A Beautiful Nightmare
Notes: This was written for the Downal Wyth Bluddy Clichés on Manniness' LiveJournal. The cliché is: The Hatter loves tea. The Hatter's love for tea has become a fandom staple despite the fact that he never touts it in the movie (or even takes a sip). In Lewis Carroll's book, Time and the Hatter are at odds with each other and thus it is always teatime for the Hatter... which, honestly, seemed rather like a punishment to me. Hence this ficlet.
The setting is during Tim Burton's movie, on the eve of Frabjous Day - the famous balcony scene.
The night is young and the moon is full of possibilities. The white stone of the balcony glows with hope and that hope shores him up against the young Alice's self-doubt and stubborn resistance to belief. He respects that resistance; he himself has resisted much in his life. He knows the effort it requires. Knows the price it exacts.
"You're just a figment of my imagination," she had said.
But even figments can be real, can they not? Even figments have a fate? Yes, yes! Perhaps, that is the Oraculum's meaning! Perhaps it will not be the Alice herself who defeats the Jabberwock, but a figment of her imagination! If she can imagine him defeating the Jabberwock then it will be so! It must be so! If, in fact, this is all a dream – her dream! Yes, this is what they've all been waiting for! For the Alice to dream them up… and end their nightmare!
"Thank you, Alice," Tarrant Hightopp whispers.
The young woman beside him, irreverently leaning on her elbows on the balcony rail, glances at him with an expressive frown. "For what, Hatter?" she replies, her voice as soft as the moonlight.
Oh, silly child! If only she would think, then she would know why he thanks her! "Row, row, rowing the boat, of course!"
Her confusion is palpable. He taps his thimble-capped fingers on the stone in thought, wondering how a creature as capable as her could fail to understand such a fundamental truth: all life is but a dream!
"Being a figment of your imagination does not make me any less real," he elaborates, proud of the succinctness of his explanation. "To you," he adds.
"To me?"
"Yes! And that's really the most important thing, isn't it?" Her response, such as it is, is rather dissatisfying. Must he lead her by the hand up the treacle well? "Don't you see?" he patiently continues, "You make all of this possible. Tomorrow, the Jabberwock will be defeated. You believe that, don't you?"
"I… But they say I'm supposed to be a champion and…"
Tarrant blinks at her, startled. "But, Alice, you already area champion."
"How can you say that?" she rasps, standing upright and bracing her hands against the stone. Glaring out at the moonlit orchard, Alice says with heat, "Figment or not, I shouldn't have left you at Crims like I did! What sort of champion is that, I ask you! And, in the end, it wasn't even I who saved your hat. It was Bayard and Chessur and…! I have done nothing to—!"
"You," Tarrant firmly interrupts, "are my champion, Absolutely Alice Kingsleigh, because you enabled me to save myself."
Sighing, she turns toward him and confesses, "I… don't understand."
No, of course she wouldn't, doesn't, can't. This woman-child is too young to understand such things. He glances down at her hand. Were she but a bit older and wiser, he might have dared to hold it. But she isn't, so he won't.
He lisps, "Always teatime, never breakfast or supper or even a moment to spare for cleaning up. Have you any idea how long I have been snubbed by Time? Trapped at 4 o'clock? How many cups of rancid tea I have choked on? You arrived," he reminds her on a happy sigh, "and freed me from that wretched table."
She stares at him. He doesn't mind. For when Alices are not speaking, they might be thinking. And he dearly hopes this one is doing just that.
"You saved me, Alice," he informs her on a whisper, "and that is why you are a champion, whether you face the Jabberwock on the morrow or not."
With a bow, Tarrant Hightopp departs the balcony. Tomorrow, a champion will be chosen. Tomorrow, if Alice believes it is possible, this nightmare will end… and the dream will, at last, begin.