Author's Note: This chapter has the dubious honor of being one of the most heavily edited and rewritten chapters in all of Book Two. As usual, it's all Dafydd's fault. The last five pages or so of this chapter never would have happened if Dafydd hadn't gone Mad. Instead of getting mad at the stubborn, ridiculous Outlander though, I was absolutely delighted that he went and mucked things up so badly for himself. I loved rewriting this chapter.
Special Thanks: Millions of thanks and a hundred warm welcomes to my shiny new beta, Ranguvar27!
Lily was pacing. Striding back and forth, heedless of the early-morning sun that was already relentlessly beating down upon them. Hands on her hips, an impatient scowl on her face, Lily didn't speak, or shed more tears for Regina's demise; all her energy was focused into her long, agitated steps back and forth across the cracked, dusty ground.
Alice couldn't say she blamed Lily for her impatience. Quite honestly, if Alice had the energy- and the mobile joints- she would be pacing, as well. They had been waiting at this waterhole since their escape from the Nazari camp. Alice wasn't entirely sure how long they had been waiting, but that hardly mattered. The point was, they were waiting, and they were both sick of waiting. Neither of them had made friends with Patience… Alice leaned back against Lewis' side, making herself comfortable against the reclining Bandersnatch as she watched Lily's back and forth progress.
"Did Ioan say when he would join us?" Alice asked, peering back in the direction of the camp.
"No," Lily shook her head. "Just that he'd get Tarrant and follow us. You're sure we can't just go on our own? We don't have much time-"
"No," Alice negated. "There's no point in disrupting the plan you and Ioan set. Your plan, at least, has been going as you intended," she added with a bitter smile.
Lily sighed heavily, ceasing her pacing. She bowed her head for a long moment before turning to face the Aged Queen.
"I'm so sorry, Alice," she said softly.
The words echoed in the quiet of the Outlandish desert. At those words, Alice sighed deeply, resting her head back against Lewis' side as something heavy in her chest released, allowing her to breathe for the first time since she'd heard the news of her daughter's demise.
They hadn't faced the truth of it before now, she thought idly. They had raged against the men who'd committed the deed, they had lost themselves in their despair and in the hazy fogginess of numb disbelief. But none of them had actually stood up and stared the truth squarely in the face until now. They had raged at the men who had killed Regina, but they hadn't acknowledged the fact that she was dead.
Dead. Not lost, not gone. Dead. Removed from Life. Existing no more.
In truth, it was almost a sick and twisted relief to finally give in and accept it. There would be no repeat of those eighteen terrible years of Madness, when Regina was Lost and they slowly wasted away clinging to faint threads of Hope that she might be restored. This was something definite and permanent; Regina was beyond their reach now. There was no bringing her back this time; they couldn't wait for her to return. And as much as it hurt to face that, as painful as it was to acknowledge that Regina's life had been taken from her, at the same time it was a profound relief to be able to release her. They had a definite answer this time; they knew where Regina was, and they knew that she was never coming back. They could let her go; let their little butterfly fly away into the great blue sky. It was over.
Alice was quite sure that things wouldn't be so simple when they returned to Underland. When they had to go back home and forge a life without Regina, Alice was positive she would rage and scream and cry and rain curses down upon the Spirit of Underland for taking her daughter from her again. But here, in the quiet of the red desert, with everything so barren, so plainly black and white, it was all very simple. The simplicity was comforting in its harsh unforgivingness, and Alice was grateful for it. At least for now. And even if she wasn't thankful later, right now she was at peace, and for now, if only for now, it was enough.
"We tried," she said heavily, her voice quiet. "We did our best. Now we have to think ahead, I suppose."
"Thinking ahead" was rapidly becoming "thinking about now." When Ioan joined them, the three of them were traveling over the Border Mountains and into Witzend. Alice would round up her army of Clubs, while Lily and Ioan raced to Marmoreal to get reinforcement Diamond battalions. Then they would have a battle. Alice hoped that Tarrant wouldn't mind that too terribly much; he had been working so hard on rebuilding the Brae, and now it was about to be plunged into war. Would Iplam once again run red with blood, Alice wondered, a sickly hollow feeling settling in her stomach. Was she about to commit an act just as heinous as the one the Bluddy Begh Hid had? But what else could she do, with the Nazari so intent on taking their homeland by force?
"Which only brings us back to the point," Alice continued, more to shut her thoughts off than anything. "We need to wait for Ioan."
"Can we afford to wait much longer?" Lily argued. "If we delay too much more, the Nazari won't meet any resistance in Iplam, and they'll have taken over everything before we can get back. Although… perhaps it would be easier if we were forced into the offensive," she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "We could hem the Nazari in, completely surround them."
"But we'd be trapping them on the Brae," Alice pointed out. "We don't want them anywhere near the Hill." Sighing heavily, she rubbed her forehead. "Well, this just brings us back to where we started," she admitted. "We need to return to Witzend before the Nazari get there. But I don't want to march on Iplam without Tarrant. It is his land, after all."
Frowning, Alice looked around, glancing at the shadows on the ground.
"Very well. If Ioan and Tarrant haven't found us by the time that shadow reaches that log," she said, pointing to the growing shadow of a large boulder, which was headed in the direction of a log resting by the waterhole, "we'll leave without them."
Lily glanced down at the shadow, then nodded her assent and plopped down on the log, her arms dangling over her knees as she bowed her head.
"I can't believe she's really gone," she said softly, staring down at the dry, hard dirt. "I mean, it shouldn't feel any different, should it? She's been gone most of my life. I've only gotten six months with her. But…"
"But of course it's all different," Alice said, smiling humorlessly. "Because she's not gone. It would be much easier if she was, we could simply fetch her back again."
"I don't suppose we could barter with Death?" Lily asked, smiling weakly.
"We'd not be the first to try," Alice said ruefully. "I can't think of anyone who's ever succeeded."
Lily sighed, staring off into the distance. A moment later she was on her feet, shading her eyes against the morning sun as she stared intently towards the horizon.
"I think that's Ioan," she said. "Aggravating man, what took him so long?"
"Is Tarrant with him?" Alice asked, struggling to stand and wincing as her Aged joints protested.
"I can't tell at this distance," Lily answered. "I would assume so, though."
They didn't have a long wait; the rider was racing hell for leather towards them. Almost before they could process the fact that it was in fact Ioan, he had jumped off his horse, a huge grin on his face. He scooped Lily up, spinning her around and laughing as she shrieked in surprise.
"Ioan? What on earth-?" Alice blinked. "Where's Tarrant?"
"He's made us clan again!" Ioan crowed. "We're going home!"
"What are you going on about?" Lily asked, tottering as Ioan plopped her back on her feet.
"Tarrant! He's accepted us back! He's made us Hightopps!" Ioan grinned, nearly babbling because he was speaking so quickly. "He and Dafydd have averted the whole war!"
Alice stared, stunned. She was dimly aware that Lily and Ioan were still talking- or rather, arguing, if the cadence and volume were any indication- but she didn't have the attention to spare for them.
Tarrant had done what? How could he? Had he forgotten that these were the very people who only two days ago had killed their daughter? How could he have made them clan again? Why was he accepting them into his family? She knew that they had to move on from Regina's death, but… this? How could he do this? How could he betray their daughter's memory by making a family with her murderers?
Family… Alice flinched, laying a hand on her chest as her heart lurched painfully. Was this some sort of punishment, because of what Alice had done? She had abandoned Tarrant and Regina for her crown, denied them the ability to restart the Music on the Brae. Was Tarrant consoling himself by creating a new family? One which didn't include her?
She groaned softly as the pain in her heart worsened. The instant her knees began to buckle, Lewis was there, groaning and whimpering as he used his bulk to shore her up. But the task proved to be too much for the poor beast, and Alice sank to the ground in a graceless, painful heap, gasping for breath as she saw stars.
"Alice!" Lily exclaimed, running to her.
She wasn't sure what Lily and Ioan were saying to her or to each other; her ears seemed most curiously clogged, her head seemingly stuffed with cotton. She stared at them blankly, flinching as her heart lurched painfully again; why would it not quiet down?
"Oh Fates, Alice!" Lily exclaimed, peering into Alice's eyes. "I'm not a healer! We need to get her home to my mother," she said urgently, glaring at Ioan. "Put her on the Bandersnatch."
Ioan glared back at Lily; first she was going to insult him and his people, call them murderers and usurpers, and then she was going to order him around? Still, there was no time to argue, not if they were going to save Alice. He boosted Alice onto Lewis' back, holding her steady long enough for Lily to scramble onto the animal behind her. Leaving Lily to support Alice and get Lewis under control, Ioan stalked to his own Horse. As soon as he was in the saddle, they were off, racing for the Border Mountains. They didn't have a moment to lose. Not if they were going to stop Niall and his men… not if they were going to save Alice from whatever was happening to her.
Lily felt cold all over, and she clenched her jaw so tightly it ached. It was uncomfortable, cradling the taller, older woman's form back against her as they galumphed along on the Bandersnatch's back, but as the alternative was allowing Alice to fall to the ground, she put up with it. They weren't going to have time to get all the way to Marmoreal, she knew it. Alice needed attention as soon as they could get it, and Marmoreal was hours away from Witzend. They didn't have that kind of Time. Lily didn't know who the Blue Royals' personal Healer was, but she very much hoped that they were at home and able to work immediately.
"Hold on, Alice," she whispered. "Just a little while longer."
She couldn't help but glance helplessly at the sky every few moments. The sun was moving too quickly, wasn't he? How was the day passing so quickly? At this rate it would be sundown before they even passed over the Border Mountains, and they would certainly be too late to save Witzend from the Nazari… the Hightopps… whatever they were now.
Lily glared at the approaching mountains. She couldn't believe what Tarrant had done. Had he gone Mad? He must have gone Mad; there was no other possible solution for why he had accepted the Nazari as his clan. These were the people who had killed Gigi; why on earth would Tarrant reward them, hand them everything they wanted?
Ah well. There'd be plenty of time to find out what had happened later. After they had taken care of Alice.
The pathway through the Border Mountains took a torturously long time. It felt like they were slogging through molasses; every step took three times longer than it should have. And they didn't have the time to spare; Alice needed every second they could get her. Alice's color was alarmingly pale, and her breathing left much to be desired. Lily wasn't a healer, but one didn't have to be to realize that something was very, very wrong with the Queen of Clubs. This had happened after Ioan, the great galumphing idiot, came bursting upon them with his news; perhaps he'd caused her to have a Heartache? If so, time was of the essence; the last thing Lily wanted was for a Heartache to worsen, and become a Broken Heart. Tarrant would never forgive her if she allowed Alice to die…
Finally, finally, they escaped the hold of the Border Mountains, and descended the foothills into the rolling plains of Witzend. Lily didn't even bother sighing in relief as the unending reds of the barren Outlands became the familiar blues and greens of Underland; none of that meant anything if they didn't get help soon. Lewis bayed, seemingly not needing Lily's impatient kick to take off in his fastest run, balooing like mad as he went. Lily didn't glance behind to see if Ioan was keeping up; for all she cared, the sodding moron could rot in the Mountains. She needed to get Alice to Berserka.
She lost track of time as Lewis ran, but it was sometime in the early afternoon when Lewis collapsed in a heap at the foot of the stairs of the Cerulean Castle. Lily scowled at the startled Clubs who clustered around the Bandersnatch.
"Don't stand there gawking!" she snapped. "Can't you see your Queen needs the Healer?"
"Isabeau's not here, Princess," one of the Clubs, a Seven, informed her. "She left for Iplam this morning, with the army."
Lily stopped short, whipping around to stare at him. "The army? The army's already at Iplam? How? Who knew to bring them?"
"Well… I mean, the Princess came and got them this morning," Seven stuttered.
The Club yelped as Lily grabbed his arms, a frantic look in his eye when he registered how angry Lily was.
"What Princess?" Lily demanded, shaking him.
"P-Princess Regina, of course!" Seven squeaked.
Lily broke away from him, staring. "That's not possible," she said, breathing heavily.
"I-I'm sorry?" Seven tried, unsure of how to answer the White Princess. "She was in a right bad state when she came home, but she wouldn't let anyone look at her, she said that Outlanders were attacking Iplam-"
"It's not possible," Lily repeated blankly.
Sometimes I believe in six impossible things before breakfast…
She staggered a step or two back from the Club, before her feet took over and she found herself sprinting out of the castle, screaming for Ioan.
"What? What is it?" he asked a panicked look on his face as he grabbed her arms.
"She's alive," Lily gasped, pushing past him. "Get me a horse!" she snapped at a gawking Card.
"What do you mean, she's alive?" Ioan asked, bewildered.
"Gigi," Lily said, whipping around, her face lit up with disbelief and hope. "She came here this morning. She's alive. She's going to Iplam."
Ioan's face lit up with joy, but in an instant his joy had paled to fear, and sick dread.
"Niall… Oh, brimini!" he cursed, sprinting for his horse.
"You. Five," Lily barked, snapping imperiously at the Club. "Organize a litter for the Queen. Bring a small detail of Clubs to protect her, and get her to Iplam as quickly as you can. She needs the Healer, and if Isabeau's at Hightopp Hill then we have to bring Alice to her. Now go, and make sure someone is in charge of defending the castle in case the Outlanders get here."
She didn't wait to see if the Club followed her orders; she simply sprinted for the barracks to rouse up some spare armor and weaponry. They had no time to lose. If Regina was alive… if she was headed to battle in Iplam with the Club army… then they had to hurry. There was no time to amass the Diamonds; they had to get to Iplam, now.
It had taken the newly-made Hightopps less than two hours to dismantle their camp. In those two hours, Tarrant had been moving in a daze. It still hadn't quite sunk in yet; despite how many times he told himself the facts, he wasn't quite sure he believed it. He was the Laird of the Hightopps. He had a clan again, and he was their leader, as his Da had been so many years ago. He even had an heir in Dafydd; the closest thing he would ever have to a child, now that Regina was… He flinched, shying away from that Most Painful Thought. No, he didn't want to think about his daughter right now; far better to focus on the fact that he had a clan again, that the Hightopps had been reborn. And, as a bonus, he had a son now. He'd always wanted a son…
After a moment's thought, Tarrant had decided to bring the clan directly to Iplam. He would give Niall and his forces one chance to stand down, to join their clansmen under his protection. If they refused… Tarrant's lips thinned as he clenched his jaw. He didn't relish the thought of ordering the deaths of dissenters. As the King of Clubs he had never ordered an execution; as the Leader of the Resistance he had fought against a murder-mad Queen. But he would not have a war within his clan.
He knew this fear was on the minds of his people; he could see it in their faces, though they tried to hide it within their joy at returning home. He stared at their faces, his new family members. Could he do it? Could he look at his Alice again, knowing that his very first act as Laird had been to order the deaths of other women's sons, their fathers, their husbands? Could he rip his clan apart like this, so soon after they'd been reunited?
His gaze fell on Dafydd. Regina's young captain had been remarkably quiet since the meeting with the Council; his eyes downcast, his mood so somber it was stifling. Perhaps no one would be more affected by Tarrant's decision than Dafydd. Dafydd's family had killed Tarrant's daughter, but was that justification for killing Dafydd's brother? Could he destroy Dafydd's family, even after what they had done to Tarrant?
He walked over to the younger man, who was sitting uncharacteristically still. Usually, Dafydd was always doing something; training with his men, polishing his claymore, propping up walls while he watched Regina with a gaze that was only one part professional to three parts passionate [oh yes, Tarrant had noticed the way Dafydd had watched his daughter; he was Mad, not blind]. But now he simply sat on the back of a wagon that had been piled high with his family's belongings, staring out into space with a lost look on his face. Cautiously, Tarrant stood beside the young man, glancing up at him with his good eye [the bad one having by now long since swelled shut].
"A terrible hin', tae be divided in yer min'," he commented. "Tae be torn atween fealty an' fowk is a curse Ah wouldn't wish on anyain."
Dafydd glanced down at Tarrant, but didn't say anything. Tarrant looked away from Dafydd, in the direction of the Border Mountains.
"Ance upon a time, thaur was a cheil," he burred, his voice soft and far away. "A huir uv a young, a bampot cheil, fool thought his loyalties coods ne'er be divided. He thought he coods offer his services tae th' Queen he believed in, while still giving th' utmost loyalty tae his fowk." He shook his head, his gaze falling to his hands. "But nae cheil can serve tois masters. Th' time cam' fur th' cheil tae choose atween his tois loyalties, tae decide which was th' mair important."
Dafydd looked at Tarrant, his gaze solemn. "What did he do?"
Streaks of purple fire, striking like lightning… Hot, heavy flames nearly obliterated by plumes of smoke… Terrified screams and shrieks of agony… Staring, horrified, feet frozen to the earth…
A horse's terrified scream… a startled cry… a flash in his peripheral vision, white skirts and winking diamonds…
He turned without thinking, turning his back on the horrors, whipping around. So white… so pure… The smoke and flame were sure to sully her blinding, brilliant, blanched beauty… He had to save the purity of that white… He couldn't let that thing destroy everything and he might not be able to save everything but he could at least save this…
He grabbed the reins of the horse and ran, stumbling through the devastation to preserve just one bit of beauty.
"He chose," Tarrant said dully. "He sacrificed a body loyalty tae save th' other."
Dafydd swallowed hard, watching the Hatter. He knew the story, of course; one couldn't live in Wonderland long without hearing the tales of the Hatter. How he had heroically saved the White Queen from the Red Queen's assassination attempt, rescuing her from the murderous Jabberwocky. How he lost his entire clan in that attack. He'd never thought of the pain that choice must have caused Tarrant, but now that he found himself in a similar situation, the burden of that choice was utterly, horrifyingly clear to him.
Could he do it? Could he sacrifice his family to save Regina's homeland? Could he face the same choice Tarrant had made, shoulder that same burden?
"Ah woods ne'er wish 'at burden on anyone," the Hatter finally said, looking up at Dafydd. "If thaur is tae be a battle when we get tae Iplam- an' Ah canne imagine thaur won't be- Ah order ye tae stain doon."
Dafydd swallowed hard, slowly meeting Tarrant's gaze. He appreciated the gravity of what Tarrant was doing, in trying to protect him from having to make the choice. But Dafydd had already chosen his master; the Hatter's burden was already his own.
"I promised to protect her," he said, his voice choked. "Just because she's died, that doesn't mean I'm free of my promise. She's the Music now. The wind in the trees, the sun on the Flowers. I'll protect her against anyone who threatens her, just like I promised."
Tarrant nodded silently. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised by Dafydd's declaration. Kingsleigh women were very good at inspiring loyalty in those around them; a loyalty that transcended time, fear, even death. No, Tarrant wasn't surprised. But he prayed, oh how he prayed that this could be resolved without having to make Dafydd face the consequences of his decision.
Finally, the camp was disassembled, and the clan began their journey home. With every footfall and with every foot that inched them closer to Underland, Tarrant's anxiety crept up just a little more. What was about to happen? How would the confrontation with Niall go? Could they end this dispute without bloodshed?
When he had crossed the Border Mountains- was it really only two days ago? - with Dafydd and Alice, he had been painfully aware of every passing second. Time had taunted him, dancing circles around him while he struggled through the restraints of the banishing spell. This return trip was no less urgent; there was no less at stake on this journey. But this time, Time behaved himself; even seemed to be anxious to help them along. They should have spent hours struggling through the mountain pass, yet when they emerged on the Underlandian side of the mountains; it was clearly only early afternoon. Tarrant felt he could kill Time, the slurvish urpal scrum; how was it possible that Time found this trip to stop the marauding Nazari so much more important than the last trip, to rescue Regina? If that was Time's game, Tarrant really was going to kill him.
Once they had cleared the Border Mountains, Tarrant set a hard course for Iplam. If Niall and his men hadn't gotten there yet, the clan could take up residence on the Brae and in the remains of the village. If the Nazari fighters were there… well, then things would be awkward.
"Ah wish we hud th' time tae send ye ahead, mah laddie," Tarrant muttered to Dafydd, who rode beside him. "Hae ye rendezvous wi' th' Deuces an' gie th' lay ay th' lain. We'll hae tae march in blin', thocht, Ah canne risk losin' onie mair time."
"I know," Dafydd nodded. "We should bring the Council."
Tarrant frowned. "Th' Council? Whit guid can they dae?"
"They have the power of Words," Dafydd said slowly, furrowing his brow. "Maybe they can find the Words to stop Niall and his men."
For the first time in days, Tarrant felt a fragile, tender shoot of Hope unfurl in his chest. Words held Power; none knew that so well as he. If the Council could stop this Madness…
Quickly, Tarrant tugged the reins, pulling Windmare to a halt. He stood in the saddle, twisting around to look at his people.
"Rest haur a while," he ordered. "Water th' horses, hae a bite tae eat. Dafydd, th' Council an Ah will gang ahead. Ah tryst, you'll eat yer supper oan th' Brae tonecht."
There were mistrustful faces; clearly not everyone trusted that this reconciliation was real. Tarrant couldn't say he blamed them; he could still hardly believe it himself. Still, he hoped to eventually win them over. And surely it would help if he managed to end the dispute with Niall without bloodshed.
While the clan began to set up a temporary camp, Tarrant directed Dafydd to round up the Elders and procure a comfortable wagon for them. As soon as they had been seated, Tarrant and Dafydd clambered into the front seat of the wagon. Dafydd took the reins, and they quickly left the clan behind, taking off for Iplam as quickly as the wagon could manage.
Tarrant left the driving to Dafydd, instead focusing all of his attention on the horizon, as though he could draw Iplam closer by sheer force of will. The farmlands and plains of rural Witzend passed by unheeded; instead he scoured the horizon, searching for the faintest hint of forest. He sighed when, some amount of time later [he really wasn't keeping track], the dark blur in the distance coalesced into trees. Finally…
He couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him, nor the thrill that thrummed deep inside himself, as the echoes of the Song wrapped around him. The Music crooned to him, welcoming him home, mourning with him that Regina had been taken. He heard Dafydd's sharp intake of breath, and opened his eyes to glance at his young heir. Dafydd's face was white, his sapphire eyes suspiciously shiny and filled with pain. He watched as Dafydd's face crumpled, his eyes falling shut as he heard the Music for the first time. Quietly, he took the reins from Dafydd's numb fingers, urging the horses on and allowing Dafydd to lose himself to the Song.
"She… she sang it for me," Dafydd whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in his throat. "But I never imagined it sounded like… this."
Tarrant nodded silently, unsurprised. He'd felt the Song stirring that evening, when Regina and Dafydd were alone on the Hill. He'd told her not to wake the Music up, but she simply hadn't been able to help it; the Song responded to her without her even thinking about it. He wasn't at all surprised that she had wanted to share the Music with Dafydd.
He could have spent hours just sitting and listening to the Music, sharing the Song's misery that its little mistress was gone. But alas, that would have to wait.
They heard the battle long before they came to it. Tarrant frowned in confusion; how had the Clubs known to get here? The fight was in full swing; weapons clashing, men yelling and groaning and dying. Tarrant's breath caught in his throat; Fates, they were too late… He reined in the horses, he and Dafydd both leaping to their feet and scanning the battlefield.
"Where's Niall?" Tarrant growled, bristling.
"There," Dafydd said, pointing to the top of the Hill. "He's…"
He trailed off, paling drastically as his eyes widened. Then, without a word, he leapt off the wagon, crying Regina's name as he drew his claymore. Tarrant's frown deepened as he watched Dafydd run. He hadn't called Regina's name as a battle cry; it had been a desperate, terrified scream. As though he were actually calling to her, as if she could hear and answer him… Had the boy gone Mad?
Before he could follow Dafydd, his attention was distracted by his passengers. The six Elders struggled to their feet, using canes and staffs to balance themselves in the wagon. They had arranged themselves in a V, with Rhonwen as the point woman. As one, they lifted their staffs; as one they banged them once against the floor of the wagon.
"ENOUGH," they all bellowed, six voices blending into one. "LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS."
The Words flew from the Elders on a wave of Power. Tarrant could practically see the magic flowing from them, felt the power of their words affecting the clan. The Nazari fighters were hit hard, and froze in place, dropping their weapons no matter where they stood or who they had been fighting a moment before. The Clubs ceased fighting in turn, keeping their weapons drawn on their foes.
Only one figure continued to move through the field. Dafydd pushed through the battle, dodging his frozen kinsmen and the Clubs as he sprinted towards his brother. He groaned as the Power fought him, demanding his obedience, but though his claymore fell from his hand he grimly pushed on, forcing his legs to move. He resisted the hold of the Elders' Order, fighting with all his strength to reach Niall, and more importantly, the wee slip of an armor-clad, ginger-curled girl whose sword was locked in combat with his.
This couldn't be possible. He'd gone Mad, or he was dreaming. Regina was dead. Regina could not be standing on the Brae, dressed in her Champion's armor, wielding the legendary Aliblay, her mother's sword. He was dreaming, hallucinating… and he was going to protect that hallucination if it was the last thing he did.
The wave of Power followed him, trailing his every tortured step. He struggled up the hill, panting and sweating, his fingers scrabbling in the dirt as he dug his toes in to keep from falling. He kept his eyes on Regina, not daring to blink for fear the dream would vanish.
Just as he reached the top of the hill, the wave of Power hit Niall, and his sword went flying out of his hand. He sprinted forward, knocking Niall away and sending him reeling, a moment before he crashed into Regina. They fell in a tumble, and Dafydd twisted them so he landed on the ground and cushioned her fall. He groaned as she landed on him; with that armor of hers, she'd probably just cracked several of his ribs. But it didn't matter, because he was touching her, smelling the familiar scents of honeysuckle and sandalwood beneath the dirt and sweat and blood, and she wasn't disappearing.
Not a dream, then. He might still be Mad, but it didn't matter, because in his Madness, she was alive.
She scrambled off of him, breathing heavily, her eyes snapping hazel with fury and Madness. He didn't give her any time to react; he had to test his Madness. He had to see just how far down the rabbit hole he'd gone. Without a moment's hesitation, he tangled one hand in her hair, crashing his lips on hers.
Time slowed to a standstill. The world fell away; the chaos of the Hill fell to a hushed silence. Even the Music ceased. There was nothing in the world except her, except him, except this.
He groaned, pulling her closer and drinking her in. He couldn't be Mad; he couldn't imagine something like this. He couldn't dream up her warmth, the feel of her soft lips, her frantic heartbeat, the way she melted into his arms, as though she were trying to meld them into one person. This was Real, he thought, giddy; she was Real. She was alive. He lost himself to the reality of her, to her breathtaking Aliveness.
"You traitor!"
The scream buzzed insistently in his ears, shaking him from the timeless moment and forcing him to tear his lips from hers. He blinked, disoriented, as all his senses returned to him at once. The Song. The Brae. The battle. Oh Fates, the battle! Danger, not safe, must keep Regina safe…
Someone was charging towards them, screaming. The instant he saw the glint of a sword, Dafydd reacted, the war drums in his head pounding, the battle lust dancing in his veins. He rushed forwards, dipping and getting his shoulder low, easily hefting the man over and flipping him onto his back. Without pausing, Dafydd grabbed the man's sword and plunged it into his stomach, pinning him to the ground.
The man drew a gasping, rattling breath. That horrible sound broke through the haze of Dafydd's Madness, stunning him to the core. He stared at the man he had killed, and then fell to his knees, a look of horror on his face as he stared at his brother.
Niall stared at him, an accusatory glare on his face as he struggled for breath. Dafydd stared helplessly at the sword plunged through his brother's body. Knew he couldn't remove it; his aim had been too true. To remove the sword would kill Niall instantly. He looked into his brother's eyes, stricken, trying to form an apology. Apology? How could he apologize for this? What words could be enough?
Niall grabbed Dafydd's tunic, using his failing strength to pull his baby brother close. He glared into Dafydd's eyes as a trickle of blood fell from his mouth.
"You… you protect them," he gasped, choking on the blood. "Protect our family."
"I will," Dafydd whispered hoarsely, clutching Niall's hand. "I swear it. Niall…"
The words died on his lips as Niall gasped one more time, and then fell back, eyes wide and unseeing.
There was silence on the Hill; shock and devastation hung heavy in the air. Dafydd lurched to his feet, unable to rip his eyes away from his brother's body. He stumbled back, one, two steps, then turned around and ran.
"Dafydd!" Regina gasped from bruised, swollen lips, lurching after him, but a strong pair of arms restrained her. "Let me go!" she cried, staring after Dafydd.
"Wait, Mistress," a voice that sounded like Lily's whispered in her ear.
She jerked out of her captor's arms, whipping around and staring at the Not Quite Lily. What in the world was going on? What was this creature who looked like Lily, but with cat-like pupils…?
"Witzend?" she asked blankly.
Oh Fates, she was confused. But she didn't have time to focus on it. Shaking her head, she turned and started running. Dafydd. Where was Dafydd? She had to get to him…
The arms were around her again, holding her firm. Regina screamed and fought like a Mad thing, but nothing she did made the Not-Lily's arms budge a bit. Finally she sagged in Witzend's arms, crying weakly.
"I have to go," she babbled. "I have to help him…"
"You will," Witzend purred as she dropped her disguise, rubbing her face in Regina's neck while the Cheshire mist twined around Regina's body, holding her still. "But all things in Time."
Regina glared at her Cat, but there was nothing she could do to escape the Cheshire's hold. So she stayed still, watching as Tarrant approached the Hill. They stared at each other in shock, each amazed at what they found. Regina Alive… Tarrant Aged… Could all of this really have happened over only two days?
Tarrant reached forward with a trembling hand and touched Regina's cheek, stroking it gently before one clever finger twined around a loose curl and gently tugged it. A tremulous, disbelieving smile broke over Tarrant's face, and Regina brokenly smiled back as Witzend released her. She watched, fascinated, as Tarrant's limp, white hair regained a hint of color, as the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth began to ever so slightly smooth themselves away.
"Who is the Dreamer, and who is the Dream?" he asked softly, his eyes wavering between topaz and green.
Regina shook her head. "Dreams are never as they seem," she replied.
"Rhymes, Sugar Cube," Tarrant commented, a moment before enfolding her in a hug. "You must tell me how you escaped later," he murmured.
"Hopefully over a cup of tea," Regina replied, breathing in the comforting scents of tea and fabric.
"Of course, my princess," Tarrant whispered, pressing a kiss to her head before gently stepping away. "Back in a tick."
Regina watched, bewildered, as Tarrant walked past her to stand on the very apex of the Hill. She twisted her head to glance at Witzend as the Cat wound herself around her mistress again, who merely smiled at her. Was this the reason why Witzend had prevented Regina from immediately running after Dafydd? Tarrant looked down at Niall's body, an unreadable expression on his face, before looking back up, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield.
"That's enough," he said, his voice pitched to carry to every last person. "I'll not have my clan ripping itself into shreds on the same day that we've put ourselves back together again."
He paused a moment, allowing his words to sink in, before continuing.
"Listen. Do you hear the Music?"
He glanced around at the captivated Nazari, watching as their faces twisted into expressions of awe and wonder. Regina watched them as they were introduced to the Music, unable to hold back a little smile as she felt the Music preen and dance with all the attention it was suddenly being given.
"The Music of our ancestors," Tarrant continued, his gaze unfocusing as he concentrated on the Song himself. "Our ancestors. We were one clan, once. We could be again."
Regina stared at her da, breathless. What was he saying? Was he going to accept the Nazari as his clan? Oh, wouldn't Dafydd love that! He had so longed to hear the Music of his… their… ancestors. Regina bit her lip, wincing and releasing it quickly when it stung, her eyes raking the forest. Where had Dafydd run off to? He should be here to hear this…
"Cease your fighting. Lay down your weapons," Tarrant said persuasively. "We don't need to fight over our land. It's already yours. You're home. I offer sanctuary and clanhood to all of you who lay down your weapons and swear fealty to me. Rejoin the Hightopps, return to Tearmunn. Only lay down your weapons."
"M'Lord, what can you mean?" General Koda boomed, frowning. "These miscreants invaded us! As King, you cannot-"
"I'm not speaking as King, General," Tarrant interrupted him, narrowing his eyes. "I'm speaking as the Laird of the Hightopps. These are my people. This is our land. Now, as your King, I order you to stand down."
"Your Majesty, I really don't think-"
"Are you disobeying an order, General?"
A murmur of excitement and surprise rippled through the crowd. Regina stared in surprise to see Alice walking out of the High House, leaning heavily on her cane and supported by Isabeau, the Royal Healer who'd been with Alice and Tarrant for thirty years. When had Alice come to Iplam, Regina wondered confusedly. Hadn't she been busy with her trade negotiations or whatever it was this time?
General Koda snapped to attention. "No, your Majesty. Of course not."
"Then I don't see a problem here requiring your attention, General," Alice said briskly, raising one delicate eyebrow. "Thank you for your assistance, but you may round up your men and return to Berserka. My daughter wouldn't thank you for mucking up the Hill on her birthday."
Regina blinked, surprised. Her birthday? Was today her birthday? Had Alice come to the Brae to celebrate after all?
She wanted to walk forward and ask Alice about it, but in the next instant she realized that Witzend had released her. Instead of being wrapped around her mistress, Witzend sat at her feet, giving herself a thorough cleaning. Taking that as the Cat's permission to finally take off after Dafydd, Regina spun around and ran into the woods, hoping she could find him quickly.
The woods were unnaturally silent, which Regina counted as a blessing; it meant that the thrashing and stirs of movement she heard up ahead likely weren't just the breeze or a passing animal. Although dear goodness, did he ever sound like a marauding bear… She should have stopped to take off her armor; she thought absently, her breath coming in short gasps. But never mind. There was time for that later. For now… for now, she needed to find Dafydd.
Of course she came upon him so suddenly she nearly knocked them both over again. He had found a small glen in the forest, with barely enough room for him to pace agitatedly. He whipped around as she broke through into the clearing, staring at her as though she were a ghost. Self-consciously, she batted away an errant curl; she must look a fright. She was injured in multiple places and dirty and she'd been running and fighting and sweating and getting covered in dust and she'd been nowhere near a bathtub in days… Yes, she must look terrible.
He didn't seem to notice. He stared at her, not even blinking, his keen gaze taking in every last smudge of dirt and blood before his eyes darted back up to hers and oh Fates, she felt like she'd been trapped in his eyes, like the gaze was a physical chain bonding them and he could use it to pull her into himself and never, ever let her go again. She could disappear into him, and she wouldn't even care…
He shook his head slowly, breathing heavily. "You're alive," he whispered.
She nodded silently, not sure what to say. Yes, she was alive. At the cost of his cousin's life, she remembered with a sinking heart. How did she tell him that? How could she explain-?
"Niall told us you were dead," he choked, haltingly walking towards her. "I thought-"
She shook her head, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat. "I'm alive," she whispered.
She tilted her head back as he loomed over her, shivering in the intensity of his gaze. Something was wrong, she dimly realized with a growing sense of panic. He wasn't himself. Well, of course he wasn't himself; he'd just gone through all the stress and pain of trying to find her, then believing her dead, then confronting his family, then returning to Underland with his clan, and finally killing his brother. How could he be alright? But this wasn't just stress, and it wasn't only pain. There was something in his eyes; or perhaps there was something missing. Yes, something was missing; some veil, some shield that he had always kept up had now dropped. His gaze burned her, and with a start she realized what she was seeing blazing in his eyes.
"You're Mad," she whispered, shivering in unease.
A dark, ugly smile crossed his face fleetingly. "I must be," he nodded. "That's the only way any of this could have happened."
Before she could respond, his hand had slid behind her neck, and his lips were on hers again.
She whimpered, clinging to his tunic as her knees buckled. His arms tightened around her as he coaxed her mouth open, keeping her upright as his tongue teased hers. Was this Madness, she wondered dimly? She felt as though she'd been sucked into the center of a tornado, thrust into the midst of a raging inferno, plunged into a turbulent sea. Dafydd was the focal point of the Madness, and yet he was her only anchor in the storm. Was he driving her Mad, or was he saving her from the Madness that had consumed her? Was she fueling his Madness, or easing it?
Abruptly, he pulled away from her, pushing her into a nearby tree. She gasped as the little air she'd managed to retain was forced out of her lungs, and shakily brought her fingers to her tingling lips. This certainly wasn't how she'd pictured receiving her first kiss. Well, her second, she supposed, the first had been out on the battlefield and it hadn't been any better than this one. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with her dirty and bloodied, injured and encased in armor; not at the hands of an exhausted, Mad Champion. And yet… wasn't this exactly how it was supposed to feel? The butterflies, the racing heart, the breathlessness? He couldn't kiss her like that and not mean it, even if he was Betrothed. She couldn't kiss him like that and not mean it… oh heavens, what exactly did it mean? Did she truly feel for him what she thought she did? Was the label flitting around her thoughts the proper one to use? Did she… could she possibly… and could he maybe, possibly feel the same way about her?
"Dafydd?" she asked, her voice rather shakier than she would have liked.
He glared at her, and she shuddered, pressing back against the tree. Alright, perhaps he meant everything that had passed between them in that kiss. But did she want him to mean it, in his current state? Did she want to be the focus of his Madness, when he looked so… so… furious?
"You've driven me Mad, Regina," he accused her, looking at her in disgust before he started pacing again, one agitated hand raking over his shorn head. "I was fine, before you. I was respected, I was powerful, I was at peace. But that wasn't good enough for you, was it?" he spat at her, throwing a frightening glare her way. "You had to tear me apart, didn't you? Take me apart and remake me, and put yourself in the center of it all."
Her eyes widened, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips. What was he saying? What did he mean that she was at the center of him? Was he saying…? Did that mean…?
"My loyalties were never divided, before you," he continued, kicking at a boulder. "And now look at me. I killed my own brother for you. I'm no better than a worthless Hightopp now. They stood by and let their own kinsmen be exiled. They betrayed their own blood. And now I've done the same. I've betrayed my family, and for what? For what?" he bellowed, punching a tree.
Regina sagged against the tree, her vision blurring as hot tears stung her eyes. Was it possible to survive a breaking heart? Because Dafydd had surely destroyed hers; she felt the sharp pieces piercing her chest, felt the blood draining from the damaged, mangled remains. She'd known that Dafydd was a soldier, but she'd never known he was a torturer. She'd never guessed that he could twist his knife into her heart this deeply.
"I'm… I'm sorry," she whispered.
She wasn't sure if he'd heard her, didn't know if he was even listening to her. Shuddering, she forced herself to stand on her feet, blinking back her tears and raising her voice to be sure he heard her, though she addressed his turned back.
"I never meant to make you choose between me and your family," she continued, crushing her heart into even tinier pieces with every word. "If this is really how you feel, then I release you from my service. Since you hold me responsible for your brother's death, at least in part, then allow me to make restitution. I grant you the land and title of the Duke of Annwyn."
She bit her lip. She and Leferidae had had several discussions about that particular title. Leferidae had explained to her that, as her Champion, Dafydd needed to have a noble title that would allow him to reside in Court. Apart from Leferidae's own title of Tenniel, the Duke of Annwyn was the highest-ranking member of the Court, and therefore a suitable title to bestow upon the Queen's Champion. She had meant to grant Dafydd the title anyways, after her Queenmaking… She hated that she was giving it to him under these circumstances.
"I'm… I'm sorry it's a Crimsian title, but that's all I have the power to offer you," she said apologetically. "The land will give you the resources to care for your mother and your brother's family. I…"
The words clogged in her throat, choking her. There was so much she wanted to tell him; there was nothing more she could say. She stared at his back for a long moment, willing him to turn around, begging him to look at her the way he used to. To really see her, the way he had only two days ago, when they had danced on the Hill. Had he really come to hate her in only two days? Or had this hatred and fury always been there, simmering just under the surface? Had anything they'd shared been real? Behind all those glances, behind every protective touch and every whisper in the dark, had he hated her all this time? Had she built up a fantasy in her mind, imagined that he… that they could…
Choking on a sob, Regina turned and fled.
How she managed to make it through the forest without tripping and breaking her neck, she had no idea, because the tears were falling thick and fast, heartbroken sobs rattling her frame. Even when the stitch in her side left her gasping for breath and she felt the long cut on her side open yet again, she didn't stop; she couldn't stop. She had to get away from him, as far away as she possibly could…
"Regina!"
She crashed into Alice, and without thinking threw her arms around her mother, sobbing bitterly onto her shoulder. And then… oh blessed Underland, she felt Alice's warmth even through her armor. Alice was holding her safe and warm; Alice wouldn't let her fall apart. Her mother held her close to her heart, safe from the horrible, hurtful hatred of Dafydd's glare and evil words.
Alice clucked fretfully, awkwardly stroking her daughter's unruly hair with one gnarled hand as she struggled to keep them both upright. Oh, she could use a third hand now, she couldn't keep hold of her cane… quickly, and she dropped the cane, focusing instead on comforting Regina. She hardly had the attention to realize that her daughter was alive; far more important and alarming was the fact that her child was crying, sobbing as though her heart was broken.
"Regina, what's wrong? What's happened?" Alice asked breathlessly, eyes darting around in panic as she searched for whatever- or whoever- had done this to her daughter.
"Oh Mathair, he hates me!" Regina wailed, barely able to speak through her tears. "He hates me, and I love him... Oh Fates, Mama, I love him…"
Alice blinked, bewildered. What in the blazes was Regina going on about? Oh dear, perhaps she had gone Mad… She glanced around helplessly; she was terribly afraid that if someone didn't assist her soon, she was going to fall over, and she could hardly continue comforting Regina if they were both sprawled out on the ground.
She sighed in relief as Tarrant approached them cautiously. He didn't waste time asking what was wrong; he simply leaned down and gathered their daughter up in his arms as though she weighed no more than a feather, pressing a kiss to Regina's forehead. Alice sighed in relief as he relieved her of the burden, absolutely overwhelmingly grateful that whatever their personal problems, he was still her Champion, saving her whenever she needed it.
"No…" Regina whimpered in Tarrant's arms. "Mama…"
Despite her alarm and fear for whatever had sent Regina into this wild grief, Alice couldn't stop her heart from singing. Mathair. Mama. Regina never asked for Alice's help; she rarely even called her Mathair. But she wanted Alice now.
"I'm here, darling," Alice said, blinking back tears and reaching forward to take Regina's trembling hand. "Mathair's right here."
"Don't go," Regina whimpered, sniffing.
"Of course I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," Alice cooed, struggling to match Tarrant's stride as he started off for the High House. "Mama and Da are both here; everything's going to be alright."
Regina whimpered again, breaking out into a fresh wave of tears. Alice cooed to her, nonsense words and soothing sounds as she'd done when Regina had night terrors as an infant. Silently prodding Tarrant, she nodded towards the lounging room where she'd placed her armor days ago when this misadventure began. Tarrant nodded silently and led the way inside, holding Regina close as Alice sank onto the oversized, sinfully soft pillows. Then he gently set Regina down, frowning in empathetic misery as Regina tried to curl into a little ball, only to be hindered by her armor.
They worked together on that, unbuckling and unstrapping the heavy, restrictive metal pieces. With every piece that came off, they clucked and gasped; there didn't appear to be an inch of Regina's body that wasn't covered in bruises. Just what had she gone through on the battlefield? Alice cried out softly in alarm as the breastplate came off and they saw the blossoming of red on Regina's side, and Tarrant immediately flew for healing supplies while Alice feverishly pulled off the rest of Regina's armor. When Regina was finally free, she scrambled towards Alice, burying her head in Alice's lap as she cried.
Mostly, it was uncomfortable. Regina was a waif-like little thing, but she was still much larger than the infant Alice had once cradled, and she was flung haphazardly over Alice's lap. Alice's skirt was quickly becoming soaked with Regina's tears; the sky blue silk was sure to be ruined. And yet, like the first shoots of spring, some tendrils of maternal feeling were creeping up from the well where Alice had buried them. Some long-buried instinct was resurfacing, guiding Alice to stroke Regina's hair and back, to hum snatches of half-forgotten lullabies and make impossible promises that everything would be alright. And long after Regina had cried herself to sleep and Tarrant had returned to begin tending to her wounds, Alice kept her arms around Regina, hardly daring to let go for fear that she would never again have the chance to act like a mother to this long-lost daughter.