Author's Note: It was while I was getting ready to write this chapter that Jane's story began to lengthen. Originally, there was going to be a gap of about three years between the last two chapters of this story. Because I thought that was a ludicrous time jump even for me, I came up with a little twist that I thought would add a couple of extra chapters. One day of brainstorming later, I had a trilogy on my hands. Mostly because it took me that much plot to get all my adventures in, and to force in the bits that I actually wanted to happen.

This chapter was another of those really disjointed writing processes, where it took me three days of stop-and-start, paragraph at a time work. When it was done, I went back and added in the first scene. When I sat down to prepare this chapter for editing, I added in two additional POVs before I was actually happy with what I had. So if this chapter is really choppy, that's why, and I'm sorry.

Why It's Happening Note: A few things happen in this chapter that I'm sure seem OOC, or just completely ludicrous. So let me quickly[ish] circumvent the arguments.

In this chapter, Tarrant's finally going to reveal why Alice isn't around. Um… please don't kill me. When I was writing this story, I did a little research about parents of abducted children, and I found that the parents' relationship suffers profoundly as a result. Given my research, what happened to Tarrant and Alice is plausible, despite all our fangirl wishes to the contrary. Before you try to take off my head… I did promise to eventually fix everything I've broken.

I didn't originally intend for Witzend to have her own subplot. She was just supposed to function as Jane's cuddly tie to London. However, when I was going back through the plot of Books Two and Three, I realized that the way I'd written certain events made much more sense when Witzend did the actions. This meant that I had to invent Witzend a subplot. And let me tell you what, it's hell having to go back through a story and retroactively put a plot in place. Also, change is a big theme in this story, and I decided that Witzend is going to be a part of the changes in Underland. Hence, Witzend and the Cheshire Cat now have a subplot.

Dafydd's POV was a last-minute decision. Originally, we weren't supposed to meet him until chapter eleven. Then he jumped the gun and thrust himself into the story early, so I had to go ahead and keep finding places to put him. I miss the days when he was content to sit in the background… okay, not really. But still. Stubborn, demanding Outlander… Yes, this "stubborn, demanding Outlander" is going to become a repeating lament in my Author's Notes.

Jane's reaction to Alice may seem a bit… unexpected. But there's a reason for that; the relationship between Jane and Alice is a big factor in the rest of the trilogy, but I didn't really do a good job of building it up when I first wrote this story. So I've gone back to find places to lay that foundation down before Alice makes her grand entrance.

Underlandian Medical Note: When Tarrant refers to a birthing-tie, he means an umbilical cord.

Images: Because finding images is my favorite part of research. Remove all spaces.

The mirror Jane dreams about: http:/ ny- image 0. etsy. com/ il_ fullxfull. 118555052. jpg

Dream-Regina's gown [but in sky blue, not gold]: http:/ www. kshs. org/ exhibits/ partydresses/ graphics/ 1956_ 13_ 25. jpg

Dream-Regina's jewelry: http:/ www. softsellcrafts. com/ linkbutterflieslarge. jpg

Dream-Regina's Hat [but in sky blue, plum, and gold]: http:/ ny- image 2. etsy. com/ il_ 570 x N. 159943210. jpg

The dream Jane has of Regina is inspired by this picture: http:/ fc 02. deviantart. net/ fs 71/ f/ 2010/ 349/ a/1/ alice_ hightopp_ by_ balba_ bunny-d 34 ye 2 g. jpg

Disclaimer: Tarrant's story about Regina at birth is inspired by real events- my own little sister grabbed everything at birth, including her umbilical cord and the doctor's scissors.

I kind of borrowed the looking glass in Jane's dream from the Mirror of Erised in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Weirdly enough, it's also kind of inspired by the peach-induced sexy fever dream sequence from Labyrinth.

I massacred a bit of Shakespeare during Tarrant's POV- it's from the Scottish play. Appropriate, no?

There's a bit in Dafydd's POV that is lifted almost verbatim from an episode of Doctor Who. I didn't exactly intend for that to happen; after all, Dafydd is no Van Gogh. But somehow, it ended up being incredibly appropriate.


Tarrant and Jane sat in silence for long moments, the music-magic of the murdered Hightopp clan resounding gently as Regina's name echoed between them. Regina, Jane mused, turning the name over and over in her mind. She liked it, she decided; the name suited the missing princess. She liked knowing it; knowing her proper name made the princess seem more like a real, flesh-and-blood person. It was, after all, easier to find a person named Regina Miraget Hightopp than to find a memory named the Azure Princess. Regina made the princess sound like a friend, just waiting for Jane to find her.

"Would you… would you tell me about her?" Jane asked hesitantly, looking up at Tarrant.

Tarrant was silent for a long moment, his deadened, charcoal grey eyes far away and long ago. Jane sat quietly beside him, hoping that he would speak when he was ready. Surely it must be difficult for him to think about his kidnapped daughter, let alone speak of her; for him it must have been as painful as drawing poison from a wound. But she knew, with some inner sixth sense, that he would tell her about his beloved child in his own time. Until then, Jane was content to sit beside him, listening to the Music of the Hightopps and letting the magic soothe the pain she felt at the clan's destruction.

"She was born on Tikiera Day," Tarrant finally said, hesitantly, as if probing the wound to ascertain just how sore it was. "Such a wee little thing… all eyes, she was. I was there when she was born… I was the first thing she saw. I can't imagine it was a very pretty sight for her; it must have startled her very much to see something like me, all wild hair and mercury burns and-"
"Tarrant," Jane frowned.

She wasn't happy hearing Tarrant abuse himself like that. What more wonderful sight could a babe have upon entering the world, than the face of an adoring father? It was perfect, in her mind.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to continue. "She was just as beautiful as her mother. And just as stubborn. From the second she was born, she grabbed things and wouldn't let go. My finger, her birthing-tie, the White Queen's hair, her mother… Almost as if she knew she'd be stolen, and she was trying to hang on to her world."

Tarrant looked down at his gloved hands, blinking back tears and trying to collect himself. Jane didn't press him, instead savoring the image of the little Princess' greedy fingers. Jane couldn't say she blamed the infant Regina; if she'd had any hint that she wouldn't be allowed to stay here long she'd cling to anything she could grab, too.

"She loved being outside, in the gardens," Tarrant continued. "I used to take her out there every morning, while the Blue Queen was holding court. She liked to hear the flowers singing and talking. When she got a bit older, I'd take her into my workshop with me. She'd lie on the chaise and play with scraps of fabric while I worked. Sometimes it looked like she was imitating me, trying to make hats. She was clever like that."

Jane smiled at that; she didn't doubt that a child of Tarrant's wouldn't follow in his footsteps, princess or no. She sensed the painful part of the story was coming soon, and she was reluctant to hear it. She wasn't sure she could bear to hear about this happy family being ripped apart.

"The White Queen came to see us, one day," Tarrant said heavily. "The Oraculum was going erratic, she said. As if someone were trying to alter the future. Red Knights returning to Underland… Outlanders raiding Witzend… the rising of a new King… The only thing she saw that never changed was the Princess being spirited away, and then… she would disappear from the Oraculum altogether. That can only happen when an Underlandian is taken out of Underland, either to the Outlands, or across the Sea, or… or taken Above." Tarrant swallowed hard. "Mirana was afraid that agents of the Bluddy Behg Hid were going to steal Regina and bring her to the Outlands to be killed, or maybe corrupted into supporting the Bloody Red Queen."

He fell silent again, staring out over the ruins of the hill. Jane shivered beside him; no one had told her that Regina had been in danger when she disappeared. Was it possible that she had been stolen by the Red Queen? Could she possibly be dead? Was that why Jane was here, to save Regina before she was murdered by Iracebeth? Or could she have been summoned to avenge the princess' death?

"The Blue Queen refused to send Regina Above," Tarrant said. "She said that was no sort of protection at all; Regina would forget who she was, how to get home again. She ordered Mallymkun and her Knights to watch over Regina at all times; the army of Clubs was spread all over the borders of Witzend to look for invaders. But the days passed, and the Oraculum still showed Regina disappearing. The Queen was becoming frantic with worry, so I… I proposed another option. I would take the Princess to somewhere safe- not even the White or Blue Queens would know where we were. I would raise Regina in secret, and when she was old enough and could defend herself, we would return." He sighed heavily and shook his head. "Regina was taken the night before we were to leave. Stolen from her cradle in the middle of the night."
"Oh, Tarrant," Jane whispered, her green eyes filling with tears again. "How horrible."

Tarrant stared down at the ground, one pale finger tracing idle patterns into the charred earth. He fell quiet for a long minute, and from his erratic breathing Jane realized he was trying to keep from weeping. He drew a long, labored breath, then continued.

"Alice and I began fighting," he admitted quietly. "She blamed me for a faulty plan that had never had a hope of working. I blamed her for not allowing Regina to go to her relatives Above. We said… terrible things to each other. Horrible, hurtful things. We should have been supporting each other; instead, we tore each other into ragged scraps and frayed threads. Alice left Witzend and searched every inch of Underland. While she was gone, I went to the Outlands. When I came back, Alice was gone."
"Gone? Gone where?" Jane asked, unsure if she'd heard Tarrant correctly.
Tarrant shook his head. "I don't know. I searched for her, but I never heard a whisper of news, never found a button or a thread of hair to tell me where she'd gone. She could be in the Aboveground, or in some Otherland. I don't know."

He fell silent as his story ended, and for a long time they just sat there. Jane was struck dumb with Tarrant's story; how absolutely horrible for him. To have his daughter stolen the night before she was to be taken to safety… to then lose his Alice once again… How had he endured it? How had he found the strength and will to carry on, to wait for them to return to him?

She didn't say anything aloud in deference to Tarrant, but within the safety of her own mind, Jane was incensed. How could Alice be so utterly selfish? How could she treat Tarrant so cruelly? How could she place full blame for their daughter's disappearance on his shoulders, when she might have saved Regina from danger by allowing her to go to the Aboveground? What sort of hero was Alice, what kind of Champion? She felt her admiration of Alice dwindling by the second. How could she admire someone who could be so utterly heartless- and to Tarrant of all people, the only one in Underland who had never ceased believing in her, the man who had done so much for her? How could she destroy him like that and still call herself any sort of heroine?

"And… neither of them has ever shown up in the Oraculum?" she ventured.
"Never," Tarrant said dully. "Of Alice, the Oraculum shows nothing but a shadow figure. Absolem always foretold that Regina would return on Retiuni Day, but the Oraculum never showed that. It's always been completely blank- as if someone hadn't yet made the decision or taken the action to allow that Day to come to pass. Now you've come to Underland… it's all there now, so I'm told."
"It is there," Jane said quietly. "The Oraculum shows Regina standing before the two Queens, and you, a crown on her head."

Tarrant turned to look at her then, and Jane's breath was taken away with the force of the plea in his eyes. He looked at her as if his entire life, mind and being depended on her- which, she had to admit, was pretty close to the truth. The force of his plea stole her breath away, and filled her with utter determination. She wouldn't fail him, not like Alice had.

"The Oraculum shows that Regina is going to be found," he said, sounding desperate, as if he were clinging to the promise of that day. "But it doesn't say how."
"Well, I haven't figured that bit out yet," Jane said, trying to sound confident. "But I'm going to find her. I promise."


The sky over Iplam never really changed; it was still half gloomy night, half bloody sunset. Had she had the extra room in her brain to contemplate this, Jane would have thought that while eerie, the sky certainly did reflect her mood. Half of her was gloomy, mourning with Tarrant over the death of his clan and aching for the losses and betrayals he had suffered, while the other half of her was seeing red at Alice's behavior. And overlaying her every emotion was the Music of the Hightopps, easing her grief, soothing her out of her anger, welcoming her to this barren land, making her feel loved and included. Despite how painful the Music could become at points, Jane was certain she could spend a lifetime listening to and loving the Song of Hightopp Hill.

But at some point, Jane's mind decided that it was nighttime, and thus time for her to curl up and go to sleep. Tarrant assured her that she would be safe; Mally had taken first watch, and the Dormouse would be quick to stick her hatpin into anything that wasn't supposed to be there. Thus reassured, Jane pulled out a blanket from one of the packs and curled up on it, the Music of the Hightopps easing her to sleep as she curled up around her Kitten.

At first there were only blotches of color. Whites, pinks, greens, a blob of blue lazily passing by. Slowly, the colors began to sharpen and resolve themselves into definite shapes. They were flowers, she realized. Flowers without faces, gently fluttering in a warm spring breeze. She was sitting in a lush garden, and the blob of blue was Absolem, who danced and flitted about her head, always staying just out of the reach of her chubby fingers. It was a game they played often, she vaguely realized; as sardonic and crusty as the Butterfly could be, he held a soft spot for her, and often came to play with her.

Nimble, long fingers, burned, bandaged, and be-thimbled, passed into her line of vision, tickling the sensitive skin at her neck before moving to the blossoms. A flower was dangled before her face- a pale, beautiful pink iris. She cooed, gurgling her approval, and reached her hand out towards the petals. In some part of her mind- the part that knew this to be a dream- she registered that they weren't her hands; they were the fingers of an infant. But most of her consciousness was caught up in the baby's fascination with the flower, which always bobbed away just when she thought she'd grabbed it. She giggled, wriggling in the arm of whoever held her, delighted with the game.

She felt the arm supporting her shift, and she was tucked more securely against someone's- a man's- chest. She gurgled in approval, wriggling to get even more comfortable as her tiny fist closed around a dark green velveteen lapel. She was wrapped in the comforting scents of a thousand fabrics and a million teas, her ears filled with a warm, familiar brogue.

"Ye loch th' iris, dornt ye, Regina? Ye wee li'l boy, jist loch yer maw. She'll graw up an' th' flowers will ne'er be silen' fer 'er."

The infant hand that wasn't clutching the Hatter's jacket shot back out towards the flower as a tinkling, silver bells laugh issued from her lips. No, not her lips; Regina's lips. Jane was dreaming of Regina, probably thanks to Tarrant's stories; this had to be the gardens of the Cerulean Castle in Witzend. She would have tried to take more control of the dream, but a soft voice laced with warmth and laughter stopped her dead in her metaphorical tracks.

"At least when she runs off we'll always know where to look for her."

Jane's- Regina's- head turned towards the left, and all thoughts of the flower and the Hatter were knocked out of her mind as both her arms rose towards her mother. Her beautiful, perfect, blue and gold mother…

Just as the Blue Queen approached, the images began to blur again, until she was only seeing blobs of color. Then even the colors disappeared, and Jane found herself mindlessly walking through a gray fog. She knew she was lost; she needed to find a way out… Holding her skirts in one hand and her cloche in place with the other, she began running in no direction in particular. The enveloping warmth of love and contentedness began to eke away, slowly at first, then faster and faster as panic and loneliness began encroaching on her heart. The faster she ran, the more afraid she became, until she was lost in a maelstrom of negativity.

The fog began to lighten, turning once again into indistinct blobs of color that resolved themselves this time into bushes, trees, a grassy lawn, gray, overcast skies that threatened an absolute deluge of rain and lightning. Instead of plum-colored, the skirts Jane clutched were now white and frilly, the dress starched within an inch of its life. Swallowing hard, she looked around. She knew where she was; this wasn't a dream of Regina, it was a memory of Jane's.

Mud caked the soles of her tiny shoes and the hem of her dress and pinafore. Her hair had fallen out of its restraining ribbon, and tears streaked down her chubby cheeks. She was cold and wet and terribly frightened, but she didn't stop running through her foster parents' gardens. How could she stop? She was lost, she had lost the door, she had to find it again…

"Pwease," she heard her three-year-old self whimper, lisping. "Pwease, I need to find the doow… I wanna go home…"

She began running again, and as she ran she heard her toddler's lisping supplications become her own tremulous pleas. The three-year-old's dirty dress became her own Tarrant-made traveling dress and cloche hat, and the Ascots' garden was once again a meaningless plane of swirling gray fog.

"Wa ur ye cryin', lass?"

Jane stopped running when she heard the Hatter's Outlandish brogue. Her eyes darted around frantically, but there was no sign of him in this unending mist.

"I need to go home," she said. "Please, Tarrant, I can't find my way home."
"But ye
ur haem, silly lassie," came the enigmatic reply.

Jane turned, gasping in surprise as she found herself staring at a mirror that hadn't been there two seconds previously. It was a large mirror, a shape not quite rectangular but not quite oval, set in an elaborate gold frame. The gold was formed into fanciful swirls and whorls, and clusters of flowers at each corner. On the top of the gilt frame rested a blue butterfly. He fixed his gaze on Jane, as if urging her to step closer. Swallowing hard, she took a tentative step forward, lowering her eyes from Absolem to the looking glass.

A face stared back at her- an image that could almost have been her own, but the mirror was hazy, the features indistinct. The young woman in the looking glass stood with a regal grace, her posture perfect enough to satisfy even Lady Ascot. Her red-gold hair was neatly swept up off her face in an elegant updo. Her skin was even paler than Jane's, and her green eyes loomed large in her face. She was dressed in what looked like a ball gown from the 1870s- sleeveless, sky blue, her waist cinched within an inch of its life. The skirt was swept back into a generous bustle and train, the front of the gown embroidered, shirred, and tucked. Perched atop her head was an elaborate top hat, made of sky blue, purple, and gold fabrics. A golden ribbon was wrapped around the hat and pinned with a gold and sapphire butterfly brooch; a peacock feather had been tucked into the ribbon. A sky blue veil fell over the brim of the hat and delicately shaded half the woman's face. Around her neck, wrist, and in her ears was silver jewelry inlaid with a blue stone Jane had never seen before, crafted to look like delicate butterflies.

"Please," she said, her lovely voice trembling in supplication. "Please help me."
"Regina?" Jane breathed, her breath catching as the woman nodded. "Where are you?"
"I'm trapped in here," the woman said. "Please, help me out. I want to go home."

Jane placed a hand on the mirror, finding its surface as liquid as the looking glass in her room had been. She plunged both hands into the misty mirror, trying to grab the lovely woman to free her from her horrible prison, but no matter how she tried she couldn't catch the woman's hands. As she stepped back from the mirror, she tried to catch sight of the imprisoned princess again, but instead she saw herself, now garbed in Regina's clothes, Hat, and jewelry.

"That's not me," Jane said, stepping back from the mirror hastily, staring down at herself to be sure she still wore her own plum-colored dress and sky blue cloche.
"Not hardly," Absolem agreed, fluttering down to perch upon Jane's shoulder. "This is who you're meant to find. This is Regina, the Azure Princess and destined Plum Queen of Crims."
"But I have no idea where to start looking for her!" Jane protested. "There's no hint as to where she is! I just want to go home. This adventure is too big for me."
Absolem looked down at her, seemingly bored. "You'll never get home until she does, stupid girl."


The low-burning flames of the campfire created long shadows and a warm glow, both of which were reflected in the silver eyes of Witzend the Kitten as she lay curled up against Jane's side. The Kitten's eyes were trained on her mistress' face, watchful as she guarded over her human. Jane was lost within the clutches of dreams, and Witzend almost wished she could pounce upon her mistress to wake her. However, the presence of the blue Butterfly perched upon Jane's shoulder detained Witzend from making any movement. The dreams were necessary, Witzend knew; Jane was going to have to meet Princess Regina at some point. But that didn't mean that Witzend ceased wishing she could save her mistress the distress she would have to endure over the next several hours.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you had formed an attachment to the silly girl."

Witzend looked up slowly, blinking lazily at the Cat who hung suspended in air, only half-visible as he rested his head upon his crossed forelegs as he gazed down at her.

"She saved my life, and so I am pledged to protect her," Witzend replied, sitting up gracefully. "Though I don't expect you to understand such a bond, Grandsire."

For a long moment, the Cheshire Cat didn't reply. He merely looked at Witzend, his blue-green eyes speculative, his grin never dropping or diminishing.

"So you know," he finally commented.
"Of course," Witzend sniffed disdainfully. "All of the descendants of Snowdrop and Kitty know who their sire is."
"Hmm," Cheshire said noncommittally. "Why have you come to Underland, kitten?"
"It is the call of a Guardian to follow the Champion into Underland," Witzend replied, the formulaic response falling from her tongue easily. "As my grandmother did before me, so I do now. As we were instructed to do by the Guardian of Underland," she added pointedly.
The Cat's grin widened slightly. "She trained you well, your grandmother. Well, I suppose I could have worse candidates for my tutelage. You know, don't you, what you must do now that you are here?"
"Are you that close to your ninth life?" Witzend asked indifferently.
The Cheshire Cat inclined his head. "I have had an adventure or two," he acknowledged. "Do you accept the challenge?"
"You knew what you were about, when you chose to mate with the Dinah Cat," Witzend replied evenly. "Was there ever a choice for me?"
"No, I suppose there wasn't," Cheshire replied. "I'll take you under my tail after the humans finally follow their noses."
"I'll not abandon my mistress for training," Witzend stated.
"Ah, so you have become attached," Cheshire drawled. "You'll begin to sound like a Dog, at this rate."
"She saved my life," Witzend repeated. "I am bound to her until I have repaid the favor. Besides, Grandsire, I am her Guardian. That is a bond that cannot be broken. Where my lady goes, I go."
"And when the Lady finds her own Champion?" the Cat asked lazily, a superiority born of knowledge shining from his eyes. "She will, you know. He's coming."
"Champion he may be, but I am still the Guardian," Witzend replied archly.
Cheshire's smile widened in amusement. "You are very like Dinah. I believe I might learn to enjoy your training."
"High praise," Witzend drawled in a credible imitation of her grandsire.
"It won't be easy, you realize," the Cat said suddenly, enigmatic.
"No, I don't imagine it will be," Witzend replied. "But I've made it here, so clearly Underland thinks me worthy of the challenge."
"That remains to be seen," Cheshire replied, before disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

Witzend rolled her eyes as he disappeared, sticking her tongue out at her ancestor before turning her attention back to her mistress. From his perch on Jane's shoulder, Absolem gave Witzend an appraising look.

"Rather a hasty thing, bandying words with the Cheshire Cat," he observed.
Had Witzend been able, she would have shrugged. "He wouldn't expect any less of me. Grandmother always told us that he wouldn't accept a successor who couldn't hold their own against him."
"A wise decision on his part," Absolem stated. "You are very young for the job."
"My lady is also very young," Witzend pointed out. "No one seems to think it an impediment in her case. Weren't you the one who said that Underland belongs to the young?"
"I said Underland belonged to the young at heart," Absolem corrected her.
"In this case, it's the same thing," Witzend said dismissively. "Besides, Underland Herself whispered in my ear. My mistress will need me many times before the Queen of Crims can sit securely on her throne."
Absolem looked at Witzend thoughtfully. "So She has spoken to you, as well," he said slowly. "Then the Oraculum speaks true, and a time of great change is coming. The Guard must change, a new Age will begin, and all the old will be swept away."
"Perhaps not entirely," Witzend said thoughtfully. "Perhaps, unlike this Age, there will be room for a balance between the old and the new."
"Only Time will reveal," Absolem said, before fluttering his wings and taking off into the night.


They said that change always came soaring in on swift wings. Dafydd had no idea who they were, but he had to appreciate the sentiment. Up here, suspended between heaven and earth on the back of a Crow, he felt like anything was possible, like he could change the world. As the unending red of the Outlandish desert changed to the cold blues of the Forbidding Mountains, and from there to the lush greens of Witzend, Dafydd leaned over the shoulder of his Crow, eagerly taking in his first views of Underland.

Everything about this mythical land was strange to him. The sky was inky dark, and blue, dotted with a million points of light that he knew from the stories had to be stars. He had never seen such a sky before; in the Outlands, the sky was red. Blood red during the day, and dark maroon at night, usually covered with clouds. There was no beauty in an Outlandish sky. But here… this sky, this moon, these stars… Dear Fates, the stars. Like a million fireflies, they were, illuminating the sky and dancing in an infinite, undecipherable pattern.

He had heard stories as a boy, of the beauties of Underland. But he could see now that those stories hardly did the place justice. Especially the sky. He had heard it described as dark and black, without character. But the black was in fact deep blue. And over there, lighter blue. And through the blueness and the blackness, the wind swirling through the air. And then shining, burning, bursting through the stars, throwing their light in a complex, magical pattern of its own deciphering. He had never seen anything so beautiful. How lucky Underlandians were, to see such a sky as this every night.

When he was able to wrench his attention from the night sky, the rest of the world proved itself to be just as beautiful. There were trees here; not stunted, dead black stumps as in his world, but living, breathing Trees! The ground was green, a green so deep it could scarcely be believed. He could see a river of blue water flowing merrily along, singing to itself. The water in itself was a treasure; water in his world was a precious commodity. Wars had been fought over water, but here the stuff flowed freely and without trouble.

Dafydd was in serious danger of losing all thought of his mission to rapturously revel in the beauties of Underland, until the Crow beneath him suddenly dive-bombed. Wrenching his thoughts from the stars, Dafydd held on, only just keeping from yelping in alarm. The wind whooshed in his face, causing his eyes to water and rendering him nearly blind, until suddenly the Crow landed on the ground.

"Was that really necessary?" Dafydd grumbled, sliding off the Bird's back.

The Crow didn't answer, choosing instead to simply caw softly and take off into the trees. The other Crows did similarly, depositing Dafydd's eleven comrades on the ground before rising into the air. They would wait in the trees for Dafydd and his men to perform their mission, and then convey the Hassasseen and their prey to the Red King's castle at Salazen Grum. Dafydd stared up after the Crows, less interested in their roosting spot than in the stars that hung overhead.

"It's bright here," Ioan said quietly, casting a disdainful look up at the night sky. "Too bright. How're we supposed to sneak up on them if this place is so bright?"
"We're not the best for nothing," Dafydd replied.

With a sigh, he forced himself to abandon his contemplation of the stars in order to focus on the mission ahead. Shaking his head, he rooted around in the pack his Crow had carried, handing each of his men a crumb of upelkuchen.

"Eat up, everyone," he said, before tossing back the cake.

A moment later, and the warriors were their right-proper-sizes again. They each rooted around in their bags, retrieving the clothes they'd packed before their departure, and quickly dressed. They had no armor, and very few weapons; Crows, after all, weren't the strongest of animals. But they were each skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and would likely have very little need of their weapons. After all, there were twelve of them; they could easily overpower the little Champion and whatever retinue of ragtag misfits she'd surrounded herself with.

"Alright, remember Niall's orders," Dafydd said quietly. "We take the little Champion to Salazen Grum, and then we come back to Tearmunn. We need to make sure Stayne can't claim Her when he comes over the mountains."

They all nodded, and as one they began to move, slinking through the shadows of the trees. They didn't have far to travel before they saw the glow of a campfire. Motioning for his men to stay back, Dafydd hoisted himself up into the nearest tree, carefully picking his way across the canopy of branches to get a better look.

To his surprise, everyone in the camp was asleep. He counted half a dozen White Pawns, a Hare, and a figure he assumed to be the Mad Hatter, but no one was awake. Clearly, they hadn't expected anyone to challenge them on their journey, or they would have set a guard. Stupid of them.

Dafydd glanced over the men quickly, assessing how heavily armored they were, how many weapons they carried. Despite the heavy armoring of the Pawns, Dafydd didn't think they would prove too much a problem; according to the stories the Pawns had never been the most effective fighting force. Nothing his men couldn't handle. Having sized up the enemy, Dafydd turned his attention to the chit they were all supposedly protecting.

She lay on the ground, curled up in a blanket and cuddling a kitten. She looked young, very young and small. A wee wisp of a thing; a most unlikely looking Champion. He couldn't really see her face from his position, just the curve of her cheek. Mostly, he could see her hair; an abundance of red-gold curls exuberantly flung in every direction. The girl shifted in her sleep, rolling over onto her side and affording Dafydd a good look at her. Pale, skinny, with eyes too large for her face. She couldn't have been any older than eighteen, he thought dismissively; hardly more than a girl. And this was the one Underland had chosen as its Champion? That hardly spoke for the land's wisdom; this child looked as though one good blow would finish her off. Certainly not a Champion, and definitely not a challenge for his men.

Sleep well, little girl, he thought as he silently slipped away from the campsite. For soon you will awaken to nightmares.


He couldn't sleep, again.

That wasn't particularly surprising. Tarrant had known that Sleep would have nothing to do with him so long as he was in Iplam. Despite the fact that he'd suffered through two- or was it three? four, perhaps?- episodes of the Madness, Sleep would not come. Though, was that surprising? How could Tarrant sleep in this place where his family's lives had been stolen? Perhaps it was just as well that he could find no rest. All too often, Sleep would only visit him when she was accompanied by her dear friend Nightmare. Just as Alice had had only one Dream growing up [the Dream That Was A Memory], Tarrant had one Nightmare. One horrible, fiendish Dream of a monster who breathed purple lightning and devoured everything he had ever cared about. Tarrant feared his Nightmare so much that he had often tried to avoid Sleep's clutches.

No Sleep, No Sleep, the Hightopp hath murdered Sleep, as once he sacrificed Time...

Knowing the battle for Sleep to be well and truly lost, Tarrant had relieved Mally of her night watch and hoisted himself up into the branches of an obliging Tree. From his perch, he glanced at the rest of his travel companions. The Pawns had set up their own camp a bit further down the hill; close enough to jump to Jane's defense should trouble arise, but far enough away to give the group their privacy. Jane still lay sleeping before the fire, Witzend curled up by her mistress' side. Thackery lay just outside the circle of firelight, clutching a ladle in one hand, a teapot in the other- a teapot in which Mally was currently curled up, snoring softly.

Tarrant focused his attention on the young Abovegrounder. She appeared thoroughly exhausted from the day's emotional turmoil. He hoped she slept peacefully; he had heard the Music crooning to her, contorting itself into a lullaby to send her drifting off to slumber.

When he was certain everyone was asleep, Tarrant slipped from his perch, dropping almost silently to the ground. He crept towards Jane, his eyes focused- well, as focused as his eyes could ever be- on the blue-wrapped package that lay beneath her hand. He knelt beside her, but she gave no sign that she noticed him; she didn't stir or sigh or open her eyes. Nodding in satisfaction, he carefully eased the bundle from beneath her hand. He froze when she shifted, not daring to breathe as she rolled over. A moment's waiting proved that she was still asleep, and he let out a low sigh of relief before turning back to the parcel. Alone at last…

For a moment, he merely laid the package in his lap, running his work-hardened fingers over the fragile blue fabric. He would know this fabric anywhere; a secondary examination of the cloth only confirmed what he already knew. This fabric had come from His Alice's blue dress, from her third visit to Underland. The day he learned he was to be a father, he had taken the dress apart, and reconstituted it into a baby's blanket. The top had been shirred and tucked, blue gauze over blue silk, edged with the lace from the hem of her dress. Carefully, he unwrapped the fabric from the book it protected, gently shaking it out. The blanket smelled musty, as if it had been hidden away in a dusty attic for years, but he recognized every stitch and fold. This was his Regina's blanket.

He could feel Panic rising again, with Denial and Disbelief close on his heels. Swallowing hard, he fought to keep them at bay for just a little while longer, as he turned his attention to the book. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. His Alice had written those stories down, as a present for the infant Princess. He opened the book gingerly. Yes, those were His Alice's words; those were her sketches. Alice's stories, in the possession of an Aboveground girl.

He frowned as the book flopped open by itself, then stared at the last treasure. A small scrap of blue, the brim trimmed with lace and seed pearls, two sky-blue ribbons… One of Regina's baby bonnets. He lifted the bonnet up, blinking back tears. He had made it for her, of course, pouring everything into the work- all of his love, his hopes and dreams for her. A perfect bonnet for a perfect daughter.

And Jane had his daughter's treasures.

Somehow, Tarrant managed to place the bonnet back into the book, to wrap the book back in the blanket, and to slip the parcel back into place by Jane's side. Somehow, he managed to rise and calmly walk away, instead of frantically scrambling away like he wanted to do. Somehow, he managed to remain silent as all the fears and half-thought Truths came screaming out of the back of his mind, having escaped from the nooks and crannies where he'd hidden them.

Part of him wanted to deny it, but he didn't have the strength or the will to lie to himself. Too many puzzle pieces fit together, too much of it made sense; there was no way for it to be anything but the truth. And so, holding his breath, he closed his eyes and silently admitted the Truth to himself, freefalling into a kind of Madness he had felt only once before, a Madness he had thought he would never again have the chance to experience. It was Madness, but a beautiful one, born of delirious happiness he had only felt a precious few times in his life.

He had one glorious, perfect moment of sheer blissful Madness…

And then the Music of the Hightopps began singing in alarm, whispering warnings to him.

He was jerked out of the beautiful Madness, yanked back into the present moment with such force that it left his head aching. He looked around, frowning; what danger was he being warned of? The Pawns' cryptic warnings floated through his mind as he peered into the forest. And then he heard it, the quiet whisper of cloth- and leather-covered limbs slinking through the brush.

"Slurking urpal slackush scrum…" he muttered under his breath as he hurried back.

It was too late to conceal their location, but he hoped to at least buy them some time; enough to remove Jane from danger. Strapping his claymore to his back, he stamped out the fire, shoving supplies into a pack and waking Jane.

"Uhgn?" she whimpered, before he clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into a sitting position.
"Be very quiet," he whispered in her ear. "Intruders are coming up the hill. They mean us no good. You need to take this pack and get away before they see you. Keep going in this general direction and you should hit the border of the woods by dawn. When you get out of the wood you'll spend an hour or so on the border between Snud and Queast before you get to Marmoreal. Once you get into Marmoreal, it's only an hour's walk to the palace. Stay out of sight as much as you can, and avoid the roads."
"What about you?" she hissed, her words muffled beneath his hand.
"We'll follaw ye, but dornt bide fur us," he whispered, his brogue thickening in anticipation of the coming fight. "We'll keep them thrang until yoo've hud enaw time tae get away."

Keeping his eyes peeled, he guided Jane towards the edge of the woods as the Pawns, Thackery and Mally geared up for a fight.

"Dae ye hae th' book an' Witzend?" he muttered, nodding when she ascertained that she did. He put the book in the pack before handing it to her, then scooped up the Kitten, which Jane held close. "Gang as fest as ye can withit bein' heard. Go, lassie."
"Fairfarren," Jane whispered. "Oh, please be safe, Tarrant."

She would have argued, but something in the Hatter's face choked all her arguments. She nodded, forcing her feet to move as she ran into the dark forest, leaving her friends behind as she turned her face towards Marmoreal.