"You conniving little witch..."
Title: Queen's Gambit
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton)
Pairing: Tarrant Hightopp/Mirana of Marmoreal; implications of possible Tarrant/Alice; mentions of Iracebeth/King of Hearts and Iracebeth/Stayne
Rating: PG-13 at worst
Notes: This was just supposed to have been a one-shot piece of Tarrant/Mirana fluff, because I wanted to know that there was at least one good story about that pairing. Instead it exploded into Mirana's entire biography. If there's anything you don't understand or would like explained (e.g. "where'd you get that idea?"), please feel free to leave comments as the story progresses; it's a habit of mine to present a bonus chapter at the end of my longer fics in which I provide references and stuff, and I'll answer any questions there. My brain has an annoying/awesome tendency to try to spackle plotholes no matter how small, so there's an absurd level of detail forthcoming. ( Chapter one is here, although when the story is finished I'm considering going back and merging it with this chapter, since it seems oddly short compared with this one.)
Story Summary: When you have the power to make anyone love you, how do you know who loves you for who you really are? Mirana has been certain only once in her life.
Chapter Summary: Mirana gains a brother-in-law, a court of her own, and one particularly valuable courtier.
Chapter Two: Naught For Usal
"You're not serious, Mummy?" asked an incredulous Iracebeth.
"Of course I am."
"You really expect me to invite all the...servants to my wedding?"
"I do indeed. They are residents of Underland who will certainly want to celebrate the marriage of their future Queen."
"But they're so...servile."
Mirana looked at her mother, who was surveying her elder daughter with an unreadable expression. "They attend us faithfully," she said, "and they will be invited. That is the end of it."
Iracebeth stamped her foot and walked out of the room. Mirana could hear her as she stormed down a hall, bellowing for someone to bring her a squimberry tart and woe betide you if the crust is burned like the last time.
~
The wedding day dawned, and Mirana longed for it to end.
Royal brides in Underland traditionally wear jewel tones, and Iracebeth's bridal gown of red, accented with black and gold, was no exception. The face of her oddly shaped head was powdered until she was whiter even than her sister, and her lips were painted into a heart shape. Her thick hair was arranged up in a series of intricate curls and swathed in the bridal veil, held in place by the crown which marked her new status as Queen of Hearts. It was a small gold circlet with wickedly pointed crenellations, adorned with blood red jewels.
"You're beautiful, Racie," Mirana offered.
"Yes," Iracebeth agreed, studying their double reflection in a long mirror. "You look so...small, Ranie."
Admittedly, Mirana felt a little small. She was gowned in pearl silk, trimmed in lace, and she knew that she was no smaller than normal. But somehow, Iracebeth seemed larger than life. It sent a shiver of dread up her spine, even though she didn't know exactly why.
The dread only increased when at last they met the bridegroom. Both the bearded King and his clean-shaven attendant stared with an unseemly hunger at Iracebeth's head; Mirana recalled what her father had said about largeness being a hallmark of beauty in their homeland, and supposed that must account for the leering. The attendant was a tall, thin, black-haired man who wore a heart-shaped patch over one eye; the King of Hearts introduced him as the Knave, Ilosevic Stayne. And then they both turned and stared at Mirana, and she seemed to feel herself shrink under their gazes. The Knave's expression was calculating, suspicious; the King's was puzzled, intrigued.
"A pretty child," he was heard to mutter to the Knave, "though so small. Unfortunate thing." Then he took Iracebeth's hand and kissed it, and Mirana breathed a sigh of relief.
"I bring a gift to my bride," he said, "a rare creature such as we only have in our realm."
"Creature?" Iracebeth looked slightly disdainful. "What sort of...creature?"
Even as she asked, however, an enormous cage was being wheeled into the hall. A bird perched inside, its face obscured by a metal mask. "We call it a JubJub bird," he said. "The finest and swiftest of hunters. Send it to bring you anything you like -- dead or alive. Nothing can escape it."
Iracebeth's eyes lit up. Mirana turned toward her parents, who stood silently observing the exchange, with an imploring expression. Do you see? she asked silently. Do you see what I have been telling you?
~
They were married in the courtyard of Salazen Grum, with Mirana and Stayne to attend them. Though she tried to be happy for her sister, tried to welcome her new brother with familial affection, Mirana's heart was simply not in it. She thought of the cool white corridors of Marmoreal, the serenity of the perpetually flowering trees and the soft rush of the waterfalls on the mountain beyond, and longed to be permitted to go and take up residence there for good and all. The King and the Knave both left her feeling unsettled and fearful, almost as much as Iracebeth herself did, and she wanted nothing more than to get away from all three. For the duration of the wedding celebration, however, she was obliged to remain in Salazen Grum, feasting and dancing and trying to avoid catching too much of her brother-in-law's notice.
One hardly ever realizes, at the time of the occurrence, when something is happening which will change one's life forever. On the third day of the wedding festivities, Mirana experienced such a thing, and only long afterward did she understand how significant the moment had been. She was sitting at the high table beside Iracebeth's empty seat, trying to ignore the sidelong glances of the Knave three seats away.
"Mirana."
Grateful for the diversion, she slipped from her chair and moved to her mother's side. Ellabelle was standing with a red-haired woman Mirana recognized as the Queen's personal milliner, and she offered a smile of greeting. "Hello, Lynaris."
"Your Highness," said the hatmaker, returning the smile. "May I introduce my son? This is Tarrant, of Clan Hightopp."
Mirana turned to acknowledge a spindly-legged young man with silky red curls and sparkling eyes. Like most members of his clan, he appeared to be suffering from the sickly paleness of too much early exposure to mercury; however, his figure was robust, energetic, and the smile he offered with his bow was boyishly charming. "I'm positively pleased to be presented to the Princess. I'm collecting P words, today," he added by way of an explanation, and the way he said it made it sound perfectly rational.
"Where is Iracebeth?" Ellabelle was frowning. "I'm sure she -- ah. Racie, darling, come here. You remember Lynaris, of course? And this is her son Tarrant."
Iracebeth's face was impassive as she coolly acknowledged their congratulations. "That's a fine springentoss the band is starting to play," Ellabelle remarked. "Milquesop used to do a splendid springentoss. Racie, perhaps you'd like to dance with young Tarrant in honor of the occasion?"
"Don't be absurd, Mummy." The large head wobbled with indignation; Mirana half expected the little crown to topple from its perch. "I agreed to invite them; that's as far as it goes." She glanced at her sister and added, "Let Ranie dance with him. I should get back to my King." She promptly turned and glided away without further discussion.
Mirana felt keenly for the young man, who looked as though he didn't quite know what to do. "I'm afraid I don't do the springentoss very well," she said, "but I would be happy to dance with you." A shadow of something like relief passed over his chalky complexion, perhaps gratitude at finding her so different from Iracebeth, and he offered an infectious grin.
"There's a good girl," Ellabelle murmured. "Off you are, then."
Of all Underlandian dances, the springentoss is perhaps second only to the futterwacken in its sheer vitality. The partners join hands and skip nine paces to each side, then turn to face each other. The taller of the pair -- usually the man, though not always -- grasps the shorter partner by the waist and lifts her (or him as the case may be) into the air, then lowers her carefully while spinning counter-clockwise. Mirana's fondness for voluminous skirts made the dance a bit trickier than it already was, but Tarrant was equal to the occasion, holding her gently but firmly with bandaged fingers.
"You do this delightfully," she managed.
"I'm much fonder of the futterwacken, to be honest," he laughed. "But it's a joy to do the springentoss with you."
The springentoss was followed by the habernasher, which involves a great deal of the partners circling each other while holding each other by the waist or hand, interspersed with the occasional two-step jig. As they were already out in the middle of the floor, Tarrant and Mirana saw no particular reason to change partners, and instead moved directly into this second dance without hesitation. His jigs were more than a little wildly dramatic, and Mirana couldn't help laughing as he swung her about with effortless grace. It gradually caught her notice that most of the other dancers had cleared the floor to make room for them, and she giggled. "We have an audience," she murmured for his ears only.
"Have we indeed?" He looked around as though he hadn't realized it. "Then we had better do something exceptionally fascinating, or fascinatingly exceptional -- whichever you prefer. Hold on tight, Princess!" With no farther warning than this, he seized both of her hands and proceeded to whirl her around the room, her skirts rippling and white curls flying in the rush of air.
The dance left Mirana breathless and flushed, and they bounced to a laughing halt while the onlookers applauded. As a grinning Tarrant dropped into a bow, however, she caught sight of the high table, and went pale again at once. Both bride and groom were staring at her. Iracebeth's face was puce with envy and resentment at the attention her sister was receiving, and the King looked...
In truth, she wasn't quite sure how to interpret his expression, but it made her skin crawl.
~
"We have come to a decision," said Ellabelle a few days later.
The wedding festivities over, the Queen had called her daughters together for a conference. Milquesop stood behind her chair, looking grave and impenetrable. Mirana felt uneasy. "What is it, Mamma?"
"Your father and I are in agreement about the future of Underland. Racie, you're now the Queen of Hearts; you have two kingdoms. We feel that this may be too much for you -- Underland is much larger than the Heart Kingdom, it requires more attention."
"I don't think I like where this is going," said Iracebeth flatly.
"We've decided to split the kingdom in two," Ellabelle went on, ignoring her. "Iracebeth will be known as the Queen of Hearts and the Red Queen of Underland, and Mirana, you'll be known as the White Queen. You will govern jointly from your separate seats -- Salazen Grum for Racie, Marmoreal in the south for Ranie."
Mirana blinked. It wasn't what she had expected; still, she had put forth her best effort, and she supposed that saving half the kingdom from Iracebeth's rages was better than nothing. She had no chance to respond, however, since Iracebeth was on her feet and shouting.
"I am the eldest!" she shrieked. "It is my crown! Mine by birthright!" She turned on Mirana, eyes sparking with indignant fury. "You conniving little witch...I don't know how you did this, but you stole half my kingdom!"
"That's enough, Iracebeth," said Milquesop. It was as close as Mirana had ever heard him come to being sharp with either of them. His hand was on his wife's shoulder. "It isn't your kingdom yet in any case."
Oddly, the excess of color drained out of Iracebeth's face almost at once. She looked back at her parents, and her expression turned to one of sweetness, which looked remarkably out of place on her features. "You're right, Daddy," she said. "I forgot myself. Mummy is, after all, still the Queen." She shot one last nasty look at Mirana, then composed herself. "We'll work it out."
"Of course we will, Racie," Mirana replied warily.
"We will return to Tulgey Woods Palace tomorrow as planned," Ellabelle said. "From there, Ranie will go to Marmoreal to establish her court."
Evidently the promise of her sister's removal from Salazen Grum was enough to improve Iracebeth's mood, because when they exchanged their farewells on the following morning, her embrace was almost genuinely affectionate. "Write to me, little sister," she said. "I hope you won't be too lonely in your marble hall." She looked at Mirana with something like pity.
~
Had Iracebeth been able to observe the scene when Mirana left Tulgey Woods in procession to Marmoreal, her feelings of pity would doubtless have been eradicated by jealousy. Milquesop and Ellabelle were as reluctant to part with their docile younger daughter as they had been relieved to part with their irascible elder, and the gifts bestowed upon her were considerable. She was mounted on a fine white stallion, which she dubbed Jacquardie, and escorted by a cluster of courtiers and retainers. They were all dressed in white or other pale pastels, and some of the women had even made over their hair and faces to be as strikingly fair as their mistress's. These were followed by a small contingent of soldiers, outfitted in white armor made to resemble chess pieces, so that it appeared that the bishops and knights and rooks were all marching after the queen and her pawns to the chessboard palace.
The procession wound through some of the more populated areas of Underland -- first to Queast, then west to Witzend. It was a long journey, but it was well known that they traveled by the safest road, the one that kept them away from the dangerous Outlands and the viscous Gummer Slough. All along the path, the people came out to wave and smile at the White Princess, who waved and smiled and blew kisses. She wasn't exactly sure where her half of Underland ended and Iracebeth's began, but she reasoned that there was no harm in demonstrating her kindness to all the subjects equally.
In Witzend the party was made welcome by the Hightopp clan, and Mirana was pleased when her new friend came to assist her down from her horse. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon," Tarrant admitted, "but I'm happy about it all the same. Come and have tea."
A series of long tables was set up in the middle of the village, covered in white cloth and spread with every good thing imaginable -- scones and cakes and pots of jelly and dishes of cream, though none of the china was particularly matching. It was a bit of a cacophany of color and sound as the White Court was seated among the vibrantly attired Hightopps, but Mirana found it inexplicably marvelous. She was seated at one end of a table, on the best and highest-backed chair they could find, with a lady-in-waiting to her left and Tarrant to her right.
"Are you still contemplating articles which begin with the letter P?" she asked.
He took a china teapot and poured her a cup, lifting the pot high to make the splash of hot liquid seem dramatic and almost elegant. "Lately I've had other letters on my mind. Q, for instance, is not nearly as appreciated as I daresay it ought to be -- and I would hope that you who are to be our Queen would agree," he added. "It's a quandary I've been questioning. Not too querulously, I hope, but it must be acknowledged that the query is a queer one."
"Quite," Mirana laughed. While he spoke, Tarrant had moved his hands fluidly around the table, arranging cup and spoon and saucer before her, and concluded his remarks by sweeping up a tray of biscuits and presenting them to her with a flourish. He then offered them to Aphel, the lady seated opposite himself, before sitting down to his own tea.
By the time tea was finished, twilight had started to fall, so the White Court was obliged to remain in Witzend until the following morning. Mirana hardly objected to this, as it gave her the chance to speak with Tarrant about an idea which had come into her mind.
"I have been thinking," she said, "and I have come to realize that Marmoreal is lacking in one rather important capacity. With your mother back in Tulgey Woods, I have no court hatter of my own. Would you consider accepting the appointment?"
By way of a reply, Tarrant produced a silver pocket watch and examined it thoughtfully. "The time has come to talk of many things," he said. "Hats are a particular favorite subject of mine."
"But I must insist," Mirana added, "that you take tea with me each day."
"Where should I take it?" he asked, and smiled widely when she laughed.
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton)
Pairing: Tarrant Hightopp/Mirana of Marmoreal; implications of possible Tarrant/Alice; mentions of Iracebeth/King of Hearts and Iracebeth/Stayne
Rating: PG-13 at worst
Notes: This was just supposed to have been a one-shot piece of Tarrant/Mirana fluff, because I wanted to know that there was at least one good story about that pairing. Instead it exploded into Mirana's entire biography. If there's anything you don't understand or would like explained (e.g. "where'd you get that idea?"), please feel free to leave comments as the story progresses; it's a habit of mine to present a bonus chapter at the end of my longer fics in which I provide references and stuff, and I'll answer any questions there. My brain has an annoying/awesome tendency to try to spackle plotholes no matter how small, so there's an absurd level of detail forthcoming. ( Chapter one is here, although when the story is finished I'm considering going back and merging it with this chapter, since it seems oddly short compared with this one.)
Story Summary: When you have the power to make anyone love you, how do you know who loves you for who you really are? Mirana has been certain only once in her life.
Chapter Summary: Mirana gains a brother-in-law, a court of her own, and one particularly valuable courtier.
Chapter Two: Naught For Usal
"You're not serious, Mummy?" asked an incredulous Iracebeth.
"Of course I am."
"You really expect me to invite all the...servants to my wedding?"
"I do indeed. They are residents of Underland who will certainly want to celebrate the marriage of their future Queen."
"But they're so...servile."
Mirana looked at her mother, who was surveying her elder daughter with an unreadable expression. "They attend us faithfully," she said, "and they will be invited. That is the end of it."
Iracebeth stamped her foot and walked out of the room. Mirana could hear her as she stormed down a hall, bellowing for someone to bring her a squimberry tart and woe betide you if the crust is burned like the last time.
~
The wedding day dawned, and Mirana longed for it to end.
Royal brides in Underland traditionally wear jewel tones, and Iracebeth's bridal gown of red, accented with black and gold, was no exception. The face of her oddly shaped head was powdered until she was whiter even than her sister, and her lips were painted into a heart shape. Her thick hair was arranged up in a series of intricate curls and swathed in the bridal veil, held in place by the crown which marked her new status as Queen of Hearts. It was a small gold circlet with wickedly pointed crenellations, adorned with blood red jewels.
"You're beautiful, Racie," Mirana offered.
"Yes," Iracebeth agreed, studying their double reflection in a long mirror. "You look so...small, Ranie."
Admittedly, Mirana felt a little small. She was gowned in pearl silk, trimmed in lace, and she knew that she was no smaller than normal. But somehow, Iracebeth seemed larger than life. It sent a shiver of dread up her spine, even though she didn't know exactly why.
The dread only increased when at last they met the bridegroom. Both the bearded King and his clean-shaven attendant stared with an unseemly hunger at Iracebeth's head; Mirana recalled what her father had said about largeness being a hallmark of beauty in their homeland, and supposed that must account for the leering. The attendant was a tall, thin, black-haired man who wore a heart-shaped patch over one eye; the King of Hearts introduced him as the Knave, Ilosevic Stayne. And then they both turned and stared at Mirana, and she seemed to feel herself shrink under their gazes. The Knave's expression was calculating, suspicious; the King's was puzzled, intrigued.
"A pretty child," he was heard to mutter to the Knave, "though so small. Unfortunate thing." Then he took Iracebeth's hand and kissed it, and Mirana breathed a sigh of relief.
"I bring a gift to my bride," he said, "a rare creature such as we only have in our realm."
"Creature?" Iracebeth looked slightly disdainful. "What sort of...creature?"
Even as she asked, however, an enormous cage was being wheeled into the hall. A bird perched inside, its face obscured by a metal mask. "We call it a JubJub bird," he said. "The finest and swiftest of hunters. Send it to bring you anything you like -- dead or alive. Nothing can escape it."
Iracebeth's eyes lit up. Mirana turned toward her parents, who stood silently observing the exchange, with an imploring expression. Do you see? she asked silently. Do you see what I have been telling you?
~
They were married in the courtyard of Salazen Grum, with Mirana and Stayne to attend them. Though she tried to be happy for her sister, tried to welcome her new brother with familial affection, Mirana's heart was simply not in it. She thought of the cool white corridors of Marmoreal, the serenity of the perpetually flowering trees and the soft rush of the waterfalls on the mountain beyond, and longed to be permitted to go and take up residence there for good and all. The King and the Knave both left her feeling unsettled and fearful, almost as much as Iracebeth herself did, and she wanted nothing more than to get away from all three. For the duration of the wedding celebration, however, she was obliged to remain in Salazen Grum, feasting and dancing and trying to avoid catching too much of her brother-in-law's notice.
One hardly ever realizes, at the time of the occurrence, when something is happening which will change one's life forever. On the third day of the wedding festivities, Mirana experienced such a thing, and only long afterward did she understand how significant the moment had been. She was sitting at the high table beside Iracebeth's empty seat, trying to ignore the sidelong glances of the Knave three seats away.
"Mirana."
Grateful for the diversion, she slipped from her chair and moved to her mother's side. Ellabelle was standing with a red-haired woman Mirana recognized as the Queen's personal milliner, and she offered a smile of greeting. "Hello, Lynaris."
"Your Highness," said the hatmaker, returning the smile. "May I introduce my son? This is Tarrant, of Clan Hightopp."
Mirana turned to acknowledge a spindly-legged young man with silky red curls and sparkling eyes. Like most members of his clan, he appeared to be suffering from the sickly paleness of too much early exposure to mercury; however, his figure was robust, energetic, and the smile he offered with his bow was boyishly charming. "I'm positively pleased to be presented to the Princess. I'm collecting P words, today," he added by way of an explanation, and the way he said it made it sound perfectly rational.
"Where is Iracebeth?" Ellabelle was frowning. "I'm sure she -- ah. Racie, darling, come here. You remember Lynaris, of course? And this is her son Tarrant."
Iracebeth's face was impassive as she coolly acknowledged their congratulations. "That's a fine springentoss the band is starting to play," Ellabelle remarked. "Milquesop used to do a splendid springentoss. Racie, perhaps you'd like to dance with young Tarrant in honor of the occasion?"
"Don't be absurd, Mummy." The large head wobbled with indignation; Mirana half expected the little crown to topple from its perch. "I agreed to invite them; that's as far as it goes." She glanced at her sister and added, "Let Ranie dance with him. I should get back to my King." She promptly turned and glided away without further discussion.
Mirana felt keenly for the young man, who looked as though he didn't quite know what to do. "I'm afraid I don't do the springentoss very well," she said, "but I would be happy to dance with you." A shadow of something like relief passed over his chalky complexion, perhaps gratitude at finding her so different from Iracebeth, and he offered an infectious grin.
"There's a good girl," Ellabelle murmured. "Off you are, then."
Of all Underlandian dances, the springentoss is perhaps second only to the futterwacken in its sheer vitality. The partners join hands and skip nine paces to each side, then turn to face each other. The taller of the pair -- usually the man, though not always -- grasps the shorter partner by the waist and lifts her (or him as the case may be) into the air, then lowers her carefully while spinning counter-clockwise. Mirana's fondness for voluminous skirts made the dance a bit trickier than it already was, but Tarrant was equal to the occasion, holding her gently but firmly with bandaged fingers.
"You do this delightfully," she managed.
"I'm much fonder of the futterwacken, to be honest," he laughed. "But it's a joy to do the springentoss with you."
The springentoss was followed by the habernasher, which involves a great deal of the partners circling each other while holding each other by the waist or hand, interspersed with the occasional two-step jig. As they were already out in the middle of the floor, Tarrant and Mirana saw no particular reason to change partners, and instead moved directly into this second dance without hesitation. His jigs were more than a little wildly dramatic, and Mirana couldn't help laughing as he swung her about with effortless grace. It gradually caught her notice that most of the other dancers had cleared the floor to make room for them, and she giggled. "We have an audience," she murmured for his ears only.
"Have we indeed?" He looked around as though he hadn't realized it. "Then we had better do something exceptionally fascinating, or fascinatingly exceptional -- whichever you prefer. Hold on tight, Princess!" With no farther warning than this, he seized both of her hands and proceeded to whirl her around the room, her skirts rippling and white curls flying in the rush of air.
The dance left Mirana breathless and flushed, and they bounced to a laughing halt while the onlookers applauded. As a grinning Tarrant dropped into a bow, however, she caught sight of the high table, and went pale again at once. Both bride and groom were staring at her. Iracebeth's face was puce with envy and resentment at the attention her sister was receiving, and the King looked...
In truth, she wasn't quite sure how to interpret his expression, but it made her skin crawl.
~
"We have come to a decision," said Ellabelle a few days later.
The wedding festivities over, the Queen had called her daughters together for a conference. Milquesop stood behind her chair, looking grave and impenetrable. Mirana felt uneasy. "What is it, Mamma?"
"Your father and I are in agreement about the future of Underland. Racie, you're now the Queen of Hearts; you have two kingdoms. We feel that this may be too much for you -- Underland is much larger than the Heart Kingdom, it requires more attention."
"I don't think I like where this is going," said Iracebeth flatly.
"We've decided to split the kingdom in two," Ellabelle went on, ignoring her. "Iracebeth will be known as the Queen of Hearts and the Red Queen of Underland, and Mirana, you'll be known as the White Queen. You will govern jointly from your separate seats -- Salazen Grum for Racie, Marmoreal in the south for Ranie."
Mirana blinked. It wasn't what she had expected; still, she had put forth her best effort, and she supposed that saving half the kingdom from Iracebeth's rages was better than nothing. She had no chance to respond, however, since Iracebeth was on her feet and shouting.
"I am the eldest!" she shrieked. "It is my crown! Mine by birthright!" She turned on Mirana, eyes sparking with indignant fury. "You conniving little witch...I don't know how you did this, but you stole half my kingdom!"
"That's enough, Iracebeth," said Milquesop. It was as close as Mirana had ever heard him come to being sharp with either of them. His hand was on his wife's shoulder. "It isn't your kingdom yet in any case."
Oddly, the excess of color drained out of Iracebeth's face almost at once. She looked back at her parents, and her expression turned to one of sweetness, which looked remarkably out of place on her features. "You're right, Daddy," she said. "I forgot myself. Mummy is, after all, still the Queen." She shot one last nasty look at Mirana, then composed herself. "We'll work it out."
"Of course we will, Racie," Mirana replied warily.
"We will return to Tulgey Woods Palace tomorrow as planned," Ellabelle said. "From there, Ranie will go to Marmoreal to establish her court."
Evidently the promise of her sister's removal from Salazen Grum was enough to improve Iracebeth's mood, because when they exchanged their farewells on the following morning, her embrace was almost genuinely affectionate. "Write to me, little sister," she said. "I hope you won't be too lonely in your marble hall." She looked at Mirana with something like pity.
~
Had Iracebeth been able to observe the scene when Mirana left Tulgey Woods in procession to Marmoreal, her feelings of pity would doubtless have been eradicated by jealousy. Milquesop and Ellabelle were as reluctant to part with their docile younger daughter as they had been relieved to part with their irascible elder, and the gifts bestowed upon her were considerable. She was mounted on a fine white stallion, which she dubbed Jacquardie, and escorted by a cluster of courtiers and retainers. They were all dressed in white or other pale pastels, and some of the women had even made over their hair and faces to be as strikingly fair as their mistress's. These were followed by a small contingent of soldiers, outfitted in white armor made to resemble chess pieces, so that it appeared that the bishops and knights and rooks were all marching after the queen and her pawns to the chessboard palace.
The procession wound through some of the more populated areas of Underland -- first to Queast, then west to Witzend. It was a long journey, but it was well known that they traveled by the safest road, the one that kept them away from the dangerous Outlands and the viscous Gummer Slough. All along the path, the people came out to wave and smile at the White Princess, who waved and smiled and blew kisses. She wasn't exactly sure where her half of Underland ended and Iracebeth's began, but she reasoned that there was no harm in demonstrating her kindness to all the subjects equally.
In Witzend the party was made welcome by the Hightopp clan, and Mirana was pleased when her new friend came to assist her down from her horse. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon," Tarrant admitted, "but I'm happy about it all the same. Come and have tea."
A series of long tables was set up in the middle of the village, covered in white cloth and spread with every good thing imaginable -- scones and cakes and pots of jelly and dishes of cream, though none of the china was particularly matching. It was a bit of a cacophany of color and sound as the White Court was seated among the vibrantly attired Hightopps, but Mirana found it inexplicably marvelous. She was seated at one end of a table, on the best and highest-backed chair they could find, with a lady-in-waiting to her left and Tarrant to her right.
"Are you still contemplating articles which begin with the letter P?" she asked.
He took a china teapot and poured her a cup, lifting the pot high to make the splash of hot liquid seem dramatic and almost elegant. "Lately I've had other letters on my mind. Q, for instance, is not nearly as appreciated as I daresay it ought to be -- and I would hope that you who are to be our Queen would agree," he added. "It's a quandary I've been questioning. Not too querulously, I hope, but it must be acknowledged that the query is a queer one."
"Quite," Mirana laughed. While he spoke, Tarrant had moved his hands fluidly around the table, arranging cup and spoon and saucer before her, and concluded his remarks by sweeping up a tray of biscuits and presenting them to her with a flourish. He then offered them to Aphel, the lady seated opposite himself, before sitting down to his own tea.
By the time tea was finished, twilight had started to fall, so the White Court was obliged to remain in Witzend until the following morning. Mirana hardly objected to this, as it gave her the chance to speak with Tarrant about an idea which had come into her mind.
"I have been thinking," she said, "and I have come to realize that Marmoreal is lacking in one rather important capacity. With your mother back in Tulgey Woods, I have no court hatter of my own. Would you consider accepting the appointment?"
By way of a reply, Tarrant produced a silver pocket watch and examined it thoughtfully. "The time has come to talk of many things," he said. "Hats are a particular favorite subject of mine."
"But I must insist," Mirana added, "that you take tea with me each day."
"Where should I take it?" he asked, and smiled widely when she laughed.