Author's Note: This chapter was much easier to edit and rewrite than the last one, thank the Fates. I always liked this chapter, but it really benefitted from being edited, both in terms of length and of content. From 9 pages to 22; from being an okay chapter to being [in my opinion] perfectly wonderful in its evilness.
See the end of the chapter for the rest of my disclaimers and notes.
Original Character Face Claim: Gregan Nazar is portrayed by a young Jake Lloyd. Gwynyth Nazar is portrayed by the heavenly Helen Mirren.
Disclaimer: See the end of this chapter for my disclaimer.
Special Thanks: A million thanks to my wonderful beta, Thirteen Thorns. She's been incredibly helpful in helping me keep Ioan and Lily on track, and in reassuring me that Dafydd is staying in character.
It took hours to traverse the pass through the mountains. It shouldn't have taken them as long as it did; the mountain range that separated Witzend from the Outlands ran the length of the border, but it wasn't particularly wide. A few hours' hike should have done it. The pass was an easy one, and a direct route, to boot. They had begun climbing up into the pass at midmorning, and yet by the time they had made it far enough to see the Outlands spread before them, the sun had set and bathed the mountains in a gloomy twilight. It had now been a full twenty-four hours since Regina was stolen, and they were no closer to rescuing her than they had been yesterday.
Time was stretching himself; Tarrant could feel it. And he very much feared that Night would collude with Time and stretch herself out for far longer than she should have lasted. Sometimes it was kind of her to do so; for weddings in particular Night was usually very generous. But tonight, Tarrant couldn't feel that Night's efforts were kindly meant. Perhaps she meant to steal from Time, to get them closer to Regina before Daylight stole her away again. But Tarrant wished with all his being that Time would just hurry along. He wanted to find his daughter as quickly as possible and get home, not have to sit and wait through an unending Night.
It didn't help that the curse King Aleric had laid against the Outlands still held as strong as ever. Magic was heavy on the air, pressing down upon the rescue party, twining up their legs and trying to mire them to the spot. It was as though they were struggling through molasses; every step took a monumental effort from the body and a great deal more from the mind. Tarrant couldn't help but begrudgingly admire the quality of the spellcraft that must have gone into crafting such a strong bane; it made the Fearail's escape into Underland even more impressive. They must want to return home very badly…
That thought made him frown. It was very uncomfortable that they wanted to return to their home, when said homeland belonged to him. He was the Laird of Iplam, not any of the Nazari. And yet, there were a great deal many more of them than there were of him; if they wanted to push him off his land and reclaim it, how could he stop them? He didn't even have the power to restart the Music, thanks to his stubborn wife. If he couldn't claim the Hill through the ancient magic of the Hightopps, how could he hope to keep the land safe from the Nazari? They would be coming to Underland soon, assuming that Regina kept her promise to Dafydd and offered them sanctuary in Crims [and personally, Tarrant would completely understand if she no longer wished to bring them to her queendom]. Would they rebel against her and attempt to invade Iplam? And if so, how could he stop them?
Dafydd halted them as twilight faded into true night. They huddled together, peering into the gathering darkness. Alice could dimly see the path dipping down from the mountains and into the foothills. And in the very near distance, the twinkling of campfires, the outlines of tents clustered close together.
"Regina," Alice breathed, stepping forward.
Dafydd caught her arm, halting her. "It's a mirage," he said shortly. "We don't know if they're that close. Or if they're the Nazari."
"We can ascertain that when we get closer!" Alice protested.
"I'm not going down there until I know exactly what's waiting for us," Dafydd countered. "We'll halt here, sleep for a few hours, eat what we can. When the sun rises the mirage will dissipate and we'll see how close they really are."
"In a few hours, Regina could be dead," Alice argued.
"Yes, and we could be wandering aimlessly through the Outlands in search of a mirage," Dafydd snapped back.
Alice wanted to continue arguing, but Dafydd had already turned his back on her, dismissing her. She seethed silently, glaring as she watched the young man confer with Tarrant. Her glare only got worse when Tarrant nodded in agreement, and both men began removing their horses' saddles and preparing to bed down for the night. They didn't dare start a fire for fear of being spotted, so they huddled into their animals, wrapping up in cloaks as they wearily closed their eyes. Apparently, they saw no need for leaving anyone on guard…
Alice was glad of it. Dafydd might be willing to risk Regina being killed in order to get a few hours' worth of sleep, but she was not. If the men wanted to halt, they were more than welcome to; she would go on alone.
She went along with their scheme, biding her time. She removed Lewis' saddle and huddled into him, grateful for the ridiculous amount of heat he emitted. She stroked his shaggy coat and rested her head on his side, shifting in discomfort as her Aged joints ached in protest at the abuse they'd been put through today. She waited until she heard the men's breathing deepen, then stood quietly, coaxing Lewis up.
"Come, my old friend," she whispered. "We've an adventure to go on."
Working as quickly and quietly as she could, she re-buckled Lewis' saddle onto his hulking shoulders, securing her pack behind the saddle before swinging herself up onto the Bandersnatch's back. Turning her back on the men, she silently nudged Lewis to continue down the path.
"Where do you think you're going?"
She froze when she heard Tarrant's light, lisping voice behind her. She turned in the saddle to see him, not asleep as she'd thought, but wide awake, his green eyes shadowed in darkness as he sat up. Lewis groaned, whimpering and scuffling his large paws in guilt before sitting down heavily. Yelping softly in surprise, Alice scrambled out of the saddle, frowning at Lewis' behavior before facing Tarrant again.
"I'm going after our daughter," she replied.
Tarrant scoffed. "You're not," he said, standing. "You're going after your own glory."
She gasped at the insult. "How dare you," she breathed. "You think my glory is more important to me than my own child?"
"If you truly cared about your child, you would have come to the Brae with us," Tarrant snapped. "You're behavin' as if ye think yoo're th' Champion ay Underlain still, an' 'at thes is yer quest," he said, his burr growing steadily thicker as the shadows of the night made him look like a stone statue, like a stranger. "It's nae. Yoo're nae th' Champion anymair, Alice."
It was his quiet rage that unnerved her, she thought absently. When Tarrant was off-the-wall enthusiastic or ranting and raving, she knew exactly how to deal with him. But this quiet, seething anger was a new breed of Madness, something she felt very unequipped to deal with. It certainly didn't help that Tarrant was now openly insulting her, doubting her. He had never doubted her before; he had believed in her, even when she couldn't believe in herself. He had always believed in Alice the Champion; did his disbelief now mean that she truly wasn't the Champion anymore?
"I am the Champion," she said stubbornly, clinging to that belief. "Once one is named a Champion, one is a Champion for life. And as Champion, it is my duty and my right to save Regina-"
"Yoo're nae," Tarrant interrupted, his voice hard. "Yoo're barely e'en a queen anymair. Yoo're an auld, broken hen who's chasin' memories. Dafydd is Regina's Champion. Nae ye. He's th' one wi' th' reit tae retrieve 'er. If ye tak' 'at frae heem, ye demean his vows tae 'er."
Alice scoffed. "They have no bond. He can't make his Vow until after she's been coronated."
"Dornt be glaikit," Tarrant snapped. "He doesnae need th' formality. He's gart th' vows tae 'er every day, an' hud ye bin payin' attention tae them fur th' lest sixmonth ye woods see 'at."
Alice glared at him, bristling at those horrible, hateful, all-too-true words. She hadn't paid much attention to Regina's young Outlandish captain. For six months he had shadowed her daughter's steps, guarding over her day and night, even sleeping in her child's chambers, and yet Alice hadn't thought of him any more than she thought of her shadow. She appreciated him protecting her daughter, of course, but in the end she disregarded him, because that was what he was there for, wasn't it?
She had never stopped to consider that the Champion's Vow might have already been made, in deed and intention if not in words. It was a serious thing, making that Vow; it forged a bond between Champion and Queen that could never be dissolved. It was almost as serious a Vow as a marriage. She hadn't thought that Dafydd and Regina could possibly already be that bound together. Dafydd guarded Regina, sure, but to think that they depended on each other that much? Regina was only a child! Far too young to depend on someone so completely… particularly when said someone was a young man.
Tarrant, apparently reading Alice's thoughts on her face, drove home his point ruthlessly. "He is 'er Champion. Nae ye. She depends oan heem. Nae ye, nae me. Heem. If ye demean his reit tae sae 'er, ye demean their bond an' debase aw their promises tae each other. Comin' alang oan thes mission disnae make ye Regina's Champion onie mair than skitin' water makes ye a teapot."
Alice glared. "I cannot just sit and do nothing while my daughter is in danger!"
"Wa nae?" Tarrant asked cruelly. "Yoo've dain it afair."
She gaped at him, the breath knocked out of her. Oh, that had been a cruel, low blow. Of all the things Alice regretted in her life, surely Tarrant had to know that letting Underland take their child from them was the thing she regretted most? That one action had ripped their family apart, and they still hadn't recovered. Regina still resented Alice for that particular failure, and apparently Tarrant did as well. Was she never to be forgiven?
"You half-mad, spineless coward!" Alice lashed out, seething. "If I am no longer a Champion, then neither are you! You dare to tell me I care nothing for the safety of my child, but I don't see you any better off! If I have deluded myself as you seem to believe, then what of you? You are nothing like the Hightopp I married. You cling to your tea parties and your memories of better days, but who created those better days? The Leader of the Resistance. The man I named my Champion. Not you."
The words hung heavy in the air, tangling with the tension between them, stifling speech and choking breath. They stared at each other, each stricken to the core, but what had been said could not be unsaid nor unfelt. There was nothing to do but accept the breach and follow the argument to its inevitable conclusion. And for the first time in a very long time, Alice felt panicked and desperate, hopelessly clinging to the last threads of a bridge that was about to be blown apart.
"Perhaps we neither of us know the other anymore," Tarrant said, his voice quiet but horribly final.
Alice stayed silent, watching the last fibers of the bridge slip between her fingers and disintegrate into nothing.
"Do as you wish then, Champion," he continued, sounding utterly defeated. "Absolem knows you always did as you pleased, no matter what the cost to anyone else."
He swept her a grand, mocking bow, and for the first time since Alice had known him, he turned his back on her. He moved stiffly back to his blanket and lay down, resolutely turned away from her.
For a long time, Alice remained where she stood, staring in mute horror at Tarrant's back. What had she done? How could she have said those hateful things, and to Tarrant of all people? Even if they were true… She was still angry, frighteningly so, but she had never meant… why had she…? They had been wed for twenty-six years, as nearly as she could figure. For twenty-six years they had been of one mind, had presented a united front to Underland. He had been there for her every step of the way, always believing in her even when she had given up on herself. And yet, now… now they were estranged, paths diverting. How had they come to this?
Alice's eyes filled with tears that she stubbornly blinked back. She would not cry about this mess that she had made with her own hands. She would not mourn the relationships she had stifled and allowed to die. She had been journeying to this point for a long time; all that was left to do was follow her path to its inevitable conclusion.
She turned back to Lewis, who watched her with wide, sympathetic eyes, and sighed heavily. "Come on then, boy," she whispered.
Lewis groaned softly, snuffling as he lowered himself so she could mount him. She forced her aching joints to cooperate, swinging herself up onto the saddle, and gathered Lewis' reins, gently nudging him to follow the path down into the Outlands without a single backwards glance.
She was on her own now.
"I know you're still awake."
The words were softly spoken, but in the utter silence of the makeshift camp they were as loud as a scream. Dafydd didn't move, barely even stirred at Tarrant's declaration. But he did open his eyes, staring blankly at the cliff face before him.
"Aye," he acknowledged.
Yes, he was still awake. To his credit, he had tried to sleep. He had had every intention of bedding down, trying to catch a few hours' rest before having to face his clan and the Outlands again. He'd not slept a wink last night; he'd been too consumed with scouring the woods around the Brae, trying to find any hint of Regina's kidnappers and where she might have been taken. After they'd come to the conclusion that the Nazari were involved, he had spent the rest of the night pacing the top of the Hill, trying to come up with a plan to rescue Regina without risking an all-out war.
By all rights, he should have been exhausted. He was exhausted, filled to the brim with worry and even fear. But he couldn't sleep. It had taken him only minutes to realize what was wrong; he couldn't hear Regina's breathing. And while he'd silently groaned to himself at the realization, he was helpless in the face of that truth. For the last six months, her soft breathing had been the lullaby that had sent him to sleep, as well as the alarm that woke him the instant she opened her eyes- or fell into a nightmare, but that was a different kettle of onions. He hadn't even realized how dependent upon the sound of her breath he had become, until it was absent.
Fates, Ioan was right; she held him so very much in thrall.
"We can't worry about Alice now," Tarrant said softly, almost to himself. "Regina must be our focus."
Absently, Dafydd fingered the strip of tartan he'd tied around his left wrist. It was a strip from Regina's dress; the colors and the scent of the fabric confirmed it. Threaded onto the scrap of fabric had been a small brass button, plain but for the ribbed edges; Taran's clan marker. He'd found the token lying on the forest floor, not far from the crest of Hightopp Hill. After showing it to the rest of the Fearail, he'd removed Taran's marker from the scrap and tied it around his wrist, a seal to a silent promise. He would find her and bring her home safely, so Tarrant could sew her colors back on. He wouldn't let her slip through his fingers again.
"Aye, m'laird," he quietly agreed.
Personally, Dafydd had no problems focusing his attention on retrieving Regina. He held his peace out of respect to Tarrant and Regina, but Dafydd wasn't particularly fond of Alice. Not when the Blue Queen had hurt Regina as much and as often as she had, by her isolation and her distance.
He couldn't say he was especially surprised by the argument he'd overheard [as if he could help overhearing that ruckus]. That fight had been brewing between the Blue Royals for as long as he'd known them; old tensions and resentments had been bubbling beneath the surface of the Clava-Hightopp family unit since the moment of their reconciliation. He wondered, though, if they would ever be able to form themselves into a true family, the way Regina wanted them to be. How many times had he watched Regina's face crumple as she watched her estranged parents, seen her disappointment as she was reminded afresh that life was not as idyllic as she'd dreamed it would be when she found her parents again? What if her family was too broken to be repaired?
Well, at least they could bemoan their broken families together, he thought darkly.
As much as he tried to ignore it, his entire being was aware of the landscape below him. The Outlands recognized him, and she was calling to him, trying to draw him back. And despite himself, he wanted to return. The Outlands were, after all, the only home he'd ever known, and his entire family was still there. He had missed them in the last six months, and despite Regina's kidnapping, he wanted to see them again.
And yet, he was afraid of going back. What would happen when he returned home, when he was surrounded by his family again? How could he face his mathair, his brother and sister-in-law, his nephew and cousins and lifelong friends, when he'd come to believe that they were all wrong? How could he walk amongst them when he was willing to go to war against them, to keep them from overrunning Regina's homeland- or Fates forbid, harming Regina herself?
He wished he could hate Regina for changing him so. For all his life he'd been waiting for the chance that stood before the Nazari now. Now was the perfect time to strike. Tearmunn was literally within his grasp; with one word he could give his clan their homeland back, and he would be their hero. He was so close; they were so close. Ever since he was old enough to understand their exile, all he had wanted was to help his people return home. They had that chance now. And yet, after only six months, he was willing to deny his family that very chance, to keep them from the land that they still belonged to.
And what had caused this complete reversal? One girl. One tiny wisp of an infuriatingly fascinating girl who'd caught him in the trap of her stupidly huge eyes and who refused to let him go or think clearly. She had turned him completely inside out and effortlessly remade him into a completely new man… and he was quite sure she had no idea she'd done it. She was cruelty itself for doing this to him, for alienating him from his family and everything he'd ever wanted…
But how could he hate her? She was his queen; she had given him a home, a purpose, a whole new life. She could have ordered him killed on that battlefield, but she had shown him mercy, offered him a new life. How could he turn his back on her and destroy everything she hoped to build?
No, there was nothing for it. He had no choice but to descend into the desolate plains of his birth, and he would have to rescue her from his family's clutches. He had made his choice, and even though it would tear him into pieces, he couldn't abandon her. Not now.
"We'll get her back," Dafydd said quietly. "I swear it."
"I know we will," Tarrant said, sounding tired and subdued. "It's what comes after that concerns me."
They passed the rest of the night in silence. Dafydd doubted that either of them had slept, but there was nothing for it. Both of them were single-mindedly determined to find and save Regina; that would have to be the fuel that drove them onwards, in lieu of rest. Indeed, as soon as the red Outlandish sun began to brighten the sky to its daytime shade of blood red, both Tarrant and Dafydd sat up, quietly packing their cloaks into their knapsacks and rousing their Horses. Without needing to communicate, they silently agreed to forego a proper breakfast in the interests of getting to the Nazari as quickly as possible. Tarrant tossed Dafydd a piece of hardtack as they took off down the footpath, leading the Horses.
Once they got onto the plain, there was nowhere to hide; no boulders or trees to block them from sight, no shadows to slip through. They were completely visible, sitting ducks. So Dafydd moved quickly, seeing no point in tarrying when they were so unprotected. There was a stand of petrified trees a few miles away, he remembered; they could rest there and hopefully spy upon the camp Alice had seen in last night's mirage. Despite what he'd said to Alice last night, Dafydd was sure that the rapidly approaching cluster of tents was his clan. He hoped that he could scout the site out, see if he could find out where Regina was being held- using Tarrant as bait, if he had to.
Unfortunately, the mirage Alice had seen last night had been more accurate than Dafydd would have wished. There was nowhere to hide between their position and the camp; they were easily visible, and sure to be spotted. Sure enough, he caught a flash of light against a drawn blade, a stir of movement. Someone was preparing for their approach. Frowning, he cursed under his breath; there went Plan A.
"Now what?" Tarrant asked.
"Deception," Dafydd answered, coming up with a plan quickly and digging a rope out of his rucksack. "I can get us into camp if I act like I've brought you here as a prisoner. I'll find out what they've done with Regina, and if I learn she's been taken to the gorges I'll volunteer to take you to join her."
Tarrant nodded in acceptance. "Do what you have to do, lad," he acquiesced.
He held up his wrists docilely. Dafydd tied him up quickly, trying to keep the ropes loose enough so Tarrant's wrists wouldn't be chafed, though tight enough that his clansmen wouldn't suspect anything. That done, he began walking, falling into his role as they approached his kinsmen.
To his surprise, one of the party of three that came out to intercept them was a young lad of twelve. He was growing tall and gangly, not yet grown into his hands and feet. His blond hair flopped in his green eyes, his youthful cheeks just beginning to sport the barest trace of downy fuzz.
"Gregan!" Dafydd exclaimed, amazed at the changes six months had wrought in his nephew.
"Uncle Dafydd!" Gregan greeted him, grinning. "You're home!"
"Look at how much you've grown!" Dafydd said, smiling despite himself. "Have you undergone your Manhood Rites yet?"
"No," Gregan said, his grin turning to a sullen frown before perking up again. "But Da said he'll consider it, after my time's up with the border guards."
"I'll see if I can't change your da's mind," Dafydd said, before clasping forearms with the other two men in the welcoming party.
"Welcome home, Dafydd," the elder, a gruff man named Mostyn, said. "We'd feared you lost."
"Not lost, just delayed," Dafydd replied. "I wanted to secure Tearmunn before I came back for you all."
"I take it that you've got Her, then?" the other man, Siorus, asked.
Dafydd nodded, fighting to keep calm. "I've got my best men on the Brae now. This is the Hightopp, by the way," he said, yanking on the rope until Tarrant stumbled forward.
"Him?" Siorus scoffed, glancing over Tarrant dismissively. "With all the stories we heard I expected someone more impressive."
Dafydd shrugged. "Very few people live up to their hype. You didn't happen to catch his wife, did you? Minx slipped away when I let her go to the Necessary."
"What, the half-Mad snarling witch?" Mostyn asked, spitting. "We got her. 'Bout half an hour ago. Niall said you wouldn't be far behind if she was out here."
"Where is my brother?" Dafydd asked.
"Dealing with the Puppet, I think," Siorus replied.
"Oh good," Dafydd said, trying to hide his relief. "We can get rid of her and her parents all at once, then."
He forced himself to keep his face smooth, but inside he was shouting with relief. Regina was alive and safe, and she was still in the camp. That made his job a million times easier; he could take Regina and her parents out towards the Gulges and get them safely back to Witzend before anyone realized he'd spirited them out. And then he could come back and deal with his family…
Dafydd was broken out of his thoughts by Gregan. The lad sprinted ahead of the rest of them, waving his arms and yelling that Dafydd was home again. His antics did the trick; it seemed as though the entire clan rushed out to see for themselves that their military general was home again, safe and sound. Despite himself, Dafydd had to smile at the welcome; he had missed his family in the past year. There was old Eilwen, who rightfully boasted that she was the best cook in the Outlands; and there was Tomos, who had been a member of the Hassasseen until he lost his leg in battle. There were aunts and uncles and friends and enemies, the people Dafydd had grown up with… and the people he now had to count as his enemies.
"Dafydd Nazar!"
Dafydd winced at the annoyed, strident woman's voice, even as those around him snickered beneath their breaths. The intelligent ones backed away as she approached, lest she catch them in her fury, as well. Despite his trepidation and the sudden sensation of feeling like he'd been caught stealing jam tarts, he cleared his throat, determined to endure this. He was an adult, he could manage this…
"Hello, Mathair," he said mildly.
Gwynyth Nazar narrowed her eyes at him, hands on her hips. "Don't you hello, Mathair me, young man," she snapped. "Six months you've been gone without a word. Six. Months. And you didn't once think to send your maman word that you were alright?"
Dafydd sighed heavily. "Mathair, I couldn't very well-"
"Oh yes you could have, don't give me that," Gwynyth glared. "You had your brother and I thinking that you'd been captured, or worse! How dare you make me worry like that!"
"Ow," Dafydd flinched as Gwynyth smacked him in the chest. "I'm sorry!"
"As you should be," Gwynyth nodded, her glare softening to annoyance.
"I secured Tearmunn, doesn't that count for anything?" Dafydd exclaimed.
"A very little," Gwynyth acknowledged. "But if you think I'm done with you, you've got another think coming."
"Oh leave off him, Maman," drawled a voice behind Gwynyth. "He's home safe now, and you can spoil and coddle him all you want again."
Dafydd looked over Gwynyth's shoulder, swallowing hard before stepping forward to embrace the Nazari's ceann-fine.
"Hello, Niall," he greeted him.
"Welcome home, little brother," Niall grinned, clapping Dafydd on the back.
Niall was several years older than Dafydd, and had become a surrogate father figure after the boys' da had been killed. Andras had been the brother Dafydd had played and wrestled and argued with; Niall had been the brother he had killed himself to impress. And now, the sight of his brother made Dafydd sick. This was the man who had ordered Regina kidnapped, the man who would likely order her death if Dafydd didn't act quickly enough. This was the man who was threatening everything his queen was fighting for, and the man that Dafydd was going to have to outwit to secure her freedom.
"I see you've brought a guest!" Niall commented as they separated.
"Yes," Dafydd said, mastering himself. "Tarrant Hightopp, King of Witzend. I meant to bring you the Queen as well, but I hear you've already captured her."
"That I did," Niall nodded. "And she's given us nothing but trouble since the second we got her. Fetch the Lady Hightopp," he called.
Two of Niall's men disappeared into a nearby tent. Dafydd could tell the moment Alice saw them, because she began screaming at them, cursing them out in an inventive mix of Underlandian and what he assumed were Aboveground swears. It would have been funny, if he wasn't so irritated with her… Dafydd glanced over as the men dragged a bound-but-still-struggling Alice out of the tent. It was almost a comical sight, to see her fighting and digging her heels in, until one saw the maelstrom of emotions in the Queen's eyes. Dafydd had to wonder if Alice had not in fact gone Mad; she hardly seemed cognizant of anyone, lost as she was in her fury.
"Not that I'm not grateful to have them away from Tearmunn, but why did you bring them out here?" Niall asked, as though they were discussing the weather.
Dafydd shrugged. "I thought they should be reunited with their daughter."
"How thoughtful," Niall said. "I wish you had come sooner! The Azure Princess has already been disposed of."
Dafydd's blood ran cold. What? Disposed of? Oh, he didn't like the sound of that…
"What?" Tarrant breathed.
Dafydd glanced at his "captive" to see that the Hightopp's eyes were rapidly changing in a kaleidoscope of colors. He clenched his jaw, wishing that he could indulge in a display of emotion just as strong. Even Alice seemed to rouse at Niall's statement; she ceased struggling against her captors, focusing all of her formidable glare on the ceann-fine.
"What are you talking about?" she snapped.
"Yes, I'm afraid my captain Taran took her away early this morning. Only a short while before Alice joined us, actually," Niall said, the very pleasantness of his voice sounding utterly cruel. "If you wish to join her, though, I'm sure that can be arranged."
Alice spat at Niall's feet before her furious gaze fell upon Dafydd. He was pinned beneath the weight of her rage and accusations, paralyzed in the face of his failure. No… Oh Fates, no… He couldn't be too late… He couldn't have failed her…
"I don't believe you," Alice seethed. "If you've killed my daughter, show me the proof."
"I would loath to show a mother the proof of her child's death," Niall said. "But very well."
He motioned to one of his guard, who retreated inside Niall's tent. The silence as they waited was unbearable, choked with tension. Fear and hope waged war within Dafydd's heart, and with every tiny tick of the clock he could feel the drums of Madness beating louder and more insistently. She wasn't dead… he wouldn't believe it… She couldn't be dead, just like that… She had to be alive…
An unbearable eternity later, Niall's guard returned, a bundle of fabric in his arms. Dafydd felt the blood drain from his face when he saw it- Regina's Hightopp tartan gown, stained with blood and torn with ragged slashes.
He was dimly aware that Alice screamed, that Tarrant swayed and fell to his knees. But their grief didn't hold his attention; neither did Niall's smug, darkly amused face. Instead, all of his attention was focused on the drums inside his head as they threatened to overpower him, as all his insides crumbled into dust.
Niall watched the Blue Royals, shaking his head sympathetically. "Yes, a tragedy," he said, in a tone that made Dafydd long to whip out his claymore and take off his brother's head. "But it came of her free will. She rejected my offers of clemency, and so I had no choice. But it doesn't have to be like that for you. All I ask is that you abdicate your thrones and leave Witzend. You can return to Marmoreal, or travel Over-Sea if you like. Only leave Tearmunn to me, and your lives will be spared."
Alice snarled. "Never, you slurking urpal slackush scrum!"
"Well, that's not very polite," Niall said, sounding amused, in a tone as if chastising a naughty toddler. "What of you?" he asked, turning towards Tarrant, his pleasant demeanor cracking in dislike.
Dafydd saw it before anyone else; perhaps even before Alice. He saw how the Hightopp's eyes were a dangerous, neon yellowish-green, saw how Tarrant looked not angry, but rather steely calm, his face shadowed in grays which only served to highlight the dangerous look in his eyes. This was Madness, pure and simple; Tarrant Hightopp was no more.
The Nazari had grown up with cautionary tales of what happened to their ancestors when they lost control of their Madness. How one would be utterly consumed, lost in the darkness of the twists and turns of one's mind and unable to resurface into consciousness. How the Madness would reign supreme, revealing the worst and darkest aspects of the Mad one's character. Dafydd had grown up hearing how important it was to control one's Madness, else one would become lost to it, but never before had he seen what happened when a man gave in to his Madness. Not until now.
Tarrant didn't say anything; he merely looked up at Niall. But that look was filled with such naked loathing, such primal, animalistic anger… Under the force of such a gaze, even Niall took a step back.
"Restrain him," Niall ordered.
Dafydd realized Niall's mistake the instant he spoke. The moment the guards took a step forward, Tarrant leapt into action, breaking the rope binding his wrists as easily as if it were the thinnest of threads. Before the first guard could move, Tarrant grabbed his head, twisting viciously and releasing the body just as fast. He ducked a blow from another guard, delivering a vicious punch of his own to the man's stomach. When he was grabbed from behind, Tarrant used his captor as leverage, springing up to leap up and kick the other man in the face, sending him falling back, unconscious, before flipping his captor over his shoulder.
Dafydd didn't have time to think; he merely reacted. He had to neutralize this situation as quickly as possible, before Tarrant got himself killed. Rushing forward, he grabbed Tarrant's arm as the older man swung around, using the momentum to spin Tarrant into his grasp. Before Tarrant could react, Dafydd delivered a brutal punch to his temple, catching the Hatter as he slumped, unconscious.
"Tarrant!" Alice shrieked, struggling for all she was worth against the grip of two men. "You bastard!" she spat at Dafydd, utter loathing in her voice. "Regina trusted you!"
"Take them away," Niall snapped, regaining control over the situation. "Bind them in a tent together, and when the Hatter wakes up send them to join Regina. Tonight, we feast to welcome home my brother and rejoice in our victory. Tomorrow, we march on Tearmunn."
The Nazari cheered as the remaining guards hauled the Blue Royals away. Dafydd tried to muster himself together, to appear pleased and proud to stand beside his brother once more, but all he could feel was disgust, and rage. It was all he could do to remain silent, to appear impassive, when all he wanted to do was make his brother feel even a sliver of the agony he was in right now.
Niall, seemingly impervious to his brother's mood, clapped a hand on Dafydd's shoulder. "Come," he said. "We have much to discuss."
It took all of Dafydd's skill in deception not to flinch away from his brother's touch. "Give me some time," he croaked. "I need to bathe. Get the Hightopp filth off my skin," he improvised wildly, hardly caring what he said as long as it meant Niall would leave him alone.
Barely waiting for Niall's nod, Dafydd turned, walking away as quickly as he possibly could in the direction of the sluggish, sulfuric-smelling river. But when he reached the river he didn't stop; he forded the shallow waters as quickly as possible, continuing to walk until the noises of the campsite melted away into silence. As soon as he felt like he'd put enough distance between himself and his family, he drew to a halt, staring blankly out at the windswept, barren plains as he lost his grip on reality. Digging his fingers into his scalp, he fell to his knees, the drumming overwhelming his senses as he lost himself to his grief.
Dead. Regina was dead. His dearbadan-de, the pretty little butterfly he'd been safeguarding and watching so closely… now she was lying out under the harsh Outlandish sun somewhere, her red half-Uplander blood soaking into the broken ground, her beautiful green eyes staring sightlessly up at the ugly red sky.
He swore he felt the cracking as his heart broke, as it screamed and bled its agony. How had it taken her Death to make him realize that she was his Life? She had undone him, completely remade him, and he was utterly dependent upon her. And he had failed her. His entire future had been tied into her, and now… now it was all gone.
How long had he felt like this for her, he dully wondered. How long had she held his heart in her hands, without his noticing it? How long ago had he fallen for her? And how could he not have realized what these feelings meant earlier? He had been in love before… or at least, he'd thought it had been love. How could he not have recognized these emotions for what they were? The helpless fascination, the wonder, the fierce need to protect her, the stronger need to make her smile and to keep her happy… hadn't he felt all those things for Afanen, in some way? How could he not have recognized them when they applied to Regina?
Oh Fates, it hurt. It hurt. He'd finally realized that he was in love, truly in love for perhaps the first time in his life. And she had been taken from him. The woman he loved, murdered by his own brother. He had promised to protect her, sworn to keep her safe. He had loved her, and he had failed her. And now, Regina was dead, and Dafydd was among her murderers, unable to take revenge for her.
The drumming was getting louder and ever more insistent, calling to him, demanding vengeance and justice and revenge and blood and destruction and satisfaction. Usually he was able to lock the drums away deep in the darkest recesses of his mind. But he was so weak, so utterly destroyed… maybe listening to the drumming for once would provide some respite and relief from this horrifying pain. Maybe it would be a blessing to give in, for once.
He hunched over, his forehead touching the ground, and he howled Regina's name in loss as he lost himself to the drumming.
"I assume you have some sort of plan."
Ioan rolled his eyes and huffed, silently motioning for Lily to shut up. He needed silence in order to listen for Birds… and he didn't necessarily want to tell her that his "plan," as it was, was only half-formed and based on too many variables to be considered any kind of stable.
He snapped his gaze up as he heard a rustling in the trees above him. He squinted, but given that the sun had long since gone down that didn't really improve his vision any. Motioning to Lily for silence and to stay in place, he hauled himself up into the branches, climbing as quickly and as silently as he could. Several minutes, a panicked squawk, and an inventive curse later, Ioan triumphantly leapt to the ground, gripping an angry Crow upside down by its legs.
"Ta da!" he exclaimed, presenting the animal for Lily's inspection.
Far from looking impressed though, she stared up at him, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "A Bird. That's your brilliant plan, birds?"
Ioan huffed again. "You could be impressed, you know. Crows are the devil to catch. Especially in this light."
"I don't understand how you think that a Crow is going to help us find Gigi," Lily frowned.
"He's going to get us over the mountains," Ioan said, speaking slowly as if to a child.
Lily's frown deepened. "Isn't that what the Horse and the Bear are for?"
Ioan shook his head. "Thanks to the enchantment, it'd take forever for them to break through."
"Enchantment? What enchantment?" Lily asked.
Ioan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You don't know this? Your ancestor was the one to do it."
"I might have heard it at one point, but I never liked history lessons," Lily admitted.
"Right," Ioan muttered. "Anyways. Yes. Enchantment. When your ancestor banished my clan, he set a curse on the mountains to keep us from ever getting back."
"He doesn't appear to have done a very good job," Lily said sardonically.
"Oh, he did a very good job," Ioan grumbled. "Which is why we need the bird. He can fly over the mountains, right over the curse. It'll save us hours of time."
"Alright," Lily shrugged in acceptance. "So you have pishalver, then?"
"I wouldn't go to all the trouble of catching the bird if I didn't, now would I?" Ioan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I have no idea what you might do," Lily replied. "For all I know, it could be some arcane mating ritual."
"…Right," Ioan drawled, shaking his head before tossing Lily a glass vial he'd dug out of his rucksack. "Drink up, Princess."
"I have a name, you know," Lily frowned as she caught the bottle.
"Yep, I know," Ioan nodded, saluting her with a mock toast before downing his dose.
Lily considered arguing, but she was quick to realize that it would only waste time. Shrugging, she unstoppered the vial in her hand and took a sip of the vial-tasting pishalver, coughing as she began to shrink down. She clutched at her clothing, yelping; she hadn't thought about this part.
Hearing her startled gasp, Ioan glanced over, worried that she might have stubbed her toe or something. As he walked over though, he saw the source of Lily's distress.
"Troubles?" he grinned.
"I'm fine," she huffed, yanking on the too-large clothing.
"You could always leave the clothes behind," he suggested in a parody of innocence.
Lily glared at him. "I don't think so."
Ioan sighed, pouting. "I tried."
Shrugging, he hefted up the vial, allowing the last few drops to splatter on Lily's clothing. She blinked in surprise as the fabric began to shrink, until it fit her properly again.
"I didn't know pishalver could do that," she commented.
"The stuff you Underlandians brew can't," Ioan said smugly. "This is our recipe. Ingenious, isn't it?"
Lily shrugged, determined not to let Ioan's head swell any further. "It'll serve. So what is your plan, oh fearless leader?"
Ioan sighed; he should've known Lily wouldn't let up. Still, he wasn't about to let Lily know how patchy his plan actually was. With a warning glance to the Crow, he boosted Lily up onto the Bird's back, showing her how to hold on to the Animal without ruffling its feathers. Once he was sure she wouldn't fall off, he hopped on behind her and took off into the air. He waited until they were well up into the air before finally answering her.
"I'm using you as a distraction," he said, leaning in to speak into her ear. "I'll parade in with you all trussed up like a hedgehog and hand you over to Niall. He'll stash you wherever he's keeping Regina. I'll volunteer to guard you, I'll slip you a dagger, you can free yourself and Gigi, drink some pishalver, and sneak out the back. I'll hide you both in my pocket while I go deal with Dafydd, and then we'll all get out of this mess as fast as we can."
Lily tilted her head, considering. "It's a good plan," she finally said, nodding. "It leaves a lot to chance, but I think we can make it work."
"I think you're stubborn enough to force it to work," Ioan shot back, grinning.
Lily smiled complacently. "So I've been told."
Ioan liked traveling by Bird; as he'd told Lily, it was such a time saver. By the time they had flown over the mountains, it was late at night; probably about midnight, if he was reading the moon right. But he didn't see any sign of Dafydd or the Hightopps, which meant that they were either already in the Outlands, or still struggling through the mountain pass. Either way, Ioan would feel better if he was in the Nazari camp already.
Very soon, they were up and over the mountains, and in the Outlands. Ioan sighed as he gazed upon the land of his birth. Funny, how barren and unfriendly it seemed, now that he'd gotten used to the lush greens of Underland. The land looked harsher and more dangerous than Ioan remembered, and despite the fact that it was home he found himself unwilling to venture down onto the ground.
Still, the Crow was rapidly descending towards the earth. And if they didn't go into the Outlands, Ioan didn't have a hope in all the worlds of bringing Dafydd under control. So however unpleasant or uncomfortable this was going to be, it had to be done.
"This could be uncomfortable for you," Ioan warned Lily as he handed her a square of upelkuchen. "You'll probably be tied up and under guard, and they won't be nice."
"I don't care," Lily said staunchly, munching on the cake. "If it helps Gigi, then it's fine."
Ioan nodded, swallowing his own upelkuchen. After they and their clothing had both grown back to their right-proper-sizes, Ioan bound Lily's wrists with rope and started walking, heading for the glow of campfires in the distance. He knew they would be spotted fairly quickly; even though the Hassasseen had been the elite fighting force, Niall had retained his own personal guard, and they were likely prowling the borders of the Nazari's campsite.
"How doth the shining crocodile improve his shining tail?"
Right on time.
Ioan grinned faintly as he called back the proper response. "He pours water of the Nile on every shining scale!"
"Let him through! I recognize that voice, it's Ioan!" one of the guards called. "Fetch Lord Niall!"
Ioan grinned, accidentally yanking on Lily's lead rope in his hurry to rejoin his kin. She grumbled, yanking back to regain her footing. Ioan couldn't resist tugging the rope once again; after all, he had to get them both into character, didn't he?
"Ioan! What are you doing here?" the border guard, who Ioan recognized as Caradoc, asked as he approached.
"Dafydd sent me ahead," he lied easily. "We found Taran's clan marker, but the idiot only got the Princess. Dafydd's bringing along the parents. I brought Niall an extra present," he said, yanking on the rope to force Lily forward.
"I don't think Briallen will take kindly to giving Niall a slut to play with, Ioan. That's going a bit far, even for you," Caradoc said blankly.
"Excuse m- hey!" Lily yelped, glaring at Ioan as he yanked her rope again.
He smirked at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to Caradoc. "I think Briallen will forgive me when she finds out this is the Adamasi bitch's whelp."
He was very conscious of Lily suddenly going still, not feigning the shock in her face at his insult. But he didn't focus on her, instead watching as Caradoc processed Ioan's announcement.
"Well well. One of the Adamasi," he said, slowly circling around Lily like a vulture. "Aye, I think Briallen might just forgive you."
"Ioan, you scallywag, what are you doing here on your own?"
Ioan turned at the sound of his cousin's voice, grinning. Tossing Lily's rope to Caradoc, he walked forward, clapping Niall's forearm in greeting.
"Dafydd will be along in a few hours," Ioan said. "I got impatient, so I flew. You have the Puppet, I hear."
"That I do," Niall nodded. "Lounging on her pleasure couch as we speak. Who's this?"
"The White Princess, m'laird," Caradoc answered, yanking Lily forward and presenting her to Niall.
Niall raised his eyebrows in surprise, glancing at Ioan. In response, Ioan shrugged.
"She wanted to come after Re- the Puppet," he said, silently cursing himself for the slip of tongue.
"I see," Niall mused, apparently not noticing Ioan's mistake. "Well, I have no objection to her joining her cousin. I think it'd be a lovely surprise for Regina, to wake up and learn that she's taking her journey with a friend." He smiled, a cold, heartless smile, before glancing at Caradoc. "Is the prisoners' tent set up?"
"Yes, m'laird," Caradoc nodded. "We had it ready for the Puppet, before you decided to keep her with you-"
"Perfect," Niall interrupted. "Put the White Bitch there."
"Yes, m'laird," Caradoc said, bowing before taking Lily off.
Ioan watched them go, marking where the tent was so that he could slip Lily the tools she'd need to escape later. He snapped back to attention as Niall clapped him on the back.
"You look tired, cousin," Niall said. "I'll have a couple of my men set up a tent for you."
"No need, Niall," Ioan said. "I'll go sleep by the whelp's tent. I don't trust her not to try to run off."
"If you're sure," Niall hesitated.
"Of course I'm sure," Ioan grinned. "You have need of all your men."
"That I do," Niall nodded. "Alright. Get some rest, Ioan. You'll need it, when Dafydd comes home."
"That I will," Ioan said wryly.
He ambled away from Niall, whistling to himself as he headed in the direction of the tent where Lily was being held. He nodded in greeting to Caradoc as he approached, clapping his clansmen on the shoulder.
"Go get yourself some rest," he said. "I volunteered to watch the little bitch."
"Much obliged," Caradoc nodded. "I'll come get you at dawn."
Ioan nodded in agreement as Caradoc took off. Once the elder man was gone, Ioan glanced around to be sure he was unobserved before slipping into the tent.
"You alright?" he asked softly, crossing over to Lily.
She sat in the center of the tent, tied to the central upright pole. She looked up at him, annoyed.
"Oh, I'm peachy," she grumbled. "What is your clan's problem?"
Ioan grumbled. He probably should have expected that; he hadn't exactly given her all the required background information to help her understand why she would be so reviled among his clan. But still, she could control the attitude a little.
He plopped down beside her, digging around in his pockets for the tools she'd need to make their plan work. A dagger, easily hidden in her sleeve, and upelkuchen and pishalver. Lily nodded silently, cradling the cake and drink in her hands as Ioan slipped the dagger up her arm.
"Your ancestors banished mine," he said shortly once the tools were hidden. "We're still a little angry."
"I got that from the Adamasi bitch comments," Lily said scathingly.
Ioan shrugged, wincing faintly. "Right. Sorry about that," he apologized.
She sighed. "It's beyond the point. Can you get to Gigi?"
"No," Ioan shook his head. "I can't move her without causing suspicion. So I'll volunteer to take the both of you… wherever Niall's planning on sending you," he said hesitantly. "We're still following the same plan."
Lily nodded in understanding. Nodding once, Ioan stood.
"I'll come check on you every couple of hours," he said. "I'll be right outside the door."
"I'll be here," Lily replied, squirming as much as she could beneath her bonds.
Nodding, Ioan headed back outside. Waiting outside the tent was a thin pallet and blanket. Sighing gratefully, Ioan lay down, closing his eyes. Neither he nor any of the Fearail had slept at all last night; he'd be grateful for a few hours' rest.
Hold on, Gigi, he thought as he drifted off. We'll get you out of here soon.
The next time Ioan opened his eyes, the sun was rising over the barren wasteland. Ioan blinked, then sat up in surprise. Fates, had he slept all night? He leapt to his feet, silently berating himself. What if Niall had already sent Regina off? What if Lily had been taken while he slept? What if his plan had completely unraveled?
Cursing, he stumbled into Lily's tent, surprised to see that she was no longer alone.
"Your Majesty?" he blinked, wondering if he was really seeing the Blue Queen tied to one of the corner support poles.
Alice glared up at him with eyes that burned. "Curse you," she spat at him. "Curse you and all your kin, you murderous bastards. You killed my daughter. I'll see all of you destroyed!"
Ioan froze, his eyes flying wide. Killed? What?
"What are you talking about?" he breathed.
"Gigi's dead," Lily replied, her voice thick with tears.
Ioan stared at her, stumbling over to her and squatting beside her. Lily hung limply in the ropes that tied her, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Hesitantly, Ioan put a comforting hand on Lily's back, watching gravely as she looked up at him. He winced when he saw her face; Lily had been crying so hard that she'd broken the blood vessels around her eyes, and her face was even more deathly pale than usual.
"Niall had her taken away before Alice got here," she sniffed. "She's gone, Ioan. She's dead. We failed."
Ioan swallowed hard, trying to persuade his tongue to wrap itself around some comforting words, when a sudden thought made him pause.
"Fates," he whispered. "Oh, Fates."
Shooting straight up, Ioan hurried out of the tent. He looked around wildly, hoping against hope, but when no great hulking moron was visible, he rushed to Niall's tent.
"Niall!" he exclaimed, bursting inside.
Niall's head shot up, as did the heads of half a dozen of his best men. Ioan swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. The game wasn't over yet; he still had a deception to enact. Stay calm, he counseled himself; there was plenty of time to panic later.
"Ioan, what's wrong?" Niall frowned.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I overslept. The Adamasi whelp tells me you sent the Puppet away already?"
"At dawn," Niall nodded. "I had meant to send the White Princess with her, but the Elders reminded me that we are still outlawed in Underland. So instead of killing her, we'll use the little bitch as leverage. Her life for our return. I think the Queen will agree, don't you?"
"That should do it," Ioan nodded, swallowing hard. "You're planning our way back, then?"
"Mmm," Niall nodded, turning back to his work table. "Now that we have you and Dafydd back, that should weaken the curse's hold enough for us to get over the mountains, don't you think?"
"I think so," Ioan said hesitantly. "Where is Dafydd? Shouldn't he be here?"
"He went for a swim," Niall said, unconcerned.
"Ah," Ioan nodded. "I'll go get him. He should be here, he can tell you about the lay of the land and the best way to get to the Brae."
Without waiting to hear what Niall had to say, Ioan turned and hurried away, walking quickly through the camp towards the river. It was fiendishly difficult to track in the Outlands; the ground was so hard that it was often difficult to find tracks. But apparently, Dafydd had been angry, because the earth had cracked wherever he'd stepped. Not a good sign… Still, it made it easy for Ioan to follow his cousin's path, away from the camp and deeper into the Outlands.
Ioan sighed in relief when he finally spotted Dafydd, but he was cautious as he approached. Underland only knew what sort of a mental state Dafydd was in right now… if his cousin was battling the Madness he really didn't want to end up getting punched in the face.
"Dafydd?" he asked cautiously, slowly approaching.
Dafydd didn't turn; he remained standing, his back turned to Ioan, staring out over the horizon. Ioan glanced at Dafydd's hands to be sure he wasn't armed [not that Dafydd had any need of weapons], sighing in relief to find them empty. Wait; not empty. Dafydd was holding something; a scrap of dark-colored fabric. Ioan winced when he recognized it; it was the scrap of Regina's dress they'd found back in Tearmunn.
"She's dead," Dafydd said.
His voice was quiet and flat, near emotionless. He might as well have been discussing the weather. But the tone in his voice sent alarm bells ringing through Ioan's head. Oh Fates, he was too late. He knew that tone, and was all too aware of what it signified. He'd come too late; Dafydd wasn't fighting the Madness, he'd already succumbed.
"I heard," Ioan said. "I'm so sorry, Dafydd."
"Sorry," Dafydd repeated, his lips twisting in a faint sneer. "Sorry doesn't bring her back. She's gone. I let her go."
Ioan nodded, thinking. He was hyper-aware that the wrong word from him could spell his death; if Dafydd took offense to anything, Ioan would be dead before he could even defend himself.
"What are we going to do?" he asked. "Niall's getting ready to wage war. The Deuces can't hold Tearmunn by themselves, Dafydd. And we have to get Alice and Tarrant out of here-"
"What does it matter?" Dafydd interrupted him, glaring at him with eyes that blazed like lightning. "What does any of it matter? She's dead, Ioan! Dead…"
Ioan stared at Dafydd, unnerved by the depth of grief and loss in his cousin's eyes. He'd known that Dafydd wanted Regina, of course; they'd all known it. But he hadn't realized just how deep the yearning went. He had thought it was trite, a physical attraction. He'd never stopped to think that Dafydd might have lost his heart to the young Princess. But that was apparently the case, and if so, they were in trouble. The Nazari mated for life; once their heart was given, it was given completely and forever. If Regina was dead, what was to stop Dafydd from wasting away into nothing?
"You made her a promise," Ioan said slowly. "You promised to defend her, and everything and everyone she cares about. She may be gone, but you're still bound to protect what she loves. You have to defend Tearmunn, Dafydd. For her."
He watched Dafydd closely, watched as his words slowly sunk in and took hold. The Madness was still there, still in control; it wasn't Dafydd Ioan was addressing, it was most definitely the Battlelust. But thank the Fates, Regina held just as much power over one as over the other.
"For her," Dafydd finally said, before turning and walking back to the camp.
Ioan exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping. Oh, this was bad. Regina dead, Dafydd gone Mad… What would happen if they weren't able to break Dafydd's Madness? What would happen if they couldn't bring him back to himself?
Still, that was a worry for tomorrow, Ioan told himself, jogging to catch up with Dafydd. Before they could worry about Dafydd's Madness, they had to prevent this war, had to keep Tearmunn out of Niall's clutches and get Alice, Tarrant and Lily home safely.
Ioan sighed. This was going to take a miracle…
Disclaimer, or please don't kill me: So, um… yeah. That was a bit evil. Um… oops?
First off, about Alice and Tarrant. That argument… yeah. I always intended to have them argue, but they turned it into a complete clusterfuck. I watched that unfolding in my head and my jaw just dropped. At one point I had to stop them and ask if they were really going to do this, to which they replied, at the same time, "Yep. Now step back and let us get on with it." To which Dafydd and I glanced at each other and headsmacked in unison. I do, however, have my reasons for Alice and Tarrant to be ripping each other to shreds. I mentioned in Book One that I did research about what happens to a family unit [psychologically speaking] when a child is kidnapped, and that oftentimes the parents will take their stress and fears out on each other. That idea formed the basis of Alice and Tarrant's relationship for me, so this argument is really just a continuation of that theme. I did not, however, expect them to get so incredibly vicious with each other. Just remember, I do keep promising to eventually fix everything I break. Eventually.
Which reminds me, about Regina… heh. That plot twist was her idea, not mine. I had no idea why she wanted to descend to that level of evil [and that level of complicated to worm my way out of]… and then she pointed to Dafydd. Yep, that's right. This entire plot twist happened just so Regina could torment Dafydd. That is not kind of her, and I will not object if you want to bash her over the head with a club.
Dafydd's descent into Madness is new; yet another product of that 48-hour editing binge I keep complaining about. His Madness developed into a major subplot for the latter half of this Book, and it's going to have some major- and majorly interesting- implications for the back chapters. I'm looking forward to dealing with his Madness; it's based off the idea of berserkers and battlelust, so you can imagine what a problem this could be for the delicate situation we find ourselves in.