her skin slowly, and disinfectant fluid swirling about her ankles, bloodied garments, long since discarded, carried on it.

"Do you have to be so mean?" Hay Lin asked from her perch on the wall.

"I'm not mean. I'm helping," Van snapped.

"Helping looks a lot like torture, who knew?" Irma remarked, floating by.

"What would you know about it?" Van kicked some of the stinking liquid after her.

"We thought we knew you, for one," Cornelia said over Van's shoulder. Gone by the time Van looked back. Neck puffing out, she spread her arms, she didn't want them to see her naked.

"It's not easy. Nothing is simple anymore. I have done my best," she told them. Taranee was next, of course. She was up in the viewing room, looking down, framed by light.

"And your best was to become a villain?" the Fire Guardian asked without malice.

"I'm not a villain. No more than I have had to be. Are you saying you hate me now or something?!" Van pleaded. But they were gone. Eyes darting around, she was alone in her operating room with the patient that refused to heal.

The massive creature was gone when she turned around. The form laid out still and pale on the table was so tiny on the metal slab.

"No," Van pleaded. Will's corpse ignored her, the head tilting to face her and glassy eyes looking at nothing as they reflected the bloody monster in them.

"It's disappointment they feel," the dead girl said.

XXX

Mimira nodded to herself as Van settled down in her sleep. The nightmare had woken her in her own nest. It was not that loud, but Lord Cedric and the others had been quick to teach her to awaken to sounds out of place in the wild.

She was lying on top of the blanket-covered fungus Van had cultivated for a bed in the swamp that was her chambers, stroking Van's hair. Her own naps in Van's office had not driven off the memories sleep brought, but she had woken calmly more than once to Van stroking her. The Changeling smiled to herself to see it worked for Van as well, though the frog woman wasn't waking up.

Eventually she stopped stroking and drifted off, breathing in a scent of water, rot, and faint chemical residue.

Seven Months Later:

Hidden. Not at the heart of the swamp where she had made her home. But not too far.

Hidden hollow, nestled into one of the solid isles of the Ancient Swamps. The magic here was old, filling the vegetation and undergrowth into diverting attention and concealing it.

Even the Shadows did not know of it. No one did. Save her most trusted frogs; Boris himself had taken up residence full time to guard it.

And, unfortunately, the Voice. She could keep no secrets save her thoughts from it on its very body. But at least it seemed helpful on this matter.

Hopping through, she landed on the incline, near forty-five degrees she believed, on all fours. It seemed bigger than its outside should allow, stream littered with fallen logs from the barrier and the canopy stretching overhead like a cathedral. And ever steamy, even in dark night.

A second hop sent her into the water. Flying naked and natural through the living water, it offered to wash all but the basest concerns away for a time, with none of the Voice's deals or arrogance. Blissful and invigorating, she retained her focus regardless. She dared not linger here long; the risk of discovery and possibly temptation was too strong.

The cache was at the bottom, as she had left it, the roots pulled and coerced from the mud forming the cage, letting the water touch the treasure while also trapping air for it.

Unable to delay, she went through the motions; her amphibian compatriots gathering to watch regardless of her will. Though she hardly objected anymore, the only shame felt her was her own.

And even shame could fade in time, she mused.

She stroked the newest treasure, inspecting it for flaws. As always, she found nothing but potential. A relief, and a problem. Potential is theoretical, she noted yet again. And as matters currently stood, nothing would come of it.

She could do something about that, of course. But that was a hurdle she had yet to cross. So like every time since, she gingerly tucked the orb into the cage and lingered to watch it settle into its place.

Turning away, she was face-to-face with Boris, his ancient froggy skin caked with ancient mud and vegetation marred only by scars. Harpoon and trident on his back, he watched her with polite question.

She gave him a hug that said no, and with something like a shrug, he kicked off the bottom carrying them both back to the surface.

It was like a roller coaster ride, and she whooped when the surface exploded around them in a glorious shower.

XXX

Van cursed herself for a fool; the signs had been there. Not what she had been raised to see, but obvious nonetheless, looking back. And really, this outcome had been inevitable, only a matter of time.

"I think it looks nice," Mimira said with authority unwarranted in such a girl. Her tunic sleeve was rolled up, revealing the striped serpent tattoo around her upper arm.

Mimira had become a teenager. Oh, God.

"You know we remove those, quite painfully?" Van said, drumming her fingers on her desk.

"I don't want it removed!" Mimira hissed, stepping back and pulling the sleeve down as if Van was going to pounce and rip it off. Van rolled her eyes.

"You say that now. You're too young for that sort of thing," Van stated.

"Am not, I'm thirteen. An adult," she preened, straightening up.

She had not been coming around nearly as often. It had been maybe six months since she slept over in favor of her nests around the catacombs or the grounds. Teen loner alert. But worse, the looks at a certain snake she had spotted more than once after Privy Council meetings.

"You call yourself an adult? Yet you still haven't filed that paperwork. Anyone else would have been categorically rejected months ago for that," Van said.

"Mars, I don't want to be a field medic. I was ten or so when I said that. There are Changelings with healing abilities for that, Van," the teenage spider girl rolled her eyes.

"How many? And how many places can they be? And I would add your ability to produce fairly sanitary silk on command is a 'natural healing aid'," Van pointed out.

And so it went until it reached what she thought might be the natural conclusion across dimensions for such – the teen storming out in a self-righteous huff. At least she didn't seal the cliché by slamming the door. She had ingrained respect for Hospit property, at least.

And in the name of disinfectant, what was going on in those missions with Cedric?! Did he think she couldn't access mission records to determine it was duo work? Duos, just two of them. Filthy snake – he was guilty until proven improbably innocent in this matter, as far as she was concerned.

It was his fault! And puberty.

Oh, God, there were times she could only recline and stare at the ceiling and ponder how exactly this was her life.

14 Years ADWN/WITCH Day 1

Van emerged from the cool water into the steaming air of the swamp twilight. Wearing only her swimwear and a dripping close bound satchel, she leapt from water onto the soft earth of her isle. Sitting in a crouch, she held out a webbed hand.

A frog leapt into her palm from the rushes, plain brown and earthy green save for the stark white and vivid green pattern on its back that formed an eye shape.

She closed her own eyes, reaching out and attuning. And seeing.

"Oh dear, better get dressed. Good day for you lot," Van sighed. Unstrapping her satchel, she opened it, letting the leeches and various large water insects fall back into the water. Though one spindly specimen did dangle from the edge.

A flash of pink, a gulp, and it was gone too.

"That would have been a nice dinner," Van remarked, leaping onto her tree. Adhering to the bark, she climbed up toward the entrance; her retreat seemed to need to be cut short.

XXX

"Bastards!" Van screamed, not even bothering to remove her white jacket as she leapt into the moat, hugging herself against the head of the massive black frog. Scrunched eyes cracked open, letting her see the arrows sticking out, and the spear shaft protruding from his eye.

No matter how many frogs she lost, it still hurt. But they saw attempts to keep them "safe" insulting to their strength and loyalty.

"As you can see, we have a small situation," Phobos remarked. Van sniffed and pulled the spear out with a jerk, and likewise plucked the arrows out. Calling on the water, she had the moat sweep him out, sending him to rest in the muddy depths of his home to decompose in peace.

"They blew up the east armory," Phobos informed her from his high and dry place. Van looked up at him.

"I told you to store cannon powder separately."

"You also told me your Great Frogs would make better moat guards than my proposed Castle Serpents," he added.

"Just tell me which way they went so I can gouge out their eyes before sending them to the mines," Van demanded, leaping up to his side.

"Not for this one, Van. It seems we were graced with the presence of the rebel leader himself. At least, the description and audacity of this raid matches. They did not get away with any powder, and Cedric is already hunting them," Phobos told her.

"…The rebel leader blew up a cannon powder store. And Cedric is hunting him?" Van asked. Phobos raised an eyebrow at that expression on her face.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"…Care to open a bottle of wine?" she asked with a very insincere smile.

"Always," he said, without smiling as he normally would. He didn't ask what the occasion was. For which she was very grateful.

What kind of cookies had her mother given her back then, she wondered?

XXX

End of the first Act! Cue the cookies and the rodent! Start the carnage!

Your lack of restraint is too apparent to be genuine.

True, I'm just excited. After all, it's different and the same, and such things are fascinating. The girl is doomed though, you surely realize?

We shall see, the ending is not yet written.

1). After Darkest Winter Night.

2). Shout out, Over the Garden Wall.

Author Notes:

And so the ripples reach the start of WITCH.

But that is a matter for the next part; tentatively titled "Stirred". It seems proper to break the story up and cut off here.

While I have a good shape idea for the plot and some scenes and twists well planned, I am not ready to start the sequel. In particular I want to go back to work on Project Dark Jade and Dragon & Horse first. School has been quite hard and free time is not always in a mindset conducive to writing.

So with part one here wrapped up I would try and meet my other goals, and give love to neglected stories before setting out into this new era. WITCH and Lady Van, I look forward to seeing how their presences affect the other. But many other stories have been left hanging; to the point I get people inquiring if I have abandoned them! So to task, to task.

But for now, time to bring down the curtain, and give a bow of thanks to all the readers and reviewers of this odd little project of mine. And of course gratitude to the betas that have helped me see it through this far: Zim'smostloylaservant, Trackula, and Chaotic9.

Long days and pleasant nights to you all.