What has gone on before:
An accidental spell sends Spike and Tara through a tunnel to Wonderland where they end up as eight year olds, and very little memory of who they are. They have a series of adventures where they meet characters who seem somehow tied into characters from the Buffyverse. Spike is arrested for killing one of the King's rabbits and falls ill while they are taken to the courthouse. When he is condemned to lose his head for the crime, Tara erupts with magic and trashes the courthouse. No sooner has this happened, than the White Chess army invades and the White Queen Drusilla enters the room.

Tara realizes that both she and Spike are older now - probably around 12-14 -- as a result of her magic use. Drusilla reveals that Tara has given Spike his soul, and that they are tied to one another through blood and magic -- and they've been weakening each other by using too much. Tara, acting on impulse, tastes Spike's blood and gives him a taste of hers. This seems to stabilize Spike, who has been experiencing both Wonderland and the Buffyverse at the same time.

Chapter Seven opens with the arrival of the White King Giles.

Chapter Seven
Tara's head whipped back and forth, her attention torn between the mulish expression on Spike's face and what she could hear beyond the door. Heavy footsteps thudded closer and closer and with each thud her apprehension grew. She had seen so many strange things since falling through the tunnel to Wonderland. What kind of monster was the King – just how wrathy would his wrath be?

But Spike was right; they shouldn't scrape and bow. At least, not when they were told they didn't have a choice.

Tara sighed. She was trying to convince herself that Spike was right but she couldn't help thinking that perhaps kneeling might be the polite thing to do. They were in a strange country after all and this was the King. Would it hurt to kneel like everyone else? Everyone except Queen Drusilla and Angel anyway. Tara noticed that the Queen was watching them closely, a sly smile on her face. Tara hugged Spike's arm closer and looked to the door, her jaw set in determination.

Spike was right. He was. They shouldn't kneel.

A large boot appeared in the doorway, scuffed, untied, huge. Tara gasped. The White King must be enormous.

The boot clomped down and the rest of the White King hove into view.

Tara blinked.

The White King Giles was a middle-aged, normal-sized man, dressed in white robes with purple lining, his eyes owlish behind glasses, and his crown tilted rakishly on his head. He was dwarfed by his boots, which were nearly wide around as his thigh and as long as his forearm. He lifted his leg for another step, the boot wobbling on his foot, and he carefully placed it to the ground with a clomp. His whole body reeled with the effort, the struggle to lift the boot in the air and then to retain his balance as his foot slipped from the back and jammed up against the front.

Tara suppressed a giggle. He looked ridiculous. But he was a king, and they weren't kneeling and his wrath had already been threatened. She knew she wouldn't like it if someone giggled at her – she wasn't about to giggle at him.

He looked about the room and his gaze landed on Tara and Spike. Tara prepared herself for his anger. Would he set his soldiers on them? Imprison them? Demand their heads be removed from their shoulders?

King Giles set his hands on his hips and his nostrils flared. "How rude. I expressly told my herald to demand that everyone kneel."

Tara felt her face turn red. Everyone was staring at her and Spike. She'd been holding her breath and she forced herself to breathe.

The King continued to glare and Tara realized that was it. This was the wrath of King Giles. For once, she was glad that she was so shy. Her embarrassment at being the center of attention was the only thing that kept her from breaking into laughter. Looking at his face, though, she had the impression that if she did, he might well start laughing himself.

"Sorry, mate. Don't kneel for anyone. Nothing personal." Spike gave her a squeeze. Tara still felt embarrassed but somehow it seemed less important.

"Ah yes. The missing knight. We have much to discuss. But first," King Giles swiveled in his boots and pointed a finger in Queen Drusilla's direction, "I'm really, really peeved with you, Drusilla. I'm awakened in the dead of night, told that the Black Army is at my back door and we must flee immediately, and then I find that all of my shoes have been replaced with sizes that are absolutely immense! There was no time to find proper footwear. I couldn't even ride because my shoes kept falling off! Do you know how difficult it is to hurry when you are wearing boots like this?"

"He had to be carried for the last three miles," one of the white soldiers informed them.

King Giles glared at the soldier, who pressed his lips tightly together and slid behind one of the other soldiers. After a moment, Giles continued, "I know you were the one who did it, Drusilla."

Shadows fell over Queen Drusilla's eyes but they seemed backlit so that red highlights danced in their depths. She pressed her hand against her mouth as though to hide the delighted smile on her face. "Do I remake your shoes like a Brownie? How very clever of me. I'm very cross with you."

"Oh, obviously. I have no way of knowing why, of course, since whatever I did to anger you hasn't happened yet. You on the other hand, have the advantage of knowing exactly what you are going to do."

Queen Drusilla stamped her foot with delicate anger. "You tell My Spike things to help him evade the Jabberwock. We can't be family again and it's entirely your fault."

Spike moved uneasily, and his grip on Tara's hand tightened. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Was he disappointed that he couldn't be one of Drusilla's family anymore?

King Giles sighed in disappointment. "Drusilla. You, of all people, should know what the Jabberwock promises is an illusion. You're the one who told us, that if we found the missing Knight, we would succeed in returning things to normal."

"I'm not always right. I don't see everything. I could have been mistaken." Drusilla pouted.

Tara saw a single tear flashing in the corner of Drusilla's eye, a fluid mirror that reflected light and shadow and form, distorting them all as it broke free from her lashes, and trickled a slow path down her cheek. Tara had the sudden fancy that she could see an elongated version of Spike's face, an otherwise perfect reflection, winking in the tear.

The King shook his head. "Why would you hope to be mistaken? The Jabberwock is turning our world inside out. Destroying everything. We're all afraid of our own shadows. We're all afraid, when a few months ago we wouldn't have known the meaning of the word."

Drusilla burst into sobs and the light sparked off her tears, tiny mirrors, a myriad of tiny worlds in her eyes. "I'm lonely! The rest of you march on past me, where I've already been, and I've no one to play with."

King Giles lurched forward, sliding his boots across the wooden floor like skates. "Oh, my dear. Don't you see? You've only felt this way since the Jabberwock has messed about. You've always moved backwards in time, it's only lately that it has troubled you. It's these damned personalities, these emotions that are the problem. Once our knight defeats the Jabberwock, all of that will go away."

There was a thunk and a patter on the floor as the Cheshire cat jumped in front of the Queen and meandered in between them. Tara wondered where he had come from -- maybe he had come from nowhere. That's what he seemed to do. His chocolate fur was a dark contrast to the white of Drusilla's dress. The spatter of rubies that decorated it made him appear to be standing in a fine mist of blood.

"If I might point out, it isn't the Jabberwock, or more correctly, the First Evil, that initiated the changes in your world. He's just an opportunist taking advantage of the situation."

Tara felt Spike start. He seemed to sway a bit. She ran her hand along his arm and he steadied.

King Giles' lips were pursed in exasperation. "Is that distinction really important?"

"It might be. You're basing your assumptions on the information given to us by the Queen," the cat pointed his lips at Drusilla, "and she is self-admittedly working with the First. We have to be very careful that we aren't doing exactly what It wants us to do."

"You don't understand. The White Queen has always called the rules of the Game. That's her duty. She travels backward in time, sees how the Game is played, and when she arrives at its beginning, she tells us the rules. That's how it has always been."

The cat made a supple motion with its shoulders, which Tara thought might be a shrug. She was fascinated by the cat for some reason. So far, he'd been nothing but helpful but she was reluctant to trust him. She sensed he meant well, but there were smudges on his aura, like fingerprints, testimony to some outside force that was directing him. Of course, she thought, she might just be put off by the fact that he was a talking cat, who could appear and disappear at will, and who liked to leave a big grin hanging in the air behind him.

The cat's tail twitched. "That isn't how it works anymore. The only rule you can be sure of is that there are no rules you can be sure of."

King Giles whipped his eyeglasses from his face and began polishing them with the hem of his sleeve. "That's absolutely ridiculous. What? Are we supposed to just guess what to do and hope for the best? Stumble around with no clear objective and try to make do with the results? What a mess that would be."

"It could be worse. The lack of rules has its benefits." The cat's voice was mild.

Tara surprised herself by speaking. "B-but there are rules. There's good and there's evil and each has rules and you have to choose which ones you're going to play by."

The Cheshire cat stared at her. He rose onto his haunches. "That's one way to look at it. But even that's a guess. A lot of people think you're born to be good or evil and it doesn't matter what rules you choose to follow."

Tara's voice was grave. Somehow, she knew her answer was important. She saw that Spike was looking at her, his face intent, and she framed her answer carefully. "Evil tries to convince you of that. That it's hopeless and you might as well not even try to be good. But it always comes down to choice. You just have to keep choosing which rules you'll follow."

Spike kept his gaze locked on hers, and his voice was as grave as Tara's. "What do you do when the rules change?"

Tara swallowed, even though her mouth was dry. She wasn't sure why she was saying this. She believed it, she knew that with all her heart, but who was she to be telling anyone what to think? She wasn't sure why she thought it was so important to explain it to him. "The rules never change. Only the circumstances. And the people."

Sarcasm laced Spike's next question. "So everything's black and white, and if everyone's just a good little body the world's a happy place?"

"No. It's just the opposite. About the black and white, anyway. That's why it gets so hard sometimes – because it isn't just black and white and gray. It's a rainbow, and," Tara stopped to swallow again, gather her flagging courage, "and, life, the game. It isn't about you. Or me. Or any one person. It's about everyone – all at once, so it gets really confusing. You can only see your part of it, and sometimes the choices we have to make … hurt."

Tara stared into Spike's eyes. She wasn't sure why, but it felt vitally important that Spike understand. She was sure she was making a hash of it but she had to try. After all, wasn't that exactly what she was trying to say? You had to try? "That's why love is so important. Sometimes …" How could she say this so it made sense? "…sometimes, love is your only guide. That's the important rule. If you don't know what to do, do what love tells you."

Spike ghosted his hand across Tara's hair. The smile on his face was twisted. "Isn't that why fools rush in? Love?"

Tara blushed. She'd known she wouldn't say it right. "You're expected to make mistakes." Her voice dwindled. "You have to learn what love really is …"

"And it just keeps getting harder and harder, doesn't it?" The Cheshire cat was weaving in and out between her feet, bumping with enough force to make her sway. "The golden rule thing is a nice idea but it's a little simple. Sort of breaks down when you start thinking about it."

Strangely enough, the cat's disdain seemed to resolve the issue for Spike. "Maybe that's the real problem then. Thinking about it. You start tearing it apart and looking for the reasons, trying to find out what makes it tick and you just lose sight of it. Forest, trees, wood in your eye."

"KISS, then, huh? Keep it simple, stupid. All the great thinkers in the world had it wrong."

"Maybe they did. Don't see that their great thinking has improved the living conditions much." Spike swept his foot under the cat's belly, pushing him up and away from Tara's feet.

The cat crouched and bared its teeth, fur bristling. "And the simple folk have? I used to think that. That you just stayed true to your own and everything would work out. I learned you get burned no matter how you play it."

"When did this conversation get to be about you?" Spike didn't have fur, but Tara could feel him bristling, nonetheless and she squeezed his hand, hoping to calm him down.

"You are all mad! Insane. Is this truly what we have to look forward to?" King Giles goggled at the three of them. "If the Jabberwock gets his way? We'll be subjected to this phantasmagoria of insanity? Clutching at harebrained philosophies and ephemeral emotions just to get through the day? Subjected to hormones and sex and … My God."

He shook his head. "Even that phrase, 'My God.' What it asks of you. Blind faith. The concept is, unfortunately, no longer beyond me. We have to do something to stop this. I don't want to even consider living in a world such as you describe."

Tara was tempted to stay quiet but felt she had to ask. "What was it like here before? What made it change? Do we know?"

"Well, we have the representative from Wolfram & Hart, there," King Giles pointed at the Cheshire cat, "who says he knows why it changed. As to before – it was simple. Legend has it that once we were all just playing cards. The games were uncomplicated. Not that things were static. There was change. Over time we evolved to include more complex games – you can see that I'm a chessman, myself." The King's voice was tinged with pride.

He shuffled about, dragging his boots against the ground and his white robes fluttered around his legs. Tara thought she glimpsed bare leg and couldn't help wondering if the King wore underpants. She wondered if he was human enough to have something for underpants to cover up. She felt herself blushing. What a thought! Maybe the King was right. Maybe she was mad. She saw that he was looking at her and she blushed again and forced herself to listen to what he was saying.

"There was no confusion whatsoever. When one game ended, there was always another to play. You always knew what was expected of you. Winning or losing didn't really matter. We had none of this folderol, life, death, birth, sex … bah!"

"Folderol isn't so bad." Queen Drusilla drawled her words and swung her hips in a flirtatious little dance. "Some of it is quite nice. Surely, you have the memories to remember?"

"Not if I can possibly avoid them. The very thought of se…" The King glanced at Tara and Spike, "mati … that is to say, males and females relating physically is … quite repugnant."

Drusilla's laugh was wicked and the King blanched white enough to match his robes. "Drusilla! Don't tell me you've actually … you haven't … My God. That's disgusting."

The White Knight Angel was taken with a fit of coughing.

Spike, his eyebrow raised, sneered at Angel and muttered, "Can't even get doppelgangers of those two together without 'em going at it like gangbusters."

The King polished his glasses with increased fervor. His voice shook a bit as he continued, "Life was vastly superior …"

Tara, again, felt compelled to ask. "Everyone was happy? Content?"

"We didn't even consider such things. You have no idea what a burden those concepts are. Everybody just was. We knew what we were and what were supposed to do. It was enough."

Tara didn't think it sounded like enough. She didn't think it sounded like much at all.

"Then this disaster occurred, that apparently had nothing to do with our world and everything to do with yours…" The King looked at the Cheshire cat, and waited for him to take up the tale.

"This disaster would be named Glory."

Spike perked up. "I know her. Bad perm or something. And fingers." He jabbed a finger fiercely in the air. "Don't remember much more than that. Except ... Buffy. I remember that Buffy died."

Tara remembered Buffy, too. And Glory. And she remembered fingers wiggling like fat little worms in her head. She clung to Spike as a feeling of faintness swept over her. Was she going to have to face Glory?

"Well, neither Glory or Buffy has much to do the mess here, other than the fact that one started the whole thing and the other stopped it. They're both here, of course, inasmuch as we all are."

"How about explaining that in words that make sense." Spike sneered at the cat who returned it with an unpleasant grin. Tara wished they would get over their animosity. She suspected they would be friends under other circumstances.

"Getting to it," the cat continued, "Glory, the Great Glorificus, was an exiled hell god who wanted to get home. This process required lowering the dimensional walls, allowing the dimensions to bleed into one another. Buffy wasn't able to keep the walls from going down, but she was able to stop them from staying down for long."

"I wasn't able to keep it from happening. Not Buffy. She had to stop it because I couldn't prevent it."

Startled, Tara looked at Spike in surprise. He was paler than she had thought possible and he looked so sad, it made her heart ache.

The Cheshire cat's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Sometimes, we all let things get out of hand. Little things mean more than they seem. Big things aren't as important as we thought. At any rate, the damage was minimal, all told. Even here in Wonderland."

The King snorted. "Hardly what I would call minimal."

"It was, though. Some physical objects bled through the dimensional walls, a few people, some animals, property, but mostly it was concepts, personalities, more abstract but no less real for that. Once the breach was closed, though, everything would have worked its way back to normal, more or less. Universes tend to find a way around the kinks and get back on track. It would have been as though the bleed never happened, give or take a millennium or so."

Tara tried to loosen Spike's grip on her hand without being too obvious. He was squeezing almost to the point of causing her pain. He noticed and gave her a brief smile, relaxed his hand. He asked, "So what happened? Why are we here?"

"You and Tara are exceptions," the cat raised a paw, pads facing outward, "but let me explain that after I cover a few other things. I told you that personalities bled over? Drusilla, Giles, Angel, me, a lot of others – we're all personalities from your dimension that have grafted, so to speak. Damndest thing. Some personalities sort of soaked into the atmosphere? You go walking along and step over a patch of flowers and there's this presence … " Both King Giles and the cat shuddered, " … Mostly, each personality took up home in one of the game players. No offense, but none of the inhabitants of this universe had much in the way of personality, beforehand."

King Giles pursed his lips. "No offense taken. I believe we were far better off without them."

There was a pause as a loud sound boomed in the distance. King Giles raised his eyebrows at the cat. "I think you need to speed up your explanation. If I'm not mistaken that is the Black Army coming after our guests. The Jabberwock -- the First -- is sparing nothing to get to them."

"Yeah. Where was I? Personalities. In some cases, it isn't a full graft -- more like a touch, and in others, the game player has become almost the identical twin …"

A series of cannon shots boomed loudly in their ears and the ground shook. Tara could hear the sound of screams. Spike grabbed her tight as though he were ready to carry her off through the night, as he had the last time they met the Jabberwock. Tara was determined that wouldn't be necessary. They were a team now.

Spike pointed his chin at the Cheshire cat. "I think story time is over for now, pussy." The cat's tail twitched but he agreed.

King Giles nodded. "Quite." He signaled to one of his soldiers, who drew near. "Did you find someone who knows the area?"

"Yes sir. One of King Snyder's lot. Bit simple I think but he seems to know the lay of the land."

"Excellent. Spike, Tara. I'd hoped to have more time to fill you in on the rules, but the game seems to moving rather more rapidly than I anticipated. I've had some supplies put together for you. Clothes -- several sizes since you seem to be growing -- some food, toiletries. We've found a Guide for you. He can help you get started on your quest."

"Quest?" Spike and Tara looked at each other.

"Yes, the quest for The Vorpal Blade. So that you can kill the Jabberwock."