"Mirana, I'm telling you I've no bloody clue what he's talking about." Tarrant insisted for the umpteenth time.
He, the Queen, Alice, the badger, and McTwisp were all seated inside Mirana's personal office quarters. Here, the wooden desk of dark mahogany and the single pink orchid floating in a tiny dish of water were the only splashes of color, besides the people. Even the books lining the ceiling-high shelves had been re-bound in white leather, embossed with silver. Mirana sat in her high-back chair and nodded gravely.
"I know, Tarrant." She assured him. "The problem is he remains convinced you are the cause of what happened to him and his fellows. A group has to be sent out to the sight to confirm or debunk his story. Until then, I suggest we keep this, and his claims, to ourselves." She sighed, and her eyes darkened. Her skin was no longer the pale peach-white, but was now tinged with an unhealthy gray. "Not one of those who know you Tarrant, least of all me, will believe for a second you could have committed the heinous acts the man described. But there's no telling what others will think, and you can be sure he's been crying his beliefs from there to here to every Underlandian he's come across." She steepled her long, slim fingers. "We must, you especially, tread with the utmost caution from here on out until we can sort the whole distressing mess out into Truth."
The badger grunted, and flicked an accusatory glance towards the Hatter before fixing his beady-eyed gaze on the queen. "Perhaps we should have a guard on him, or restrict him to his rooms for a time." The badger glanced at the milliner as the painted man growled and clenched his fists. "For Master Hightopp's own good."
The queen shook her head, shooting Tarrant a warning glance. "Absolutely not. I stand by what I said: I trust the the Hatter. More, I trust my dear friend." She smiled warmly at the man, then focused on the badger. "I must thank you for your discretion and quick-thinking, Master Funnerwhal. You may go."
The badger bowed, eyed Tarrant, and departed.
The moment the door snapped shut, the painted man burst. "Why that pointy-nosed, dirt-eating, slurping urk-"
"Hatter!"
The sharp reprimand from his beloved queen had Tarrant wincing. "Forgive me, but I am of the opinion that the little... rodent, has no right to so blatantly accuse me of something I know for certain I have not done!"
Alice reached over to pat his hand, still fisted atop his knee. "Don't worry, Hatter." She smiled warmly at him, trying to reassure her friend, and received a wavering one in response. "We'll have this cleared up in no time. Right, Majesty?"
The queen nodded sagely. "Of course. I would put this from your mind, Tarrant, and ignore the words that may come from others who do not yet know Truth." When the Hatter only grumbled, her smile turned... almost dangerous. "Hatter, while I will not restrict your movements or sic a guard on you, I will ask that you take care and caution." The smile softened again as she held her hands out over the desk for him to take. "You are a dear friend, and worry for you is there."
Tarrant stood and took her hands, kissed the knuckles. "You needn't worry about me, your Highness."
Mirana laughed, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You may go, and you, Alice. Good evening."
Alice nodded. "And you, Majesty."
In the quiet of the arched hallways, Tarrant let loose a savage snarl and kicked bad-temperedly at a pedestal which held a vase of silver roses.
Alice gasped and reached out to touch his elbow. "Hatter!"
He jerked away from her and lifted his hands to fist in his hair. "The bludy buggerin' bilge rat!" He snapped. "Sullyin' th' Hightopp nam oan some delusion!" His voice was a roar and he seemed not to notice her as she winced and stepped back, hands held up in caution. "Hoo daur he? Nae Hightopp has ever dain mudder, noo he accuses me, th' lest, ay slaughterin' an entire caravan ay innocent travelers? Bollocks!" The vase clattered to the floor, shattering, when his fist knocked it from its perch. "Bollocks tae sic' a pile!" He spat.
Alice watched him with wide, round eyes. Here, the kindly, laughing man had turned into a hunched-backed, fist-waving demon. His eyes flashed with a dangerous orange hue, and everything from the air around him to the shade of his clothes seemed to darken. His chest heaved with vicious panting and his teeth were barred in animalistic hate.
Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Alice inched forward, cautiously laying her hands on his shaking arm. "Hatter?" When she received no answer, Alice moved in front of him and lifted her hands to his face. Warmth spread from her palms down her arms, but it wasn't a comforting warmth. It zipped through her like a shock, making her skin tingle. "Hatter, look at me, listen to me." She cupped his cheeks, drawing his wheeling eyes down to her face. "Hatter?"
The man blinked, and slowly, the darkness ebbed back. His eyes drifted to green, then gray, then a sorrowful blue. "Ah... Aam alrecht." He gasped.
Alice frowned. "Are you really?"
Tarrant sighed and lifted his own hand to cover his. "Yes." His brilliant eyes locked onto hers. "Yes, I'm alright."
Thoroughly unconvinced, Alice released his face to take his hand. "Let's get some fresh air, now. Perhaps that will do you some good."
They walked in silence, hers contemplative, his sullen, through the castle. The only other breathing being they passed was a maid who curtsied jerkily to the pair before rushing off.
Tarrant's mood darkened and his eyes shimmered angrily towards orange.
Out in the gardens, Alice steered him away from the where the Tea Party was slowly dissolving. Those who had a great many miles to travel were leaving, getting a head-start on Time as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Still, they walked in silence, hands clasped tightly between them. The air was cooling, and a gentle breeze was playing through the leaves above their heads.
As they walked, Alice studied the gardens. Despite all the white, there was none of the starkness she expected. It was warm and inviting, comforting. And she realized now it wasn't all white. There were shades of pink and lavender in the blossoms above, a taint of green in the grass and on the hedges. The image wasn't exactly that someone had painted over the scenery with white, but perhaps... some sort of snow had fallen. Alice paused, bringing the Hatter to a stop as well as she reached out to stroke the bark of one tree. When she pulled her hand away to examine her fingers, her brow furrowed. "Hatter?"
Her response was a grunt of acknowledgment and nothing more. She turned to him now, still frowning, and realized he was glaring sulkily ahead. She squeezed his hand and held her free one out to him. "Hatter, how are all the trees and the grass white? It's not paint." She rubbed her dry fingers together as if to prove it, and was pleased when her question drew him from his pouting and into curiosity.
He smirked at her, and covered her fingers with his own. "It's natural, dear Alice. It's just the way things grow here. It has to do with the way Mirana is." His smile warmed. "She has a very..."
"Strong personality?" Alice supplied with an impish smile.
Tarrant laughed, the last dregs of his anger dissipating. "Yes indeed. Though here we would call that Muchness." He grinned at her.
Alice felt herself flush with pleasure at his words, a reaction that confused her even as she laughed. "From what I've seen, there's Much Muchness in this world. Everyone here is so... vibrant, unique. None quite so much as you, though."
He watched her cheeks heat and redden in embarrassment at her words, but was only aware of his own chest swelling with... with... with something. Happiness, joy, jubilation, exuberation, triumph. "I'm honored you think so, laddie."
Alice laughed again. "Why do you do that?"
Hatter's amusement melted to confusion. "Hmm?"
"Why, call me laddie of course." She clarified. "I'd be a lass, wouldn't I?"
"Girls are lasses."
Alice let out a hoot of laughter and slapped at his arm. "Master Hightopp, you are incorrigible!"
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Long after the sun had gone to bed and the moon was winking above them, casting the grounds of Marmoreal into nearly blinding shades of the purest white, Alice bid her farewells and goodnights and retreated to her rooms.
The moment the door was closed at her back, she indulged herself in a girlish sigh and lifted her arms as she twirled over the plush carpet towards the bed. What a day! What a wondrous, glorious, fantastic, delightful, exciting day! So much color and energy and such fun! The people the food the dancing and singing. Once Tea had finished and those who had to travel far or did not want to stay had gone, a makeshift stage was erected and a group of minstrels had started to play. There were games and dances and so much laughter and joy, she felt dizzy with it.
And Hatter.
The poor old fellow, she'd seen the way some of the guests had glanced his way and lifted their hands to their mouths, shielding their whispers. She'd noticed it, and had been certain he had as well, but the painted man had seemingly ignored them, and focused instead on pushing more tea and cakes onto her, or taking her hands in his and dragging her onto the stretch of grass that had been trampled down by dancing feet so he could whirl her around. When she wasn't dancing and laughing with him, she was being passed around amongst the others.
No one seemed to mind that their Champion had forgotten herself. Why should they when they remembered plenty enough for her? She was their Champion, their Light, just as Mirana was their Light and their Life. Her boots had come off sometime during the wild and erratic dancing. It was a shame really, and she felt sad that the boots Hatter had made her were missing, but he only laughed and tickled her aching feet and assured her he would make her a new pair. She never liked wearing shoes when she could help it anyway, he reminded her.
Then he had hefted her onto his back, grinning despite or perhaps because of the scandalized gasps of the Lords and Ladies of White, and carried her over the grass into the castle. He'd carried her easily up flights of stairs and down long halls with little effort as she drifted contently on his back.
He'd bowed to her, said goodnight, and disappeared.
She blushed and curled her toes as she flopped backwards onto her bed, spread out on the soft comforter. It had been terribly improper, just being alone with a man. An older man. Never mind being barefoot and on his back. Why, her mother often lost her head over Alice being seen in public without corset and stockings, two garments which were hidden anywa-
Alice blinked and sat up, curling and uncurling her fingers.
Yes... she remembered her mother's frustrated voice, scolding her for the lack of proper dress. She remembered a carriage ride, a sad one. She had said something about her father when her mother had scolded her... Yes... They had been going to a party, one she didn't have the inclination to attend, and they were late. Very late. Lady Ascot had scolded her then as well, and had scolded her mother.
Still fidgeting one hand, Alice lay back again, only to sit up with an exclamation of pain.
There, now slightly flattened, lay another deep red rose.
She worried her lip between her teeth as she grinned. Surely not two nights in a row? How could that be a mistake? A secret admirer then?
She plucked it up by the stem, wary of the thorns, and lay back against the mountain of pillows as she set about mulling over the mystery of who it could be leaving these tokens.
There had been that short, paunchy little earl that had nervously claimed her hand when the dancers gathered in a circle, and had grinned like a maniac when she had laughed and swooped down to kiss his cheek once the dance was over.
Then there had been the merchant from Snud, but that one she hadn't cared for. He'd carried on and on about himself, how well he looked with her on his arm, and what he considered his own vital part in the war with the Red Queen.
And the sweet-faced young minstrel who had stepped down after hours of strumming his instrument and begged her to dance just once with him.
She twirled the rose between her fingers, her face blank, her eyes thoughtful.
Then... there was Hatter.
The very idea!
Disgusted with herself for thinking such silly things, Alice sat up with a huff and rolled off the mattress. The soft, giving carpet felt wonderful beneath her aching feet as she paced, swinging the rose by her side.
Of course it wouldn't be him. What would someone with so much... Muchiness want with someone like her? Why, the man had such Muchness, it spilled out of him in waves that rocked over her whenever they were near. And she couldn't even remember him, as she was supposedly meant to.
Besides all that, well... he was... old! Not old, as a grandfather might be. But she was twenty-two, and he was a man of at least twice that. Old enough to be her father! The very idea!
...Didn't bother her. Not in the slightest, she realized. Why, her father had been nearly ten years older than her mother. Margaret's husband (what was that man's name again, and why did any thought of him have her hackles raising?) was a full three years older, she vaguely remembered. Danish, her supposed husband-to-be, was but a few months older than her.
Alice sighed and shook her head, coming to a standstill in the middle of the room where she lifted the rose and watched it twirl between her fingers.
All this thought of age was pointless, it wouldn't be him. Simply couldn't be...
Sighing heavily to herself, she spotted an elegant metal pitcher on her little tea table. She poured a glass of water and dropped the thorny stem into the cup.
It was a riddle, one that could wait until morning.
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Poor Hatter. And ooh, another rose? Whoever could be leaving them?
You should try and guess again. In a review. By clicking that button.
And, if you didn't know, Johnny Depp IS older than Mia Wokinski (I think that's how you spell it), and Hatter is older than Alice. And in the original script, the two were supposed to kiss. Besides all that, I have a thing for older guys. =3= Look at my Beetlejuice stories, for god's sake. So no flamers. Your flames will be used to cook my CheezBerger of Superiority.