manniness | Chapter Eleven: Duty and Betrayal (1)

Another instance of one chapter but two posts. Why, LJ, why?

*~*~*~*

The Bandersnatch arrives well after sunset, rousing the entire castle and threatening the stability of its foundation with each ear-pounding, stone-shaking, booming Grruuff!

“Open the gate,” Alice instructs a wincing guard who seems to be in too much discomfort to notice that Alice had hurried outside barefoot with her shabby, borrowed housecoat only half on over her equally shabby and obviously borrowed shrift. “I’ll calm him down. Just open the gate.” The vulture on duty doesn’t have to be told a third time.

The great doors swing open and Alice is nearly bowled over by the frumious beast. (Truly, it is remarkable that a single day away from his groomers at Mamoreal can result in such a stench. He hasn’t smelled this bad since she’d traded his eye for the Vorpal Sword!) She thinks fleetingly of the brief bath she’d had earlier – had it been only that afternoon? – and then his great, flapping tongue is nearly pushing her over in its slimy enthusiasm to taste that she is truly all right.

“Gah! I’m fine, Bandy,” she insists, waving her arms in protest.

“Grrrb?”

“Yes. Really.”

He eyes her as she tries to wipe the worst of the slobber off of herself with the skirt of the robe.

“Grrrl...” he intones solemnly, looking rather apologetic.

“Uh huh,” she says, not in a particularly forgiving mood at the moment. “Where have you been? Didn’t Bayto find you last night?”

She receives a series of whine-ish growls that she imagines – and since she still can’t speak Bandersnatch, she can only imagine! – are a litany of excuses.

“Never mind. You’re here now,” she says, cutting off what appears to be a thorough self-flagellation. “Thank you for coming.”

He sighs gratefully and she rubs his ears. Luckily, he seems perfectly content to spend the night in the courtyard rather than try to follow her inside the castle and back to the room she is sharing with Tarrant. Although, by the supremely offended look on her husband’s face when she returns, she half expects to find herself keeping Bandy company in the yard tonight.

“So, that was the Bandersnatch arriving,” he deduces. He doesn’t bother to ask. He can smell the answer from all the way over there, apparently.

“I requested a bath on my way back,” she consoles him.

“And once you have partaken of it, I shall thank you generously.”

She does and he delivers on that promise, gathering her against his right side and conducting a very Thorough survey of her face and neck with his lips. She falls asleep with her hand over his Heart Mark and his warm breath puffing rhythmically against her once-again washed hair.

Yet another commotion wakes her what seems like only moments later.

“Tha’snot Bandy,” she grumbles, mouthing the words against the sheets.

Tarrant rubs her back consolingly. “I believe that would be the carriage and contingent of the White Guard you ordered, Lady Hightopp.”

“Bugger.”

The twinge of puzzled amusement she feels traveling like a drunken sailor up her heart line from Tarrant tickles her into rolling over and groping toward the edge of the bed. Despite the fact that every muscle in her body screams in silent protest against the action, she manages to stand. “Bloody boggletogs,” she grumps, wincing as she bends over to collect her just-laundered breeches and patched tunic. “Why do people have to wear so many clothes?”

Tarrant snorts, giggles, and whispers, “Perhaps it is merely an attempt at self-restraint.”

“Self-restraint?” she echoes blankly, but when she glances over her shoulder at him and observes his appreciative stare aimed at her bare back, she Understands. “Ah. Perhaps.” And at times and in places like the one they are currently occupying now, Restraint is very needful, indeed.

As Jaspien orders his trunks brought downstairs, Alice nods to the Queen’s Guard (several of whom had volunteered to be her sparring partner on one or two occasions) and nudges Tarrant into the carriage. The supplies she’d requested are there and she smooths a dose of Pain Paste – quality Pain Paste and properly brewed to boot! – on his wound. Someone had thoughtfully included a basket of Mamoreal edibles and as the trunks are lifted onto the back of the carriage and lashed into place, they eat their morning meal which, thankfully, does not taste of gamy meat and mud.

Mindful of how the quality of food seems to have decreased since Jaspien’s imprisonment had begun nearly two decades years ago, Alice reluctantly saves a serving for him. He had acted as their host, after all. It’s the least she can do... well, aside from granting his boon. Which reminds her...

After they have gotten underway and after Jaspien has inspected and gnawed through each morsel, Alice ignores the fact that Tarrant is still glaring at the man and asks, “What is it – precisely – you hope to gain from this venture, sir?”

“My gains need not be precise,” he counters in a bland tone. “Nor need they be mine exclusively. If I’m not mistaken, this is the time of the Barterment, is it not?”

“Yes. In a few days.”

“Then the timing of your visit could not have been better,” he informs them. “My people have tanned leather to trade for necessities. That is my primary objective.”

“So you do not wish to speak to the queen?” Alice clarifies. She had assumed – from what she’d heard from the maid the day before – that Jaspien would try to bargain for a lighter sentence or attempt to persuade the queen that he has paid his debt for his betrayal.

He sighs. “I would like to present my case, of course. However, I realize that is not something you have the authority to guarantee me, Champion Alice.”

“What makes you think that it is within my power to grant you safe passage to Mamoreal?”

He blinks his watery and unremarkable eyes at her. “Frankly, I did not expect you to even honor this request. Why would I have asked for a second? Necessities concern me,” he replies in a disinterested tone. “I do not waste time considering luxuries.”

And with that, the man folds his arms over his chest, settles back against the bench seat, and dozes. Alice reaches for Tarrant’s hand in the silence and his fingers meet her halfway. She glances out the window and smiles for the Bandersnatch which is keeping up with the pace of the horses just fine. She does not curl into her husband’s warmth, although she wants to. She wants to forget what is waiting for her in Mamoreal: a queen, a turn-coat princess, a revolution.

She reminds herself that Tam is safe; Tarrant is healing; she is the Queen’s Champion and if there is a revolution to be faced, then she will face it.

The anxiety she feels burning her heart from the outside in lets her know that Tarrant’s thoughts are probably not dissimilar to her own. Of course he doesn’t want her to fight. Of course he worries that the next time someone swings a blade at her throat she will not step back quickly enough. She worries a little about that as well; it has been months since Alice has had a day of serious training. However, there is no changing that fact. Not now. With a concentrated effort, Alice focuses on the things she can change, the duties she can perform.

There is a queen to advise.

A rebel cause to confirm and consider.

And, if her suspicions are on target, then there will also be a Champion’s Challenge to answer.

She narrows her eyes in thought as she recalls the most recent conversation she had shared with her apprentice:

“Tarra, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like, Champion?”

“It looks like you’re experiencing a very Serious Error in Judgment.”

“Does it? That’s... interesting. Although not very surprising. You never were strong enough to go against my mother.”

“And you fancy yourself in that role now?”

“What do you think?”

And she does. She thinks; she Believes...

She closes her eyes and sighs. Alice can see where this path leads. If the information she has is correct – if these rebels are who they seem to be: willfully ignorant children – then there is only one way to end this. For good. And Tarrant is not going to like it at all. In fact, this path scares her. Luckily, they have several hours of travel left yet during which time Alice can make an effort to resign herself to what is coming.

Beside her, Tarrant twitches and inhales sharply, no doubt in reply to the heart ache that had throbbed through her before she could manage to subdue it.

“What are thinking, Alice?” Tarrant asks in a very soft tone, his inquiry resonating along the heart line, which, by the feel of it, has healed as much as it can. It seems... muffled or a bit smothered, but she can feel him better now than she had before. It is progress she receives gladly.

She looks into his eyes which are a bit more yellow than she would like. Her fingers move over the back of his right hand and she points a finger toward their travel companion. He appears to be sound asleep, yes, but Alice can’t risk the chance that he’s not. And the subject of her thoughts... well, even if she and Tarrant had been traveling alone, she would have been wary of discussing her thoughts here. In a carriage of questionable durability.

“About the Barterment,” she answers just as softly. “The hides from Causwick might change things a bit in our favor.”

“How so?”

As Alice explains a bit about the dynamics of supply and demand – what she can remember of it from her time apprenticing with the trading company, that is – the land rolls past. Even though the horses had not been given much time to rest after they’d arrived at Causwick, the carriage makes good time. They arrive at Mamoreal sooner than Alice would have thought possible. Yesterday, this safe haven had seemed years away, an impossible distance for their feet and wills to manage. And yet here they are. In only a half dozen hours.

The carriage pulls to a halt just outside the outer gates, waking Jaspien. The man scowls out the window and observes, “We’re outside the castle.”

“Yes,” Alice replies, opening the door.

“And... we are disembarking here?”

“Did you actually believe I would permit you to enter the castle without having you thoroughly searched first?”

“I... beg your pardon?”

Alice explains patiently as the guard begins to untie the trunks from the boot of the carriage, “Your things will have to pass inspection before I can allow them within the castle walls.”

The man ignores the intent stare Tarrant is giving him and replies in an irked tone, “Champion Alice, what could I possibly be attempting to transport other than what I have claimed?”

“I can’t answer that,” she replies. “But it is my job to ensure that your visit here poses no threats whatsoever. So. You can choose to submit yourself to a search of your person or you can make your own way back to Causwick Callion.”

Although he is very unhappy about what he no doubt sees as a violation of his person, he consents. Alice instructs the senior member of the guard not to escort Jaspien into the castle until every weapon, potion, powder, or questionable item has been confiscated and destroyed. She then reaches for Tarrant’s hand and strides up the drive, leaving the ruler of the Callion at the White Army’s tender mercies.

“Do you think that was really necessary?” Tarrant muses, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Alice smirks. “Do I think he’s actually planning an assassination or some such act of violence? No. However, it is necessary in that we need a little time alone with Mirana to sort things out. And Jaspien needs to know that we still don’t trust him.” She tilts her head to the side, considering. “If he has any sense at all, he’ll use this time to think about how he might take this chance to begin making amends for his past actions.”

“Alice...” Tarrant warns her softly. “There is no forgiveness for his treachery.”

“None that you would offer him,” she corrects him.

“Aye. I cannae f’rgive his orderin’ yer capture.”

“I’m not asking you to, Raven.” And she never will.

They climb the stairs and Alice smiles at Lakerton, who opens the front doors for them. Before she can ask to see the queen, Nivens scrambles into the foyer, nearly tangling up his legs and tripping himself in his haste.

“You’re back! You’re back! And you’re LATE!” he insists without conferring with his pocket watch.

“A bad habit, I know,” she replies wryly.

In true McTwisp fashion, the white rabbit doesn’t even comment on Tarrant’s left arm which is still cradled in a sling across his chest. Alice doubts he even notices though his irritation. “Well, come along! Come along! You mustn’t keep her majesty waiting!”

“We’re waiting on ye teh announce us,” Tarrant reminds him.

“Oh, goodness! Yes, follow me!”

They climb the stairs, stride down the hall, open the door - “Gently, please! I’ve been slammed more times than I can count in the last two days!” the doorknob begs pitifully – and then...

“Alice!”

“Mirana,” Alice replies, wrapping her arms around the queen.

“You’ve heard... you know that... that...”

“Yes, although I should like to hear it once more, just to be sure. And,” she continues, alternately patting her friend on the shoulder and rubbing her back, “I should very much like to know where the majority of the White Army is. The grounds seem rather... empty.”

“Of course. Of course.” The queen gathers herself and invites Alice and Tarrant to join her and the king in the sitting area of her office. They do and the queen reaches for her husband’s hand as she confesses, “I ordered the army to Crimson Harbor.”

Alice feels herself stiffen. She can easily imagine how that must have looked to the citizens of the White Realm, watching as the army had stormed its way through Underland...

“And?”

Mirana takes a deep breath. “I ordered them to detain the rebels only. To retrieve Tarra safely and bring her home.”

“But?”

“But this,” Mirana tells her, reaching for a roll of parchment and handing it to her. “It arrived last night. Bayne reported that Tarra delivered this herself. She stepped out to meet the army but she didn’t – wouldn’t...”

Accepting it, Alice leans back in her chair and unfurls the document, reads it, and bites back a smile.

“A Champion’s Challenge,” she observes as neutrally as possible. Yes, her Belief in Tarra has not been misplaced. “The only thing that could stop an assault from an army,” Alice continues. “And the only thing that could prevent the army from bringing her home: she’s vowed her services to the New Resistance and they are Challenging you. I believe she may have done you a great favor, Your Majesty.”

Mirana gapes at her. “Alice... how can you say that? She... she..!”

Alice briefly grasps Tarrant’s hand and forces a cleansing breath. This is the moment, she sees, in which her musings in the carriage earlier will come to the forefront. She wishes she could have found a way to prepare her husband for this... but she is not sure it would have made a difference.

Alice stands, crosses the rug, and kneels at her friend’s feet. “Mirana,” she answers softly, “Your Majesty,” continues with a glance toward the king, “Tarra is doing precisely what I have trained her to do. She is acting as your Champion even now. And she is trusting us to bring her home. However, that route cannot be accomplished with an army escort.”

She pauses as Tarrant’s emotions begin to intensify through their now-imperfect connection. His mind is racing, she knows. He’s thinking ahead, following the path of her logic and considering the only strategy that has a hope of resolving this issue once and for all. And he is not liking it. Not one bit.

“Your Majesties,” Alice tells them both, hating that she must leave Tarrant to this discovery without the comfort of her touch, her physical presence. But her vows hold her here, now. There is nothing she can do for her husband. Not now. Later, however... “Allow me to answer the Challenge. Accept.”

Mirana shakes her head. “But... Alice! If we accept then we must meet on the battlefield and if you begin the duel...”

“One of us must die,” Alice replies, trying to remain calm as Tarrant’s agitation burns through Anxiety and approaches Terror-Panic-Fury-MADNESS! “Yes. That is the point, Your Majesties. These rebels... these children have never seen Death. They think battle is glorious and honorable. We must show them precisely what it is they are seeking. Tarra will rally them all together – each and every one of them – and then we will show them Death.” This declaration is met with silence. Alice concludes, “But I have not forgotten my promise to bring Tarra home safely. She will be. It won’t be your daughter who falls. I promise.”

“Alice...” the king pleads hoarsely. “We cannot...”

She sighs. “It is the best option for ending this peaceably and with as little bloodshed as possible. These children want to fight. We must convince them that what they want is vile and not at all what they believe it to be.” Alice turns toward the queen. “You have both raised children. You know they will not listen to reason, not when they believe they are in the right and we are in the wrong.”

She stands. “Please, trust me in this.” The words are not only meant for the queen and king.

“Alice,” Mirana begins, looking lost, distraught, on the verge of tears.

“You are not choosing your daughter’s life over mine,” Alice assures her. “I am choosing her life. This is my choice. Please accept it. Let me show these children what war is. Let Tarra come home.”

And because Mirana is a mother, she cannot do anything other than agree. She nods, tears rolling down her face.

Alice offers her most reassuring smile through the burning of her Heart Mark. “If you’ll excuse Tarrant and I for a moment...?”

“Oh! Of... of course,” Mirana replies, clearly remembering that Tarrant is present. She glances around Alice to where he is no doubt gripping the right armrest of the chair with enough force to reshape the wood. Whatever she sees is not pleasant; Mirana cringes at the sight. “Come, Dale. We need to speak to the children.”

As the queen leads her husband from the room, Alice turns, takes this moment to absorb the sight of her husband while he still has the means and the motivation to restrain himself. For what she has just sworn to do, she doesn’t doubt he is furious enough to kill her himself. Or, more likely, hie away with her to Upland and smash every mirror in existence.

His eyes are the darkest red she has ever seen. The color matches his heart line – her blood – actually. His face is pale – too pale – and set as if carved from stone.

“I am not breaking my promise,” she informs him softly, moving to kneel at his feet. “I am choosing us.”

“You are choosing to die,” he answers in the voice of the Blackness. Alice aches to touch him, but she doesn’t. She knows what one touch could lead to and while she might not be opposed to confronting his violence and passion all at once, she knows that he would not be able to forgive himself for permitting the Blackness to control-dominate-claim! her a second time.

“Think, Raven. There is a way.”

His eyelids twitch as he does just that. He thinks. And his eye color begins to fade into a lighter, more rational hue.

“I will need your help,” she tells him. “This is one of the things that only you and I can do... together. Please, Tarrant.”

He is still furious – his orange irises and the simmering heat over her heart attest to that – but he is beginning to See...

“The queen needs us. Underland needs us,” she reminds him. “And I need you.”

Alice dares to touch him, then. She places her hands on his knees and feels him shudder in reaction. She dares a bit more, rising to her feet and seating herself on his lap, careful of his left shoulder and arm – the Pain Paste will likely not have healed a stab wound that deep in only a handful of hours. She places her hands on his cheeks and presses her forehead to his.

“I need you,” she pleads, her heart aching with his as his irises shift in color yet again; this time into the color of pure misery: black. She cannot bear the sight of it so she closes her eyes, but that only directs her attention to the emotions pouring out over her heart, drenching her in the flames of his desolation.

But she forces herself to say the words. This is the only way. The best way. And he must Trust her!

“Tarrant, I need you to help me die.”