Hello everyone! I just recently watched Alice Through The Looking Glass (twice), and I've realized I cannot live without more. Luckily, with the beauty of fanfiction, I don't have to!
My intentions for this story used to be a chronicle of one shots, but now they've changed into a mini-series. My imaginings of what happened afterward, with primary focus on Iracebeth. Time too, because he's an adorable, lonely god and I have such a weakness for those.
I hope you like my fantasies, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on them!
Enjoy.
She hates council meetings.
The nobility, her supposed advisors, either fawn over her in hopes of gaining a favor or they're constantly trying to usurp her.
No wonder Iracebeth dissolved her council when she was reigning queen.
Then again, Iracebeth's not exactly a shining example of a good monarch.
Commanding? Yes.
Powerful? Yes.
Good? Well...
Perhaps she'll bring her into the next meeting.
The Duke of Kinygent believes Mirana weak and is threatening war.
No one knows war better than Iracebeth.
But the kingdom hasn't forgiven her yet.
Mirana has forgiven and been forgiven, but the scars are fresh, and the citizens will not forget.
Mirana's certain they'll forgive her someday, though it might take half of forever.
Iracebeth isn't so much as changed as she is resigned but the hatred is slowly uncoiling its ugly black tentacles from around her heart.
The citizens will come to see that, they'll have to.
Mirana has lost her sister too many times to count, and by the blood of the Jabberwocky, she won't lose her again.
She almost wishes she was back in the Outlands.
There, she could at least pretend she was lonely from the lack of people.
Here, she's lonely because the people don't like her.
Mirana says not to blame them.
She does anyway.
It's hard not to, when they only acknowledge her existence with short and snide comments.
She's heard the whispers too. The discontent, the malice, the treason.
Disbelief over her pardoned crimes—outrage really.
How can such bloody hands be so easily wiped clean?
They can't.
She knows it as well as anyone else.
She agrees.
Being good is difficult. Even now she wants their tongues silenced, their glaring eyes ripped out, their pointing fingers pulled off, their lips sown shut before they start mocking her again.
She wants their heads.
Chop them off herself.
She won't do it but she wants to.
Instead she bites her tongue and dreams of setting each and every stupid little head on fire.
She once told Mirana this and had received a scolding.
Ah well.
Old habits die hard.
Dinner is silent, like always.
Usually it's comfortable, the little round table perfect for reading a book while Iracebeth plays with her too-rare food next to her, but tonight Mirana needs her advice.
She's tried starting conversation twice now but Iracebeth has stubbornly ignored her little coughs. She stares glumly at her food, as though it's done her a great disservice.
A pity party, no doubt, but Mirana hasn't the patience to wait anymore.
"The Duke of Kinygent has declared war," Mirana says.
A long pause. Mirana nearly bursts with her unspoken words. Iracebeth just keeps staring at her food.
"Why?" She asks, a sullen little pout twisting her lips as she finally meets Mirana's eyes.
It's Mirana's turn to stare at her food, slightly embarrassed.
"He believes me unfit to rule."
"Of course, but why?"
The gentle woman bristles at that. After all this time, and Iracebeth still doesn't think she's a good queen.
The feeling is mutual.
"Because of you," she says shortly, already wishing the conversation over. "He deems your crimes unforgivable and demands I repeal your pardon."
She shuts her eyes, remembering his outburst in her court.
"She is evil and insane. Sister or not, no queen in her right mind would allow her to continue existing. I want, we all want justice. If you cannot give us that, we'll find a ruler who can."
The memory calms her ire and chills her bones.
"He wants you punished," she whispers.
He wants you dead.
It's unspoken but heard nonetheless.
Iracebeth snorts, goes back to poking at her food.
"Punishment. All my life's been punishment."
Mirana resists the urge to roll her eyes.
Pity party again. Iracebeth's entitled to at least one a day but this is getting excessive.
"Tomorrow I'm meeting with my council," another snort from the red head. "Will you come with me?"
She stops her dark chortle, surprise heavy in those gigantic eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I'd like your advice about his threat."
"Just kill him."
Eyes turn heavenward. Not as rude as rolling eyes, but enough.
"You know my vows."
"Then have someone else kill him."
"I'd prefer a more diplomatic approach to this. I remember you studied this when we were younger."
"Diplomacy is boring."
Mirana sighs, then tries a different approach.
She reaches across the table and holds Iracebeth's hand in hers.
The little fingers stiffen, Mirana holds her breath.
They relax, only slightly.
Her relief tastes bittersweet in her mouth as she smiles.
"Please Racie? For me?" She coaxes.
Heart lips pinch, then sigh in acquiescence.
"Fine. For you."
"Oh thank you, Racie," she exclaims as she stands, kissing the bulbous forehead once before dancing out of the room. "I love you and I'll see you in the morning!"
"I'm not going to happy about it though!" Her sister shouts down the hall.
"You don't have to be," comes the cheery reply.
"Just as long as you show up."
She's late.
Minutes creep by painfully and with every tick the gentry's mumbles grow louder.
Mirana smiles, they reciprocate, but the tension is palpable.
She won't ever admit it, but she's getting nervous.
She opens her mouth, fully prepared to apologize for the wait and get started—
BAM.
The doors slam against the walls and the entire room flinches.
Iracebeth struts in, a smirking array of reds and blacks and confidence.
Mirana feels the instant change.
The council no longer grumbling nobles but a command center, fear and suspicion lurking just under the surface of the guarded faces.
"Have we started?" Iracebeth asks, turning to Mirana.
"No, but—"
"Then let's start with war strategies. I suggest—"
"Your highness," nobleman Iltgud says in his deep baritone.
Her penciled eyebrows raise at the "highness," but he continues.
"Perhaps you aren't aware, but you are late. The queen," his jowled head nods stiffly in Mirana's direction. "Has not addressed the court yet."
Iracebeth falls back into a dark chair with an exaggerated eye roll.
"I was fully aware, Iltgud. I was hoping to skip the pointless drivel but—"
"Thank you, Lord Iltgud," Mirana says quickly, wishing to avoid the unnecessary confrontation. "Why don't we just start with new information on the Duke of Kinygent's demands."
"They're still the same," Lady Obdettam's reedy voice breathes.
"I see. How unfortunate."
She can feel the impatience rearing its head in Iracebeth, knows her mouth is opening, "kill him" readying to fly out.
Mirana places a steadying hand on the jeweled wrist. Not enough to alert the others, just enough to cool the bloodlust hiding behind those dark orbs.
"He demands justice," Lord Iltgud intones, un-surreptitiously staring at Iracebeth.
Mirana's grip tightens until Iracebeth shakes her off.
"First rule of war," Iracebeth states, holding up her index finger. "Never give in to the enemy's demands."
She glances at Mirana then, lips tightening imperceptibly to the untrained eye.
"Unless you've lost."
Mirana huffs. "It's not war, we haven't come to that."
"Yet." Iracebeth smirks, something akin to excitement gleaming in her eyes.
Alarmed whispers escalate between other council members.
"We believe a deal can be made," Lady Obdettam pipes up.
"That's giving up."
"It's compromise, your highness." Lord Iltgud sniffs.
Iracebeth scowls.
"You can compromise, or you can win. And in this case, winning would be so easy. They're outnumbered and untrained. We could squash them like a horn-et. And they've only one true water source, cut them off and they're sure to surrender within two weeks."
Mirana tries to speak, Lord Iltgud cuts in.
"You can't possibly suggest endangering the lives of the innocent people under his care."
"Of course I can," she mutters darkly.
"The queen would not allow it."
"How dare you—"
A heated argument erupts between them and the din grows to a crescendo as other, more silent council members voice their dissent.
"What is the compromise?" Mirana asks, barely suppressing the urge to rub her temples.
The room suddenly quiets.
Iracebeth's stunned into silence, Mirana prays her outburst wasn't seen as betrayal.
Too late, she knows how Iracebeth thinks.
She might as well have slapped her in the face.
"Well," Lady Obdettam starts. "It's nearly your original verdict. No one would speak to her, excepting you of course, she'd be put under constant supervision, and she'd stop being tied to and supported by the crown."
Iracebeth's mouth gapes open.
The satisfaction emanating from the council makes Mirana feel sick.
Lord Iltgud addresses Iracebeth, arrogance and condescension dripping in his voice.
"That means—"
"I know what it means," Iracebeth hisses. "I'm disgraced, not stupid."
"Not that you were graceful before," he murmurs.
It's caught by the other council members.
They titter.
Their increasing laughter is interrupted by the grating screech of Iracebeth's chair being pushed from the table.
Her reddened face is bulging, lip twitching, fists clenched white; like a volcano ready to spew its deadly rage.
Oh dear.
"Racie—"
She kicks her chair over, an impressive feat from one so short, and storms out.
Mirana's heart breaks for her.
Again.
"Iltgud," she says testily. "You may be a lord, but you are not a gentleman. Council dismissed."
Iracebeth is pacing in the marble gardens when Mirana finds her.
"How could you agree to that?" She whirls to face her. Mirana would be afraid if she couldn't see the shining wetness pooling on her sister's lower lashes.
"I haven't agreed to it."
"But you're going to, I know you are." A finger points at her accusingly, she pushes it away.
"I'm trying to keep the damage minimized, Racie."
"By damaging me!"
"What would you have me do?"
"Go to war! Beat the duke into submission!"
"I want his allegiance willingly, Racie. Otherwise he'll just try to revolt later."
"He probably will anyway, better to crush him now."
"You know I don't believe in doing things that way."
"Your way is weak and stupid."
"You're being childish," Mirana says, finally giving in and rubbing her eyes.
"I'm older than you. I'm the eldest, and I should be—"
"Should be queen, yes, I know. But you tried that, and now you're not anymore," Mirana bites out, her legendary patience finally run dry. "And yes, it's my fault. But it was so long ago and I was young and I've apologized a thousand times since. I've grown up."
"Yes, but I can't," Iracebeth hisses, choking on bitterness and anger and the vast unfairness of it all.
It's turning into salt water, stinging and hot, but never falling.
Mirana's frustration dissipates, leaving only a deep sadness.
Iracebeth's growth stagnated after her fall, a child's emotional maturity level trapped inside an aging mind.
It's enough to drive anyone mad.
"You got to grow up," Iracebeth continues.
"You got to be the good one, the smart one, the pretty one. The loved one," she pauses, hands fluttering around her face. "And I got... I got a bloody, big head."
She admits it with a hiccup, admits it for the very first time, and Mirana is overcome.
She flings her arms around her sister's neck, enough tears streaming for the both of them, and holds on for dear life.
"I know, I know. It hurts me too, it really does. I want to help you; I just don't know how."
Her sister is warm and soft in her embrace, but her tone is the opposite.
"Fight the duke."
Mirana pulls away, frustrated.
Back to square one.
"You know why I can't."
"Then let me do it."
"That's an even worse idea."
"It isn't."
"Why are you so obsessed with fighting?"
"Because—" Iracebeth stops, stuck.
"Because—"
And suddenly, the tears slip.
"Because it's the only thing I know how to do."
Mirana didn't think it possible, but her heart hurts even more.
A long time ago she accidentally created a monster, and now she's broken her.
"It will be a few days until we know his reply," Mirana says.
Iracebeth doesn't so much as huff, just stares out her window, looking lost.
"Until then, if you'd like," she says hesitantly. "We can travel together, wherever you want, for a while."
"You mean before I'm stripped of my title, money, and shackled in a hut for the rest of my life?"
She winces.
"It's not quite like that."
"It's exactly like that."
"You won't be shackled, and you won't be completely isolated, like you were before. You'll have me."
"To remind me of all I am denied. How comforting."
"Iracebeth."
The redhead sighs, shrugging apologetically before flopping onto her bed.
"I'm going to be so bored. What am I to do if not focused on revenge?"
"This is your chance to find out," Mirana says.
Iracebeth just laughs humorlessly.
"I'm serious. Maybe you can go back to things you used to like. You used to love taking care of little creatures, remember? Even the ants."
Her reply is muffled by the arms flung over her face.
"I'd just step on them."
"What about gardening? You made an entire kingdom from roots and vegetables."
Iracebeth sits up, face scrunching in distaste.
"Yes, but that was only because Tick-Tock—" she freezes.
Flops back down, clutching at her sheets and throwing them over her head.
"Tick-Tock?" Mirana asks, confused.
She just shakes her head and burrows further under the red cloth.
"Who's Tick-Tock?"
No answer.
Mirana rubs soothing little circles on Iracebeth's back, the way their mother used to when they were sick.
"Racie?"
"He's a liar, with his ticking chest and his stupid accent."
Ah, she gets it now.
Time.
A sweet and loving god, if a little lonely.
She remembers his worried gaze, affectionate and forgiving, even when his life was quickly ticking away. His concern over Iracie, even as she stole the equivalent of his heart and took it for a catastrophic joyride.
"How is he a liar?"
Iracebeth sits up suddenly, morose and pouting.
"He said he cared, that he loved me, but even from the beginning I knew he was lying. And I was right."
"How could you know that."
"Because no one loves me!"
She sighs.
Iracebeth's constant denial is tiring and more than a little tragic.
"You know I love you, Racie." She reminds her.
"You only love me because you're supposed to. Everyone else pretends to love me to get something out of it."
"Maybe Stayne did that."
"Don't forget Nichard," Iracebeth says.
Ah yes, the former king. A weak, sniveling man who craved the power Iracebeth gave him but lusted after Mirana more.
Her skin still crawls at the thought of him.
"Him too. Maybe they did that. But mother, father, and I, we loved you. As constant as the stars above."
"The stars fade during the day, when I need them most. And they're too far away."
Mirana shakes her head.
"I didn't mean the literal stars."
"Neither did I."
"I'm not far away, Racie."
"But never there when I need you."
She pushes down the indignation at that, because she's starting to understand.
Iracebeth's too used to receiving love, never giving it.
It's hard to accept love if you don't really know what it is to love someone.
"Love goes more than one way, Iracie. You're given love, and you give love back. No expectations, no hidden agendas. You love someone because you like them, you like the things they do and say, you like being around them, and you want them to be happy. You try to add to their happiness."
Iracebeth purses her lips, deep in thought as she mulls the words over.
Comprehension ripples across her face, then shame.
"I'm not very good at loving people, Mirana."
She reaches out for her sister's hand, smiling softly when Iracebeth squeezes back.
"We can work on it together."
"It's not going to be easy. I'm sure I'm going to be difficult."
"I don't mind," she says with a wink, tugging Iracebeth out of bed and into the world.
"All the best things in life are."
And there you have it, the end to my introduction! Apologies for the lack of Iracebeth's weak R's. Onscreen it works because you know what she's trying to say, on page it's rather confusing.
I know Iracebeth seems a little out of character, but that is in reaction to her new direction in the film. When we last saw her, everything she's worked for (revenge), has been accomplished, but it always falls apart and never in her favor. And yet, she got what she's always wanted. Validation, vindication, and an apology.
What will she be like, now that a crucial, bloodthirsty part of her is gone?
What happens, when a fighter stops fighting? Stops needing to?
This is my exploration of that.
Anyway, we'll see how it goes, together!
Fair farren.