Author's Note: Greetings and salutations! I am Kuroneko19, but feel free to call me K-chan. ^_^ Ordinarily, I write for the anime fan fiction archives, but recently my creative writing attentions have turned to Tim Burton's version of Alice in Wonderland.
The pairing here, being as it is a romance at base, is Alice Kingsleigh and Tarrant Hightopp, AKA the Mad Hatter, but with an original character added in, creating a rather … interesting triangle. This little tale plays on the concepts of soul mates, reincarnation, and the transcendence of love through time.
This is a new idea that came to mind shortly after being exposed to the film and watching it. Please remember: all questions, comments, constructive criticisms, and/or suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thank you!
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland. I just like to write. ^_^
Forever Alice
By Kuroneko
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow –
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream
– Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within a Dream
Prologue: All My Days Have Been a Dream
Outside in the torrential rain, men ran about in a frenzied rush to tie down what they could, tugging each other along in pairs so as not to lose a single one of them in the violently crashing waves.
'I find it all so very hard to believe that over a full two years have passed since I last saw England's shores.'
"Pull down the rigging and furl the sails!" the first mate bellowed over the screeching wind, his voice being carried away faster than it could reach the sailors' ears. The few that could make out the command hastily grabbed at others nearby who likely hadn't and relayed the message, and set to work as quickly as possible.
'It's a pity that I won't be able to see it again.'
Wave after wave slammed into the hull of the Endeavor, shaking both crew and passengers violently as the ship threatened to capsize. From her bed, Alice Kingsleigh could make out every sound, every wail. She could hear what sounded like the cabin boy, a neophyte to the seas like herself, singing hymns in an attempt not to panic.
She laid down her journal and pen and sank back into the mound of pillows just behind her, closing her eyes. Her journey to and from China had been an adventurous one. Cabin fever, seasickness, storms, the occasionally unruly rigger – so much had happened in these last two-and-a-half years.
And yet…
A loud cry from the captain accompanied by an even louder clap of thunder and bright flash of lightning caused her eyes to flutter open. Everything seemed to come to her with mind numbing clarity as the brightly illuminated room suddenly pitched back into semi-darkness, the only light now coming from the gaslight over her bed.
The storm itself and the chaos it wrought presented her no worries, however strange it may have sounded. For what it was worth, she'd enjoyed doing business in China. It was her father's dream and ambition, and it took only one woman and backing from a family friend to overthrow what a group of men in high society had for a long time scoffed at. And she'd been given Lord Ascot's assurance that he'd not let her father's company fall into what she'd heard whispered concerns of in certain circles and the resulting tension towards European trading in the Orient.
Times changed as society moved towards the future. Hopefully, a future that would be a positive one.
'I wish I could see it.'
She sat up a little straighter and looked down at her journal. Page after page of thoughts, memories, dreams, and sketches. This little pocketbook was her legacy, she felt; a way for her to return to all those wonderful though perhaps occasionally frightening times. She could turn to one page and reminisce over the precious moments she'd spent with her father just before he passed away. She could turn another few and find the musings she'd had one particular evening over the riddle of what a raven and a writing desk had in common. It was amazing how much one could find out about oneself simply by writing it down and reading over it.
Alice let out a sigh and looked out to the turbulent seas. Before the return voyage, she'd dreaded seeing England again; dreaded facing her mother and sister Margaret after two years of trying to find her place in a man's world. But now, all she wanted was to catch just one glimpse of her homeland if only briefly. It would be too much to think she'd be able to see them all again.
"Alice?" she looked over as the door leading into the hallway opened gently with a slight creak, revealing Lord Ascot's concerned features in the dim lighting. A moment's careful study with his eyes passed before his sight rested on the open journal in her lap. A bit of a grin crept over his face. "Writing again, I see."
"It helps to pass the time," she replied, sporting her own small smile as Lord Ascot slipped into her room and shut the door behind him.
"How are you feeling this evening, my dear?"
Alice frowned inwardly at the inquiry, but kept the smile for her mentor's sake. "About the same as before, I'm sorry to say."
Lord Ascot's face fell. "I would have the doctor come in to check you again, but one of the riggers had a nasty fall and I'm afraid he's going to be utterly swamped with this storm."
"It's quite all right," she assured him, looking back out at the squall. "I feel sorry Dr. Stonebridge – this really is terrible weather. I hope it passes soon."
"As do I," the lord agreed, then began to feel uncomfortable in the small cabin. "Alice, if there is anything you need at all, please don't hesitate to –"
"I promise you, I'm fine," she interrupted again, this time with a note of exasperation in her voice. The smile became stern. "Shouldn't you be more concerned about the ship? She is yours, after all."
"I am," he admitted with a forced laugh at the girl's gibe. "But I am far more concerned over the wellbeing of my friend's daughter and my apprentice. One can never be too certain with illnesses on the seas, my dear. Are you positive you're doing well?"
"Well enough." Being as he was near, Alice reached a hand out to grasp one of his much larger ones, and gave it a squeeze as assurance. "But you really ought to see to things. You'll need to keep an ear out for the damages and losses."
"Yes, yes… I suppose you're right." A small smile reappeared underneath his mustache as his gaze fell to her open journal. "Someday, I should like to hear more of your Wonderland."
She followed his gaze and shook her head. "When my journal is finished, I would be honored for you to read it. There is more to my 'Wonderland' than just what I've told you – so much more."
"I don't doubt it for a moment." He let his hand fall from her grasp and backed away slowly to the door. "And now, my dear, I'm afraid I must take my leave. I will be back to check on you once the storm has settled. In the meantime, please rest."
"I will, thank you," she replied as he began to slip out into the corridor. But the elderly face turned once more in her direction, and Lord Ascot's brow furrowed as he considered her small and fragile frame.
"I mean what I say, Alice: you must rest. Good evening."
Her own bid of farewell was lost as the door shut, and her smile fell completely from her face. Inwardly, she grimaced at the pain she worked so hard to conceal; for all the pain relievers the doctor on board the Endeavor had given her, the aches and fevers would scarcely lessen, and the red rashes would not fade. If not for her continuous and often labored writing, Alice feared she'd succumb to the delirium often associated with this disease.
Again, she took up her pen and continued to write, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up from the base of her skull as she kept her head bent. No matter the torment the illness wrought within her, she was determined to finish this one last project before she could claim any kind of satisfaction.
Ship fever, the sailors called it. It wasn't the first time Dr. Thomas Stonebridge had seen the illness, though he'd never had the occasion to treat a woman for it. Typhus was a terrible disease, and without proper inland treatment in a hospital as opposed to the paltry care offered on the Endeavor, her prognosis only worsened. Helen Kingsleigh's much-harped fears of her darling youngest daughter falling ill had at last been confirmed, and only time would tell if Alice's mother would be able to scold her for her recklessness in taking off to a foreign country.
Thoughts of her mother soon faded as carefully scripted letters in black ink etched onto the crisp, white pages as Alice continued to write despite the ship's thrashing. Her mind settled instead on another world entirely.
She closed her eyes and pictured that place she'd long though existed only in her mind, trying to capture it for even a moment. It seemed so long ago that she'd gone beyond her wildest imaginings and ventured into the chaotic unknown of a supposed dream. The six impossible things she'd believe in each morning before going to breakfast had become ever more real and tangible in such a short time.
Another crack of thunder roused her from fond memories of a queen of white, a cat with a grin, and brightly colored hatter. As much as she longed to be nearer to them now, Alice knew all too well that such a wish was unlikely to be granted.
The pen began to write again.
Careful scratches against the fresh, new papers she'd sewn into the binding (she'd long since used the provided pages, and required more for her endeavor), the ominous thunder bellowed in the background. To her, it seemed an atmosphere befitting of a dime novel and not a young lady's memoirs.
'Of course, it would have to be this way,' she thought with a slightly pained smile playing on her lips. 'Since when have I ever been one for conformity?'
It seemed like an eternity before she crossed the last "t" and dotted the last "i" and finally set her pen aside next to the inkwell. She watched in pained silence as the ink continued to dry, and carefully set the journal aside before glancing over to the small nightstand by her bed. Just beyond the pen and inkpot lay a small stack of letters held together with a thin strand of twine and held down by a jade stone she'd acquired while in China. With one hand shaking from unbridled pain, she set the stone aside and took up the letters. She fell back into the pillows and coughed pitifully – she hadn't felt so terrible before. But she did not call out for help, nor did she make any attempt to bring attention to herself. She'd come to this final resignation days ago, when she realized just how far from shore they were. These letters were precious, almost as much so as her journal. They were addressed to those she held most dear in this world, and were to be read as soon as reached the hands of their intended audiences.
She reached into her dress pocket, from which she pulled a pale blue ribbon – a gift from her beloved and departed father. Carefully, Alice placed the letters just over the front cover of her now closed journal and removed the twine around them. Tying the ribbon around the journal and letters made her feel almost as if she were wrapping a gift.
In a way, she supposed she was. Memories were the most precious of gifts, after all.
"You won't remember me."
That sweet and gentle voice came to her as clear as birds chirping on a fine spring day. He had been so convinced that she'd forget again, that she'd fail to recall even her dearest friend…
"But I do remember you, Hatter," she whispered back to the voice, as if the man himself were there to hear. "I remember all of you: Mallymkin, Chessur, the March Hare…"
Her voice trailed off; the sentence remained unfinished. She suddenly became aware of another presence in her quarters, and extended one painfully shaking hand in its direction.
"Hello again, Absolem," she said the blue winged butterfly as it landed gently in her palm. Its antennae twitched, and in her now swimming vision, she could see its head cocked to one side as it regarded her for a moment. Alice couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not quite a champion in this state, I'm afraid. I was hoping my return to England would be more of a cheerful affair."
The butterfly did not answer, save for the gently slowing flutter of its wings.
"I'd meant to come back, you know," she continued, finding her voice begin to crack with the unshed tears. "I've done everything I said I would: I answered my questions and I did what I could to fulfill my father's dream. The only thing left was to keep my word." One lone tear finally fell. "I don't know if I'll be able to do that now."
The fluttering ceased and the butterfly remained still. Through her increasingly blurry vision, Alice could almost see the consternation on the insect's face. It was a sensation she herself had often felt in this world: the helplessness one felt while watching another's suffering.
In his own world, Absolem held answers and the keys to them; provided the appropriate nudging at just the right moments. But here in the land above, where the colors seemed far less vibrant and instead held a certain lifelessness to them, he had no power. Here, he could not offer her his wisdom – only the silent understanding of a friend.
In that silence, Alice began to realize just how much she longed for just one more day in her beloved "Wonderland". Just one more time to hear the Tweedles, dodge a projectile from the March Hare, see the Hatter…
"I'll be back before you know it."
"I'd heard of a wonderfully strange and almost mad notion while I was away in China," she said as the tears continued to stream. "In a few of the temples I visited out of curiosity, they spoke of the possibility of a person to return to the world in another form."
The butterfly's wings twitched slightly.
"It isn't so uncommon – I've read from several of Lord Ascot's books, and there are many cultures that believe it can be achieved." She smiled despite the pain and tears. "I suppose it must be the same in Underland, as you were reborn from a caterpillar into a butterfly." The pain seared and she let out a sharp gasp, clutching her small bundle of her journal and letters with one hand, mindful not to grip the butterfly as well.
The butterfly itself gently beat its wings and fluttered gently up over the girl before resting on her chest, just over where her heart beat erratically. Inexplicably blue eyes met her wavering brown ones.
"You aren't alone now," it seemed to say.
"I'm so glad I was able to see you again, Absolem." She felt a warmth begin to spread along her body from where the butterfly sat. However familiar and comforting it felt, however, it certainly made her drowsy. "I've found seven impossible things to believe in today… Seven and not just six…" Her head nodded, but she fought back with a will, not ready to succumb just yet.
"I'm so tired… I wanted to go back again, Absolem… I still do… I want to see them again… you, the White Queen… and the Hatter…"
The butterfly flapped its wings more fervently than before, and all around swirled a blue cloud. Slowly, its wings began to dissolve into the smoke, only its brilliant blue eyes remaining tangible as it disappeared. In her mind, Alice could hear Absolem's voice speaking to her, offering her the farewell he'd given her on Frabjous Day once upon a memory:
"Fairfarren, Alice. Perhaps I will see you in another life."
"Faifarren, Absolem," she whispered as the butterfly dissolved from sight. "Maybe we will see each other again… I'd like that very much…"
She felt her eyelids grow heavy, and allowed the darkness of unconsciousness to overwhelm her at last.
…
…
…
A warm hand pressed gently upon her forehead, causing her to stir from her sleep. Just beyond the fog of her mind, she could hear her name being whispered repeatedly, all the time in a kind and familiar voice.
"Alice? Alice, dear, are you awake?"
A pair of clear brown eyes fluttered open and met with an even darker set – ones that sparkled with an internal twinkle, so full of life and imagination.
"Father?" she sat up and reached out a tentative hand towards his face. In both of his, he clasped it, and brought it to his cheek. She felt his warmth and could smell his cologne.
Charles Kingsleigh smiled down upon the girl. "Hello, darling."
She choked back her tears and hugged him fiercely, her golden locks tumbling down her back and cascading over her shoulders as she sobbed.
"You've grown into such a fine young woman, my dear," he whispered, running a free hand through her hair in long and gentle strokes. "A radiant beauty. Tell me…" she released her hold on him long enough for him to hold her at an arm's length and examine her with a smile. "Have you been dreaming lately?"
"For as long as I can remember," she answered, still in awe at the spectre before her. Gone were those haggard and ruined features of sagging skin and sunken eyes that the illness had given him shortly before his death. He looked younger again, just as he had when she was a child. "All my days and nights have been a continuous dream it seems." She cocked her head to one side at a sudden thought. "Would that be considered a bad thing?"
"Absolutely not, darling," Charles replied, tapping her on the nose. He rose from the bed she was in and extended a hand, which she readily accepted. "That feeling of being in a continuous dream is just one way of knowing you've lived your life as you should have, and that you lived well."
Alice's bare feet touched the ground – she was surprised that she felt neither hot nor cold, nor did she feel any of the pain of the disease that had ravaged her body. But, strangely, she felt no fear: the warmth of her father's hand and the knowledge that they were together once again was all the reassurance she felt she'd ever need again.
"You must tell me more about your days and nights of dreams," Charles continued, tugging at her hand gently. "I want to hear everything, Alice. We've so much to catch up on in the time we've been separated."
She nodded, and followed obediently, latching onto his arm like she'd done when she was small. He guided her away from the room she hadn't realized they been in.
And there was a question she'd longed to ask him ever since she'd heard it…
"Father, have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"
Charles laughed and shook his head, but his eyes held their merry twinkle. "My dear, I haven't the faintest notion, but together I think you and I may come to an answer."
The two continued arm-in-arm, speaking fervently.
It was then that somewhere in another place, far from where the spirits dwelled yet near all the same, the squall ceased its assault on the Endeavor, and the ocean fell into an eerie calm.
…
It was long afterward, when the moon hung high in the dark abyss of night and the star-scattered expanse reflected against the calming waves that Lord Ascot was able to check up on his apprentice to see if she'd at long last fallen asleep despite the violent storm.
How long had it been since she'd had a proper night's sleep? He couldn't help but wonder; Alice had been ill for quite some time, yet spoke nothing of the subject until the symptoms manifested all too obviously for them to miss. She'd hidden the rashes, bit back the pain. Her discomfort must have been great, but her determination was far greater.
He couldn't help but to admire the young woman. She was so much like her father in her ideas and stubbornness – it made him think that Charles had somehow never left them.
The lord hesitated before rapping gently on her cabin door. If she was indeed asleep, he wouldn't have wanted to awaken her.
Upon receiving no answer save for the sound of the waves now gently slapping against the Endeavor's hull, he turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.
"Alice?" his voice came out in barely a whisper. In the dim lighting coming from the gaslight above her bed, Lord Ascot could make out her eerily still form, one hand clutched over her chest and the other grasping what looked to be her journal.
Ill at ease by the unnatural silence that had settled the cabin, he drew nearer to her prone form, eyes adjusting slowly in the darkness. A hesitating hand reached out to touch the one she'd lain over the small and curiously bound volume.
He drew back in shock upon feeling the lifelessness of it.
He grasped her wrist, and felt desperately for a pulse, wanting so much for him to be overreacting. Feeling not even the slightest sign of life, he went for the other, only to be met with the same result.
It took all his strength and societal reserve to gently place her hand back over her chest, which neither rose nor fell with life-giving breath. Somewhere in the frenzy of his mind, he connected the blue ribbon binding Alice's journal to be keeping a small stack of letters against it, the top one bearing his name in her careful script.
It was this bundle he took up almost reverently, and stepped back while slipping it all into his coat pocket. Lord Ascot was not the man young he had been in the past, nor was he quite old; but he'd seen the death of friends, peers, and casual acquaintances alike, and never had the notion settled well.
There was only one consolation in this heart shattering moment that he could grasp at while still maintaining his dignity and not giving way to the rolling emotions that could have rivaled the storm from earlier:
Alice Kingsleigh had at long last been reunited with her father.
…
In deepest of night, when the crescent moon smiled upon the strange lands like the grin of the Cheshire Cat, a deep and horrible rumbling shook every last living being to its core, and frightened a great many into a panic.
In her luminescent palace in Marmoreal, the White Queen Mirana swept out onto the balcony of her royal chambers, looking towards at the cherry blossom lined paths leading out into the country. As Queen of Underland, she'd felt the quake ever so much keener and deeper than her subjects, for only the true ruler could be at one with the land. Underland reacted to her monarchs as any living entity: rejected those she detested, and embraced those who truly loved the land and all its inhabitants.
This closeness was a trait of the monarchy that Iracebeth of Crims could never have attained.
"Excuse me, your Majesty." She turned at the sound of a nervous from behind, discovering Nivens McTwisp looking up to her in the middle of his gracious bow. "Forgive me for my intrusion, but I came to see if you were doing all right in this panic."
"I am fine, McTwisp," she replied, giving him a gracious nod in return before looking back out to the night horizon with a furrowed brow. "It's Underland that I'm concerned for. This sudden upset is far too unsettling for my tastes."
"You don't suppose there could be trouble in the Outerlands…?" the white rabbit inwardly shuddered at the thought – those who hailed from the Outerlands were not of the most amiable nature.
"You fool of a rabbit – the Outerlands should be the least of your worries at the present," a stern voice interjected before the queen could respond.
McTwisp let out a gasp of shock as Mirana whirled around. Between them, a small cloud of blue smoke billowed and swirled, growing quickly before fading and revealing a blue butterfly whose wings beat against the smoke almost fiercely.
"Absolem," Mirana greeted the newcomer with a courteous nod. "I'd wondered where you'd disappeared to these last few days."
"Have you any news concerning this…" McTwisp fumbled for the proper title. "… predicament?"
A strange look passed over Absolem's face before he answered.
"Just beyond the curtain behind you, McTwisp, is the Oraculum. Please bring it here for your queen to observe."
Sharing one startled glance with the White Queen, McTwisp hurried into the room and returned to the balcony with equal haste, nearly skidding into Mirana before handing her the scroll. Mirana gave him a nod of thanks before gracefully, if not hesitantly, unfurling the long parchment.
Beneath her elegant exterior, the White Queen was almost frightened. What she'd felt from the land did not bode favorable tidings, and for Absolem to have brought the Oraculum to her in such short notice after his long absence only increased her unease ever further.
Dark eyes scanned over the aged document, looking over the many illustrations of past events, some fondly remembered and others not so much. It was not until her eyes came to rest on the illustration for the present day that she let out a gasp and very nearly dropped the compendium.
"Your Majesty?" McTwisp felt the fur rise all over his body. What could possibly have…?
"I never thought this day would come so quickly…" Mirana whispered faintly, as she handed the scroll to her page. The white rabbit looked down at the illustration and let out a sharp cry.
In careful black ink set the aged parchment, the image of a young woman with long and flowing locks lay still on a bed of flowers, hands folded as if in reverence over her chest. Though she looked to be merely asleep, the faint spectral images surrounding her indicated a far more grievous scenario than mere sleep.
It was the Sleep of Ages, Sleep the Everlasting. And it had been bestowed upon the one person McTwisp could scarcely fathom ever truly venturing forth into the last realm.
"Alice… the Alice… she…" he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "Th-th-there must be some mistake! This can't be true!"
"The Oraculum doesn't lie, nor does it make mistakes. I myself watched as she took her final breath," Absolem said gravely, his word accentuated by a low rumble in the distance.
Mirana looked out to her courtyard. "And so the land is grieving… protesting… her Champion's demise." She closed her eyes as if to block out the very idea. "And we so longed for her to return."
"Long for it still, if you desire," said Absolem, earning him a bewildered look from McTwisp. "For no matter what the circumstances, Underland's Champion must eventually return."
"But Alice is gone…" the white rabbit's eyes widened at a sudden thought. "The Hatter… oh, he won't like this at all… he'll be so far gone to madness when he finds out that –!"
"Silence, please, Nivens," Mirana interrupted with one hand held up in protest. McTwisp instantly hushed. For his queen to address him by his given named indicated an immediate need for his cooperation.
Absolem gave the rabbit a withering look. "The Hatter's descent into madness may be inevitable, and yet it may not. For now, the primary concern is to wait for the inevitable return of our Champion."
"Until the time that our Champion returns, I fear that Underland may revert back to the days of Iracebeth's reign in regards to its wellbeing," Mirana admitted, and watched with sadness as the wind picked up and sent thousands of cherry blossoms scattering. "Underland will not remain safe so long as there is no champion to defend her."
"Until the time Underland's Champion returns," Absolem said, slowly dissolving into blue smoke, "Time will not allow the land to progress any further than it deems necessary. Many will sleep, but will not age. This is how our land reacts when there is no Champion to defend her: true change will not come to pass."
"But how will we know who the new Champion is?" McTwisp fretted, wringing his hands together. Somewhere in the conversation, he'd felt he'd been left out. How could anyone, even the Alice, return after being conferred the Sleep of Eternity? "Alice – the Alice is dead! Who will replace her?"
Absolem's blue eyes focused in his direction before they too dissolved, and soon all the Queen and her page could hear was the butterfly's echoing voice and chuckle being carried along with the cherry blossom petals:
"Again, McTwisp, you can be such a fool. Whoever said that the blood of the Jabberwocky would only grant one wish of the heart?"
They watched with bated breath as the winds died and petals fell, leaving the trees surrounding Marmoreal bare and vulnerable, casting an unsettling shadow upon the kingdom at night.
"Then we will wait," McTwisp heard the White Queen mutter as she surveyed the land with evident sadness. She looked to him with that same sadness, but offered him a small smile. "Until the day our Champion returns, or until a new one emerges… we will wait for however long is necessary."
He bit back the many questions that threatened to emerge, and instead joined his queen at the balcony railing. As one they listened as thunder sounded in the distance, and together they saw large droplets of rain descend upon the land. One particularly fat one hit McTwisp on the nose: on instinct, he licked at the offending droplet and was astounded to find that it had a salty quality to it.
It tasted very much like a tear.
A/N: The introductory chapter turned out far more melancholy than I originally intended, but it sets the stage for future events, which is very important to the plot. Never fear, however, for we will see everyone again (some much sooner than others and others one might never expect ^_^). Until the next chapter, in which we will meet Underland's soon-to-be unintended visitor – Fairfarren. ^_^