The Champion’s Hatter: Part One
I’d never given much thought to friendship. What would a cat do with such a thing? It can’t be Kept and is often Stolen, Broken, or simply Fades. Friendship, in short, is about as useful for a cat with Evaporating skills as a top hat.
Obviously, that never stopped me from longing for a certain... Hightopp specimen. Both the hat and the man. A more delightfully mad man I’d never before met in all of Underland. Nor a more skilled dancer of the Futterwhacken! Oh, if I could have had but one wish in my lifetime, it would have been for the ability to Futterwhacken. I would have had to give up my skills in Evaporation however, and that I could never have done! A cat, willingly and voluntarily relinquishing his seemingly un-expire-able ticket to a long and self-gratifying existence? Unheard of. Why, my Instinct for Survival would have skinned me alive!
I had been warned against friendship. That Instinct had whispered in my ears of betrayals and bootlickers and other bad things. And I’d listened. I would have been a fool not to, yes? Still, that hadn’t stopped me from making my way to a certain tea table at a certain windmill in a certain clearing of Tulgey Wood. It hadn’t stopped me from grinning at the thought of having an excuse to visit that highly entertaining mad man who so fascinated me. It hadn’t stopped me from lurking nearby to watch the Alice’s arrival and his entertainingly obvious relief and blatantly smitten behavior.
The tea had been mediocre, as usual, and the conversation dreadful. And something I’d said had prompted a rather unwarranted and undeserved round of scolding and accusations from the Hatter (but, really, he always has been a bit touchy on the subject of Horvendush Day and the Jabberwocky and slayings and such) and the Alice had been perplexingly uncooperative... Still, I’m glad I hadn’t quit the scene entirely when that bloody knave had shown up or I might have missed Tarrant’s quite deliberate faux pas... Looking into that teapot before knocking! The others might have been fooled, but not I! Oh, yes, I know a Calculated Mistake when I see one!
Naughty, Tarrant.
He’d quite reminded me of... well, me.
We could have been great friends, he and I. Truly great friends. His associates, that dormouse with her suffocating attentiveness and that march hare with his half-baked-crisp-about-the-edges-yet-still-sloppy-in-the-middle brain had not had the wits to appreciate the mind of a mad hatter. (And there are so few of them in Underland at any given time!) Yes, Tarrant Hightopp and I could have been the wittiest, the wisest, the most wonderful of friends.
For the fact that things had not turned out that way, I can only blame myself, I know. It goes against the grain for a cat to accept responsibility, but perhaps my perspective now gives me the unfortunate tendency to see - and not ignore! - the truth.
Yes, Tarrant and I could have been friends.
Had, perhaps, been on our way to becoming so... what with my offer of assistance in that dungeon cell. An olive leaf of friendship wrapped up in a bargain that had been brewed of selfishness and vanity: a favor for the honor of wearing his marvelous hat. And Tarrant had accepted. He might have seen the grain of friendship behind the grin. He might have noticed the very un-cat-like way I’d endangered myself by entering that castle and risking my life for such a trifling thing as wearing a hat (even if the hat in question is beyond compare!) and he might have suspected my true motivations.
Despite my proclaimed aversion to the practice, I had noticed one thing, you see:
Friendship - true friendship - is rare.
And I do so admire rare things. I’d been sure that Tarrant - a collector of lovely oddities and a maker of fine things - would agree that friendship is, indeed, a most worthy subject of study, of collecting, of having (as much as anything so nebulous can be had), of owning (as much as a thing shared between two willful beings can be owned).
Yes, we might have become friends, but, in the end, I doubt it would have mattered much. For, if there is one thing that I, in all my years of unrepentant spying, have learned it is this:
There is the state of friendship, yes.
But it cannot conquer the empire of love.
*~*~*~*
“Alice.”
She knows that lisp.
Alice Kingsleigh turns from the beautiful Underlandian sunrise and smiles at her dear friend. “Hatter.”
His answering grin is - impossibly! - brighter than the rising orb on the far distant horizon.
“I was wondering when I would be seeing you.”
“You’re back,” he observes wonderingly.
“Of course I am. I said I would be.”
She studies his luminous, green eyes. His joy entrances her: his pale skin glows; his teeth - yellowed from hundreds if not thousands of leisurely savored cups of tea - are revealed by his dark lips which stretch into a beatific smile.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” he murmurs on a breath. He draws another, a deeper one which expands his chest, lifts his shoulders and, oddly enough, seems to fluff his polka-dot bow tie.
“I’m very glad to be back. And to be seeing you again.” She turns toward him and, as she does so, her leather jerkin creaks. For a moment, she wishes this meeting had happened at some other time. A time when she’d been wearing something a bit more... flattering. After all, the Hatter has never seen her in an actual dress, has he? She wonders if he would like... or, rather, if he would at all appreciate the effort... well, if he might prefer it to...
“Yes,” the Hatter muses, hesitantly taking a step toward her. “You are seeing me, aren’t you...”
His tone is woven from pure awe, as if he can hardly believe that she is finally standing in front of him.
“Very much so.” And she takes her time examining him. He looks just as she remembers: his gravity-defying, vibrant hair; his bemused, boyish smile; his peacock blue brocade jacket with its spools of thread strung across his chest and pink handkerchief trailing out of his pocket; his Hightopp clan colors wrapped around his hips; his magnificently mismatched stockings and worn, leather boots...
Her lips curve until her smile is stretched as far as it can go.
“I asked about you, you know. But no one could tell me where you were.”
“They couldn’t?”
“Yes, not even Mallymkun, which I thought was odd.” Alice considers the dormouse’s unhelpful, hostile huff: “No one knows where th’Atter’s gone!”
“Odd,” she muses aloud. “Mally’s always kept an eye out for you, hasn’t she?”
The Hatter’s smile dims until it is a mere memory. Alice hurriedly calls it back.
“Hatter, why is a raven like a writing desk?”
And there. Alice basks in the warmth of his smile. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”
The sunrise is forgotten as they exchange grins. Alice wishes she could step closer, bridge the distance between them as he had when he’d wished her fairfarren...
Heart pounding, she struggles to gather her muchness...
As she does so, she notices how still he is. How confidently he stands. He’s always been a bit shaky, a bit wound with tension, but that’s all gone now. Absent. Peace, it seems, agrees with him. And yet...
The rays of the rising sun reflect off of the claymore he holds, point down in the turf, as if it is a walking staff and not a deadly weapon.
Perhaps, Alice allows, he is not so ready to put down the sword.
Just like she is.
Alice comments, “I’m supposed to be practicing. Champion training.”
He nods, his expression too full of words for them to be spoken aloud.
Again, she drops her gaze to the claymore in his possession. Yes, perhaps he carries it because he feels he needs it, or perhaps he carries it in the hope that Alice will assist him with finding a need for it.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to assist me?” she asks, drawing her own sword.
He giggles. “I might.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she praises him.
His smile is boyish with delight. “I might be. I am full of thoughts.”
And riddles! she muses with a soft laugh. “And what sorts of thoughts are you full of today?”
The Hatter considers this. His answering remark is spoken as softly as the dawn. “Alice ones.”
She blinks and hears herself wonder aloud, “Are you often full of Alice thoughts?”
“From time to time.”
“That’s odd,” she comments, answering his play on words with a twist and spin of her own, “because you don’t look like an Alice, so how can you be full of Alice thoughts?”
“That,” he replies, leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, “would be because I’m full of Hatter thoughts about an Alice.”
“Any Alice, then?” she teases, charmed. “There are an awful lot of Alices.”
“No, no. I’m very certain there’s just one Alice in all of Underland. The Alice.”
“And here’s an Alice now,” she replies, gesturing to herself. “Do you think this is the right one?”
“I’ve no doubt about it. I’d know the Alice anywhere!”
“Even here?”
“Most especially here.”
“And here I am. Imagine the coincidence!” she says, giddy with the thrill of their meandering game of words.
“I have,” he answers, his green eyes dimming with sadness. “Many times.”
And just that quickly, the game is over. “Hatter... I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mind.” He explains with a visible effort at levity, “I rather enjoy imagining a coincidental Alice. Although you’re much more imaginative than she’d ever been, but perhaps that’s because I’ve imagined her so many times before.”
The odd closure that had snapped shut in her throat and locked makes it difficult for her to answer. As with everything, she does her best: “I’m sorry you had to imagine her so many times. The real Alice should have arrived sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“But you are here now. And I am here now. And as Now is the moment of most paramount concern, I nominate it as the primary subject to which we ought to direct our thoughts.”
She grins at his wisdom couched in barely decipherable loquacity.
“If you are ready, Champion?” he inquires, straightening and lifting his sword.
With a decisive nod, Alice lifts her own weapon. They circle each other. Step forward, then back, and then...!
Their swords clash, ring, and each encounter echoes in the quiet of early morning.
Alice laughs. The sun is shining on them, warm and welcoming, and their swords meet again and again, conducting an incomparable duet that rolls up the sides of the mountains and then tumbles back into the valley. The Hatter faces her, colorful, solid, lithe, male and Alice has never partaken of a more thrilling dance.
Much better than the quadrille, she decides.
And just when things are beginning to speed up, just when she feels the prickle of sweat on the back of her neck, a motion in the distance interrupts. Interferes.
The Hatter steps back and lowers his sword. He stands straight and still, regards her with a gaze that reaches out to her, beckons her closer.
“Your instructor is here,” he observes when she takes up that invitation, takes a step closer to him, her own sword trailing on the grass.
“Yes, he is,” she replies, her gaze never leaving him.
His lips twist into a smile. He tilts his head toward her, bowing slightly in recognition of the praise. “’Tis th’ student who makes th’ instructor,” he observes.
“Well, this one still owes hers for a timely infusion of muchness.”
“Muchness,” he replies solemnly, his hand twitching in her direction, “does not take to infusion, I’m afraid.”
Alice replies, reaches for his hand and grasps it in her own. “But it responds to inspiration?” she guesses.
He grins. “I’d give you a hand with it, but-” He glances down and brushes his bandaged thumb over her knuckles. “- you’ve already got it in one.”
Her court-appointed instructor is close enough to overhear her, but she doesn’t care. “You don’t have to go.”
The Hatter’s eyes soften and he gently releases her hand in order to reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m afraid I do. I’ve... work to do.”
She smiles. “Yes. Your hats. I’ve yet to try one on.”
His answering smile is laced with sudden unshed tears. “I remember.” He glances over his shoulder at the approaching White Knave. “But I must go.”
“Will I see you at lunch?”
He shakes his head. “After dinner perhaps.”
“On the balcony.”
“Yes. On the balcony.”
And, after dinner, that is precisely where she finds him. After the long day is through - training in swordplay, lunch, Underlandian history lessons, tea with the queen, a self-guided tour of the second floor of the castle (well, actually, the hall runner had been rather forthcoming about various features such as the pianoforte recital room: “Last used by young Princess Iracebeth, you know. Was quite taken with the instrument, actually!”) and then dinner - Alice finds her reward.
The Hatter is waiting for her on the balcony - their balcony - where she’d once insisted he had been nothing more than a dream. A figment of her imagination.
She’s very glad that’s not the case. Not any longer.
She doesn’t hesitate to stand beside him now. She slowly threads her hand through his arm, curving her fingers into the crook of his elbow as he watches.
Alice waits for him to step away, shake her off, twitter or giggle nervously. She waits for him to panic or shiver with uncertainty or babble-ramble-shout!
He doesn’t. He stands perfectly still. It is Alice who shivers at the latent strength of him. In fact, she’d worry he was an impostor if not for the fact that his face still shows her precisely what he feels, as he feels it, without reservation.
He smiles, sighs, closes his brilliantly green eyes and leans his cheek against her temple.
This time, there are no words here on the balcony.
Well, none that are said aloud. But the important ones are present nonetheless.
I’ve missed you, she tells him through the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his.
I don’t want you to go yet, she tells him through the strength of her grasp on his jacket sleeve.
I trust you, she tells him through the contentment in her sigh.
The Hatter rubs his cheek against her hair and replies, Me, too.
*~*~*~*
“Have you seen Chessur anywhere?” Alice asks. She’d intended for her voice to be a soft whisper, but even that little bit of sound seems to echo in the stillness of the very early morning.
The Hatter strolls beside her, the crook of his elbow keeping her hand in its warm company. At her inquiry, he pauses briefly then offers her an apologetic smile before resuming their walk through the blossoming trees.
“In all honesty, I’m not sure where he is now,” the Hatter admits. “Although I imagine his ability to make a nuisance of himself hasn’t diminished in the slightest.”
“Why did the two of you never get along?”
“Oh, but we did!” he assures her. “When the occasion called for it, we could be quite cooperative.”
Alice considers his reply. “’Called for it’?” she confirms. “You doubt you’ll be in a situation where you’ll need his help again?”
The Hatter glances down at her and smiles. His gaze is oddly reaching - hungry, starved, desperate - when he looks at her. “I certainly hope I won’t.”
She stares into his eyes until his brows twitch and he turns away. With the weight of such visceral expectation removed from her, she finds a smile.
“I hope you’ll consider coming to me if you find yourself in need of assistance.”
“Of course, I will, Alice,” he assures her. “You are the one on which I hope I can rely... solely.”
Her fingers curl tighter around his arm even as her smile stretches wider. “I would be honored to be that person.” The words resonate in her heart, ring with a Truth she’s never acknowledged before.
The Hatter shakes his head in gentle disagreement. “You don’t realize... you always have been, Alice.”
“Thank you.”
He giggles. “I believe you’ve stolen the very next words out of my mouth.”
“How odd for that to have happened,” she exclaims. “However shall I return them to you?”
“We shall have to invent a satisfactory method,” he contributes.
“Well, let me know if you have any suggestions?” And she must imagine that his green eyes have focused - well, insofar as they can truly agree long enough to focus on anything! - on her mouth.
“Of course.”
She nods. She tries to feel satisfied by his assurance, but her blood is tingling just a bit too warmly for her to do so. Very distracting, that buzzing frenzy of heat zipping through her veins.
They walk a bit more along the stone path. The breeze plays with the branches of the trees and blossom petals tumble and dive through the air. Some of them land on Alice’s shoulders and in her hair.
“Do you think they’re celebrating something? The trees?” she muses, using her unoccupied hand to pick a petal off of her tunic. She considers it for a moment.
The Hatter pauses beside her and regards the petal balanced on the tip of her finger. “There is much to be celebrated, is there not?”
“More to celebrate than to not,” she clarifies and draws a breath to deliver a puff of air to send it on its way. The wind beats her to it and they watch the petal flutter off on the breeze, much like Absolem might.
“Speaking of things worthy of a celebration, you are enjoying a morning free from training today, are you not? What will you do with yourself?” the Hatter asks.
Alice grins. Yes, today she is not required to report to the training field. When she’d been informed of her unanticipated allotment of free time, she’d had a good long think about what she would like to do with her morning.
“Well, I thought I might spend it with you, if you have no objections.”
“I cannot think of a single one.”
“That’s good because I’d be out of ideas otherwise.”
“And then I would be obliged to assist you with thinking up more.”
“Well, with any luck, that won’t be necessary. Follow me!” she declares.
They wind their way through the orchard until they come to a small clearing. It had obviously been meant for picnics but Thackery had assisted her the day before with making a few... alterations.
The Hatter seems to forget that he can walk under his own power when he turns and takes in the scene before them. A series of tables have been linked together and covered with various tablecloths. There are four steaming pots of tea and an assortment of delicacy-laden dishes: scones, battenburg, bread, butter, jams...
“I thought we might reinstate an old tradition,” she muses.
“But... Alice... I can’t...”
“I know it’s not teatime, but humor me? I’ve missed our teas.” Alice ignores the fact that she can only clearly recall the one. The one she’d been a bit too small to truly enjoy despite the Hatter’s unrelenting hospitality. The one that Stayne had rudely interrupted. The one during which she had been further shrunken and stuffed into a teapot. Still, despite all that (or perhaps because of it!) she’s eager to give one of the Hatter’s tea parties another try!
His expression, which had been bordering on distressed, relaxes into a warm grin. “As have I. Missed you. Them. Missed you at them. At tea, I mean. I’ve missed having you at tea. Having tea with you. Yes, that’s what I meant to say.”
“Then let’s remedy that.”
She leads him to his chair - the throne-like monstrosity she’d found in an unused, dusty room in the castle - very nearly running in her excitement. The Hatter giggles and jogs along with her.
“Your chair, sir Hatter,” she invites with a courtly bow.
Chuckling, he takes his seat. “Why thank you, madam Champion. It appears you’ve gotten it to agree to be quite accommodating.”
“What sort of hostess would I be if I hadn’t?”
“A delightful one nonetheless, I’m sure,” he replies.
Alice reaches for a pot of Underlandian Breakfast blend and pours. “Cream? Sugar?” she asks.
“No, no,” he replies, leaning forward and inhaling the steam deeply. “It’s perfect just as it is.”
“Well, that’ll be Thackery’s doing. The tea, I mean. He’s getting Mallymkun now.”
The Hatter stills and glances up. His voice is oddly neutral despite his sudden tension. “Mally and Thack are... coming to tea. With us?”
“Of course! It’ll be grand,” Alice announces, taking her own seat and pouring for herself. The Hatter watches as she adds a bit of cream and then takes a sip. She closes her eyes and leans back in her chair. “I’ve missed this.”
“But you have tea every day with the queen. Isn’t that right, Alice?”
“Yes, but it’s always pale Darjeeling. Not at all like real tea.”
He giggles. “Yes, yes, but it is proper tea. White Darjeeling for the White Queen!”
“You’ve made a rhyme!” Alice informs him and his brows leap upward and his eyes nearly glow and his gap-toothed grin widens...
“What rhyme?”
Alice startles and turns toward that voice. She stands and greets the approaching guests with a smile. “Mallymkun! Thackery! So glad you could join us!”
Thackery tumbles up, twitching, into his chosen seat. Mally climbs up onto the perch that had been prepared for her. Tea is poured and pleasantries exchanged.
When Thackery demands to be sugared and Mally accepts the challenge, Alice glances toward the Hatter’s untouched and cooling cup.
“Is your tea all right, Hatter?” she asks softly, leaning toward his chair.
“It’s perfect,” he assures her in a tone that’s equally soft.
Mally chooses that moment to launch her teaspoon catapult and Thackery scrambles to dodge the sugar cubes he doesn’t want and catch the one he does. Although, how he’d determined which sugar cube is the optimal one, Alice can only guess. A march hare’s sugar cube criterion is not something she thinks she can completely grasp.
“Hatter?”
“Yes?”
“How does Thackery choose the best sugar cube?”
“Hm. I’m not entirely certain, although if I were him, I’d only accept the ones that seem friendly.”
“Friendly?”
“Yes, of course! Would you like to drink a sugar cube that had scowled at you?”
“Oh. Sour-faced sugar. I see your point.”
“See!” Thackery shouts, pointing a furry digit at Alice, who startles. “See!” he adds, aiming another pointed finger at Mally.
Alice waits for him to add a third assertion and gesture in the Hatter’s direction.
He doesn’t.
Alice frowns. “He’s right, you know. You really ought to say hello or Thackery will continue to think you’re ignoring him.”
The Hatter sighs and summons a strained smile. “Good morning, Thackery. Pleasant day to you, Mally.”
Thackery merely returns to his tea cup, watching the lump of sugar dissolve.
Mally places her fists on her hips and glowers. “I did say ‘ello! An’ Thack knows I ain’t ignorin’ ‘im!”
Before Alice can protest, the Hatter reaches across the tablecloth and places a hand over hers. She glances down at his warm, mercury-kissed fingers.
“’Tis fine, Alice. Mayhap today is not the day for chatting with me.”
“Are there many of those days in a week?” she asks.
He tilts his head to the side. It’s not an answer, exactly, but the admission of a possibility.
Thackery, however, enthuses, “E’eryb’dae kens thar’s a baker’s dozen days in a week!”
Mally giggles. “’Course Time always gets hungry an’ eats a few afore they’re done coolin’!”
Alice chuckles, enjoying a sudden image of Chessur harassing Time for a taste of a day. Even for a incorporeal entity like Time, she imagines Chessur could be quite a pest! “And I wouldn’t put it past Chessur to steal one or two for himself, either,” she adds, teasingly.
Oddly enough, no one laughs.
Tarrant’s hand tightens over hers. “Let us try a riddle or a rhyme, Alice,” he lisps gently.
“All right. What goes up but never falls?”
“A ghost!” Thackery shouts.
“Naw, it ain’t! It’s an idea, ain’t it, Alice?”
Alice gives her a wink and turns back to the Hatter. “Would you care to try?”
“I concur with Thackery,” he murmurs.
“Well, it’s not a ghost and it’s not an idea.” She reaches for the teapot and refills Thackery’s cup.
“Ah...” he sighs. “Loveleh steam.”
“Correct,” she praises him. “More tea, Mally?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Alice then turns toward the Hatter who merely puts his hand over his teacup and shakes his head. She sets the teapot down.
“Well, help yourself whenever you’d like more,” she says and then turns toward Thackery. “Would you pass the bread and butter, please?”
*~*~*~*
Note: Some of you might think the dialog about having thoughts full of Alices looks familiar... That’s because it is. I used an OPK outtake that I had shared a while back because of that gem. I’m glad I’ve finally found a home for it!