wanderamaranth | Possible Side Effects, Ch. 27

Summary: Jabberwocky blood is valuable, but has a short shelf life. Then, there are the possible side effects...

Rating: this chapter, T.

A/N: A special thank you to niphuria for a wonderful beta. You have saved this chapter from being an exercise in grammar torture, and I'm sure the English language thanks you.

"Alice, no. Alice, don't leave!" Tarrant cried, as she looked firstly at Stayne, then Mirana, and finally himself-or more specifically, his shoulder-before gathering the plaid and running from the garden. The Hatter scrambled to his feet, uncaring of his nudity, and went after her. Stayne was too busy grimacing (and Mirana admiring) the sight of his bare buttocks to stop him. Mirana recovered first, picking up her skirts to rush after the pair.

It is most lucky, Mirana thought, that I excel at running. All those years of practicing fleeing from enemies, no doubt.

"Alice!" the Hatter was shouting, heedless of the stares and open-mouthed disbelief the staff displayed. (Many servants had conveniently found 'something' to do near the Queast gardens-which happened to be the most unused part of Marmoreal, next to the Conservatory-while they waited to see what came of the Invitation Queen Alice had accepted). Fingers were directed at the path of the Champion's flight, and Tarrant nodded at the personages pointing them. Grimly, he noted they all led back to her bedchambers. If Alice locked him out he'd have no way of reaching her, no way of explaining…

Explaining what, exactly? He was just as much of a victim of Mirana's manipulations as what Alice was, wasn't he? A niggle at the back of his mind told him that he really should have warned Alice as to the Queen's intentions towards them, but she'd been injured, and then she'd said those awful words to him, and then when she… he was just so happy to see her…

Happy, indeed, he snorted. "Call niblernicts by their proper name, son." Tarrant muttered to himself, quoting a phrase his father had often said to him when he felt he was dissimilating Truth. There was another 'H' word that would describe how he felt upon seeing Alice, but it was not one that he wanted to ponder just then.

Tears streaming down her face, Alice slammed the suite's door shut behind her. She fought the urge to crumple to the ground as sobs wracked her small frame. She hobbled towards her bathing chambers, the soreness she expected between her legs elevating to a throbbing pain. She looked at herself in the mirror, and hardly recognized the sniveling creature it revealed. All been so perfect…Tarrant and she had belonged to one another, and she'd felt a sense of rightness, of this being where she was supposed to be, who she was supposed to be with…

It had been awful enough when Stayne interrupted them, (a slight embarrassment, but a story that she knew they'd be able to look on later and laugh) yet when Mirana had come and her revelation made, something within Alice-that part of her that was the Not-Hardly Alice, the scared girl who thought of Underland as a nightmare and not a wonderful dream, had her rising to her feet and running away again.

Alice was beginning to hate her Not-Hardly self.

The taste of the syrup she'd suckled off of Tarrant's bare skin was still heavy on the back of her tongue. She retched, barely making it to the basin in time.

Crying harder as she heaved the meager contents of her mostly empty stomach, Alice wondered what it was that marked her as so different from other females of her acquaintance. Why had not Margaret, or Faith, or Fiona, even, been the one to fall down the rabbit hole as a child? Briefly she found herself wishing it had happened to them and not herself, then promptly chastised herself for such thinking. If that had not happened, then she would not have been brought to the Hatter once more, would she? No, instead she'd be married to Hamish Ascot, and likely have already born him an heir.

"Oh, Tarrant." she sniffed, thinking of her Hatter's stricken face as she'd run away yet once again. He must be horribly disappointed in my lack of muchness, Alice fussed. She dipped a flannel into clean water and wiped her face clean, her eyes catching on the reflection of the plaid pin in the mirror. A hard tug on the ribbon holding it and then the pin was free. Her thumb swept across the etched Latin, an Idea forming in her head. Removing the plaid that was still somehow wrapped about her person, Alice folded the tartan neatly and pinned the boar's head symbol onto the fabric, ignoring (with difficulty) the frantic pounding and distressed cries of her name from the other side of the suite's door.

One of the advantages Alice had found to living in Marmoreal was the miracle of constantly available hot water. The Champion didn't know how this was, even after asking endless questions of the staff and the High Queen herself. She took advantage of this now, preparing a bath for herself with healing salts and rose tears (a much friendlier alternative to rose oil, Mirana had informed Alice kindly just the other day…but Alice's thoughts shied away from the White Queen, for if she started to think about her, then she'd have to think about…)

The thoughts still came. Alice sank into the tub, hissing as the water just-this-side-of-too-hot prickled her skin, and there the first one found her. She'd glimpsed at her stomach, and the sight of it gave her pause.

The expanse of skin was flat, tight with the unfashionable muscles she'd developed whilst adventuring in foreign ports. It would not stay that way for long, not now-and that notion made her want nothing more than to cling to her mother and cry into her shoulder. To think, she, Alice Kingsleigh, would likely be a mother herself in less than a year's time! She wasn't ready to be a mother-for starters, she'd never gotten along with children even when she was one herself! Imagining trying to raise one of the creatures was daunting and more than slightly terrifying-even if said child would have the Hatter's wide green eyes and wild hair.

"I want to go home." she said, miserably, a fist slapping the surface of the water. She felt it deserved such treatment, for failing to provide her the comfort and cleansing of spirit she sought from it. "I want my mother. I want Margaret…I want to go home." she shouted the last word, slamming her clenched fists so hard against the water that it splashed up over the sides of the tub. Deciding she'd had enough of this nonsense, she struggled out of the still-steaming bath and set about dressing herself.

Hatter was no longer desperately calling outside the door, and Alice had the selfish hope that perhaps Mallymkun had come to him and was even now advising him to let her be for a few moments. He'd been a victim just as much as she, Alice knew, but she also knew that if she saw him now, with the memory of his touch still so strong upon her skin, that she would drag him down onto her bed and explore him until Exhaustion claimed them both.

"And I need to go home. I want to go home."

I do wish you'd stop saying that. You are home, a voice said stiffly. Dinah was sitting on the counter by the mirror, small Cat mouth twisted into a moue of distaste.

"No, I'm not. I don't belong here," Alice denied, stepping closer.

Don't be ridiculous. Of course you do.

"Do I truly belong in this place? This place where I am expected to take up the mantle of royalty, where one who I thought was one of my dearest friends betrays my trust-and Hatter's unwavering loyalty!-by secretly administering potions to us?"

The Cat shifted, and if Alice had to label the expression on it's face (Cat faces being ever so much more difficult to read than human ones) she would have said it seemed…guilty.

Do not blame she of Marmoreal. She was…reluctant to fulfill her orders, but in the end did so for the benefit of all Underland.

"I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of understanding you."

Alice stared at the Cat, really stared, and stepped closer again. "You really are my Dinah, aren't you?" she asked. "That's the same mark upon your paw. She was missing a patch of fur right there as well." There was a long pause, and then:

Perhaps I am merely adept at verisimilitude.

"No, I don't think so," Alice disagreed, shaking her head. She picked up the Cat, (making it squawk) and buried her face in its fur. "No, I don't think so," Alice disagreed, shaking her head in negation. She picked up the Cat, making it squawk, and buried her face in its soft fur. "Oh, it is you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with joy. Inhaling deeply and taking in that comforting scent of home and childhood, she said, "I've missed you so very much, Dinah! Are you able to stay long? It was you when I was with Jabber, wasn't it?" Alice's questions flew rapidly, her eyes bright. They clouded, however, as she repeated the last question, holding the Cat at arm's length under her small furry armpits.

"You-you were there, when I dueled the Jabberwocky. You told me…"

Wriggling in the manner she had when she'd wanted child-Alice to release her, Underland said, Yes, I was, and yes, I did. Her large green-yellow eyes pleaded with her.

Several things clicked for Alice, all at once. "You're the one who's orchestrated everything. My first fall down the rabbit hole-going through the mirror-slaying the Jabberwocky twice!"

Please understand why I did what I did.

Head twitching to one side, Alice repeated, "Why you did what you did."

I could not leave you Above, in that place where you would wither and die. The only way to be sure that you would live the life you should was to bring you Below. To bring you Home.

Blinking heavily, Alice said, "Yet you told me that you are Underland. Am I to understand that we are actually inside of you, right now? How can you be here before me and yet have us inside of you?"

I carried you here in my heart, Daughter of Mine. And when I say that I am Underland…I say it in much the same manner as the Queen Above refers to herself as England.

I've also been called Diana…Titania…even occasionally Mab…but originally, I had no name…

The memory of Underland's words echoed through her head. She closed her mouth, slowly, from its unhinged state, and swallowed heavily. Another thought occurred to her, this one as unsettling as the ones that followed before. "Mirana. You told her to do this. You told her to poison me."

Poison? Dinah asked sharply, Cat ears pricked in alarm. I most certainly did not tell she of Marmoreal to poison you! Her green eyes darted to the washroom, and she said, Yet you were ill. Please, sit down, dearest! I will have her heal you immediately! I will fix this! I did not want you injured-I wanted you to stay here in Underland, but not like this! Not as a citizen of Death's realm! What was the substance given you? Never mind, you'd not know-

"Stayne referred to it as Nookinom."

Relaxing dramatically, Dinah flopped to the floor. Nookinom is not a poison, dear heart.

"Oh? And what else would you call a substance that one secretly ingests that is designed to make one's body behave in manners it normally would not?"

Many things. Dinah closed her eyes. Does that not also describe medicine, as well? Potions, such as pishavler?

"I have no wish to be a mother!"

Even with the child growing under your ribs being that of your Hatter?

Alice froze, eyes very wide in her face. Dinah smiled at her, and it was the first time the young woman had seen her face take on an approximation of Chessur's grin.

Yes, I can see it even now. It is tiny-barely more than an Idea, but it's there, kindled inside of you.

"I'm not ready." Alice said around numb lips.

That makes you perfect, my dear. Those that are good mothers rarely ever feel that they are ready.

Hatter was slumped against Alice's door, his forehead pressed against the wood as if, by sheer force of will, he'd be able to phase through to the other side. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd been born blessed with superior evaporating skills, the way that Chessur had (a fact he would never admit to that pompous Cat!) but reminded himself that the puffed-up Pride that inevitably came along with such skills was not worth the trouble of possessing them.

"Hatta! Tarrant, please!" Mirana puffed behind him. She went to her knees and slumped beside him. A pale white hand touched his arm gently, and he jerked away from her touch.

"Dinnae touch me!" he snarled, overcompensating for flinching away by placing his face very close to hers. At this distance, he could see the sorrow etched at the corners of her eyes, the small line between her brows that should not grace the face of one eternally young, yet still managed to be there. They didn't make him any more sympathetic towards her, though.

"Are ye happy?" he demanded, leaning closer still, so that their noses touched. His words were hissed out, low, but carrying in the otherwise empty corridor. "Is this what you wished for so badly? To have all choices stripped away from Alice? Forcing her to do and become something she is not prepared to be?" Tarrant knew the first time he'd lain with Alice had been all of her own volition-but what of the second? Had she ingested some of that damned potion by then? Just what had it been placed in? The cake? The tea? He stood, and began gesticulating wildly.

"Were ye not the one who told her that she had a choice about matters? To stay or to leave? To slay or not to slay? And yet ye are the one who removes this, what should be a most important personal choice, from her!"

Mirana flinched and cowered before him, and it was not enough for Tarrant-he wasn't sure what would ever be enough.

"Answer me, ye rum doxy! Do ye never hear anything knock?"

"That is enough."

Tarrant looked up, orange eyes blazing, to see Ilosovic Stayne glaring at him disapprovingly. "Oh, and this is rich, indeed. Alice's ding boy has come to protect ye! Why am I no surprised?" His voice was getting progressively louder and louder.

"I said, that is enough!" Stayne went to grab him by his arm (trying desperately to ignore his nakedness) and Tarrant danced out of his reach. "Come back here, you mad fool! Can you not see that doing this outside of Alice's door will do naught but disturb she within?"

"Ye'd like that, wouldna ye, if I were to follow and leave her be! She is mine, Knave. My woman, my love-and quite possibly, the mother of my child, thanks to this interfering besom!"

"And she is my Queen!" Stayne shouted, patience gone. At the Hatter's blankening face, he said, "Yes, or have you forgotten that in your puffed up state of self-importance, Consort? She is a Queen now, and you will never be anything more than bed-sport to her."

The Badness seized him so suddenly it was as if a shroud obscured his vision. One moment he was just himself-Tarrant Hightopp, an angry man defending his beloved-and the next he was a snarling, writhing mass of Anger. Stayne was able-barely-to restrain him, by tackling him to the ground and sitting upon him.

"Summon…Guards…." Stayne grunted to Mirana as she stared at the two of them. "Now!" he barked, causing her to jump, before turning to do his bidding. Tarrant still thrashed beneath him as Stayne called out to her retreating form, "And for Underland's sake, bring him some pants!"

Mirana closed the door to her bedchamber, sighing. It had been a…trying…day.

All told, it had taken a half dozen guards, Stayne, and herself to subdue Tarrant - and they were only successful because one of his wild thrashing blows had struck her in her face and split her lip. Apparently the sight of her blue blood welling out of the crack there roused him from the Badness, for after he'd only lain there and stared at her. Poor Geoffrey had been assigned the task of putting Tarrant's pants on him while he was subdued enough for them to do so. Mirana hadn't even been aware that her Chess Piece soldiers could blush. They'd taken him to his rooms, Mirana ordering that he was to be released in an hour's time, when hopefully tempers would not be flaring so brightly. Despite most of the day having gone by, she had not seen him again, which the White Queen begrudgingly admitted to herself was probably for the best.

Yes, today had been a day filled with revelations. She sighed as a small seed of Hope in her chest blossomed from the fact that, while Hatta was upset with her, he did not wish actual physical harm upon her. During this reverie, she looked up and saw the grey woman seated beneath her open window, her face tilted toward the stars.

Calling her a 'grey woman' was not merely a fancy turn of speech; she was actually grey. Her skin was the color of the darker veins in Marmoreal's marble walls; her hair, the same shade as freshly mined Pewter. Nails so dark they were almost black tipped her fingers and toes, and a gown that shimmered and caught the light, very much like Mirana's did, clad her frame. With a start, Mirana realized it was one of her own gowns, only darker in hue than she'd ever seen it.

"I hope you do not mind," the woman said, not bothering to turn and look at her, "but I appropriated one of your gowns. It was either that, or go naked. I would have simply done so, but there seemed to be some sort of hullabaloo occurring involving a man with no pants, so I imagined a woman with no gown would not be met with any different response."

"D-Diana?" Mirana was mortified to realize that she was stuttering, but she recovered from her shock quickly and rushed to the woman's side. She collapsed to the ground beside her, head low. "It has been long since you've revealed yourself as such here in Underland."

"I am too exhausted for your flummery right now, she of Marmoreal." The grey woman opened her eyes and looked at her-and her eyes were bright green and slitted, Cat's eyes in a woman's face. "And my name, for now, is Dinah."

"Of course," the White Queen said, still kneeling next to her. "My apologies…Dinah. But may I ask…what brings you to my chambers this night?"

"Alice." Dinah said. She turned her face away again, to stare at the moon. "I realize now that my actions towards her were overbearing and meddling. She…spoke plainly to me this afternoon, and I have since spent much time considering her words. As unusual as it is for me to admit it, I was in the wrong. My problem now, though, is how to fix what is broken between us."

"Tarrant told me that they had not eaten the food I prepared for them. Perhaps-"

"She is with child."

It was said quietly, absolutely. Mirana was silent for several moments, and then when she did speak, she only said, "Oh." The shock caused by Underland's words was still ringing through her ears when the grey woman next spoke. Mirana didn't know why she felt such a way; had this not been her goal, her desire as well? To see Alice with child? The Victory, for reasons she couldn't comprehend, did not taste as sweet on the back of her tongue as she had expected it to.

"Yes, 'oh'." Dinah snorted, drawing her knees up on the ledge and resting her chin upon them. "I am letting her return to the Above."

"What?" Mirana asked, forgetting herself and the oily taste of tainted Victory as she abruptly stood in Underland's presence. "After all you have done-all you have had me do-to ensure her to stay?"

"Yes."

"But…" A vague sense of impotent fury churned Mirana's stomach, which she was determined to ignore. Events could have gone much differently between herself, Tarrant and Alice if Underland hadn't made the demands she had...even now, they could be in each other's company. Perhaps simply sitting on a chaise in her suite...no, Alice laying with her head in Mirana's lap, her feet in Tarrant's...maybe holding a book aloft and reading aloud in her soft, calm voice...

"Alice will never be happy here if she is forced to belong," Dinah said, breaking Mirana away from the daydream. "I need to allow her the choice, and to make that choice, she may need to return Above. Speak with Helen, with Margaret."

Mirana didn't know who Helen or Margaret were, and felt a surge of jealousy, followed by a stronger wave of annoyance at herself for that jealousy. Alice was allowed to know ladies outside of herself, for Underland's sake!

"What of the Red Children? The vacant crowns you wanted filled?"

"One such Crown is already filled by Alice herself. The child within her will fill another. Find the remaining children, or do not. I no longer care."

"But the Crowns-!"

"Have been vacant this long. In another generation, maybe two, there will once again be enough royals to fill all the positions-even if they are unaware, trapped in the land Above. Someday, one of them will tumble down to me, and it shall have to be enough. Excuse me." Dinah rose, and Mirana curtsied. "I am very tired. I shall sleep in your bedchamber this evening, and in the morning be gone." She nodded her head at the White Queen, then made her way to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her, pausing while it was just a crack. "If you wish to court them, my bonny pair, then I will make no objections. Just no coercment, no spells, no potions. Are we clear?"

"Oh, yes, Dinah, yes!" Mirana said, dark eyes glowing. Dinah took in her joy, saw her earnestness, and nodded. "Just so," she said, then finally latched the door.

The light streaming in from the balcony window was fading when a barely audible knock sounded on the door. In a voice dull and colorless, Alice called out, "Come in." She'd unlocked it hours previously, no longer caring for privacy. Any privacy she'd thought she'd had was an illusion, anyways.

His footfalls whispered across the marble floor (and Alice knew it was a he; she thought that she would always know when he was near her, now) and paused by the bed she lay curled upon. A hand hesitated just above her hair, warming her despite the lack of contact.

"You must think I'm terribly selfish," Alice whispered before turning onto her back to look at her Hatter.

Large dark bags sat under his sunken eyes; his mouth was pulled down into a most dejected frown. "I could never think that of you, my Alice." he said, not meeting her eyes. Fully dressed, now, with even his hat properly atop his head, he should have looked most like himself, but to Alice, the strain of something sat heavy on his shoulders, making him look weary and simply not quite Hatter.

She turned away again. "Please do not lie to me. Not you, as well. I ran from you, Hatter." He could see a single tear escape from her puffy eyes, which she wiped away with a frustrated swipe. "Again."

Tarrant was quiet for several moments. "I would be lying if I said that I thought that you were selfish, Alice, not for saying that you are not," he finally replied. Removing his hat and toeing off his shoes, he took a deep breath and settled himself on the bed. When Alice didn't object, he curved his body around hers, his arms about her waist. She turned into him, her body shaking, but no tears streamed down her face, for she'd cried all that she possibly could.

"I want to leave this place." she said, sniffling. Tarrant froze, limbs seized by fright, until she pulled him closer and looked up at him through her lashes. "And I want you to come with me." Her hands had been cradling an object close to her chest, and she turned again in the circle of his arms, so that she was facing him. She loosened her fingers from around the object, revealing it to be the pendant she'd worn, what she'd referred to as a plaid pin.

Somehow or other, his hat had managed to stay on his head when he'd lain beside her, though it was tilted precariously to one side. She reached up (accidentally bumping his nose along the way; she murmured an apology, and he told her without having to say a word at all that she had nothing to apologize for) and carefully attached it to the salmon colored scarf wound round the hat's base, just below his hatpins and 10/6 card.

"Alice-I can't accept this from you," he said, and her fingers froze in their actions.

"Oh," she said. "Whyever not?" Her voice may have asked a curious question, but it did so in the manner of one who was wary rather than intrigued.

"It is yours. Your family's."

"Why, yes," Alice said, resuming her movements. She latched the pin in place, then tapped Tarrant lightly on his nose. "Yes, indeed it is."

He smiled, then, and it was like the clouds breaking after a storm.

"I have…something that I'd like to share with you, Alice. If you've no objections?" Without waiting for a reply, he kissed her hands (which had still been curled near his chin) and removed himself from the bed. She rose to follow him, but he waved at her in a you-stay-there manner, so she settled back down. He returned moments later with a very familiar Box in his hands.

"You have it!" Alice said, sitting bolt upright. Tarrant paused, one foot in the doorway and one still out, and stared at her as she scrambled, pawing at her skirts in an almost desperate fashion. Shortly thereafter she revealed a tiny key, laying in the palm of her hand. The Hatter stared at the key, then at her, then at the key again, before he finally closed his gaping mouth and stepped the rest of the way through the door.

"Do you care to explain how-?"

"Later," Alice hushed him, walking over to him and gently leading him back to the bed. They sat upon its edge. "Am I correct in assuming you wished to open this? Here, with me?"

How could Alice know of the significance of opening a Box? Did she know, or was she simply eager to have a curiosity solved? He swallowed with some difficulty. Turning so that their knees brushed lightly, he held the Box out towards her.

"Yes," he lisped, wetting his lips nervously with the tip of his tongue. "I should like for the both of us to open it."

Alice placed one hand over top of his, and with the other placed the key in the lock. At his nod, she turned it.

Once opened, the smell of lemon verbena, oil paints and old fabric wafted out. Nestled inside the velveteen padded walls were three small lumps, of roughly the same size. The faded yellow edge of an envelope peeked out from underneath those. Tarrant began trembling, and Alice put her arm around him reassuringly.

"Shall I pick one, then?" she asked him, softly.

He nodded, too overcome to speak. Her hand hovered over the three lumps, before finally settling on the one to the farthest right. It fit easily in her palm. She handed it to him, and Tarrant slowly began to unwind the fabric protecting the item. It was clear, from the way everything was packed, that Marta had Known that it would be a long time before Tarrant would open the Box. Yet if she had Known that, why had she not tried to stop the Jabberwocky from-

A pocket sundial tumbled into his hands, all (now) tarnished brass and silver. A choked laugh burbled up from his throat. "Time. They gave me Time." It was obvious it would be a handsome piece once cleaned. He set the piece aside, reverently, and with hands more steady, moved to the next lump.

This item proved to be a bit of small, formless piece of melted wax, and Tarrant's shoulders slumped as he realized that, at one point in Time, it must have been shaped as Something, but the elements, or perhaps the heat from the fires upon the Hill, had rendered it shapeless. It was only when he located the ends of two wicks protruding from one side that he realized what they were. They were candles, commonly used in Hightopp ceremonies, such as weddings and funerals.

"I can't," the Hatter said, closing the lid of the Box. "I canna look any further, lass."

"Please, Tarrant," Alice said, reaching over and gently brushing a stray tear from his face, "we're halfway there. Just two more items, yes?"

He nodded, and took a deep breath. "All the same, lass, will ye open the next? I canna…" he turned away from her, shame at what he perceived as his weakness clear.

In lieu of a reply, she did just that. The Box was gently reopened, and the last velveteen-wrapped bit unpacked. Alice gasped, and only then did the Hatter look over at her.

In her hands was a hair pin.

She turned it over, this way and that. One side had a large coral bead in its center, a sparkling diamond mounted atop of that. Smaller roundels of turquoise forming a diamond around the coral in the center were also set into the gold. The other side of the pin, when Alice flipped it round, revealed a clear glass panel, where two opposing shades-dark red and an a shade that could not be described in any other way than yellow-were woven together in a checkerboard pattern. Tarrant gasped, and cried, and choked once more, falling to pieces in Alice's arms.

"These are not the sorts of things as should be in my Box," Tarrant said, confusion and horror tingeing his words. "Yet if she knew, why didn't she…why not at least Fa…at least the children!"

Alice held him and rocked him back and forth, not knowing to what he was referring, and terribly curious, but giving him the time he needed to rally himself. That he trusted her, to be the present when he opened this Box…she was more honored than she could express. Yes, she had been the means of him regaining the Box and yes, she thought he'd want it, but she hadn't known-!

"My mother Knew a great many things," he said, as if hearing her thoughts on knowing and not knowing. " Twas her Calling, on the Hill. She'd help prepare those as were coming of age find what they'd be most suited towards, and gift them with supplies and such to start them on their way."

"Why then are you just now…I mean, surely you were old enough when…" There was no delicate way for Alice to phrase her question, so she just let it hang in the air, understood but unsaid.

"Aye. 'Twas. She refused to gie it to me, though. Said she wasna ready." Pausing, he asked, "What do ye know of Destiny, Alice?"

"Destiny?" the young woman asked, a bit startled. "It is a bit like Fate, isn't it?"

"Destiny and Fate are kissing cousins," Tarrant said, nodding, a faint gleam of mischievousness in his eye despite his emotion upheaval. "So aye, close enough. Destiny is more interested in the long arch, the journey of one's life…Fate, the end result." He clasped her hand in his, to still his trembling. "My maither was very good friends with Destiny. Held her in the greatest regard. She believed…" he gathered himself, then said, "She believed that, even if what Destiny had planned for an individual, or a group of individuals, was terrible-such as the death of an entire village?-that it was her Duty to respect her wishes. Destiny's, that is. That is what these things mean, don't you see?" he asked, gesturing to the trinkets. "She Knew, Knew what the Jabberwocky and the Red Queen had planned, and she let it happen. She could have influenced Destiny, had she Chosen to…but she didn't."

They sat in silence for several minutes, neither having the nerve to say anything to the other. Alice was afraid that anything she said to the Hatter would seem insensitive and almost crass; Tarrant afraid that if he spoke anymore of his family, then he would dissolve himself into the Badness, and frighten Alice away.

"There is still an envelope," Alice finally said, stroking the knuckles of his hand with her thumb. The small touches she'd been engaging in-holding his hand, tapping his face, rubbing his knuckles-seemed to be grounding him, so she continued doing them.

"There is." he said in agreement, before taking a deep breath and fumbling for the parchment.

It crackled with age when he opened it, and he had to hold it carefully so it wouldn't crumble under his touch. The words written thereon were penned in a thick, curling script, but they were not so illegible that Alice was unable to read them. The writer had begun and re-begun writing several times; there were at least three false starts that were scribbled out. In fact, these took up the bulk of the short note. Alice could make out apologies and pleas for understanding in those crossed out words, but below, there were only a few lines.

If you are reading this, then all has turned out as it should; you have saved the White Queen, led a rebellion against the Red, and become a man most extraordinary in the process. There is no possible way that I could be prouder of you, my son. I am lucky, in this regard, that even though I will be Gone when you finally find yourself, your Calling-that of a revolutionary, that of a Champion's Champion-that I was able to See this, even briefly.

There was no need for me to place anything in your Box. You had all that you needed for your path within you. While others may have needed the props I provided them to set them on their life's path, you, my son, never did. So I indulged in a bit of mimsy; I hope you do not think ill of me for doing so. For that, and a whole host of other things.

I love you, bantling.

P. S. And the Champion? She is a bit young, but I Approve.

Tarrant huffed a laugh, and turned to Alice, hands shaking around the parchment. Gently removing the letter from his hands to prevent him from accidentally destroying it, Alice set it aside.

"You were right, then. She did Know." Lips red from biting them, Alice said, "Even about me." Her hand went to her middle, fingertips touching the still-flat expanse.

"Have you still the ribbon which tied your pin to your neck?" lisped the Hatter, and Alice nodded, holding it out to him. He took the hair ribbon, lips twitching, and threaded it through the small loop in the back. He leaned forward, hair tickling her face as he wrapped himself around her to knot it about her neck. "There," he sighed, breath warm against her skin. Alice reached up, fingers fisting through his expansive curls, and kissed him.

"Thank you, Hatter," she said when they parted. Unfocused eyes tried to readjust to her very close proximity, and Alice kissed him again, quickly, to distract him before he made himself cross-eyed.

"Ye thank me, yet ye were the one assisting me. That is a backwards way of thinking, my Alice."

"Then you ought to appreciate it instead of chastising me," she teased, glad the mood between them was lightening, at least a bit.

"You wanted to leave?" Tarrant reminded her. Alice had not forgotten; she'd simply set aside her desires while assisting this man (Her man, a part of her said smugly; the Almost Alice, perhaps? Alice, at Last, though, labeled him simply as Tarrant: friend and lover.).

"…Yes." She felt terribly selfish to even ask him such a thing, when he'd just opened a veritable Pandora's Box of emotions, but if she waited any longer she feared she'd lose her nerve, and not ask him at all. "I want to return to the Above….and I'd like you to come with me."

Notes: A 'hair pin' was a common means of mourning and memorial in Victorian times. When a loved one died, some of their hair would be cut, and either woven or designed into various pieces of jewelry. (A common way of doing this was to weave the strands together like fabric and plate it under glass, as I have detailed in this chapter.) Hair jewelry was also made in other ways and for other reasons besides mourning-braided hair rings between sweethearts, braided hair necklaces, bracelets, etc. Sometimes even wall art was created with hair.

The hair pin I describe is not from my own imagination; it was a design I found particuarly pretty online. I did not do it justice, not hardly, so...here is the photograph: