Darkness was what he knew. A feeling of peace, safe in a cabin far away being swayed gently by what he recognized was the sea. He was aware he was alone, and yet this did not alarm him; instead it lulled him to security, safe in the knowledge that, for once, there was nothing to worry about. His eye was closed, thinking, resting, but a part of him remained on the alert, just in case. It was this part that unfurled itself from it's position in his mental state to issue a sudden warning: The wind is picking up.
His eye opened, and he raised his head. The wind was picking up, and fast. From his position behind his four walls he heard a creaking as the gentle rocking suddenly became sharper. Now awake and giving full attention to his surroundings, his ears picked up muffled yells and a sudden downpour of rain. Close, very close, thunder boomed. Alarmed, but not certain of danger yet, he stayed sitting in his bed. The wind took a turn for the fierce, and the sounds outside became louder despite the dampening walls.
The first huge wave came without warning. Turmoil was instant. The door slammed open with the force of cannonballs and a man stood in his doorway, features lit for a heartbeat by lightening, and Ilosovic saw terror etched in his face before a crashing wave slammed the ship sideways and took the man off his feet. The force knocked the knave from his cot, and when his eye cleared enough for vision the man was gone.
Shouting and cursing filled the air outside. Stumbling into the open he was met with chaos. Men ran in every direction as orders were desperately tried to be heard and met over the onslaught of sudden storm. Ilosovic watched, helpless, as sailers trying to save the sails were swept away and pulled to the murky depths below. In spite of the dangerous situation progress was slowly being made to keep the ship afloat, but still in his chest fear reigned. The wind was not dying down, hair was hitting him in the face and water was stinging his eye- surely the others had it worse. How much longer could this vessel, any vessel, survive such a trial much longer?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw arms flailing, and he turned to find one man crouched down low in the corner. He moved as fast as he could to the kneeling man, who looked scared but resolute.

"You need to get off the ship." the stranger said, a middle aged man that was dressed too finely for this weather. Somehow about him caused Ilosovic to listen to him despite the man's obvious (to Ilosovic's eye) lack of station. "Take the lifeboat here, near me. You'll be lower on the ocean water, the winds won't knock you down. We're not too far from land now, you'll make it if you row in the direction the boat was going or at the very least be picked up by other ships coming this way."

"I can't leave this!" Ilosovic didn't know enough about the sea or their location to judge if the man's information was sound or not, but he knew a battle when he saw one, and in a battle every able body counted. "These people need me help- you're help! If I leave-"

"Alice listen to me!" 'Alice'? thought Ilosovic. "You need to go! If you die here-"
He never got to finish his sentence. With a roar, a mountainous upsurge rose up over the sides of the ship and came down upon the deck like vengeance. Now used to the beatdown, everyone grabbed something to stabilize themselves- everyone but Ilosovic, who was nowhere near anything sturdy. As the water washed over him, he tried frantically to find something- anything- to keep him on the ship. His hands found no purchase. Tumbling, choked by the swell, he heard nothing but the surge of ocean in his ears as he was taken with the churning off the ship into the deeper dark.
His eyes snapped open. He didn't move, or shout, and had no urge to. Nightmare or not, he quickly recognized it as just that- a nightmare. Even the fact he'd heard Alice's name in the dream wasn't out of place; he'd been thinking about Alice recently. He'd been thinking about a lot recently, actually... The past, regrets, how to get a good night's sleep...

Pausing a moment to make sure the bundle chained to his side had not noticed his sudden voyage to the waking world, he allowed himself a low groan and a rubbing of his face with his free hand. His vision cleared as his heartbeat settled and he looked around. It was night, still, but dawn was not far off. He sat up, checking to make sure his armor and weapons were still where he'd left them. He was not disappointed.

Ilosovic Stayne did not survey his surroundings, for why, he thought bitterly, would I need to? It had been months now they he'd been banished to the Outlands with Iracebeth the once Red Queen, and in that time the worst thing he'd had to deal with had been the thing still chained to his arm. He remembered it all clearly, and recalled it to steady his mind: Axes had been placed far too close for comfort near their necks as a warning. They were to never show their faces again. After making their threat clear the card guards had tossed them into the wilderness and watched them walk out of sight. The first few days they'd trudged through had been grueling. Forced to stay close because of his manacles, he had to listen to the dethroned queen prattle on and on about how she forgave his trying to kill her, how they would surely be back in the castle soon, how everyone especially her sister would pay for this. He, for his part, had remained silent. He was a warrior, whatever else he was, and a warrior faces his fate with a grim resolution. He knew that his fate was no less deserving, and while yes his countenance had failed him when the ghastly, horrific punishment of being bound to the creature he had simpered and sniveled under for years was placed upon him, it did not mean he hadn't learned quickly to accept it. What was harder to accept was the constant hindrance of something so unwilling to do anything on its own as he tried to hunt, make shelter, and generally survive. At first it had been impossible to catch food even once they made it to the greener parts of the Outlands. Everything had been long scared off by her shouts and meaningless threats long. Eventually he'd managed to find a meal and put together a fire, and she was disdainful enough to turn up her nose due to the lack of finery and tableware. The arguments had only just begun. Tempers had flared countless times, and he would have long killed her if he'd had the method at the outset or the will as the time went on. Mental solitude and the inability to keep track of days beat on him, and after what had now been months he knew himself to be changed.
Part of this was inside- he no longer had the will to kill outside of battle, nor the desire to be anyone's lapdog. With no reason to keep courtly appearance and no task but to survive his perverse blood rage had given way to something tempered and composed. Cynical still, of course, but he was less quick to anger and more willing to accept. He even caught himself enjoying the stars some nights, afraid to go to sleep because Iracebeth had been especially crazed that day. He marveled inwardly that something beautiful could exist out here, and at how he hadn't he noticed it before.
The other part was physical. He still had his armor, and though he used it mostly for something to cook on now it remained a polished piece of metal and he sometimes caught his reflection in that or a particularly still pool of water. His face was leaner, his body more rigid, and his hair was now past his shoulders and straighter with the weight. He did not mind these changes, as he also did not mind the day the heart patch for his eye was finally lost and he decided he did not mind the scars on his face that badly.

Iracebeth, it seemed to him, had learned nothing. If anything she was even more cracked than she had been at the palace, and continued to speak to him as though he were a slug at times and her lover at others. Her make-up had long since flaked away, revealing large eyes and a full mouth that would have been lovely if they weren't filled with sickness. Not a physical sickness- by some miracle their health was fine despite the inability to guarantee safe food and shelter. No, this was inward. It had been spreading slowly for the past few months now. On many occasions he'd caught her talking to non-talking plants, peeling off bits of tree bark to scribble markings while giggling and try to tie them to birds, or worse watching him hungrily if he had to bathe or relieve himself after a meal. Likely it had spawned by the sudden ripping away of power- or maybe it had always been there? Either way it was close to the surface, too close, and it made her dangerous and unpredictable. An impotent danger, perhaps- but there were nights where he wasn't so sure. Nights where he woke up feeling hands quickly leaving his neck, or trying to get into his trousers...

He shook his head to clear it, rubbing his good eye with the back of his wrist. Sighing, he looked to the sky which was lightening quickly. The sun would be up soon, he thought. If I hurry I can probably get to the river near-by and find some fish...

"Iracebeth, time to get up." He moved the arm that had the chain and jangled it without ceremony. No answer. "Iracebeth-" he began again and stopped dead. In the growing dawn the chain was a little bit easier to see, and he could tell that it cut off about a foot beneath his arm. Quickly he patted the skins next to him- nothing. A pile of blankets but no body underneath.

In one fluid motion he was on his feet, trying to make sense of the situation. Chain broken, Iracebeth gone, night over soon. What had happened? Surely she hadn't been able to break the bonds on her own, yet whatever had taken her had left him be. Why hadn't he been claimed as well? If it had been one of the fearsome beasts that he was lucky to not have encountered yet, a small woman would have been no more than a mouthful next to the seven foot tall broad-chested man next to her. If it was an enemy, why kidnap or kill just the one? Wasn't he just as hated? Things weren't adding up...

His ears perked up. He could hear laughter nearby- a laugh he was all too familiar with. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped away from their makeshift hovel and into the trees. As he moved toward where he thought he heard the sound coming from other snips of noise followed. Snatches of talk were answering a strange kind of growl-hiss he couldn't quite place. His steps slowed as he took this in, his fingers itched for a better blade than the rock-and-bone knife he'd crudely fashioned. His foot kicked something- he recognized it to be the rest of the shackles that should be binding him to Iracebeth. With solid proof he was heading in the right direction he walked on with purpose.

A clearing in the trees and he saw her- curly red hair a tangled drooping mess, laughing at- at what, exactly? He couldn't clearly see. He drew closer, and she turned her head. With a smile, she acknowledged him. Something about the gleam in her eyes kept his hand close to his weapon.

"Now, now, Stayne, no need for rudeness here!" she said in a throaty sort of way upon seeing him anything but relaxed. "We're all friends."

He paused for a moment, unnerved by the unhinged gleam in her eyes. It spoke of lunacy barely restrained, of the kind of madness people feared falling into. Like Tarrent on a bad day... He gathered himself and stepped into the clearing.

Iracebeth was already turned away from him. The once-red queen was speaking to the shadowed figure, and the growl-hiss started again, seemingly responding to her. At this distance he could see the source of the noise despite the darkness, and he quickly wished he couldn't.

A great creature, floating by unknown means occupied the wood. It would be round but for tentacles that shot out from it's body, each tipped with a eye that did not blink. In the center of these, what he supposed would be the front, was an eye the size of his fist and a mouth lined with needle-like teeth. Ilosovic willed himself not to show his panic; he knew this creature, as he knew it's lack of mercy. Grateful for his towering height of seven feet to look intimidating, he nevertheless didn't let his gaze leave the monster when he bent to speak to his fellow exile.

His voice was steel. "Iracebeth, we shouldn't be here."

As usual she paid him no heed. "Don't be silly Stayne, and please call me Your Majesty when you speak to me."

"Your Majesty, I don't mean to alarm, but do you realize what this thing is?"

"Stayne, I'm insulted!" He heard her body swerve to face him, but he still didn't dare look away from the beast's main eye despite her tone. "You are being rude to our guest."

"Madam," he whispered, "This is a Beholder." He tried very hard to name the horror without sounding terrified, and almost succeeded. It didn't matter though, he remembered, no secret can be kept from a Beholder when one is looking at you, and he saw the rows of pointed teeth curl into something that was like a grin. Ilosovic felt his blood chill.

"Majekai has agreed to assist us." the obviously insane woman continued as though nothing was out of the ordinary, smiling serenely. "His kind has been banished here far longer than we by the White Queen, and they had been biding their time as they assumed armies would amass against them. I have alerted him of her pacifism, and the likely lax in guard due to my no longer being of strong power." Her grin turned mad. "We are going to invade."

His mind raced. "We?"

"Oh yes. They freed me last night as phase one of our plan. I've been sending them messages for weeks, and whispering to them while you've been cooking. Haven't you noticed?"

It all made sense now. She had looked like she was whispering because she was whispering. She had looked like she was scribbling messages because she was scribbling messages. She had looked like she was going mad because she was going mad. Ilosovic knew about what resided the Outlands in the deep depths, pushed back by the glimpses of lucid thought and the solid law of Underland rule. Madness. True madness. The kind that breaks minds and tears as souls until you are as twisted and dark as they are. Until you have no thought of your own, no feeling beyond gibbering laughter and a hunger. He'd thought whatever Gods existed smiled upon him that he had managed to keep away from these beasts while wandering the wilds so long, but he know knew his supposed safety to be little more than a cruel joke.

His chest tightened. Invade. They were going to invade Underland. Something snapped inside him at the thought. He had been Knave of Hearts, had stood by and played lapdog to a crazed Red Queen who filled her moat with the heads of the innocent. Countless times he had stood by and watched as others were killed for no reason but the supposed insult to a woman first born but never fit to rule. If he did step in, and there had been moments, his thoughts and opinions were cast aside like so many lives. He'd reduced to being numb, immune, caring for nothing but to keep his own neck safe from her wrath. Now he was honed and hammered, slapped with the truth and constant reminder to the consequences of doing nothing. Who he'd become, he wasn't sure, but he was sure with a burning in his bones that in this hour he could not be a bystander, not again.

Outside his mind as he stood removed by his thoughts, though he was unaware, his hand clenched to a fist.

"Stayne..."

The once-queen's cool command pulled him back to reality, and he fought quickly to recover himself so nothing would seem amiss.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Majekai informs me that you are planning to betray us."

Ilosovic swore his heart had stopped beating. No secret can be kept from a Beholder when one is looking at you. He slow raised his eye and paled. The Beholder was no longer shadowed, and how wide and toothy the smile was...

"You once served me Stayne, and I would have bet my kingdom you loved me as I loved you." There was no joy in her words, or mercy. She was just stating facts, as though she were talking about the weather, or a nasty blob of tar on her shoe.

Silence.

"I'll give you one day's head start."

He ran.