"Seal my heart

And break my pride.

There's nowhere to run

And nowhere to hide."

Chapter 12

Oh, dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into? Hamish thought as he made his way through the halls of Marmoreal at a brisk pace. After Mirana had sent him off to check on Tarrant, he had stood in the hall for several moments debating how he was to go about this. Based on the look the Hatter had when he made his quick retreat from the room, his mental state was going to be less sane than normal. Even though he had been here several days, Hamish did not know the madman well enough to be absolutely sure that he would not be injured upon stepping foot into the workshop – the most likely place he had fled to. And if that were the case, the Englishman was still not sure he would feel completely safe in his presence. Resigned to his duty to both the Queen and Alice – for he knew she would want him to check up on her friend, as well – he had pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on and started toward the Hatter's safe-haven.

Sooner than he would have liked, Hamish found himself outside of Tarrant's door. All was silent on the other side from what he could tell, so he took this as a good sign. The moment his hand came in contact with the wood to knock, however, there was a large crash on the other side and enraged yelling in the foreign language the redhead had come to recognize as Outlandish. Once more, he hesitated, fearing for his safety. Once the noises had died down, Hamish made another attempt to knock, this time met with silence. While this seemed more positive than the violent sounds before, it still worried him. What if something had happened? That thought brought the lord to a pause. This strange land was changing his perception of this; in London, he would not have spared a second thought for the wellbeing of a commoner such as a hatter.

When there was no movement made on Tarrant's part to open the door, Hamish took it upon himself to do so instead. There was no use turning back now, and – besides – what would Mirana think if he simply returned without news because he had been too afraid to enter the room? And, he had to admit, some part of him was morbidly curious as to what was going on inside the workshop.

The tarnished hinges made ominous creeks and groans as Hamish slowly pushed open the door, and he was soon met with a wave of cool, sweet-smelling air that somehow seemed different than that of the rest of the castle. His questions were wiped from his mind, however, when he took a look into the room itself. Things were strewn about in the bedlam that had erupted here. While the room normally had the feel of madness, at least it seemed to be organized chaos, the complete opposite of what things were now. It was as if a tornado had swept through and destroyed nearly everything in its path. Shredded scraps of fabric littered ever surface like colored snow, crushed hats covered the scratched wood floor in place of a rug, and a twisted metal dress form lay heaped in a corner. Tables were overturned, racks were spilled, and several stools sat with their legs toward the ceiling.

Among all of this, however, a disheveled Outlander sat, head in his hands, not making a sound. All notion of fear left Hamish upon setting eyes on him; hat missing, hair frazzled but drooping, and all vibrant color drained from his clothing and complexion. The Englishman took a tentative step forward, but – when the Hatter gave no indication that he even knew he was in the room – Hamish gave his gait strength. Soon, he was standing next to the chair Tarrant sat in; the only upright piece of furniture in the room. "Tarrant…?" He said quietly, somewhat unwilling to break the spell. When he received no response, he knelt down next to the man, and the expression he saw on the Hatter's face was enough to break his heart. His face mirrored the bleak, grief-stricken look the rest of his body possessed, and Hamish only wished he could help him. "…Hatter?" He tried again, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Aye cannae help her this tyme, can aye?" Came the nearly inaudible reply. "Th' damage 'as alreaday been don."

Hamish sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder, staring at the floor. Though he would never admit it to another living soul, he knew that the pain he was feeling could never compare to that which the Hatter was feeling. It was one thing to know someone their whole life, but it was completely different to want someone their whole life. To wait for them, dropping everything and simply living for that one moment when you could see them again. "The damage has been done, my friend, and I don't know if she will ever be the same again. But she will heal; we must have faith in that." Hamish nodded slightly, his voice growing stronger. Whom was he trying to convince? Tarrant… or himself?

Suddenly, the Hatter whipped his head to face Hamish, and he nearly gasped in surprise. His eyes… oh, his eyes! They burned one million different shades of agony, anger, grief, hate, sorrow, need, utter hopelessness, and love. There it was, the love that everyone had speculated about before, laid out for the Englishman to see. Love for Alice, Champion of Underland, Bringer of Peace, Conqueror of the Red Queen, Lady of the White Court.

"Where is he?" he burst out, nearly screaming, as he stood faster than Hamish could blink. The Englishman fell back in surprise, and gaped at the man above him, the fear returning. "Where is tha' devil ? He tha' did this tae her? He should burn! He should rot! At mae own 'ands! Aye'll skin 'im alive! Make 'im pae fer wha' he's done! Make 'im hurt! Th' rat deserves it! Needs it! Must 'ave it!" He began a rampage around the room, destroying anything that was not already in shambles – and, if something was not completely wrecked, that problem was solved in a manner of seconds. After several terrified moments of watching Tarrant's pain-filled, hate-fueled rage, Hamish made a split decision. It did not matter what Mirana had said, he feared for his life and was leaving immediately! With that, he sprang to his feet and bolted for the half-open workshop exit. The moment he was in the hall, he slammed the door behind him and gripped the brass handle with all his might. After breathing a sigh of relief and collecting himself for a moment, he began the shaky walk back down the hall. He dreaded telling the Queen of his failure, but he did not have much of a choice.

Just as he was about to turn a corner, though, an inhuman shriek met his ears. His first reaction was to sprint back to Alice, where he thought the sound was coming from, but then he realized that it was the pure embodiment of everything that had been in the Hatter's eyes. Everything melded into one sharp, monstrous sound. It was, however, the sound one runs toward however; that of an injured and dying animal with no chance of survival. It was not the call of something bent on violence and murder. Pausing in his steps, Hamish wondered at the intelligence of such a move. Going back there? He could be killed! With a start, he realized that the screaming had stopped, and now all was eerily silent once more. Another moment of worry and doubt brought Hamish to a conclusion.

Once again, against his better judgment, Hamish found himself walking back toward the workshop door. You've gone mad! He thought to himself, shaking his head. All too soon, he was facing the wooden entrance, and this time he didn't even bother to knock. As Hamish entered, a sight similar to earlier, when he had come to check on the Hatter for the first time, greeted him. This time, however, he knew not to be deceived by Tarrant's calm demeanor. Despite this knowledge, he still made his way toward his side.

"Ye shoul' not 'ave come back," Tarrant said, his voice low and sad.

"And why not? Honestly, Tarrant, you're not going to hurt me, are you?" The Englishman replied lightly, smiling trying to hide the itch to run from the room and not come back.

"Behcause ye shoul' beh wit Alice, makin' sure she's alright," He shook his head, his voice growing more frantic. "If ye love some'ne, ye shoul' beh bay their side whenever somethin' happens. Ye've got tae take care of her, even if she dinnae need takin' care of. Ye've got tae show her tha' ye love her, because she might naet notice and fall fer some'ne else," Suddenly, the Hatter stood and returned to his rampage, yelling until his voice became hoarse. "Ye need tae be up thaier, 'amish, takin' care of yer lady! Ye DON' know 'ow lucky ye are!"

As Hamish stood there, listening to the rants of the madman as he tore apart his sanctuary, something clicked. Summoning whatever ounce of courage he had developed while in this insane land, the redhead yelled as loud as he could to be heard over his companion's ranting. "So why aren't you?" His question brought Tarrant to a screeching halt—quite literally, in fact, as his boots made skidding noises on the hardwood flooring whilst he was trying to keep himself from tumbling over a fallen dresser—and, when the Hatter turned to face him, he saw that his eyes were no longer the color of fire. "If all those things are true," he repeated, "why aren't you up there, tending to Alice?" Tarrant continued to stare blankly at him. "Dear God, man, what they say can't honestly be true, can it?" Hamish asked, aghast. No one could possibly be that clueless... could they?

"Who said what about who?" Tarrant replied, confused, and Hamish noted with a hint of relief that his voice had regained the soft lisp that meant things were going well.

Instead of answering the question that answered his question with another question—Oh, Lord, the absurd logic of this place is getting to me—Hamish decided to simply spell things out straight for the madman. It really was quite sad that he did not know his own feelings. "You, Tarrant Hightopp, are in love with Alice Kingsleigh, and have been, I'm gathering, for a very long time." Again, he was met only with a slack-jawed look from his companion. Then, suddenly, the Hatter broke into a bout of high-pitched laughter, and he was clutching his sides and pointing at Hamish for what could have been an entire ten minutes. (It was so hard to tell, really, with Time being so confusing in Underland.) Just as quickly as it had begun, though, the giggling stopped, and was replaced with silence once more. The Hatter's demeanor switched from mad-jovial to sadness once more, and Hamish found that the man's incessant mood swings were making him dizzy. He was having trouble keeping up.

"She does not feel that way about me, you know; she has you and everything that you can offer her… Up There," Tarrant replied solemnly, giving a mild gesture to the sky as he said the last several words. It took Hamish a moment to realize what he was talking about: London. And… he thought he and Alice were a pair?

"What?" he asked incredulously, nearly on the verge of laughter. Upon seeing the uncharacteristic solemnity on the madman's face, however, he quickly suppressed it. Did he not know Alice had rejected him? That they had decided long ago that they would never make each other happy? Had he not seen the Hatter at the life-ceremony, where he had stated just that in his speech? "She and I share no romantic feelings beyond that of a purely platonic friendship," Hamish replied, though he opted to leave out his harbored affections for the better. This revelation—albeit a somewhat repeated one—caused Tarrant to blink… and blink again. "Whether you are willing to believe it or not, I have become increasingly under the impression that it is youwhom she holds fondness for. While in London, she often confided in my father about her adventures here, never failing to mention a character—one I now recognize as you—in some shape or form. And just by simply seeing the way she looks at you—God, man, why am I even taking the time to explain this to you? You should be with her now, seeing for yourself," Hamish felt his frustrations quickly rising as he explained this to the Hatter, and—when the madman tried to cut in—he kept talking until he was finished. "Before you head to Alice, though, I suggest you take the time to right your feelings for her. Do not lie to yourself, Tarrant Hightopp, because then you would only be lying to her."

A pregnant pause followed Hamish's sudden and unexpected—event to him— outburst, and, with nothing else to say on the matter, the Englishman turned to leave. He had fulfilled his promise to Mirana: the Hatter was fine, no more confused than normal, and would not injure himself greater than he already had during his violent spell. Hamish's steps faltered—perhaps he had been too harsh? No, someone had to speak plainly to Tarrant at some point on such a topic. It was not healthy for every word brought up around him to be said on eggshells, with people constantly worrying that he would crack. Yes, that was it; he had done the right thing. Goodness, things here were beginning to go from entertainingly odd to downright confusing and somewhat stressful. Suddenly, Hamish found himself longing for the straight-backed order of London society. Would he ever be able to return home? From what he had heard during his time here, travel back Above was not easy by any means…

Just before he turned the corner toward the Queen's Chambers once more, Hamish heard a creak behind him. At first, he thought nothing of it, lost in his thoughts of home; that is, until a small voice called, "H-Hamish?" It sounded so unlike the Hatter, the Englishman could not bring himself to ignore it and move on. With a quick spin on his heel, the redhead was soon facing Tarrant, who was meekly hovering outside his now-open workshop door while clutching his top hat nervously in his hands.

"Yes, Tarrant?" Hamish prompted when the madman elaborated no further.

The silence continued for another moment, but, just as Hamish was about to turn back around and continue on, a quiet, "Thank you," reached his ears. Not sure what he was being thanked for—he had only spoken words that had needed to be heard for a long while—Hamish nodded in recognition and continued on, not bothering to check whether or not the Hatter had followed him.

When he returned to Mirana's chambers, he found her tucking a throw around the little sleeping form of Mia, who was curled in the chair with Andrea. After the two children had fallen into Dreamland in the bathroom, she had carefully carried each back into the sitting parlor of her chambers—all while Hopsin was quietly protesting and pleading that they retrieve the guard to do the work for her—and deposited them in the chairs.

When the Queen looked up, she saw Hamish leaning by the door, watching her, and she blushed slightly. After quickly composing herself (as much as one could in a situation such as this), she floated toward him, eager to hear news of her friend. "How is he?" she asked, referring to the Hatter.

"Distressed, as one would expect, but he seems quite alright," he replied, noticing now that Tarrant had not, indeed, come after him to the small party that had been forming in the Mirana's rooms.

"Wonderful; I am glad to hear it," she seemed to visibly relax, breathing a sigh of relief with the knowledge that—for now, at least—everyone seemed to be doing well. With that statement, an awkward paused seemed to hang in the air as each tried to decide their next move.

Hamish opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut suddenly off when a blue mist began to gather around the pair. "Your Majesty… Hamish…" a disembodied voice drawled as Chessur formed above their heads.

"Chess, how lovely!" Mirana sighed, glancing up at her friend with a smile. She had not seen the Cheshire Cat often since Alice's arrival—or many of the others, for that matter—and had missed them dearly.

"I trust our Campion is faring better than she was earlier?" he asked, though both humans were quite sure he was already aware of the answer to that question.

"Yes, she seems to have settled down fairly well," Mirana replied, glancing over to where Alice lay.

"And your little guest…?"

"Yes, he appears much better, also," Hamish let his eyes wander to wear the mysterious boy was dozing peacefully in the chair. He had not been around to hear any new developments on him, and would make sure to ask the Queen when he was able.

"Excellent to year, Your Majesty," Mirana nodded, suddenly seeming preoccupied with some thought. Chessur began slowly disappearing, fading away until his head was the only thing left visible. "Oh, and I was sent to inform you that Absolem will be coming tomorrow for an audience with you."

"Yes, yes; of course. I shall be ready," the White Queen nodded again.

"All of you…" and before either Mirana or Hamish could ask what he meant by 'all', the feline was gone.

The White Queen stood from her head chair at the dining table where breakfast currently was being served to Mirana and her court. A hush fell on the chattering crowd as they all stood with her, responding to her bow with their own as servants brought out silver platters of food. Everyone returned to their seats and began their meal, eager for the day to begin. To her right, Hamish sat, watching her intently as he ate—worried for her, as it was evident none of them had been able to sleep much the night before—and to her left was little Johnstone, seated next to Mia.

Andrea was placed next to Hamish, attending a formal meal with the Queen for the first time since her arrival, as every other occasion that had presented itself found her watching over either Alice or Mia. This morning, however, much to everyone's surprise—except, perhaps, Hamish— the Hatter had volunteered to sit with Alice. Underland's Champion remained unconscious, though she had been moved to her own chambers early that morning. The Celtic woman seemed nervous and stiff, visibly worried for her friend. It seemed to Mirana as though she was not used to having someone else watch over the blonde, and was even more wary that a madman was taking over her job for the day.

The five ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, with the occasional giggle from Alice's daughter as she watched her new friend shovel down his food. Mirana smiled softly to herself as she watched the two interact, happy that they, at least, seemed blissfully ignorant of the trouble that was brewing around them. "Mirana?" The White Queen turned her attention to Hamish, who had just addressed her, as she reached for her glass. "There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you—"

The Englishman was cut off, however, when a voice suddenly drawled in the Queen's ear as she raised her cup to take a sip. "I would not drink that, if I were you." As if on cue, one of the courtiers toward the opposite end of the table began violently choking and slipped from his chair, unconscious. His glass shattered to the ground, its contents spilling out onto the floor and pooling around him.

AN: UGH! I'm so sorry this took me so long to get up here (...as usual...). This chapter was kind of hard to write (I tried to avoid making the Hatter too OOC), and then there were some technically difficulties leading to me having to re-write the whole thing from memory. Fun. I don't think it's a good as the first time I wrote it, but here it is.

Thanks to everyone who has review, faved, watched, and read this story so far! It's you guys that keep me writing, even through adversity! Y'all are amazing!

Also, I'd love to see some fanart for this story. If anyone is willing to take creativity into their own hands, I would be so excited and grateful~! 3

Thanks again to everyone who has stayed with this story thus-far! :D