Memoria in aeterna
Tarrant took a sip of his tea, gazing sadly over the rim of the cup at Thackery, who was singing over and over. "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat, how I wonder where you're at.", he sang in a harsh, disjointed voice. Tarrant briefly considered asking him to stop, but he knew that such a request more often than not would be ignored. He settled instead for watching his friend. Thackery had not always been like this, he reminded himself. He gripped his tea cup tighter, and allowed his mind go back to happier times. He remembered what Thackery had been like then. So full of energy, and just as happily mad as every citizen in Underland. He laughed softly at a memory. Thackery had shown up at his house one day with two sticks of straw stuck in his hair. When Tarrant had asked him why he had done that, Thackery's reply was typical. "Why not?" he had replied, and Tarrant had grinned, knowing that he wasn't going to get a better answer. It had been Thackery that had helped him so when Alice first appeared. They both had taken an insane joy in confounding and confusing the poor girl. When she had left in a huff, they had looked at each other and burst out laughing. When he had been called as a witness in Ilosivic's Trial, Thackery had been right there with him. True, his outbursts didn't help too much, but he was grateful for the support.
Tarrant sighed sadly. All might have been well if not for the War. That changed everything. Tarrant and Thackery had been so sure that the White Army could win. After all, they had the White Knight to fight for them. The White Knight was already legendary amongst the soldiers of the White Army. He was supposed to be the most courageous soldier that Underland had ever seen. He had faced and vanquished foes time and again, and was said to wield the greatest weapon of all-the Vorpal Sword.
Tarrant chuckled grimly to himself. How different things had turned out. The Knight, so brave and bold in legend, had turned out to be nothing but a coward. Tarrant would never forget the Horrevendush Day.
Mirana and Iracebeth had agreed to a Duel of Champions. The White Knight had strode confidentially forward, armor glinting in the sun, and Vorpal Sword flashing. He exuded an aura of steely determination. Then Iracebeth had revealed her Champion. The Jabberwock. The soldiers of the White Army had cried out in terror and despair as their Champion lost his nerves. The Sword fell to the ground, and the Jabberwock made swift work of the once brave Knight. Tarrant could not believe his eyes. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't happening, but the screams and cries of the White Soldiers changed his mind. He began frantically looking around for his friend. 'Thackery can't have gone far, ' he thought. "I have to make sure he's alright." But then he realized that there was someone even more important in danger. Mirana. If he didn't get her out swiftly, she would be dead. He made a vow to himself that once Mirana was safe, he would return for Thackery.
When he had returned to the battlefield, he had seen a sight that would continue to haunt his dreams. The land, once fertile and rich, had been scorched to rubble by the searing flames of the Jabberwock. But worst of all were the charred, blackened, and bloody remains of soldiers. Thackery stood in the midst of the carnage, his eyes blank with terror and insanity. Tarrant had to forcibly drag him from the field. From that day on, his friend had never been the same. The trauma had twisted him into someone Tarrant barely knew. He vowed that one day that Iracebeth and her pet would pay for destroying his friend's mind so utterly.
Thackery suddenly stopped singing, and fixed his gaze at something just behind Tarrant's left shoulder. He picked up a large teapot decorated with flowers, and with a wild yell threw it as hard as he could. Tarrant sighed, and swiftly moved to the right as the pot went sailing past him to crash against a nearby tree. He had become quite good at dodging tea pots.