It was probably only sheer luck that they weren't attacked in the night while Lowell slept, and he is very aware of that. The worry of being attacked (by what, he knows not, but that doesn't stop it from worrying him in the slightest) had, in fact, kept waking him quite suddenly, refusing to allow him the continuous sleep he so desperately felt he needed (and deserved). So it is that when Margaret and Helen wake the next morning, they find Lowell sitting there, staring blankly at the foggy forest, dark circles under his eyes and quite the temper, but the women are rested and no one is disturbed except him, so he finds it in himself to not be too waspish and leads the way when they decide to set off again.
He is also certain he can hear that cursed cat laughing at him from somewhere in the trees, but he never sees the purple beast, so he can't prove it.
They are all dreadfully hungry (which only adds to Lowell's short temper), but no one is willing to chance eating anything in this forest (well, Margaret might have been, if Lowell hadn't shrieked at her in protest, and then spent the rest of the morning trying to apologize for it; but it had worked, at least, and they've all agreed they'll be much closer to starvation before they consider trying that again). They are also very lucky there is a continuing, clear path to lead them, because they have no idea where they are headed at all, and the cat has not deigned them with a visit since the road sign.
We are going to wander this forest until we die, Lowell keeps catching himself thinking. And it won't be because something killed us-no, it will be starvation. We will fade away, we will, and I'll never have made it up to my Margaret for the fool I've been and the wrong I've done her. She doesn't deserve this, Helen doesn't deserve this—maybe... maybe I deserve this but I don't want it, I can do better, I promised myself, for her...
And his thoughts, much like his shaky, wobbly vision, make little sense at all after that.
Rubbing his eyes, growling to himself, Stayne lets all of his body weight fall into opening the door, unable to bother with actual effort in the uncomfortable late hours of the morning and his distinctly unrested bad mood. Said mood only grows worse when he's met with the sight of Alice and her two little men settled in the middle of the hall-right on the carpet-with half-empty dishes (most likely what remains of the breakfast they'd partaken in at an earlier, more appropriate, hour, which Stayne had tried, and failed, to sleep through). He does not like these people, he does not want these people, and he certainly doesn't like to or want to see them at this time, or ever, in fact, and he'd tell them so, if he could muster up enough energy to care, but he can't, so when Alice smiles at him so brightly (and the faces of both her companions fall considerably, making Stayne feel considerably better), calls his name in that voice of hers (what is that? What is it about the way she speaks? When she says his name? Too early, can't think), and calls him over to sit beside her, he finds himself collapsing in the floor like a tangle in the brush, with a plate of stale scones coated with too much jam on his lap and warm tea waiting.
Her legs are tucked beside her, ankles showing (he might, might, smile today, after all), and she's leaning towards him without a thought, it seems, talking and talking and he's not listening, just hearing, and it's like birdsong has always been described to him but he never understood because he hates birds, but this angle is rather nice to look at her at, despite her being so furiously small, but she glances up and meets his eyes and stops what she is saying to tell him, sternly, to eat, and by everything he's doing it, and he hates jam.
This is going to be a terrible day. He knows it. Because the first thing out of his mouth after he's finished the scone is, "After Iracebeth and I were banished, the first thing either of us tried to do was, of course, kill each other."
He takes a sip of his tea after that, trying to ignore the grating feeling of having all their eyes on him (well, the two gingers' eyes; Alice's isn't grating so much as intoxicating, but he'd rather not think about that right now, either).
Alice smiles at him. "Finally ready to talk, then?"
He shoots her a look and then rolls his eyes. "I did promise."
"Last night." Hatter points out, not quite to the point of snarling yet. More like a pouting child. Stayne and Hamish both stare at him pointedly, but the man doesn't seem to understand the subtle nuances of looks and just sits there, so Stayne decides to move on.
But, to his surprise, Alice comes to his defense.
"He was tired, Hatta. And this must be hard to talk about."
It is. He won't say that, but it is. His jerkin feels tight. Licking his lips, he continues as though he was never interrupted.
"Neither of us was very successful. And after we'd given up the endeavor, survival become what was important. All in the land had been forbidden from harming us, but they'd been forbidden to help us as well, obviously. But so long as no one was doing either, we got along just fine in a sort of middle ground. We could steal without fear of retaliation, and stroll into houses and sleep wherever we liked, trying to stay as far from each other as possible while still bound together."
Hatter giggles, and Stayne sends him a glare. There isn't really a need to ask what is funny. Stayne hates him all the more for that, for the nights beside the woman he hates more than anything, who'd spent so long fawning over him and he'd had to pretend to fawn over right back, who makes him feel sick and vile and dirty and who he'd love to blame all his misery on, and who he hates all the more because he can't.
Tarrant, too, he hates. So much.
But then Alice places her hand on his knee, and he stares at it, then at her, and her face is set-not sympathetic, not understanding, but firm, and he knows Tarrant must hate him for this touch, and that makes him feel good, but that look is what matters most with its lack of pity and also lack of hate (he would never, could never, understand why she doesn't hate him, saved her life or not) and that makes all the difference in the world and he just keeps talking because his brain can't register anything else to do.
"We came to an understanding, Iracebeth and I. And we lived. In squalor, poor and homeless and filthy, but we lived, and we even managed to find an abandoned shack for ourselves and work where people would let us earn a keep even if they wouldn't look at us, and we got by. Learned. And then one night, the wonderful and beautiful White Queen showed up at our door-not looking at all so wonderful or beautiful or white."
Stayne picks up another scone at this, taking a bite and wiping some of the jam off his face when it squeezes free, smirking. And his captive audience waits with varying levels of interest: Alice, stern and attentive; Tarrant, bordering hostile but suddenly alert, watching; the Hamish fellow, eyes always flickering between those around him, looking far more like he's weighing the company's reactions than any of Stayne's words. One to watch, him.
"Your precious Queen," Stayne drawls, looking pointedly at Hatta. "Is going the same way as you, Tarrant-old-boy. Utterly mad."
The hatter launches himself across the small space, breaking dishes and sending food and tea flying and he claws the air towards Stayne. Barking laughter, Stayne shuffles backward out of reach as both Alice and Hamish throw themselves on the haberdasher, restraining him.
"YER A FILTHY LIYA!" Tarrant screeches, oblivious to the two holding him back, yelling at him to calm down, to stop.
Stayne just laughs all the more, laughs and laughs and laughs, because this—this is funny! So, so very funny! "Perfect Mirana, as mad as a hatter! So obsessed with all things white and pure because she's just a little girl running scared, afraid of the dark! Well, that darkness is inside her now, Hatter, and she can't fight it anymore! It's tainting her, dirtying her, dimming her brightness and whiteness and purity and making her just as drab and grey as the rest of us rabble! No control, no holier-than-thou attitude, no vows to do no harm! Just a dark, shadowy empress, giving in to dark, evil impulses, only to leave her sorry and crying when next she's herself again. That's the queen you serve now, Hightopp!"
Tarrant howls. Literally, rears back against the grabbing hands of his friends and howls, crying reaching up to the ceiling, earsplitting and agonizing and heart-wrenching, sorrow and grief and pain and disbelief and madness.
And it makes Stayne feel good. To cause this man so much pain, after everything. To cause anyone pain, really. For other people to suffer, to be the cause of that, to be powerful and above it and better, to be able to look at that pathetic shell of a man and know at least he's not that lost (no matter how lost he feels).
But then his eyes register something in that peaceful sight, and drift down, low, and focus on Alice's distraught face with such utter clarity that suddenly Stayne isn't laughing anymore. His smile hurts. Everything hurts.
And then he's angry again because why does he have to care!?
He hates it he hates it hates it hates it hates it! It was all so much easier when he didn't. Why now, why her, why why why!?
"Oh would you just SHUT UP!" Stayne shrieks, leaning forward to bite the words. "Your precious queen isn't lost, you mad fool, so pipe down! Do you want to help her or not?"
With gasping, almost sobbing breaths, Hatter quiets. His chest still heaves, his whole body shaking, but he tips his head down and his face stares across the small gap between them with focus and fire, and Stayne wants to just leave them all here and pretend he'd never met a one of them, not ever (but he won't, and he knows he won't, and he hates that, too, hates everything, would hate himself if he weren't all he had and he won't hate himself, he won't, everyone else can but damn it all he's himself and that's all he has and he'll be dead before he gives up again and lets himself see his own existence the way everyone else does).
"She came to Iracebeth for help." Stayne grinds out. "Promised us pardon for our crimes. So we went back to the castle with her under the guise of repentance and set about our work of helping your queen save herself. But I honestly don't know what she expected from us. Iracebeth helps when her fits are on her, I admit, but there isn't much to be done. We didn't know what to do. And I figured it was only a matter of time before little Mirana cornered me one night while her sister wasn't around and offed me, so I ran. Ran where I thought she couldn't follow."
"London," Alice whispers. "Above. My world."
Stayne nods slowly, feeling tired and heavy like he hadn't gotten what little sleep he'd managed. "Wasn't up there a week before our little swimming trip. But it is a good week. Better than I've had here."
He flicks away a shard of what looks like it used to be a teacup. Maybe his teacup.
Hatter's focus seems to finally give out, because he goes limp in the combined arms of the two Londoners, and while they are suddenly consumed with fretting over his condition, Stayne gets up and leaves. Down the stairs, through the halls, out the front. He sits there, by the door, and waits for them, but it's all he can bring himself to do. He wishes he could convince himself to not do even that.
He'd run once already. He wishes he could go back to it. He can feel the dark shadows in his mind, his memories, the icy grey fingers, the dead eyes. He wants to be far, far away from here.
Everything feels so cold.
"Ilosovic." He doesn't know how long he's been sitting, waiting, but he knows it must have been a while, because Tarrant's all smiles, holding Alice's hand as they come out to find him, Hamish trailing behind, looking surly as ever.
Stayne doesn't even bother to scowl at the shift in mood. Too tired. Too cold.
Too scared.
But Alice appears relieved to see him there, and he wonders if it's because she was worried he'd left, or just because she's happy to be in his presence again. He deliberately stomps away from her after that thought.
And walks straight into the gigantic, sweltering, snarling form of a fuzzy, slobbering monster.
Lowell doesn't know when he passed out, but at some point he must have, because he doesn't remember them stopping for a rest, but here he is, waking up, and he still feels groggy and cranky and goodness how is he moving!?
He sits up, startled, and the world continues to move past him, drifting away all around. But he's seated, hands pressing against-something. Not ground. A leaf? ...a giant leaf.
Turning around, he finds himself staring at the proud, stiff back of Helen Kingsleigh, currently pulling the leaf he's laid out on like an invalid on a makeshift stretcher. Margaret is ahead of her, and turns around like she's about to say something, but spots him and breaks out into the biggest, sweetest smile, and comes rushing over.
"Lowell! Darling, you're awake! How are you feeling? You poor thing, you were up all night on watch, protecting us, and you just exhausted yourself! Do you need anything? We found running water a while back and I washed out my perfume bottle to hold some, do you need-" She bites her lip and gives a small laugh, and Helen has stopped pulling so they are all immobile together under the trees. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. You really scared me, darling."
"I didn't mean to." Lowell answers, then shuts his eyes with a snap because this is what he and Hamish had been discussing, it doesn't matter what he means, it matters how it makes Margaret feel. So, he opens them again and tries to smile at her as softly as she does him, and says, "Sorry, love. I'm alright."
She lets out a long breath, relieved, face shining, and this is why Lowell is trying to be a changed man, mercy she's beautiful and kind and far too good for him (it took him so long to come to terms with that, to put aside the anger and defensiveness and embrace the fear of her loss and know) and he had better keep this up or he'd hate himself forever.
"I can see a castle up ahead," she tells him excitedly, and reaches out to help him when he climbs off the leaf, standing.
He nods to Helen, opening his mouth to give her a thanks as well, but she gives him a tight-lipped smile that stops him, and then she says, "It was Margaret's idea. She pulled you along for most of the way. I only took over a bit ago when she grew tired."
When Lowell stares at his wife, she blushes and looks away before directing them ahead. "See, the castle is just down the hill. It's beautiful."
He lets himself be led by the arm and Helen strides along elegantly beside him, looking completely out of place with her poise in these gnarled woods. But Margaret is right, and the trees thin out down the hill until a courtyard of beautiful white blossoms can be seen against a stone walkway, leading up to a large, white castle.
Margaret meets his eye and hops a little, giggling, and even Helen smiles as well, looking pleased, and she takes Lowell's other arm and they march down the hill together, across that pristine courtyard, and up the steps to the castle gate, excitement quickening their steps exceedingly.
Lowell releases the ladies to knock, and after a few moments, the door opens.
No one is there. His brow furrows.
"Can I help-" The voice, coming from nowhere, stops suddenly. "Oh. It's you. You- you have n-no business here!"
Lowell turns around, shooting a confused look to his wife, who bites her lip to keep from laughing, and points down. He turns back to the door and lowers his gaze to find a very cross-looking white rabbit in a waistcoat staring up at him.
"Pardon?" Lowell replies, pitch a bit too high for his liking, but goodness, it's a talking rabbit (you'd think he'd be used to such things by now, but no).
"P-persons s-such as yourself h-have no business in Underland!" The rabbit snaps, stomping a foot. "H-how did you e-even g-get down here!?"
Stepping up beside her husband, Margaret settles down onto her heels at the rabbit's level and smiles.
"Hello. My name's Margaret. I'm Alice's sister. She's told me so much about you, if you're the white rabbit he fetched her as a child. Are you?"
The rabbit seems torn between wanting to insult Lowell further and answer Margaret, and he eventually seems to settle on the lady. "I am."
"Might I ask your name?"
"Nivens McTwisp, madam." He says, raising his head back properly. Lowell fights the urge to kick him.
"Is the Chessur Cat here, Mister McTwisp? He brought us down here, told us he was supposed to be watching us for Alice, but we were in a bit of trouble. May we come in?"
The rabbit sniffs and backs out of the doorway, ushering them in immediately, with several "of course, my ladys" and much too much flourish. "I'm afraid I haven't seen Chess in quite a few days. I wasn't aware he was doing anything for Alice. You're in trouble, did you say?"
The door swings shut behind them, and they are left in a large, grand, echoing hall-once again, completely white, just as the outside. "Yes. A lady came through a mirror and tried to strangle my husband."
Shooting Lowell a look, the rabbit says, "That doesn't sound at all surprising."
"That doesn't normally happen where we come from." Lowell snaps back.
"May we talk with your Queen?" Helen asks primly, eyeing the room with a cool detachment Lowell both admires and fears, as he well knows Helen is rarely detached from anything. "I understand she's a friend of Alice's, as well."
"W-well..." The rabbit shifts about, looking uncomfortable, and Lowell wants to kick it again. "I-oh, alright, this way."
He hops quickly, and they have to hurry rather inappropriately to follow after him, but soon enough, they find themselves in a large throne room, where a woman stands beside the rather simple silver chair with teal cushions, flanked by white curtains at the top of a dais.
"My queen," the rabbit calls out. "May I present visitors? Family of The Alice."
The woman turns, surveying them with cold eyes, and Lowell is struck by how she stands out amidst all the white, dressed so thoroughly in red.