I've managed to slip away from that mountain of geometry for a while! Let's try to get this one posted. I apologize for having taken so long.
Disclaimer: I admit to owning nothing of Alice in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll, Disney, and Tim Burton do.
Inspirational Song: "Please Don't Go" - Mike Posner
. . . . .
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
The White Queen turned her head away from her desk (but really, very little could be seen of said desk, for the great amount of books set upon it took up quite a bit of room). Sir Lawrence stood there, panting, red-faced, and covered in scratches, in her doorway. Mirana lifted her hand and pressed it against her lips, shockingly taking in his condition. "What has happened?"
He entered the room with both hands placed upon his sheathed sword, a nervous habit of his. When in doubt, grip your sword. He steeled his gaze on hers. "We were forced to retreat our post below the Door."
Her momentary silence was tangible. A slight rain could be heard rattling against the window of her dimly lit study. The only light source was from the crackling fireplace in the corner, throwing eerie shadows on each and every object in the room. Time may have called this hour day, but the Sun chose to disagree, for outside it was wet and gloomy. The book Mirana had been studying, The Uses of Buttonberry Leaves and When to Apply Them, lay where she had been sitting, completely forgotten.
"By who?" she whispered, looking out the window.
"By Stayne's army of trolls," he hissed, but not at her, of course. "Unorganized, futile, neurotic things," he added in disgust.
Mirana unsurprisingly felt no shock, but only a numbing pain. Whether it was the potion or the recent events of her life, it had slowly been sucking the emotion out of her. She held no urge to gasp.
Sir Lawrence went on. "They overrode our Guards, driving us out of the Mushroom Forest. I-I tried my best," he faltered. He hesitated before continuing. "I so gravely apologize to you, Your Magnificence, I only wished to not risk our men-"
"It's no matter," she interrupted quietly, calmly. "I understand the situation you were in and know you are a man of no limits. This is why I'm sure you did your best and fought your hardest." Despite her kind and heartening words, the Queen's voice was monotone. Eerily calm. She stared straight at the wall, her eyes upon the painting of a woman in blue.
Sir Lawrence appeared unnerved. He resituated his hold on his blade's casing. "Yes, well, thank you, your Majesty."
She nodded and turned to face him. "Of course, Lawrence," she said. "Now, before you had to. . .make your leave, could you catch how many were there? In the Forest?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Plenty enough. The Red Knave is cruel and vicious, but a fool he is not. He likely sent half of his, well, I wouldn't call them men, but you do know what I mean."
"Yes, I understand," Mirana murmured.
"My guess is that if anything, his numbers have only increased since our last sighting of him. The Outlands are bare and bitter. Any creature out there would gladly risk what they call a life to fight with a man as rallying as Stayne." He sighed wearily.
"How do they perform their tasks?" she asked out of pure curiosity.
His brow furrowed, his eyes looking back to what she assumed to be a disturbingly eerie sight. She pictured what he described. "They ran out of the surrounding woods with absolutely no preamble," he started in a low tone. "They roared their battle cries just as the rain began to fall. At first, we were confused. We lost those precious moments and were at a definite disadvantage. They planned that," he added.
"I saw that we were vastly outnumbered, in persons and in strength. These troops of his are more beast than man, and I cannot imagine what would give birth to such creatures," he whispered with disdain. "They forced us out of the Forest with little battle, for they did not want one. This is what I find most impressive. Despite our thinking of them having low intelligence levels, they have been instructed in combat correctly."
Sir Lawrence sighed. "They knew Time would not pick sides. The moment they rushed us out, they organized themselves into separate squads and took positions. They were confident that they would not be distracted, nor defeated. I witnessed this from a faraway hill. It was all. . . very precise," he sneered. He ran his hand through his short, pink hair and blew out a lungful of air.
"That Stayne. . . " he said shakily. "He is truly a worth foe."
Mirana studied him for a moment, then placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. "That may be true," she said softly, "but that does not confirm your false belief that he may not be defeated."
He straightened up immediately. "Never, Your Majesty! He is too greasy a mutt to vanquish the White!"
Mirana smiled at his faith in their Kingdom and withdrew her hand. "Absolutely right." Her smile faltered a bit. "So, these. . . These creatures, are staking out positions below the Door?"
He hesitated in his strict pose. "Yes. . ." he said slowly.
She nodded, just as slowly. The gears in her brain spun for a solution to all their problems, before they came to a decision. "None of my Loyalists shall shed blood today, my Lawrence. For now, we will watch the on goings of the Mushroom Forest from afar."
She watched as his jaw fell open. "But, Your Majesty, what of Miss Alice? And the milliner?"
"His name is Tarrant Hightopp, but his friends may call him Hatter," she corrected automatically. "And there is nothing I can do about. . . Actually, that is not true."
She walked to the window, hearing Sir Lawrence follow from behind. She looked down and attempted to see through the rain. A pearly stoned shed, built for a giant (literally), shone through the gloom of the day many feet below where she stood on the opposite side of the window. She looked on as a stable boy tossed a barrel of delicious-looking grub (speckled with purple spices) through the entry way of the shed. She could just imagine the swinging of the happy Bandersnatch's tail.
"Your Majesty. . . ?" Sir Lawrence prodded, standing beside her.
"Keep the Bandersnatch on hand as you watch over the Forest," she said wisely. Simply put is sometimes the best way to put.
He didn't reply right away, perhaps he was waiting for more information. He didn't receive any. "Yes, of course. . . Will that be all, then?"
She nodded, looking back at him. "Go immediately. We don't know how Time is operating currently. But make sure to only stray in the shadows. "
"I understand," he said in that powerful voice of his. With one more formal salute, he had strode away and out of the room. Mirana turned away from the window, knowing she didn't have to watch to make sure the Bandersnatch would be brought along. To Sir Lawrence, her orders were nothing less of sacred.
She passed the desk wielding of text and slumped down in a velvet chair that sat by the fire. Lately, it seemed her coldness had become a second layer of skin. Could one more draught melt it off? On a whim, she decided to give it a try.
Her hand was on the top of the vial that sat on the end table beside her when she hesitated. There was only a quarter left. . . Oh, yes, she'd taken a bit before entering the room. She must have also brought it with her, or else how could it have followed her? Silly, Mirana.
She popped the stopper out of the lid and watched the smoke rise from the opening with greedy eyes. The bottle warmed in her hand as she brought it to her lips.
But, should she. . . ?
She set the bottle in her lap, her gazed fuzzy and confused. If she'd already taken a sip, couldn't this be a bit too much? But, she was cold again. Her hands were already beginning to shake. Was that blood on her hands?
NO. Ink! Of course, in her work, she had spilt ink over her fingers.
She watched her eldest sister tumble to the ground, the blade protruding from her chest. She watched with an unblinking gaze of fear as their eyes met.
Whose eyes? She was alone! Alone, in her study, with Sir Lawrence. It was raining. Sir Lawrence would protect her. A fire danced before her sallow skin. Where was Sir Lawrence?
Iracabeth's hands fumbled clumsily at the sword, but it would not budge, and even if it had, it would be too late. Too late, always too late. Where is Alice? Where is her Champion? The Jabberwocky's head sat on the ground they walked on.
The Champion would save her. Where was that potion? Ah, there it goes. Straight down her throat, warming her system, every single last drop. . . Content. She was fine.
At first, she was confused. It was so dark. Then she relearned how to open her eyes, and was granted with the gift of sight once again. That did not help the confusion. She found that she was standing, and in front of her, the painting of the woman in blue. A green haze surrounded her vision. If she turned to get a better look at it, it would move. She turned in circles, trying to catch the haze, but it was quicker than her.
She gave up, looking back at the woman in the painting. She was beautiful, and unearthly at the same time. Mirana's head tilted to the side as she studied her.
To her great surprise, the woman frowned at her. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked in a shrill voice.
Mirana leaned back with wide eyes, only to end up peering at the surface of the painting, her nose a mere inch away from its surface. This did not soothe the woman. "Step back!" she commanded with a stomp of the foot.
Mirana stepped back. "You can speak," she observed with a slur of the tongue.
The woman placed a hand on her hip, glaring at Mirana. "Oh, if you can speak, I sure as well can, too."
Mirana frowned. What had she done to deserve this woman's cold shoulder? "Pardon?" was all she could ask.
The woman shook her head with a frustrated sigh. When she looked up, her eyes were a shade darker. She began to walk her way closer to her, still within the painting, until all Mirana could see of the woman was from the chest and up. She had large lips and a pointed nose.
"What's that in your hand?" she asked, although her tone clearly indicated that she knew what Mirana held.
Mirana lifted her arm to see an empty bottle hanging in front of her face. She looked at the woman through the bottle's green glass. "Empty bottle," she said slowly, appraising it.
The woman nodded. "You drank all of the potion. It took a whole bottle to get you content with your condition this time."
Her brow furrowed. "This time?"
The woman nodded again, clearly relieved that this conversation was going somewhere. "Yes. You have been drinking more and more. Has it become apparent to you yet, Your Majesty?"
Her arm fell to her side, the bottle banging against her hip. "Has what. . . what?"
The woman took another loud step forward, her gaze hard. "You're becoming dependant on your draughts!"
"Am not!" She stumbled.
The woman snorted. "Are, too. You have to consume more and more because your body is becoming immune to them! That's just how often you drink those potions of yours."
Mirana frowned. "How would yooooou know?" she drawled.
"Just call me the voice of Wisdom. Or perhaps," she added wistfully, "I'm the little bit of your brain that hasn't been drowned out by the liquids yet. Better listen to me before I do."
Mirana frowned, the green haze starting to filter away. "But if I stop taking potions. . . " she struggled to find the correct words. "Iracabeth. . . "
"I know, love, I know," the woman said comfortingly. Surprising, with her demeanor being so hard. "But you can't skip the stages of grief."
"I saw her die!" she shrieked suddenly. Witnessing the act itself was worse! Before she knew it, hot tears were burning down her cheeks. She hadn't cried, truly cried, in so long. In a way, it felt good. It was a form of release. "This is different!" she cried.
The woman slowly shook her head. "You think you're alone, don't you? You are wrong, Queen. Far wrong. Just ask your friend, the Hatter. And he turned out alright, didn't he?" The haze had turned black and was drifting away in wisps of smoke. The wisps were licking away the image of the woman. She was slowly being eaten away by air.
"He came out battered," Mirana sniffed. "Battered and bruised on the inside and out. He's completely mad! I have a land to rule!"
"Mad?" The woman laughed, utterly care-free. "Perhaps you've forgotten our purpose here. Perhaps you don't belong." Very little of the woman was left now; all Mirana could see was her expression. Through the smoke, it seemed as if she was now walking backwards. Everything was getting smaller.
She frowned. "I do belong. How do you mean?"
"I'm mad. You're mad. We're all mad here, Your Majesty."
The smoke cleared and the White Queen stumbled back. The woman in blue was a painted character in the painting once again. A single eyelid winked at her, wiping away any doubts that this might have been a dream. The bottle fell from her hands, exploding into a world full of shards.
. . . . .
Rachel: Anyone else get confused by the ending?
Insanity: Confusion is fun, it keeps things interesting.
Rachel: That, my friend, is a matter of opinion.