Author's Note: Good Lord, is it annoying when your villain tries to humanize himself. Yes of course I realize that it makes for a better story when there is no clear wrong or right, but… I didn't count on sympathizing with Book Two's villain. I just wanted him to be evil, so I didn't have to regret anything I'll need to write. But no, he's trying to make me understand him. I blame his play-by, personally; I can't hate that face. I also blame the fact that he's related to Dafydd. This means that he is also a ridiculous, stubborn Outlander, and a huge thorn in my side [whom I love dearly].

During the editing process, this chapter picked up about three pages' worth of additions. This is also where we get introduced to what I consider to be the main plot of Book Two. Yeah, I don't think Regina is the main character of this Book; she's really more of a plot device [you'll see what I mean in a chapter or so]. I consider this book to be all about Dafydd and his issues. Of which there are many; many more than I thought when he first inserted himself into my plot. Ridiculous, stubborn Outlander…

Original Character Face Claims: Just to remind you, Niall Nazar is portrayed by Jackson Rathbone. Taran Nazar is portrayed by James Franco.

Dress Note: Remove all spaces.

Hightopp tartan pattern: http: /business. virgin. net/ flyfishing. flies/ scotland-Maclaren. html
Regina's Hightopp tartan dress: http:/ www. weddingdresses. org. uk/ wp- content/ uploads/ 2010/ 08/ tartan- wedding- dress. jpg
Regina's half-cloak: http:/ cache. wists. com/ thumbnails/ 1/ a 4/ 1 a 4 a 6 f 5 bdc 90 e 389 affacf 8 ddb 336 bf 4- med

Music Note: Just to remind you, the Song of the Hightopps is supposed to sound like River Flows In You by Yiruma, on endless repeat.

Outlandish Note: As always, the Outlandish brogue Tarrant and Regina slip into comes courtesy of whoohoo. co. uk. The bits of Scots Gaelic, which are standing in for Outlandish, are courtesy of lexilogos. com.

Mo laoch: my champion
Dearbadan-de: butterfly

Disclaimer: As I've found it fiendishly difficult to get a good visual on Tarrant's actual tartan, I made the executive decision to blithely ignore canon and choose my own colors. The Hightopp plaid is now based off that of Clan MacLaren.

Special Thanks: Thanks to my lovely beta Thirteen Thorns for looking over this chapter for me! I was worried about Dafydd in this chapter [just assume that I'll be worried about him for the duration of this entire Book, actually], and she reassured me that he's okay and makes sense. Now there's a first…

The Outlands hadn't always been so forbidding a place. Once, the region had been known as Otherside, and had been a part of Underland, a land of rich plains, mighty rivers, and lush forests. The mountains had been mined for precious minerals, the plains used to breed animals and food and to support the mystics and rustics who lived there and sought to join with the Spirit of Underland. The land had never been an organized kingdom, though its few inhabitants [Animal and Human] had been friendly to the Five Kingdoms. It had been a peaceful alliance based on the principle of live and let live.

But Otherside had been cursed generations ago by a High King of Underland. Stripped of its sustaining magic by the vengeful King, the land had been blasted, withering and dying. The mountains' riches had disappeared, the plains had dried out and turned to a vast desert, the riverbeds dried and became forbidding canyons. Even the sky had been cursed, turning a dull blood red. And when the land became desolate and barren, the inhabitants became twisted and heartless, as well. The beautifully singing Avian clans became Sirens and Harpies. The peaceful, philosophical Centaurs became heartless, emaciated warriors. Even the passive, sentient Plants became heartless and suspicious of others, if they didn't turn completely mute and without thought. Instead of a peaceful land that beckoned to hermits and those seeking Truths, the Otherside- now called the Outlands- became a place of punishment, where the rulers of Underland would condemn their prisoners to banishment and certain death.

However, not all of the banished died. Some had survived, to huddle together and eke out a mean existence from the rocks. The landscape of the Outlands was dotted with crude city-states, ruled by a chieftain or warrior-queen who cared for their small clan and did not welcome strangers. Animals formed alliances or waged wars with Humans over resources and land. And in the depths of the wild lands dwelt a nomadic clan who had not only survived, but flourished.

The Nazari had not always dwelled in the Outlands. Like many of the Outlanders, their ancestors had been banished by a long-dead High King; the very King, in fact, who had cursed the Outlands in the first place. Unlike many of the Outlanders, the Nazari had flourished in their new home. They were great craftsmen and artisans; in their native tongue nazar meant "artist." They had become warriors only to survive in the Outlands, when the choice was either to become a warrior or be killed by hostile Animals or rival clans. And as warriors, they had thrived.

For many long generations, the ceann-fine, or chieftain, of the Nazari had sheparded the clan towards a single goal: returning to Underland. Every Nazari child was taught about Underland from the moment they drew their first breath; they learned about the Five Kingdoms, the history, the languages. Most of all, the children were taught about the corrupted Adamasi, the ancestral High Kings who ruled from Marmoreal.

It had been an Adamasi King who had banished the Nazari from their home. The Nazari had long been the rulers of a region of Underland that in their language was called Tearmunn. For a timeless time, they had lived in peace, content to pursue their various artisan crafts. Then the High King had begun to wage war with kingdoms beyond the Crimson Sea. He had demanded that the Nazari pay him tribute, crafting weapons for him, and to join his army as soldiers. When they had refused, they had been exiled, their lands taken and added to the High King's properties. Ever since that black Day, the Nazari had been preparing to return home, and to take their revenge against the family that had branded them traitors and outlaws and to reclaim the land that belonged to them.

In a palatial tent made of durable leather, the current ceann-fine of the Nazari stood behind a portable desk, his wavy blond-haired head bent over a map of Underland and the Outlands. He was dressed simply, in an undyed tunic and brown breeches, his feet encased in practical leather boots lined with fleece. A leather belt hung around his waist, holding two throwing daggers in their sheathes. He wore leather cuffs around his wrists, and around his neck was the mark of his rank; a leather thong, on which was strung a single button- gold, with the Nazari's symbol embossed upon it. Every Nazar had a button somewhere on their person, claiming them as members of the clan, but only the ceann-fine wore the gold button. Legend had it that the button had come from the coat of the very first Nazari ceann-fine, back in the days when their people were first claimed by Tearmunn.

Niall had come to the chieftainship early in his life. His father had been a powerful ceann-fine, a forward-thinker. Conrad Nazar had formed alliances with some of the city-states closest to the Underlandian borders, and had made sure that his warriors were top-notch. It had been Conrad who had formed the Hassasseen, the troupe of elite soldiers who served to protect and defend the rest of the clan. Unfortunately, Conrad had been killed by a rogue Centaur while out on a hunting trip. Niall had been thirteen years old, and as the eldest son it fell to him to become the ceann-fine.

Niall had dedicated his entire life to the Nazari, to ensuring that they returned to their ancestral lands, that they fulfilled all of Conrad's hopes for his family. He and his two brothers had devoted their lives to achieving Conrad's plans, and now it was finally time to make his da's dreams come true.

Niall had good reason to wage this war, besides the traditional reasons of taking revenge against the Adamasi and reclaiming the Nazari homeland. Niall had allied his clan with the Red King, an outlawed knight from Crims. In exchange for the services of the Hassasseen, Ilosovic Stayne had promised to restore the Nazari to their homeland, sworn that Niall would be his equal as a king. Niall had not trusted the Red King to uphold his end of that bargain; he knew Stayne would continue to look upon the Nazari as his own personal army, and he would try to turn Niall into a client king if he didn't kill Niall outright. However, the promise of Tearmunn had been too good to give up. So Niall had sent his second-in-command and tanaiste, Dafydd, and the Hassasseen to the Red King in a gesture of goodwill.

And according to the Crows, disaster had struck. Stayne had been killed in battle against Underland's current Adamasi tyrant, slain by a wee scrap of a girl who claimed to be the Azure Princess of Witzend. The High Queen had upheld the chit's claim, granting her the Red King's crown and all the power that came with it- including the alliances said King had made. Therefore, the Hassasseen were trapped in Underland, in thrall to their enemies and unable to return either to Tearmunn or to their families in the Outlands. She had even had the gall to give the warriors a new name in her language, a bastardization of the Outlandish which Niall and his people spoke.

The injustice of it made Niall burn with barely-contained fury. For the Hassasseen, the pride and glory of the Nazari, to be sworn to protect the Adamasi bitch's puppet, to serve the so-called Royals who sat in a usurper's throne and ruled over the land that was supposed to be their own! The insult was not to be born. The Blue Royals would be eliminated, and the Nazari would take back what was theirs- their ancestral home, their Hassasseen, their history. And no chit of a puppet-girl would stop him.

He would send a group of his men in, straight to the ancestral heart of Tearmunn. Once they had the Heartland, they could secure the rest of the Kingdom of Witzend more easily than breathing. Niall would free the Hassasseen from their enslavement to the Puppet Princess. She and her usurping parents would have to be killed, of course; Niall would not make the mistake of exiling them. That would lead to a chance that they would return, as he was planning to do, and he would have no rivals to his clan's claim to the land.

The question, then, was the most effective method of killing the Blue Royals. Niall doubted that his men could get close enough to the King and Queen to kill them outright; they were protected by the High Queen, after all, and vow of nonviolence or not she was still a formidable presence in Underland. Besides, even in the Outlands they had heard the stories of Alice the Champion and the Mad Hatter. Champions and formidable warriors, both, and Heroes of Underland besides. If they were attacked, they would fight, and in Underland they held all the advantages- knowledge of the terrain, the loyalty of the people, access to resources.

But if he could draw them to the Outlands… ah. Now there was an idea. In the Outlands they would be weak, and vulnerable, while his people would hold all the cards. If they could kidnap the Princess, draw out her parents… yes. He liked that plan. Surely a parent would do anything for their child, even follow her kidnappers into the forsaken Outlands? And then he could be sure that they were properly killed and disposed of, instead of having to rely on hearsay and secondhand reports.

And when they had eliminated the Blue Royals and reclaimed Tearmunn… what then? Unlike the unlamented Red King, Niall had no desire to take over all of Underland. Underland did not interest him, except for how the kingdoms could aid Tearmunn. But the Adamasi… the descendents of the High King who had brought such misery to his people… they would have to pay. They were a corrupt line, ruthless and heartless, as hard as the diamonds for which their suit was named. The High Queen was setting up puppet monarchies all over Underland, trying to consolidate her power. Niall would not let that happen. The Adamasi would pay for what they did to the Nazari.

Niall had been told one week ago that White Pawns had been seen in the Outlands, close to the mountains. They had claimed that they had been sent by the High Queen to escort the Nazari into Underland, to live under the rule of the Puppet Princess. Niall had laughed at the offer, at the arrogance and stupidity of the Queen who offered such a bargain. His response had been quick and brutal; the bodies of the Pawns had been left in the trees to rot, a strong warning to any who dared to think of enslaving the Nazari.

The only problem was how to get back into Underland. The mountains that separated the Outlands from Tearmunn were spelled, so that Outlanders could not get through. Once one crossed the mountains, the only way back was if one was Underlandian. It was an effective spell; once an Underlandian was banished by the High King or Queen, they were stripped of their bonds to Underland, meaning that Underland would not recognize them when they reached the borders and would reject them, not allowing them back in. When the Red King invaded, he had had the aid of some Crows of Crims he had allied with before he was sent into exile. The Red King and his men had drunk pishalver and ridden upon the backs of the Crows into Underland. However, with the Red King dead, the Crows had returned to Crims, and could not be prevailed upon to return to Underland despite Niall's offers of safe haven and tributes of gold. Barring a miracle of Fate, the Oraculum only knew how he and his family would return home…

"Niall!"

Niall glanced up at the voice of his cousin Taran, captain of Niall's personal guard. Like Niall, Taran's hair was golden blond and curly, when he grew it out, falling to his shoulders and framing a face tanned from a lifetime outdoors and hardened by a lifetime of discipline and combat. Like Niall's mother, sister to Taran's mother, Taran had a strong jaw and painfully blue eyes. The same eyes as himself, as Dafydd… Niall concealed the flinch, the stab of pain caused by the memory.

Soon, he promised himself and Dafydd. I'm coming for you, hold on just a little while longer.

"What is it, Taran?" Niall asked, straightening, his stiff back muscles protesting at being used after so long a time of stillness.
"Captives," Taran replied, holding the tent flap back. "We caught them in the mountain pass."
Niall blinked, hardly daring to hope. "Underlandian?"
"Yes," Taran nodded.

Niall didn't smile, but there was a gleam of victory in his eyes. Here it was, his ticket to Tearmunn and his people's future.

"Take me to see our guests."

Regina grinned, humming to herself as she bounced around her chambers, checking to see that she'd packed everything important. Her Hightopp tartan pieces, which Tarrant had woven for her and made into a kilt, a cloak, a full dress, and a tam. A tea service. Her traveling pack, which included flint and tinder, canteens of water, preserved foods, and a warm fur to sleep in. Thimbles, because you never knew.

When she was certain that everything was prepared, she left her room and headed for Alice's office. She had been looking forward to this trip ever since the first time she set eyes upon Hightopp Hill; the place was her ancestral homeland, and she was bound to it, body, mind and spirit. In her mind, she always heard the lovely, lilting echoes of the Music of the Hightopps, the Song that spoke of her clan's history, the secrets of their trades, of courage and determination and loyalty and all the Traits that made one a Hightopp. The Music had only been an echo since the Horunvendush Day, the Day that the entire clan save Tarrant was murdered by the Jabberwocky. Now, Tarrant was returning home, and he and Regina were going to restore the Music that always called the Hightopps back home.

It was a sacred Rite, singing the Song. To restart the Song was to signal to Underland that the Hightopps still loved and honored Iplam, that they bound themselves to the land anew. Reviving the Music would signal Tarrant's intent to rebuild the clan and the land, and his intent to take his rightful place as Laird of Iplam; it would indicate Alice's and Regina's promise to aid him in his endeavor. They would be bound together, clan and family. It was no light thing, restarting the Music, and Regina hoped that after they underwent the Rite it would help her family finally reunite themselves.

Full of hopes and optimism, Regina made her way through the labyrinthine halls of the Cerulean Castle. But when she reached the door to Alice's office, Regina paused, her smile dimming as she heard the conversation going on inside.

"I am sorry, Tarrant, but this is something I can't ignore."
"Aam nae askin' ye tae ignair it," Tarrant argued.

Regina winced; she hadn't heard his brogue this strong in many months, and certainly never when he was talking to His Alice. If his Outlandish accent was this strong, he couldn't be too far from a bout of Madness. What had happened to push him so close to the brink?

"Jist tae delay it fur puckle days. Alice, we've hud thes trip planned fur months…"
"Which is precisely why you should go ahead," Alice cut him off. "You and Regina both wanted to be in Iplam for her birthday, I wouldn't dream of keeping you from that. But I need to complete these negotiations with Snud."
"Trade negotiations can bide," Tarrant said, his voice hard. "Thes is clan business, which cannae be completed unless th' entire clan is thaur."
"The entire clan will be there," Alice retorted.

For an entire moment, there was silence in the office. Regina's breath caught in her throat, and her wide green eyes widened; they were probably fading to gray, she absently thought. Had Alice really said she wasn't a Hightopp? But of course she was… What was going on?

"What… what do you mean?" Tarrant breathed, seemingly so stunned that he'd been knocked straight out of his brogue. "You must be there, you're a Hightopp, Alice…"
"Only by marriage," Alice said, her voice soft and tinged with emotions that Regina couldn't quite decipher. "We both know that I cannot hear the Music."
"Ye will. Ye will!" Tarrant said, seemingly recovering his Anger, if the brogue was any indication. "Regina an' Ah will restair th' Sang, an' yoo'll hear it jist braw. Yoo're th' lady ay Iplam, Alice. Th' guidwife ay th' Laird ay th' Hightopps. Ye main be thaur."
"Tarrant, please…" Alice sighed. "I would only be a spectator. I cannot partake in the ritual. I think it best for you and Regina to go alone, while I finish up business."

Anger sparked in Regina's heart, and the pounding in her ears grew louder until it became an insistent buzzing, a droning hum that blocked out all other sound. The anger traveled up from her heart and into her eyes, until she was lost in a haze of fury.

Really, it wasn't surprising to Regina that Alice was holding herself apart. She had been distant and withdrawn for the last six months; this was nothing new. It wasn't that Alice was keeping aloof from the idea of the clan that angered Regina.

What angered her was that Alice had promised that this time, she would be there. She had promised to come to Iplam, to participate in this most important of rituals- a Rite that could not be completed unless every member of the Hightopp clan was present. If Alice wasn't there, there was no point in even enacting the Ritual, because it wouldn't work. Didn't Alice understand that? Didn't she realize that by backing out of this trip, she was undoing all of Tarrant's hard work, dashing all of his hopes and dreams? How could she do that to him, after spending so long pushing him to restore the land? Had Alice gone Mad?

Her eyes flaming topaz and surrounded by the black bruise-like shadows, Regina stormed into Alice's office, her red-gold hair flying about her face like licks of flame.

"Hoo coods ye nae come wi' us?" she demanded, the brogue lying thick on her tongue. "Dornt ye kin 'at th' magic cannae be worked if yoo're nae thaur? What's th' point in tryin' tae restair uir clan if yoo're nae gonnae help? Whik kin' ay quine ay Iplam ur ye? Ye trysted us! Hoo coods ye be sae selfish? Yoo're bein' as cruel as th' Bluddy Beg Hid!"

When she had lived Above, Regina had been known to fly into "fits of temper," as Lady Ascot had called them. She would rant and rave, often knocking things over or throwing things into walls. When she had come to Underland, she had learned that she had inherited her father's temper, and a share of the Madness that had always plagued her clan. While Regina's mind wasn't nearly as fractured as her da's, she was still much more prone to fall into the Haziness, as her form of Madness had been termed.

"Regina."

She could have happily gone on for quite some time with her rant against Alice, but hearing her da softly speaking her name and laying a bandaged, gloved hand upon her arm pulled her up short. She glanced down at her athair's hand, her gaze trailing from the mercury burns to the bandages to the thimbles to the tartan fingerless gloves as she fought to beat her temper back.

"That's enough," Tarrant said, his voice soft but firm. "We'll leave your mathair to her work."

Regina didn't trust herself to speak, but she nodded, allowing Tarrant to steer her out of Alice's office and down the hall.

Tarrant remained silent as he guided his daughter outside, allowing her time to recover from her episode of Madness. While he held his tongue, he watched her, silently worrying. When Alice had first come to him and announced her pregnancy, Tarrant had been utterly ecstatic; he had fallen to his knees, pressed his face into her stomach, and thanked her profusely for making him so happy. But behind the profound awe that he and Alice had made a child, the overwhelming joy in the fact that he was soon to be someone's athair, there had been a healthy fear. Fear that his child would inherit the Hightopp Madness.

There was no escaping it completely; the Madness was as much a part of the Hightopps as the drive to create beautiful things and the proclivity to Futterwhacken. But the Madness took different forms in different Hightopps; Tarrant's father Wyndym, for example, had merely been prone to break into hysterical giggles at the mere mention of puckleberries, while his poor sister Ilvenia had been so afflicted by a Mad obsession with oysters that she had drowned herself. From the moment Tarrant learned of Alice's pregnancy, he had pleaded with the Spirit of Underland to be kind to his child, to make his or her Madness gentle and enjoyable.

It tore him to shreds to see his precious little boy succumbing to the family affliction. So far, he only saw glimpses of Madness in her eyes when she was exceptionally angry. But that was how it began, as he well knew. A strong bout of Madness would overtake her, and when it had passed she would be left breathless and frightened, seeking out some activity that would keep the Madness at bay. It was for this that Tarrant had become so obsessed with tea; the intense concentration it required to properly brew a good tea blocked out that Other, left the Other no spare thoughts to feed upon and grow strong from. What would happen to his dearest little child if she didn't find such an obsession? What if the Madness utterly consumed her?

He knew he needed to discuss this with his daughter. She was a Hightopp through and through; there would be no escaping Madness. He didn't want her to meet the demon unprepared; that way, she would only fall the faster. But neither did he want to frighten her with thoughts that her Madness was out of control. Fearing the Madness only gave it more power, as Tarrant knew all too well. She must learn to- for lack of a better phrase- dance with her Madness, make friends with it. Perhaps he could teach her to do that while they sat nestled in their ancestral homeland; Underland knew they couldn't undergo their original purpose, if Alice wasn't there. They might as well do something productive with their time, or Time might get it into his head that Tarrant was trying to kill him again.

Tarrant's musings consumed him as he and Regina made their way through the castle and out to the courtyard, where her Panther Sora and his Horse Windmare waited for them. He was only pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his daughter's voice.

"I'm sorry, Da," she said softly, weariness and contrition coating her voice. "I shouldn't have yelled at her like that."
Tarrant nodded, having already forgiven her. "I'm disappointed too, my Sugar Cube," he admitted. "I had hoped…" He sighed, looking away. "The Song used to be able to bring us peace," he said, gazing down at the reins in his hands. "I had hoped that hearing the Music might help her."

Regina chewed on her lower lip for a moment. The topic of Alice's sickness was a sensitive one between father and daughter; Tarrant was clinging so hard to Hope, and didn't like Regina's impatience with Alice's inability to pull herself out of it. And while Regina didn't want to upset her athair, she had long ago lost any Hope that Alice would get better, which made it exceptionally difficult to comfort her da.

"Perhaps… maybe she doesn't want to be helped. Not yet, anyways," she hurriedly tacked on as Tarrant began to frown at her. "Maybe she just needs more Time."
"Perhaps you're right," Tarrant sighed. "If Time is what she needs, then that's what we'll give her. We, however, have no more Time to waste," he declared, shaking himself free of his mood. "If we plan to reach Iplam by sundown, we must leave."

With that, Tarrant signaled to the Clubs who were accompanying them on the journey, and the party began to leave. With a nod to Dafydd to signal the Fearail, Regina followed Tarrant. She sighed unhappily, heartsore for her da's unhappiness and cursing her mathair for being the cause of that grief. How could Alice be so selfishly lost in her own problems? How could she not know how important this Hogmanay was going to be to Tarrant?

"Regina?"

She didn't look up as Dafydd's voice, pitched low for her ears only, wrapped around her. She kept her gaze straight ahead as he drew his Stallion Arturias even with Sora, her gaze dropping to her hands as he silently observed her. She didn't want to see his knowing gaze, or the sympathy in his sapphire eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice duller than she would have liked.

He didn't call her out on her untruth, for which she silently blessed him a thousand times, because she really didn't want to talk about it. He simply laid one large, strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently to remind her that he was there. She laid her hand over his for a moment, silently thanking him for the support. She still didn't want to talk about it, even though Dafydd was a surprisingly good listener, but she took comfort in knowing that she could, if she wanted to. It wasn't part of his duties as Champion to listen to her when she needed to talk out her emotions, but he did it anyways, for which she thanked him. But for now, she really, really didn't want to talk about it; she just wanted to get away from Berserka and to the sanctuary of Iplam.

The trip was mostly a silent one. At Dafydd's signal, the Fearail melted into the forests, scouts both ahead and behind. One would think that they were riding through an enemy territory instead of their own country; but on the other hand, it had been through Witzend that Stayne and the Hassasseen had gotten to the rest of Underland. Dafydd wasn't about to take any chances, especially not when Regina was involved. While the rest of his men moved silently through the shadows, as invisible as wraiths, Dafydd rode right next to Regina, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

Regina glanced at her athair, but he didn't seem to notice or care about the security measures. He was sitting stiffly in his saddle, eyes shaded by his Hat, staring straight ahead, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. It wasn't often that Tarrant Hightopp was still and silent like this. According to Mallymkun, when Tarrant was still and silent it meant he was lost, lost in his thoughts and in his own private battles- with Time, with Memory, with Despair. At least his eyes were gray and not topaz, she thought resignedly. She could deal with the gray. If his eyes turned topaz… well, they were all in trouble then. Regina might be good, but only Alice was a foolproof cure against the topaz. Leaving her da to Himself for the moment, she turned her head towards Dafydd.

"Has it been very bad lately?" she asked softly, glancing around at the trees.

Dafydd, understanding her meaning, nudged Arturias closer to Sora. Their height differences, he on Horse and she on Panther, worked out so that if he bent down just a bit, he could murmur in her ear without disturbing anyone else. She steeled herself for what Dafydd would say; one thing she appreciated about him was that he never sugarcoated anything, never tried to shelter or protect her [while conversely, always safeguarding her].

"There's been some trouble in the mountains," he said in a near-whisper. "Outlanders. Animals, mostly, but a Human here and there."
"Not another uprising, like Stayne," Regina said, her voice wavering slightly.
"I don't know," Dafydd admitted. "We couldn't get close to them. They could just have been lost, looking for wandering flocks. But if not… even if the Hill is protected…"
"Witzend is still the closest territory to the Outlands," she finished for him.

She bit her lip, her brow furrowing. The last thing Witzend needed right now was another invasion. Alice's reign was still shaky; Witzend was only just beginning to recover from eighteen years of neglect. If they were hit with a war now, it would be catastrophic…

"We'll keep you safe, Regina," Dafydd promised as their gazes met. "I will keep you safe."
"I know you will, mo laoch," she smiled gently.

After hours of riding, Regina sat up straighter, holding her breath as she caught the faintest strains of the Music of the Hightopps. By the Butterfly, it was even more beautiful than she'd remembered. For a moment she sat absolutely still, feeling something stirring within her, responding to the Song. A tingle of energy shot through her, warming her from head to toe.

"Home," she murmured on a sigh, before spurring Sora into a run.

She was aware of Tarrant and her Fearail following after her, but she paid them no mind. Nothing mattered in that moment, other than the beautiful Music of her ancestors. She wanted to be in the heart of her homeland, where the Music was the strongest. Leaping off Sora's back, Regina ran through the fallow, empty field that had once been Hightopp Village, sprinting up to the summit of the Hill. When she got there, she threw her arms out, laughing and spinning around in dizzy circles as the Music filled her. Everything else- Dafydd's warnings about the Outlands, her anger at Alice, her worry for her da- all of it faded into insignificance when compared to the hauntingly beautiful Music. She didn't even notice her da approaching until he'd laid his hands on her shoulders, stilling her.

"Easy, mah wee lassie," he murmured, squeezing her shoulders. "Keep stirrin' th' Sang up loch 'at an' yoo'll wake th' Music up aw by yerself."
"Would that be a bad thing?" she asked, still dizzy and enchanted by the Song. "If we wake it up, then she'll hear it, and she'll get better like you want, and everything will be alright again."

Tarrant didn't reply in words, but he squeezed Regina's shoulders again. The deep sigh that issued from him let Regina know that he understood, that he longed for that very thing. But he was right, they couldn't stir the Song up; they couldn't enact the Rite without Alice's presence. The Song would have to remain an Echo for now. Regina sighed deeply in disappointment; how could Alice deny them this?

"Come, mah lassie," Tarrant said softly, wrapping a paternal arm around Regina's shoulders as he led her towards the High House.

Taran Nazar grumbled to himself as the wind whipped past him, some gusts of air nearly enough to knock him off the back of the bird he rode. He would be eternally grateful when his feet touched solid ground again…

But despite his discomfort, Taran had to admit that Niall's plan was a brilliant one. The Underlandians their scouts had captured had been Avian Keepers, men who captured and trained messenger birds. They had been found on the Outlandish side of the mountains, searching for birds to capture. They had been brought, gibbering and terrified, before Niall, and had immediately started making threats and promises, anything to get back home. Niall had kept his temper, seeming even amused at these simplistic bird-men. He had assured the men that they would come to no harm, as long as they helped him. Taran and six of his men had taken pishalver and taken the birds as transportation into Underland. Once they had returned to the Outlands with the Puppet, Niall would release the men and allow them to go back home. He'd even allow them to take the birds back with them.

Finally, the birds landed in a cluster of trees. Taran and his men slid from the birds' backs, eating a crumb of upelkuchen and carefully balancing themselves on their branches as they grew to their proper sizes. After changing into clothes that fit and bribing the birds to stay with shiny baubles, the Nazari had headed east.

They all halted as they felt a disturbance in the energy of the forest, vibrations that filled the air, the ground. It was some kind of magic, they could all tell; it was a powerful, ancient spell, a spell to call everything together into one entity. Silently, the men crept closer. With every step, the vibrations strengthened; low, ancient, as if the earth itself were singing to them.

"Blessed Tearmunn," one of the men, Cadfael, murmured. "The Music. It does exist."
"Remember," Taran whispered to his men. "Find the girl. Do not engage any others, and don't let Dafydd and his boys see us. Whoever grabs the Puppet, leave behind your clan marker."

The men all nodded, then fanned out in different directions. They would encircle the Heartland, trap the usurpers who besmirched this sacred land with their presence, and they would steal the Puppet Princess, leaving behind a signal for their brothers-in-arms that help and rescue was on the way. And soon enough, this land would belong to them once again.

It was practically unheard-of for Dafydd Nazar to be sitting absolutely still, doing absolutely nothing. On the rare occasions when he sat down, he was usually polishing and sharpening his ever-present claymore, and even when it appeared he was doing nothing, he always had one eye on his surroundings and the other eye on his Princess. And yet, right now, he truly was doing nothing; sitting on a log, arms dangling over his knees, staring at nothing. Had he been thinking about this lapse in duty, he would have excused himself by saying that they were in a sacred and well-protected place, that his men were bustling around and that they were all as acutely aware of their surroundings as he. For once, he didn't care about his duty to Regina. For once, the land on which he found himself held his complete attention.

For all his life, Dafydd had heard the stories about Tearmunn, about the clan gatherings that had taken place twice a year. His childhood had been filled with fairy tales about the Song of Tearmunn, the beautiful Music that bound the Nazari to the land, to each other. Ever since Niall had become the ceann-fine of the Nazari, they had been working to prepare the clan for the day when they could come home.

He didn't miss the irony that he was home at last, and in the service of those that Niall called usurpers.

He shifted on the log, leaning on his thighs and loosely interlacing his fingers as he stared at the Heartland. The top of the heavily wooded Hill was in the center of the Village, and was the sacred land from which the Music sprang. He could feel the Music, feel it washing over him, stirring in his soul, flowing through his veins. He could feel it, but he couldn't hear it. He knew he shouldn't be surprised; the High Queen may have lifted the banishment that lay over him and the Hassasseen, but they hadn't been reinstated as citizens of Underland yet. That couldn't happen until Regina was officially coronated, which wouldn't happen until her capital had been rebuilt. He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed, crushingly so; he wanted so much to hear the Music. He was sure it was beautiful.

Dafydd glanced over his shoulder, down the hill towards the High House where Tarrant and Regina had retreated earlier. Tarrant was Laird of this land now. He knew that he should hate The Hightopp for taking what belonged to his clan, but… he couldn't. For all that Niall harped on the fact that the Nazari were the rightful heirs to Tearmunn, the truth was that Laird Hightopp's claim to the land superseded theirs. The Hightopps had retained this land after the Nazari had been outlawed; it was theirs now. Could it someday belong to both of them? He hoped so, but he didn't dare voice that hope. For now, it was enough simply to be here, to feel the Music soothing him, healing him, welcoming him.

Dafydd glanced to the side as Ioan sighed and took a seat by him. For a moment, neither spoke; they simply sat there, feeling the Music they would never hear.

"It's beautiful," Ioan commented softly, for once completely still and serious. "I've waited a lifetime to come here, see if the stories were true."

Dafydd nodded silently; Aye, the Song was beautiful. Everything their stories had said and more.

"All our lives, we've waited for a Day just like this," Ioan continued. "When we'd sit on the Hill and hear the Song. And here we are… but we can't hear it. Why do you think that is? Is it just because we're not citizens of Underland yet?"
"I don't know," Dafydd admitted. "Maybe. Or maybe She just doesn't recognize us anymore. We've been gone a very long time."
"I've been thinking," Ioan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What if you're right, Dafydd? What if Tearmunn doesn't know us anymore? What would have happened, if we'd killed them like we were supposed to? Would Tearmunn welcome us back, after we killed the last Hightopps like that?"
"I don't think She would have forgiven us," Dafydd said slowly; he had also thought much about this in the past months. "Killing the rightful Laird, his heir… It's not right. That's never the way our clan worked. I don't think we can take Her from them by force."
"How, then?" Ioan asked. "I don't want to kill Gigi either, and we were wrong to ever think that was an option, I know that. But…" Ioan sighed, running a hand through his dark curls. "This is ours too, Dafydd. This is our home, where we belong."
"I know that," Dafydd said impatiently, feeling just as helpless as Ioan sounded.
"So what do we do?" Ioan asked. "What happens when our families come over the mountains, and we have to tell them we can't have the Heartland after all?"

Dafydd sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. It frustrated him that he didn't have an answer for that question. He had lain awake night after night, thinking about this very problem, wondering if there could possibly be a future for his people when they were barred from the Homeland. What would they do when their families arrived? Could they somehow work a deal with Tarrant? Somehow, Dafydd couldn't see the Hightopp Laird being too enthusiastic about that idea; certainly if their situations were reversed, Dafydd wouldn't be keen on allowing rivals into his homeland. So what solution was there?

His attention was grabbed by a movement coming from across the Heartland. When Ioan saw what had caught Dafydd's attention, he rolled his eyes, clapping a hand on his cousin's shoulder before walking away, calling a jovial greeting to Regina as she approached the summit of the Hill.

From his unseen vantage point, he watched her, all of his attention riveted on her. Ginger curls that had, as usual, escaped their braid, skin as pure and smooth as fresh cream, spring green eyes that were just slightly larger than a normal human's. She wore a strapless, corseted gown with a full skirt, in the Hightopp tartan. In deference to the slight chill in the air, she also wore a dark half-cloak to cover her bare shoulders and arms. Her Hat was, for once, nowhere to be seen; instead she wore a simple bandeau in a matching tartan to her dress.

By the Butterfly, he was lucky that his job involved watching her all the time… Otherwise, he was sure to be in trouble with her da for how often his eyes were on her. For the millionth time, he cursed himself for his arrogance when he first saw her all those months ago [ironically, here in the Heartland]; how could he ever have thought she wasn't much to look at?

He smiled faintly as she threw her arms out and spun in circles, blissfully unaware that he was watching, or perhaps taking his watching for granted. She was very much a creature of Underland; as unrestricted and free as the bread-and-butterflies that flitted from Flower to Flower, and as free-spirited as the Birds that flew overhead. Yes, Regina belonged in Underland. But especially here, in Tearmunn. After all, she was a Hightopp; this was her ancestral land, too. It was clear that the land had claimed her; he could practically see the magic flowing through her, tying her to the land and to a clan that no longer existed. He could feel the Music strengthening as she danced, reacting to her just as actively as he was.

He bit the inner corner of his lip, falling into thought. If he knew Niall, and he did, the ceann-fine had moved the clan close to the mountains now. He had likely heard that Dafydd and the former Hassasseen were serving Regina, and he wasn't likely to take that news well. He would come haring over the mountains to find his clansmen and 'liberate' them, and he would punish the Hightopps severely for 'holding the Hassasseen captive.' He knew Niall was ready to invade Witzend, and to be perfectly honest he hoped the Nazari did come. After all, this land was just as much their home as it was the Hightopps'… Dafydd wondered, though, if he could use his influence on Niall, get him to agree that the Hightopps could remain in Tearmunn with them. Regina especially; it would be cruel to deprive her of the land and the Music she loved so much, especially when Tearmunn Herself so clearly loved Regina in return.

He shook his head, pushing the dark Thoughts away for now. He stood, blending into the trees at the edge of the clearing and moving closer to Regina, silent as the shadows. When he got close, he reached out and grabbed her, grinning in pleasure when he was rewarded by her startled gasp.

"You really do delight in scaring me, don't you?" she asked, hands on his chest, though her scolding was undermined by her grin.
"It's too easy, dearbadan-de," he grinned in response, the Outlandish endearment coming far too easily to his lips. "You should pay more heed to your environment. What if I'd been an enemy?"
Regina rolled her eyes. "It's your job to worry about that, not mine, mo laoch," she shot back. "Now how are you going to make amends for startling me?"
"Well, I suppose I could dance with you, since you seem so determined to wake the Music when your da told you not to," he said with a put-upon sigh.
"Do you? Dance?" she asked, tilting her head. "I've never seen you dance at any of Alice's or Aunt Mirana's parties…"
"That's because I was working," he replied, sliding an arm around her waist and taking her hand.

They danced silently for a moment, surrounded by vibrations of Music and dusky twilight. There was a chill in the air, he told himself; that was why they had to stand so close, for body heat. And he had to check to be sure no one had slipped poison into her hair, that was why his head had dropped far enough to smell the scents of honeysuckle and sandalwood that always followed her.

He closed his eyes, focusing his attention on the silent Music. The vibrations were changing as they danced; instead of rippling and skipping around Regina's glee, the energy throbbed low and steady, wrapping itself around them both like the warmest of blankets… or the gentlest of lovers' embraces.

"The Music is changing," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I can feel it," he replied.
She pulled away enough to look up at him, confusion written on her face. "You can? I thought only a Hightopp could sense the Music."
"Our clans are related," he replied. "Or were, before mine was banished. We can sense the Song, but we can't hear it anymore. What does it sound like?"

She looked up into his face, and he tried to keep from looking too desperate. But he was longing with every fiber of his being to hear the Music of his ancestors, and here was his only chance to do so. Whatever she found in his face, it seemed to make up her mind, because she drew close to him again, softly humming the Music she heard. He closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of her head, and as she sang he fancied he could almost hear it, as if the vibrations drew strength from her voice and echoed her song. His breath caught in his throat; the Song was even more beautiful than he'd imagined it to be. He could quite happily spend forever here, with her, just listening to the Music.