Chapter Seven: Release [Scene 1 of 4]

This should have been harder, Leif muses to himself as King Aven's Champion stares at him in complete disbelief.

"I don't think I heard you correctly, Champion Avenleif," his uncle growls.

"No, I'm sure you did."

The King's Champion narrows his eyes. "No, my kinsman and loyal servant of the family of Aven would never ask me to forsake my oath... for a woman."

"I do not ask you to –"

"You ask me to spare her life! In a battle to the death! You ask me to forsake our king!"

"No, only... There is another way..."

His uncle's lips curls in disgust. "Get out of my tent, nephew. I have a duel to prepare for."

Even though his uncle turns away from him, Leif doesn't move. Can't move.

"I will beg you, Uncle Resh, please..."

The older lion suddenly whips around and boxes Leif's ears. The shame at being treated like a cub speaking out of turn should have eclipsed whatever selfish desire that had made him give voice to it, but it doesn't.

This ought to be harder, he thinks as he keeps his eyes open, his head up, his back straight. "Please, spare Alice, uncle. I will do anything in exchange."

Avenresh's paws curl into fists. "You dishonor our family with this... request."

"Call it what it is! A plea! I am begging you to spare her life!"

"It is not permitted for any other than the victor to live!" Resh growls in his face. "Would you have me throw away our family and our kingdom for the object of your lust?"

"It's not lust. Alice is –"

This uncle lifts a paw as if to strike him again, but Leif does not flinch in anticipation of the pain and humiliation.

"She is the Champion of Prince Avendale's betrothed," he concludes, striving for a rational tone.

"That's not what it said on the Issuance of Challenge and you know it, nephew. She belongs to Jaspien now. And she'll die for him for I will never see our kingdom in the pale, weak, worthless hands of that pretender!"

He can't let the argument go. Not now. Not until he wins. "And how did they threaten her queen to force her obedience? Do not tell me you wouldn't do the same in the presence of the enemy, in the absence of immediate rescue for your liege!"

"It's a risk all Champions take, Leif," Resh says not unkindly. "You know this." He shakes his head. "Let it go. You cannot save her from her fate."

Arguments and logic and honor exhausted, Leif sinks to his knees, raises his paws, lowers his head and pleads, "I am begging you, Uncle Resh. Please, please, please..."

His uncle's roar of frustration is muffled by his efforts to keep the others from hearing it and interrupting this scene. Leif isn't surprised that his uncle would not want any witnesses to this. He would sooner cut off his own paw than allow any Aven to experience public humiliation.

"Perhaps I should let you go out there and fight her. Let your Alice kill you, you worthless, miserable, shadow of an Aven!" Avenresh turns away. "Get out."

Leif lowers his arms. Against his thighs, his paws tense.

He cannot go. Not without...

He watches as his claws slowly extend.

Are you honestly going to...?

Leif looks up, judges the distance between himself and his uncle.

I am, he answers himself and springs.

The struggle is brief and silent. An elbow across back of his uncle's skull knocks him out. Leif leans over the unconscious lion and blinks. It had all happened so fast he's not even winded.

It should have been harder, he wonders, staring at what he'd done.

Numb, Leif stands and dresses in his uncle's battle armor. He's lucky it nearly fits perfectly. With the helmet in place, no one will realize that the lion in the suit of the King's Champion is a traitor. Leif hopes he doesn't have to speak before the first clash of swords, hopes the wind doesn't pick up and blow his scent to the king, for those are the only weaknesses in his plan. Were someone to realize he is not who he appears to be before the duel starts...

You must succeed, Leif demands of himself. Or Alice will die.

He kneels and secures his uncles arms and legs then silences him with a gag. With that, his betrayal is utterly complete.

They will kill you for this, he knows.

But it's too late. For what he has done already, he will be disowned, banished, forgotten. In that order.

Death will be easier.

Still, it shouldn't have been this easy.

Leif closes his eyes and thinks of her – Alice – the woman for whom he never thought he'd throw away everything that had ever mattered to him. When he'd first seen her at Mamoreal, he had nearly burst out laughing, for this mere child-woman could not have possibly slain the Jabberwocky! Her duels had been lacking in power and finesse – only her resourcefulness and will had saved her from Oshtyer's malice and Jaspien's ineptitude. And when she'd arrived at Avenfaire, he'd nearly laughed again for he could not believe this girl playing at warrior could have garroted Ilosovich Stayne! Not with those weak arms!

But then... then he'd seen the scars on her right hand – the sort that come from a cut so deep and precise only a sharp wire could have made them – and he'd started to believe. And once he had, everything else had come after it: wonder, hope, awe, respect, affection, and finally...

There, on the knoll in the Royal Orash Grove, he'd nearly offered her his First Claw. He'd had no reason not to: she'd never spoken of another and, honestly, who else would a Champion mate with besides another Champion? Who else would be able to watch their wife go off to war? It had all seemed so obvious. So obvious that there had been no reason for him not to allow himself to love her, to want her...

But now he knows; there is a reason.

You covet another man's bond-mate!

Leif lowers his head in shame. He had tried to convince himself that it might still be possible for them... Perhaps the Thrice a-Vow had been a necessity? Alice is not from Underland; perhaps she'd needed a grounding presence to help her here? Perhaps her heart, though held in the hands of another, might still beat for Leif? One day?

With a low growl, he curses himself for this weakness she has created in him. He wishes it made a bit of difference in his regard for her. But it doesn't. He still wants her. So much that he can't even feel apologetic about it. There had been no shame when he had begged for her life and, he realizes, he would do it all over again. Gladly. Willingly.

For Alice.

He remembers that moment again, in the orchard. Had the prince not given his First Claw to the White Queen at that moment, it would have been Leif on his knees offering his own to Alice. But, seeing the prince perform that same rite, Leif had paused for he had wanted to offer himself in a moment that belongs to Alice completely. He'd assumed he'd have time, for they'd soon be comrades at Mamoreal. He'd assumed he'd have the rest of his life to find that moment for her. For them.

He closes his eyes and swallows thickly.

No, that moment will never be. The instant he'd seen her heart line, he'd realized it. She'd already... She's already someone's...

Someone else's Alice.

When he opens his eyes and regards his crimes, Leif wonders at himself: It should have been so much harder to destroy himself so completely for a woman he will never have.

He wants to believe it's possible; she might come to him someday. Her blood-bonded husband might be more of a brother than a lover. He'd have to share her with that man, whoever he is, but perhaps... Leif thinks he might be able to live with that if he were sure of Alice's affections...

If he cannot have her heart, then, perhaps she might offer him her soul?

No, it's too much to ask for.

It is. Undoubtedly. But he hopes for it nonetheless. And that is why he'd donned this armor. One way or another, he's going to get Alice and himself out of this duel alive and well, even if he has to abscond from the battlefield with her slung over his shoulder!

And after that...

Her Champion's vow to that fiend Jaspien will have to addressed somehow as will Leif's punishment for betraying his country...

Well, what comes after will come, as it inevitably must.

"Champion Avenleif?" a small voice whispers.

Turning, Leif spots the pale face of a white rabbit at the tent's curtain. Hesitantly, he nods, wondering what could possibly persuade a small herbivore to venture here.

"Oh, excellent! We have urgent news. It's about..." He leans back and glances nervously around. "It's about Alice."

Leif feels a wry smile pull at his mouth. Yes, if Alice could inspire betrayal of one's kinsmen and homeland, she could certainly inspire a rabbit to risk its life in the company of lions.

"Not here," Leif says, knowing that the rabbit hasn't yet seen the form of his uncle which he'd rolled into a murky corner. He dons his uncle's helmet and steps out of the tent. He checks to be sure, but no one is watching; they're all respecting the Champion's right to mentally prepare himself for the upcoming fight.

When he glances down, he's surprised to see not only a white rabbit valiantly fighting against his instinct to run, but a severely distressed brown hare. "Lead the way," he invites them and a few moments later, in a secluded break in the trees, holding his helmet under his arm, Leif tries his best to understand their message.

"There is a plan. Everything has been prepared," the white rabbit begins.

"No string!" the hare insists. "We cannae start wi'out the string!"

"We'll get to that presently, now hush!" The hare quiets under his companion's glare, and the white rabbit clears his throat and begins to state his request, a request he would never have had to make, a request to not kill Alice. Of course Leif will agree, but why in the world is this mangy rodent going on and on about string?

"Be quiet, Earwicket! You did the finding, now I'll do the explaining so allow me to finish before Tarrant gets tired of waiting and –"

"Follows you maybe?" a man's voice suddenly announces.

Leif turns and tenses. The man entering the clearing could engender nothing but extreme caution in a warrior. His wild, orange hair – unkempt and loose around his shoulders – and his burning orange eyes and the gentle, eerie grin on his pale, oddly smudged face are... terrible. Yet, something about this man seems familiar. Yes, Leif has seen him before...

"And just who are you?" Leif says, irritated both that the white rabbit still hasn't managed to tell him the vital information he'd promised and that he can't help feeling a thrill of unease in this Outlander's presence.

The smile widens and threatens. "I'm the man in charge of returning Alice to her rightful place in Mamoreal –" And at this point his eyelids and the skin under his eyes darken to nearly black. "– so I'd suggest you pay attention because if you come between us and Alice we will hunt you down and REMOVE YOUR SCARLESS PELT ONE—!"

Leif has to stop himself from drawing his sword.

"HATTER!" the rabbit and hare cry at the same instant.

Hatter... Yes, Leif recognizes this man now. One of the artisans in the White Queen's court. The hat-maker. The mad hatter. But this madness is not what he remembers. Sudden giggles, far-off daydreaming looks, fluttering hands and extravagant gestures... that is what Leif recalls, not this... this... fury.

The man grins tightly and grits through his tea-stained teeth, "I'm fine."

Leif will eat his scimitar if that's the honest-to-Fate truth! Still, the man had interrupted an important meeting. It's time to get things rolling again. He has to return to the tent before they call for him otherwise they'll find Resh unconscious on the floor next to the meditation mat.

He says, "Relax. It's all under control. No one will kill Alice. I'll take care of her."

The man's eyes flash crimson, his jacket darkens to pitch black, and in the next instant, he's...!

Too quick for Leif to dodge in the close quarters among the trees, the Hatter strikes him with his fist. White stars burst across Leif's vision as he staggers back. Noting the presence of the broadsword still slung across Outlander's back, Leif resists drawing his own weapon and contents himself with keeping the Hatter in his sights.

Leif isn't sure what to expect after that attack, but the Outlander merely blinks, shakes his head, and with a slight frown, examines his surroundings with eyes that are once again a dark orange.

Wonderful. The fellow's completely off his head.

But, then again, what else could he expect from the White Queen's man? It had been obvious that she'd take in anyone, even the mad and un-reformable. Mamoreal had been – and likely still is – a security nightmare.

Leif glances at the Hatter's right hand, still curled into a fist and hopes the fool had managed to break it.

"Just who do you think you are, you mad bastard?" Leif challenges, standing tall and placing a threatening paw on his weapon.

He watches the Hatter warily as, instead of offering his name, the Outlander tugs his glove off with his teeth and, eyes sparking with victory and challenge and a darkness that could only be possession, obsession, and greed, answers Leif's question by presenting his heart line.

His heart line.

"I don't believe this..." Somehow the words come out despite the sickening roll of his sinking stomach.

Surely Alice would not have permitted herself to be bound to this... this freak! Surely the queen cannot be so fond of this man's skills as a hat-maker that she'd ask her Champion to anchor his madness with the Thrice a-Vow! Surely this is all some horrid misunderstanding!

"Believe it'r no'ye'll nae ge'in th'way o'our bringin' Alice home."

Leif shakes himself. He tries not to imagine Alice's life with a man this unpredictable and violent. But rescuing Alice from her bonded husband must necessarily come after saving her life. Leif focuses on that.

Glaring, he manages to snarl, "What would you have me do?"

The Hatter tells him. And, as it turns out, it's a much better plan than Leif's.

Damn it.


[End of Chapter 7: Scene 1 of 4]