A?N: This will begin in keeping with the DLC plot, and then veer off course rather sharply. There is more Logan/Queen to come, more frequently than in The Missing Days. This fic will also chart a year, beginning nearly 3 months after the Crawler's attack.

Traitor's Keep

+94

The explosions have died down a little, the prisoners either dead or back in their cells. Most of them dead, she thinks, looking at the blood on her sword and on her gauntlets. Messy, but at least it proved that not every man here was here for merely political reasons. Logan wasn't so corrupt at that.

The dog runs ahead, an alarmed bark floating back to her. She increases her pace, and comes to Milton's office, though she sees no sign of him in here. A groan of pain draws her from behind the desk, where the Commander lies, waking from unconsciousness. She goes to him, pulling him to his feet.

"What happened?"

Milton's mouth hangs open, lolling tongue stark in his white face. "It was Turner. He's been here all along, he- he never left the island!"

"Where's Hobson?" the Queen demands.

"He took him. Turner's been playing with us, playing with you. This is what he wanted all along, to lure you into a trap," Milton said, shaking his head. Seeing the Queen about to ask, he continues, "He's been using hidden passages behind the walls. He's somewhere in the prison." He turns away from her, heading to the tunnel extending through the walls, the set of his stride determined. "I don't care what happens to Hobson," he states bluntly, "but we have to find Turner. He left through here."

She follows quickly. She is about ready to face this man. After seeing Faraday, and poor Witchcraft Mary … she understands why someone might go mad here. But Turner, she thinks, could probably be reasoned with, once she shows that she is not her brother.

They descend into the bowels of the Keep. Milton seems to feel the need to state the obvious. "I know it's a trap."

Behind him, Elsbeth rolls her eyes. Obviously.

"But I'm not sure Turner realises who he's dealing with. He hasn't seen you fight, like I have." Whether he's seen her fight or not, the general is clearly no fool. And only a fool would not take precautions. Seeing the look on her face, Milton nods. "We should be careful. He must have something prepared for us."

More dingy tunnels, though this time the gloom has a tinge of mould about it too, the dilapidation a more sinister atmosphere. The air smells wrong.

"This is the Pit. If he's hiding with all these lunatics …"

He is clearly doing more than hiding, though. Because when they enter the Pit, the raving screechings get louder. And then the metal cell doors slide open with a scream of rust.

"He's set them free! Bastard's set them free!"

Insane prisoners pour into the narrow corridor, cackling as they advance. All of them are somehow armed with makeshift, though deadly, weapons. Clenching her jaw, the Queen pulls out her sword with one hand, and conjures a fireball in the other. There will be no reasoning with these men. Both she and Milton wade into battle. She hurls Will and metal at them in equal measure, spectral blades darting to stab at them when she is surrounded, and physical blade when she is not. As always, she is swept up in the moment, too focused on her next opponent to worry about anything else. When stillness and silence fall, however, she and her companion are both alive. But only one of them is still standing.

Milton is propped up on his elbows, resting on the floor with his face creased in pain. "At least they're out of their misery now," he grits out.

She bends over him, though she cannot see a wound from this angle. "You're hurt."

"I'll be alright," he groans. "I'm no Hero, though."

"Stay here. I can deal with Turner alone," she says firmly.

He looks up and flashes a weak smile. "I'm sure you can. You have powers the rest of us can only dream of." He forces himself to his feet, still clutching his side. "There might be more coming. Go. I'll hold them off while I can."

She nods to him and carries on alone. He is a good man, and he does not deserve to die down here like this. But the greater threat has to come first. She runs through more endless corridors, till finally she comes to the torture room. There is her servant, strapped to one of the chairs. He is gagged as well, something she can't blame Turner for. As she climbs up onto the metal platform, reaching for his restraints, Hobson starts screaming at her from behind his gag.

"It's alright, Hobson," she soothes.

As soon as he has one hand free, Hobson tears away the gap. His voice is gravelly from thirst, but urgent. "There was no third prisoner!" he cries. "It was all … him!"

She looks, and there is Milton, uninjured, unhurt, with his hand on the apparatus of the machine. He raises a gloved finger to his lips. "Ssshh!"

Too late, Elsbeth notices the wire connecting where she's standing to the switch Milton is grasping.

Milton merely looks triumphant. "It's time for your treatment, Your Majesty!"

He hits the switch. Even the Queen's heroic reflexes are not fast enough to save her; she feels an arcing pain, smells singed hair, and blacks out.

When she comes too, everything aches. Her vision is very blurry too. Milton's voice comes through clearly, however. Bastard. "You're awake, Your Majesty. Good. I was afraid I might have set too high a charge, but then … you have powers the rest of us can only dream of," he finishes mockingly.

She blinks slowly. Gods, her head …

"Hobson was mistaken. There was a third prisoner. General Turner – the finest soldier I ever served under, the finest man I ever knew – died six months ago." He turns away, paces a little. "I couldn't save his life, but I wasn't going to let everything he believed in die with him. You see, it's time for a true revolution, and how does one bring down a Queen? How does one bring down a Hero?" He points accusingly at her, as though she can help what she is. "By becoming one," he states boldly.

He has clearly lost his mind. If she weren't tied up, and recently betrayed, she might feel pity. Except then she remembers all the experiments of Witchcraft Mary and Professor Faraday … they were so worried their innovation would be abused – now it's going to be. Milton merely smiles at the glare she gives him, heaves a wistful little sigh like it cannot be helped and says, "Forgive me, Your Majesty."

The pain is beyond anything she has ever imagined. Electric fire pierces every nerve cell, lancing down through her brain to her spine, limbs, everything spasming and the agony nearly making her black out. She is barely aware of the scream torn from her lips, and not at all aware of the echo is makes, reverberating around the chamber. She's only aware when it stops. When there is one, quiet, drop.

Milton lifts the bottle of Heroic essence in euphoria, his eyes wide and mad. "It worked! To the end of Kings and Queens!" He toasts her, and then knocks the whole thing back.

Elsbeth watches in complete and total horror, transfixed as this aging man becomes … her. His features melt and distort, his hair lengthening, his body changing to accommodate the curves of her hips and breasts, and even her clothes appear there. After a blinding flash of white light, the Milton-thing stands. He speaks with her voice.

"All hail the Queen of Albion!" He lights a fireball in his hand, staring at it as if entranced. "Do you see now who the real enemy is? I am you, and only one of us can live."

The dog, previously cowering against the wall, senses the threat to his mistress. His ears flatten back, his hackles raise, and he growls angrily. Milton's response is unequivocal. The fireball is hurled directly at her beloved pet. With a yelp that makes every nerve in Elsbeth's body flinch, he is thrown against the wall, and lies still. Her heart stops. No, no, no … No. The dog gets to his feet and scarpers in terror. She cannot blame him, but as Milton readies another spell to go after him, something inside her snaps.

"Leave. My dog. Alone," she commands.

Where the strength comes from, she has no idea. But someone she loves is in danger. Perhaps that's enough. She rips the chair that holds her into absolute pieces, on her feet in a moment.

Before she can get two steps, Milton has reacted, his sword out and hacking at her. She barely manages to block. Considering he is dealing with strength and agility he has never before possessed, he takes to it like a fish to water. "Do you know how many people I've seen die for someone else's cause? How much blood I've seen spilled in the name of the Crown? And how many have wasted away in prisons like this one just for speaking their minds?" he rages at her.

She barely takes in everything he says, too busy just trying to stay alive. For every blow she lands, Milton seems to land two. She has bleeding cuts on her arms and legs, and a ringing head.

"You called yourself a revolutionary – what changed? We swapped one ruler for another! What gives you the right to dictate our lives? Your Hero blood? Do you think it makes you better than us?"

Her sword flies from her hand, so she dives after it, but Milton lands a kick to her abdomen which winds her badly, and then it's all she can do to roll across the floor fast enough to avoid it being followed by a stab. The sword goes into the floor, and Milton yanks it out with an insane grin.

"Well, now it's my blood too. Witchcraft Mary may have been insane, but her work was inspired. I studied it for years before setting her free. But she didn't know how to use that knowledge! Why become a filthy beast when you can become a god?"

It has never happened before. She has never met an opponent she could not defeat. But then she has never met herself. And now she is defeated. Exhausted, out of Will, ammunition and options. With a savage kick to her chest, Milton forces her against the wall and then backhands her. Spitting blood, she glares at him. "You'll … You'll never fool … anyone-"

"Oh, but I don't need to. It's not as if there'll be another Hero to turn to now. I'm going to finish what you started, Your Majesty. There will be a true revolution. Without you to get in the way. Goodbye, Hero."

He raises the sword one last time. His aim will be true, and in a second her heart will be skewered like a roast suckling pig. Minus the apple. Except … she notices something through the blood haze. His hand. Is no longer her hand. It's a man's hand again, large and hairy and suddenly trembling just a little. She is in no position to take advantage of that – but Milton sees it too. "No! No, it's impossible!"

Elsbeth draws in another shallow breath. She thinks a couple of her ribs are broken. Her chest is certainly on fire, and she can't hold back a cry of pain when Milton hauls her forwards, shaking her. "How has this happened? Tell me!"

She just about musters the strength to spit bloody phlegm into her own face. "Fuck you." Ben would be so proud of her.

Milton drops her again. "No matter, I- I can still do this!" He looks again at the machine, at the one electric chair still standing. "Well, Your Majesty … it looks like your luck's in. I'll have to keep you alive after all. But don't worry. There'll be no witnesses to the fact."

In cold blood, he raises her rifle and shoots Hobson in the head. The toady's brains splatter all over the back wall. Then Milton slams the butt of the gun into her temple, and all is darkness.