A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all of you who read, reviewed, and reminded me that the fandom was not dead. :) Without a doubt, this chapter would not have been written without you. HEARTS, HEARTS, HEARTS.

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Looking up at the silver beast from where he lay, stretched out on the ground like a free meal, Hatter felt an entirely unfamiliar, demoralizing, crippling sense of…helplessness. He'd been in trouble before, but never without an escape route, never without a plan. "Duchess," he stammered, his thoughts whizzing at ten miles a minute trying to come up with something, anything...

…but he was distracted by the sound of stretching leather and the rasping pull of a crossbow.

"Hatter," the Duchess said seriously, not taking her eyes off the Scree as she prepared her aim, "Don't you dare move a muscle."

Hatter's jaw dropped. Had she been carrying that thing the entire time? "Wha…?"

"I am still the Queen of Wonderland," she said loudly, so that the red-feathered man on top of the Scree could hear her. "And I demand that you tell me your name and business, sir." The crossbow was shaking slightly in her hand and she was breathing rather hard, but her gaze remained firm and her aim remained steadily on the bird-man as he straightened up and folded his hands in front of him in a business-like manner.

Now that he was closer to their eye level than ever before, Hatter drank in the sight of him, sizing him up, trying to remember every detail so he wouldn't miss a trick. It was an old skill from his Resistance days, but some talents never fade, and Hatter had learned early the importance of knowing thy enemy. What he found here didn't surprise him – the bastard's business suit was rather like March's had been in that it was black, crisp, clean, and perfectly tailored in a way that earned Hatter's immediate disgust. Not just anyone could afford clothes like that in Wonderland. This guy had either come from money, or worked for people with money. Hatter would've bet his best hat that it was the latter.

But his eyes… pupil-less, just ice-blue irises gazing out from beneath his red-feathered brow. Sharp and cold, expressionless and unforgiving, keeping secrets and seeing everything but giving nothing away. Those were the eyes of a killer, Hatter knew it instantly – and from the self-assured way he stared down the pointy end of the Duchess' crossbow, this guy was very, very good at what he did.

"Not that I owe you anything," the man sighed, "but my name is Lory. And, as you can see," he sneered, "Alice isn't here."

Hatter's face flushed with anger at the mention of Alice's name and he tried to raise himself back up on his elbows, but the Duchess sent him a glare so livid that it stopped him in his tracks. She was, after all, still holding that crossbow with her finger on the trigger. "Why are you here?" Duchess demanded, turning her gaze back to Lory. The arm holding her crossbow was now rock-steady, all hint of tremor gone. "Is it a ransom that you're looking for?"

He chuckled. "Oh, no," he said. "Nothing like that. Ransoms aren't really my style. No, I'm simply carrying through the terms of my contract." He didn't wait for a reply before bending his face close to the Scree's head.

"Go ahead, girl," he chuckled. "Have fun."

Duchess' eyes widened in alarm and she pulled the trigger, but a moment too late – the arrow speared only the single feather Lory left behind as he disappeared. Nevertheless, galvanized by his masters' command, the Scree stamped the ground and straightened up afresh to its full height, flapping its great wings and taking to the air.

Hatter yelped, trying to scoot himself away using only his arms and not being very successful. What he would have given for the use of his legs. "Duchess, come on! Help me out!" He groaned. "Hello, I am literally a sitting duck here!"

"Relax, Hatter!" Duchess snapped, her crossbow already reloaded and aimed toward the sky. "This Scree is the royal family's captive, which makes him my responsibility, and I am going to bring it down."

"Don't be an idiot. This thing can take you out from fifty feet, just with its voice! And it ran me straight through without even touching the ground-"

"I'm not going to run from my responsibilities," she said firmly. She fired another shot, which missed the Scree's wing by about a yard.

Hatter slammed his fist futilely against the ground. "Aim for the eyes, at least," he offered desperately. "It's the only place I can see that isn't armored!"

"True," Duchess said, drawing a thicker, longer bow out of her bag and loading it. "But it's not its sight that I'm worried about."

Before Hatter could ask what she was worried about, then, if it wasn't the humongous, murderous, armored bird circling above them, the Scree opened its mouth and let out a long, almost victorious-sounding scream. Hatter's bones shook in a now-familiar pain, and the Duchess cried out, nearly dropping her crossbow as she tried to protect her ears from the onslaught. Hatter peeked through wincing eyes just in time to see the Scree taking its opportunity to dive…

"DUCHESS!" he bellowed through the ringing in his ears.

Still bent over double from the pain, Duchess halfway straightened and shot haphazardly at the swiftly approaching creature. Hatter didn't even hear her pull the trigger – all he saw was the Scree's neck suddenly explode into flame.

"Whoa!" Hatter shouted, his eyes wide. The Scree ceased its dive and took off back into the sky, trailing thick, black clouds of smoke.

"Yes!" Duchess shrieked and threw her hands up in victory. "Did you see that?" she turned to Hatter ecstatically. "Tell me you saw that! I wasn't even iooking!"

He nodded dumbly. "How did you do that?"

"Exploding arrows," she said, grabbing another one. "I stuck a few in my bag, just in case. I'd like to see that thing screech at us now that its throat is on fire! Hold on, I'm going to bring it down." She loaded it into her crossbow and rose to take aim –

But the Scree had vanished.

There was a long moment of silence between them.

"Did it just disappear?" Hatter whispered.

"I think it can turn invisible," Duchess whispered in response.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah. That's how it was able to take Alice without warning like that."

"…Fuck."

They both paused, on the knife's edge. The world was still – only the soft rustling of wind in the trees and the splashing of some far-off river. Hatter could hear the creak of Duchess' hands tightening on the handle of her crossbow.

He saw a cluster of leaves shake madly out of the corner of his eye. "Left!" he barked. The Duchess spun on her heel at the ready, but she was still too late. The Scree barreled straight into her, a forceful body-check that sent her flying off to the side as if she were weightless. She slammed hard into the trunk of a tree and fell, crumpled, to the ground.

"Duchess!" Hatter shouted. At the sound of his voice, she stirred and coughed ever-so-slightly. Hatter scanned the ground, looking for the crossbow that had flown out of her hands upon impact.

He spotted it on the ground only about five feet away from where he lay.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the sweating and shaking that began almost instantly at the effort. Inch by inch, he dug his elbows into the ground and dragged the rest of his body towards his prize.

Moving was torturous — the soft dirt shifted and sunk under his elbows, providing little traction, and the pain in his sides was blinding beyond description. He felt as though he would look down at any minute and find the lower half of his body right where he'd left it, having literally ripped himself apart.

Inch, by inch, by inch… He dragged himself along until his arms were shaking so violently he could go no more. Gasping for breath, he noted with some contempt that the crossbow seemed just as far now as it had before. But Hatter's arms were long. Surely, he thought, surely I've gone far enough?

He stretched out his arm, fingers spread desperately wide, but hitting only air. He took a deep breath and heaved himself back up on his elbows. A few inches. Just a few more inches…!

Over to his side, he heard the sounds of Duchess getting to her hands and knees. She was clutching her ribs and sucking in short, gasping breaths. "Hatter…" she moaned. "Hatter, the Scree—"

He spared a moment to look. The Scree, now voiceless and with one singed wing, it was struggling to gain enough air to fly above the trees and make a second dive. Judging by the look in its eyes, though, Hatter had no doubt who the next target was. The Duchess had proved herself to be troublesome prey — by comparison, Hatter was an easy meal for the injured bird, and it would only be a matter of time until it gained enough air to make the attempt. Powered by that gruesome thought, Hatter screwed his eyes tight and made one last heave before collapsing back into the ground, breathing heavily. Once more he stretched out his arm —

—there was a crash of leaves as the Scree broke through the trees at last —

—every joint in his arm felt like it was going to leap from its socket, he was straining so hard to reach, just the barest fingertip was all he needed —

—the Duchess was calling out to him in warning, the Scree was coming straight towards him, but neither of them had the strength to run—

—and with a gasp of relief, he finally brushed the wooden bow with his fingertips and scrambled to pull it towards him. There was no time to throw it to the Duchess. He took aim at the Scree only yards away from where he lay on the ground, held the bow firmly with both hands, and pulled the trigger.

It missed, grazing the wing by only a hair's breadth, but it was enough to scare the Scree into swooping away. Hatter sighed in relief and dropped his head back against the ground, but his elation was short-lived.

"Hatter," Duchess groaned, limping a few steps over to him with one hand clasping her ribcage. She dropped to one knee a few yards away, claiming her breath. "Are you okay?"

The wounds in his sides throbbed horribly, upset at being forgotten. "I'll get back to you on that," he winced. "And I think your bow's broken," he said. Now that he could regain focus, he could feel the wood splintering under his hands, most likely a result of having a two-tonne monster crash into it. It had probably been a miracle that the final arrow had fired at all. "You got any other tricks I should know about?"

Duchess shook her head. "No. You? You must have traveled with weapons, right?"

"Well, we weren't exactly expecting to fight for our lives every day," Hatter shot back. He wracked his brain, trying to think of anything useful… "Charlie's sword! Where's his sword?"

Duchess' eyes widened. "Where's Charlie?"

Hatter felt a wave of guilt that he hadn't noticed the Knight's absence sooner, but survival instinct pushed it aside as the Scree's humongous body crash-landed once more in the clearing before them. "We'll find him later!" he spluttered. "Just get his sword!"

Duchess scrambled away, tripping all over herself on the shaky ground as the Scree thrashed about, trying once more to get back in the air on its one good wing. She didn't have much time, she knew — eventually it would be airborne again, and out of her reach. She clasped the hilt of Charlie's sword, laying beside the rock they had been sitting on only an hour ago.

She ran with a sudden burst of speed into the clearing, cracked ribs forgotten, the blade foreign and heavy in her hand but no less deadly as she sliced it aimlessly through the air with a warrior's cry. The Scree flinched backwards to avoid her onslaught, trying to scramble away, to take flight, emitting rasping, bubbling sounds from its wounded throat. Duchess struggled momentarily with a twinge of pity — it was just so pathetic and helpless lying there — but it occurred to her that the instant Lory returned, the Scree would be back killing Wonderlanders again without restraint.

She couldn't allow that to happen to her people.

Duchess feinted to the left and then lunged, blade falling in a downward arc that sunk into the monster's desperately flapping wing. Sparks flew up where the blade scraped against the metal feathers, doing little damage but pinning the beast to the ground. The Scree made a thin, rasping cry of anger and pain. Duchess didn't give it the time to regroup — she rushed forward, running up the slope of the Scree's wing to settle on it's back, right behind an exposed patch of neck where Lory normally stood.

Bingo, she thought.

The Scree was bucking madly, trying to throw off its unwanted rider, and Duchess knew she'd have to be quick or be thrown off. She clung onto its body with her knees, ignoring the way the Scree's metallic feathers dug into her skin even through her momerath-hide pants. Clutching Charlie's sword tightly with both hands, she brought the blade up high above her head and pointed it directly at the exposed skin.

"Off with your head," she muttered, bringing the blade down with as much force as she could muster.

Silver blood gushed from the wound, unexpectedly cold, like ice water spilling over her hands. The Scree made a final, wheezing sound and collapsed to the ground. The Duchess tumbled off and crawled away quickly to avoid getting crushed by the rest of the gigantic body as it rolled onto its side and lay there, still.

There was a long moment where the only sound in the clearing was the panting of the Duchess' labored breathing. Then, the squishing of her boots against the blood-moistened ground as she rose and tugged Charlie's sword free of the Scree's neck.

"Duchess?" Hatter's voice floated towards her as though from a distance, sounding slightly panicked and extremely irritated. "Duchess, are you okay? I can't see anything!"

"Yeah," she called out. "Yeah, I'm fine." She turned her back on the corpse and jogged back to where Hatter lay, looking down at him with a sigh. "The Scree is dead," she said simply.

Hatter took one look at her, wisps of blonde hair flying astray from its braid, a stripe of mud across her cheek. Her red and black attire was splattered with gleams of silver, her right hand firmly grasping a muddied sword… and through all this, or maybe because of it, Hatter was momentarily struck dumb. She looked like a wild warrior woman, a valkyrie, something straight out of legend.

And in that instant, Hatter understood why Jack had fallen in love with her.

"How did you learn how to do that?" he asked, incredulous.

Duchess took a deep breath and sunk Charlie's sword into the dirt, stripping off her silver-soaked gloves. "I'm the Queen," she said in a voice that was only barely shaking. She threw her ruined gloves to the ground with a squish and sat down on a rock, rubbing her face with tired hands. She could feel the adrenaline rush starting to ebb away, leaving the forgotten pain in her ribs to grow insistently. "I need to know how to defend my people."

There was an awkward pause.

"I think I owe you an apology," Hatter said — suddenly, fumblingly contrite.

Duchess peeked at him through tired fingers and shook her head. "No," she said. "You don't. Not really."

"I shouldn't have accused you of those things—"

"But if I had been in your place, and it had been Jack that was taken," she interrupted, "I would have had the exact same suspicions, I promise you. Really," she said, looking right at him so he'd know she was sincere. "I understand."

He relaxed. "Thanks."

"Especially since…" she hesitated, looking pained. "Being parted from my husband is the worst feeling I could ever have imagined, Hatter. There's a promise to spend your life with someone, and protect them, and love them through thick and thin, and then it all just… slips through your fingers." She sighed. "I feel like… oh Hatter, we need to save him."

He swallowed the humongous lump that had appeared in his throat, thinking of Alice, and the promises they had only just made now scattered in a zillion broken pieces. "Yeah," he agreed in a strangled voice. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

The Duchess looked at him inquisitively, but both of their attentions were suddenly distracted by Charlie clanking noisily through the bushes nearby. "Charlie!" she exclaimed, getting up to meet him.

"Where have you been?" asked Hatter.

Charlie just beamed at the two of them. "Well, don't you look splendid, Duchess," he said, indicating her sliver splotches. "I've always thought that silver attire was extremely fashionable, myself." He ignored her dumbfounded look and turned to Hatter. "I've got someone I want you to meet," he said proudly. He shifted to the side and revealed a small girl with ratty blonde hair. She waved at them shyly, and a large brown beaver at her feet chittered at them intelligently in greeting.

"Duchess, Hatter," Charlie said grandly, waving his hand with an extra flourish. "This is Hope."

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