Chapter Twelve: And There Was Futterwhacken (1)
“You did everything you could,” Mirana’s lion-husband and king soothes her.
She rolls toward him and burrows into his warmth. Yes, there is a kingdom to be managed and children to see to. (Except for Tarra, who has been apprenticing in Crimson Harbor for two weeks and Mirana will not think about how much she misses her! Not now when she is facing another Thursday and Alice’s imminent arrival... without her Hatter!)
“It wasn’t enough,” Mirana insists, pressing a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her nose.
Dale sighs. “Mi-sh’rya, you gave that scar a Royal Decree to slow it. Don’t you think your Hatter and your Champion appreciated the additional time you gave them?”
She hiccups softly. Yes, she had interfered. She had not been able to stop the scar from realizing its Intent, but she had managed to Command it to take more time in going about it. “I should have done more,” she insists.
Her husband rubs his long-fingered paws along her back. She is still in her shrift and she knows she ought to get up, get dressed, get the children downstairs for breakfast and then off to their respective lessons or livelihoods...
“Mirana,” Dale rumbles firmly. “Had you been able to do more, you would have. And then this past you have spoken of... this Gray Lady who found the Oraculum and turned the Hatter into the leader of your Resistance... none of it would have happened that way. And if that had been changed...”
“I know,” she sniffles. “Our lives now might have been changed as well. Perhaps we would not have met and wed when we had... and our children...”
He presses his whiskery mouth to her forehead. “It is selfish of me to think it, but if it means the safety of our children, then I...”
She sighs. She knows. She feels the same guilt. How can she want Tarrant to die? For any reason? But if changing the past somehow hurts her children...!
No, things must happen exactly as they had happened or perhaps not everything would be the way it is now. Knowing this, she had given up the very idea of defying Tarrant’s destiny; she had acquiesced to the future she knows over the great many she does not. What she is not sure of is the nature of that lack of intervention: had it been queenly... or cowardly?
“You Decreed that his end would be gentle,” Dale reminds her. And, closing her eyes, she remembers: the morning of the autumn Barterment, with Alice and Tam in attendance at the market, Tarrant had slipped away on some excuse and had arrived at her office, where she had been writing a formal reply to Jaspien’s proposal. Tarrant had curled up in the very armchair that his Alice had sat in years and years ago, when Mirana had first told her of the Wooing Rites and the duties of the Champion, and he had cried.
“Do you know how it will happen?” she had asked.
He had nodded miserably before pulling himself together with a series of deep breaths. “The scar Masonmark gave me. It’s already begun to move,” he had lisped.
And Mirana had shaken back her scallop-edged sleeves. “Show it to me, Hatta, and let me see what I can do.”
And she had done it.
“You shall not be hasty in your Intent... nor shall you cause undue pain...”
She had Commanded and Decreed... and it had given Tarrant more time, more peace... But, oh, if only she had dared to Court Fate again! She might have convinced them to spare his life, or teach her of a cure, or allow Alice to come to them another way!
And now... now she will never know if any of that might have been possible. Surely, by now, Tarrant has... passed. It would have happened on early Tuesday morning if her calculations are correct... and she knows they are. Still, she has not received word that there is one less hatter in the White Realm, nor has she heard that there is a new Laird of Iplam...
Nevertheless, by now Alice has very likely Stepped back in Time and saved them all... for the first time. But her success will not change the fact that Tarrant is irreversibly dead. She fears what this will mean for her friend when all that Alice must say and do is at last said and done.
What will Alice do without her Tarrant? Or will she somehow manage to convince Fate to return him to her? Despite the fact that, to Mirana’s knowledge, that has never been done before nor do the Fates have any power over those in the realm of Death...
Oh, Hatta...! Surely, the sacrifices that have been demanded of him are Too Much. You have been wronged, my friend, by your world and by your queen. She is thankful that Alice had remained beside him, loyal and true and strong and brave, since the moment she had been pulled from that sinking ship through the mirror. They two had had nearly twenty years together... and while that is no small duration of time, it seems far too brief to Mirana’s aching heart.
And very soon - today! - Mirana will be greeting an old, gray, peaky widow on the steps of Mamoreal... and what will Mirana say to her then? What could possibly make any of this marginally bearable for her Champion?
“Alice will never forgive me... for not doing more.”
“You did all you could,” Dale repeats patiently. “And Alice will understand that. It is you, my love, who must forgive herself.”
His words are wise, but she is not ready to hear them. Mirana closes her eyes and shakes her head with regret. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Mirana can see how effectively all of them have been manipulated by the Fates (and perhaps even Chance) into forcing Alice to Step back in time:
Mirana had been the one to tell her of Courting Fate in the first place, years and years ago.
Chessur had asked the jabberwockies to go so that Alice would not be tempted to ask for a vial of blood.
And the very fabric of Underland - the magic that makes promises and intent Real in ways that they are not in Upland, in ways that Alice could not have anticipated - had lead to...
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs into her husband’s mane, recalling that old widow. The Gray Lady had done so much to make this world - the world Mirana rules now - possible. In fact, Mirana would dare to say that, as Alice had made this Underland, should she ever choose to, Alice - who is a queen in her own right! - would have more right to rule it than Mirana does.
“I deserve to be usurped,” she acknowledges. “I should have... If I had only told Alice to Court Fate before... then They might have warned her of the scar and the Intent before Tarrant was ever injured in that wretched canal and he might still be...alive. Alice has every right to blame me for this. I should have known it was no coincidence that one Alice would be the harbinger of another. There has only ever been one Alice to visit Underland. I am a fool for not seeing it sooner.”
When Dale does not immediately refute her, she despairs, “This will change everything.” She consults her handkerchief again on the issue of her runny nose. “I will have lost Hatta... and Alice, my friend...”
“No, that will not happen,” Dale insists. “You must trust Alice, as you have always done. And you must be strong for her, and for the children... for Ama...”
She nods. Yes, he is right. Alice will need her. And the children... they will all miss their Uncle Hatter... Amallya most of all...
“And you must get out of bed, Mi-sh’rya.”
She still doesn’t want to, but she knows she must. And so she does.
Her sorrow and guilt and despair have not been exorcised, but she manages a brave face and a pair of dry - if somewhat reddened - eyes.
Chestor notices. He allows his brothers and sisters to take the lead with his father and drops behind. Falling into step with his mother, he places a lanky arm around her waist. Mirana’s smile returns briefly, prideful and watery as it is. Her eldest son may not have a way with words, poor awkward boy, but his grace manifests itself in other ways. In silence, and out of sight from the rest of her family, Mirana squeezes him back and presses a kiss to his neat hair.
It is a measure of his goodness that he does not object in the slightest, despite the blush that turns his face bright pink. “Mother?” he asks softly, pausing in the hall as everyone files into Thackery’s kitchen.
She lingers, tweaking the locks of hair she had mussed back into place, and rubs his shoulder. “I...”
“Can’t talk about it?” he guesses, resigned. There are many things Mirana does not discuss with her children, many troubles and issues that she - as queen - must handle herself. She will not burden her children with these worries unless absolutely necessary. But, in this case...
She shakes her head. “I am expecting some... bad news.”
“If you haven’t heard it yet, then it might still be all right,” he ventures.
Overcome, Mirana pulls Chestor into her arms. “Thank you, darling,” she says to his bright pink ear. “You make an excellent point.” And one she would give almost anything to make Real. “Now,” she says with false brightness, “you go on and have some tea. You know how Thackery hates it when someone’s late.”
“But... are you not eating?” Chestor hesitates with one hand on the door.
“I’ll be along in... just a moment.”
He nods and gives her an encouraging grin before turning toward the door.
“Don’t forget-” she begins.
“To duck. I know, Mother.”
She watches as he pushes open the door, but no spoons or teacups or even teabags are launched at him. No Witzend-accented screams of “YE’RE LATE!”
No, instead, a sound that is... impossible tumbles out into the corridor. It is the snorting, cackling giggle of a Mad Hatter. She freezes, her eyes wide and jaw agape, until Dale shoulders past Chestor and reaches out a furred hand to her.
“Mi-sh’rya,” he rasps, his own eyes looking quite as watery as hers must be, “you must come and see this.”
Numbly, she lays her hand in his and allows him to pull her into the room. There, at the long kitchen table, sits not only her family, but her friends and loyal subjects and... her Champion and her Royal Hatter.
In the midst of accusing Leif of running back to Mamoreal for the sole purpose of lazing about when he ought to be hard at work at Causwick Castle and assisting with the preparations for Underland’s very first Festival of War Games, Alice - a perfectly perfect Alice who is not gray in the slightest! - pauses, turns toward Mirana... and smiles.
But Mirana is a bit too preoccupied to respond, for here sits her Hatter, healthy and whole and vibrant with happiness, laughing with delight at the hat Ama is proudly modeling for him.
“Tarrant?” Mirana asks, staring quite rudely, she is sure, but unable to help it!
“Your Majesty!” he crows, standing and rounding the table to present himself before her. She watches him bow, still unable to understand how... Surely, he had... and Alice had... because if she hadn’t...!
“Alice!” she declares, panic turning her question into an exclamation.
“It’s done, Your Majesty,” Alice replies, pushing herself up from the crowded bench and doing her best not to jostle Tamial.
“Done?” she echoes. “But...” She looks back at Tarrant. “How is this possible?”
Tarrant giggles warmly. “We will tell you!”
At the table, Sir Fenruffle clears his gullet. “Yes, it appears I have been replaced by two substitute history instructors this morning.” Interestingly enough, he does not appear all that upset by the forced holiday.
Her gaze passes over her children: all except Tarra, of course, are present and currently filling their plates, unaware of the miracle that has taken place. Mirana takes in Thackery’s roving gaze and toothy smile. Nivens is also in attendance, seated next to Mallymkun. Leif is here and, to his left, so is Uilleam (who is looking quite proud of himself for something or other). Bayard and Bayelle - and both litters of pups - have squeezed in along the benches as well. Tweedledum and Tweedledee are rather characteristically seated side-by-side, although oddly unquarrelsome. Chessur hovers impudently over the sugar bowl and grins at Tamial.
Mirana allows Dale to lead her to her seat and Tarrant returns to his place at the corner of the table, two seats away from his Alice with their son between them. “Tell me, please! How it is possible that you are both... here!” Mirana finally manages to say, ignoring the teacup Dale is holding out to her.
Ian grunts and Lanny scoffs, “By carriage, I imagine. Unless you came by Bandersnatch this time?”
Tamial rolls his eyes.
“Tea, first, love,” Dale purrs, interrupting the speculation and earning an adoring grin from the March Hare.
"A T always comes first when it comes to tea," Tweedledee announces authoritatively and his brother frowns into the depths of his own teacup before grinning and nodding in wholehearted approval.
Knowing this is undoubtedly the quickest way to get the answers she needs, Mirana accepts the steaming beverage and takes a sip. “Now,” she says, placing the cup and saucer and its unsavored contents onto the table. Mirana clutches her husband’s wrist to ground herself and addresses her Champion and her Hatter: “You have my undivided attention!”
Tarrant glances at Alice who, with a smile, nods. “You start.”
“From the beginning, Raven?” he confirms and she agrees:
“That would be a very typical place to begin,” she concurs.
And, having obtained her blessing, he does:
“Once upon a very unfortunate Horvendush Day, there was a newly crowned Red Queen with a prison made of marzipan which she filled with a great many rather reluctant prisoners...”
It is, without a doubt, the most engaging and urgent history lesson, Mirana has ever had. And, by the looks of their gob smacked - or would that be flunderwhapped in this instance? - faces, none of the children have ever been so entertained before, either. Or so engaged. Question after question are launched into the breakfast atmosphere.
“Aunt Mally, tell us they’re joking? You? A sleepy dormouse?”
“But, Uncle Hatter! What about your Muchness?”
“Didn’t you recognize Aunt Alice? Was she really a shriveled up, old hag? Really?”
“So that’s why the Bandersnatch only lets you ride him! Oh... and Uncle Hatter, too.”
“But... if all this is true,” Tamial Hightopp eventually says with a very Alice-y sort of frown, “then how come you didn’t know before that you’d have to Step back in Time? Aunt Mirana has the Oraculum...”
“Actually,” Alice replies gently to her son’s question. “Absolem has the Oraculum... and he refused to let me see more than a few glimpses of the very distant future. I had no idea your father would die... or that I would Court Fate... or go into the past.”
“You really... died?” Tam asks his father, his eyes wide and face pale.
Tarrant merely smiles. “And now you know why your Mam and I were acting so oddly!”
“But... why didn’t you tell me?” Tam demands. “And... oh! The hat! You made me that hat with all those answers and...! I asked it why Mam was acting so strange and it said...!”
“Aye,” Tarrant admits, saddened. “It told ye that yer Mam was actin’ odd b’cause she missed me... I was... tryin’ teh anticipate yer questions, lad. After I was gone.”
“But... but... why didn’t you tell me you were...?!”
Mirana’s heart goes out to the boy who is nearly a man... and on the verge of frustrated tears.
And Tarrant, bless his beautiful soul, is not unaffected. His blue-green eyes shimmer and his voice crackles a bit as he replies: “Because I di’nae want teh make ye sad one moment afore ye would be.”
“And it’s all worked out fine, in the end,” Alice interjects rather timely. “Because we have your Fa back with us again.”
Tam gives his Fa a suspicious look. “And that’s why I won’t be needing that hat anytime soon?”
“Precisely! I’m afraid that - if you have a question - you shall have to ask me personally,” Tarrant replies with a wink. He reaches out and tousles his son’s curly hair. And, despite the arm-waving and grumpy protests, Mirana gets the distinct impression that the youngest Hightopp does not mind the high-handed gesture very much.
With tea and breakfast finished and questions from the youthful members of the gathering asked and answered, Sir Fenruffle ushers the lot off. “To the library with you! I want your notes on this adventure legibly written before lunch!”
The adults linger: the hounds, the hare, the dormouse, the cat, the dodo, the Champions, the Hatter, and the king and queen.
“Alice...” Mirana begins after the door has shut and the kitchen has been silent for a very long moment. “How did the two of you manage to cheat Death?” She looks between her Hatter and her Champion, sure that they had somehow managed the impossible through their combined efforts.
“Would you believe my Alice bartered with the Fates for me?” Tarrant lisps.
“No,” Mirana responds promptly. “Given the nature of the Fates and the scope of their powers, no, I would not believe that, Tarrant.”
Alice sighs, places a hand on her husband’s arm, and confesses, “I did barter... in a way. I pointed out the fact that since they had destroyed my... family to right their mistake - they never should have given the Oraculum to the Duchess in the first place! - I was owed a boon.”
“So easily?” Mirana challenges.
Alice bites her lip. “Well, there was a bit more, erm, persuasion involved, but they were very gracious... in the end.”
The White Queen nearly snorts. “Alice. It is a well-known fact that the Fates rule over the Living. They could not have returned Tarrant’s soul to his body, even if...” Mirana pauses, takes in the expression on her Champion’s face - one that she knows contains many secrets - and rephrases, “You went into the realm of Death, didn’t you?”
Around the table, gasps and gurgling chokes are heard. Were any other matter being discussed, Mirana would have paused, patted backs and whispered reassurances to her assembled friends, but the White Queen barely hears them, so focused is she on Alice. In this moment, she is a queen, and she demands the truth from her Champion.
“Yes.”
“That is impossible,” the White Queen counters.
“And yet, here we are.”
“But... you cannot enter the realm of Death and escape it alive if you so much as see-”
“Hear, touch, taste, smell or otherwise perceive it. Yes, I know. I was told that very thing,” Alice replies bluntly, meeting the queen’s challenge with a stare of her own. “And the solution to that conundrum lies in the very act of passing into the realm of Death.”
“Alice...?” Tarrant lisps on a tone tinted with burgeoning fear as comprehension dawns in his expression.
Mirana pursues the truth more directly. “Do you mean to tell me you purposefully-?”
“Yes, I did. And it worked, didn’t it?”
Mirana’s urgency begins to give way to horror and she whispers, “Alice... You are saying that, when you passed through the light, you allowed it to...?”
“Again, yes,” Alice replies abruptly, her back stiff and straight. “I did. And, as you can see, I am fine.”
“Alice, what did you do?” Tarrant demands, truly frightened now.
Thackery bangs his teaspoon on the table. “Caught walkin’ through fire, aye, ye wee bessom?”
Tarrant gasps, eyes Alice’s frozen expression, and leans toward her. “Tell me ye di’nae, Alice. Tell me there was ano’her way teh...”
She looks up into his seeking, fearful gaze and he chokes on a sob at what he sees in her eyes.
“Oh, Alice,” he whispers, gathering her hands reverently in his own. “Ye... th’ pain... Ye shouldnae’ave...”
She reaches out and pets his grasping, trembling fingers. “It was the only way to enter... that place without seeing it, the only way to Call out to you without hearing an answer, the only way to walk without feeling anything from my surroundings...”
He shakes his head, cupping her cheeks now, in his hands. “No, Alice... No...”
She reaches up and grasps his wrists, although she does not pull his hands away. “The pain was brief, and the fire did its job well.”
Mirana doesn’t doubt that it had, for here Alice sits. There can be no other explanation: the light that Alice had passed through had destroyed her ability to perceive her surroundings, had cauterized her nerves and burned away her sight and hearing and... The queen shudders.
“Yes,” Alice continues softly, focusing on her husband’s devastated expression and ignoring all else. “I walked through fire for you. Do not deny me that when I know you have suffered for my sake more than once.”
“Just as you have suffered, again and again, for mine! Alice!” Mirana watches as Tarrant’s brows twitch and his lips twist with the power of the emotions rising within him.
“Gray ’r gold, small ’r tall, late ’r Champion... all the same!” Thackery announces, soothing the moment with his abrupt observation.
“That is true,” Mirana admits. “Which bring me to my own confession. Alice...”
Her Champion and her Hatter both look up and Mirana finds that she needs the strength of her husband’s hand upon hers to continue. “I should have realized you - my Champion and the Gray Lady - were one and the same. I should have warned you to Court the Fates long before you did. If I had-”
Alice shakes her head. “They would not have answered my Suit, and you know it. I wasn’t ready then, or properly... motivated. I wouldn’t have had as much to lose... or as much to gain.”
“Alice! Listen to me! I participated in the most wretched scheme to take your husband from you! And, at the time, I had no reason to believe that you would be capable of bringing him back!”
“You’re under a misapprehension, Your Majesty,” Alice says sternly. And then she continues in a teasing tone, “You are hardly Queen of all Underland - past, present, and future! You are as much subject to Fate as anyone. How could I blame you for being caught in the same trap as I? As a mother myself, don’t you think I can understand why you didn’t try harder to interfere?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“You are - if you’ll forgive the Uplandish saying - only human,” Alice insists.
“True, but you see, I-”
“I do see. And I thank you,” Alice continues, “for using your powers to extend the time Tarrant and I had together.”
“But, Alice, it was all-”
“All you could do. And you did not hesitate to do it.”
“I should have-”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Alice delivers that comment with an air of conclusion and a victorious grin.
Mirana huffs. “If you will please stop interrupting me, Alice!”
She smirks. “A Champion’s prerogative, Your Majesty. When one’s liege is being a wimble-maker, it’s a Champion’s duty to step in and save them from themselves.”
“Oh, botheration,” Mirana grumbles. She subsides, a hesitant smile curling her dark lips.
“’Twas all Fated,” the March Hare summarizes. “An’twere nuthin’ teh b’frettin’ o’er! Auwr Alice ’as a way o’ negot’atin’ wi’th’ Future.”
Mirana can’t help but smile at that, even though it is a rather watery and wobbly smile. “And I don’t doubt you got all that you wanted out of that bargain... and more.” Yes, Alice’s skills at bartering had been more than sufficiently proven at the autumn Barterment!
But, despite Alice being perfectly capable of managing her own future, Mirana still fears. “Alice...”
“We are all right, Mirana. Everything is fine.”
“No, it ain’t!” a shrill voice declares.
Everyone turns in the direction of a very upset dormouse. “The Gray Lady said - you said, Alice - that yer husband’s death was Intentional!”
“It was,” Tarrant himself admits with visible reluctance.
“I want tha’ rat bastard’s head on a plate!” Mally howls, thumping one small fist into the palm of her other hand. “Tell me ’is name, ’Atter!”
“No, Mally.”
“’Atter...!” she threatens.
“Mallymkun!” he barks. “’Tis over. An’ I d’nae believe th’ perpetrator will try again.”
Mally purses her mousy mouth into a sour expression. “If ’ee so much as tries... I swear...!” She draws her sword and swishes it.
“He won’t,” Alice assures her.
“Well...” Chessur drawls into the increasingly awkward moment. “This is all cheery. I suppose I can alert Krystoval that the blood of the jabberwockies is no longer in urgent demand?”
“Yes, you may, Cat,” Alice replies on a tolerant sigh. “Tell that lot to come home as soon as possible. Don’t you miss getting chewed on by juveniles?”
Chessur blinks slowly. “I’ll have you know they’re well past their second teethings.”
“The next phase is the poison-tipped tail spikes, I believe,” Mirana mutters into her teacup.
Alice snorts. “Good luck with that.”
“Good luck...” Chessur muses, unperturbed. “Now that is something I have enjoyed since a very gray widow showed up and pointed me in the right direction.” He twists in the air, swirling into an evaporating mist, “And that’s all the thanks you’ll ever be getting about that,” he declares.
“You’re too kind,” Alice mutters, grinning.
There is no reply. The Cheshire Cat has already vanished.
“Well,” Bayard speaks up, “I don’t mind telling you, Alice, that I’m sorry I missed out on all the adventure back then.”
“Ah, but if you had smelled me, Bayard...” Alice begins.
“Hm? Oh, yes,” he responds with a doggy frown. “I would have said something... and it had to be a secret, didn’t it?”
Mirana commiserates with the hound. Deception is not something Dog Logic takes to with ease.
In answer, Alice merely nods. And then her gaze alights on the Dodo Bird, sitting patiently beside a very quiet and contemplative Leif. “Uilleam,” she says with a grin. “It’s nice to see you again, my friend.”
He preens. “Thank you, No-longer-gray Lady. Although I expect that I have missed you a great deal longer than you have missed me!”
“I expect you’re right.”
“Of course I am!” he declares pompously. The statement only makes Alice’s grin widen, however. And then the dodo levels himself up off the bench and hobbles his way over to Alice and Tarrant. Mirana spies something under his wing, something bound in blue leather...
“This is for you,” Uilleam says, presenting her with a thin book.
Alice accepts it and, holding it out for Tarrant to see it, lifts the cover. “Uilleam...” she breathes as Tarrant gently thumbs the first page aside. “This is...”
“A record of the adventures of the Gray Lady,” he supplies. “I wrote it after you left. And now seems a good time to give it to you. I expect it’ll have its own place in your family history.”
“It will. It does,” Alice tells him. “Thank you, Uilleam.”
He nods once. “And Othenia and I will be expecting you ’round for tea in the near future!”
“Tarrant and I will be there!” she promises, grinning as he stumps his way from the kitchen.
“Alice, Hatter...” Leif says on an awe-filled sigh. He shakes his head ruefully and then, glancing up, gifts them with a twinkle in his eye. “You...!”
“Had all the fun without you... yet again,” Alice finishes for him. “And you’re jealous.”
He leans back and laughs. “Sure I am. Still, I think I could have beaten you one-on-one, Gray Lady.”
Alice smirks. “I would have liked to have seen you try!”
Tarrant giggles. “Indeed! You rather put Stayne through his paces, Raven!”
“That was a little fun...” she admits. “Unfortunately for you, Leif, I’m the one you’ll have to prove your mettle to if you still intend to marry Tarra before she turns nineteen!”
He chuckles. “You’ve got that backwards, Champion. She’s the one who needs to have someone explain the concept of Patience to her. As for me, waiting is looking better and better every day,” he muses.
“Scared of the big, bad Alice, lion?” she teases.
He noisily swallows a laugh. “Isn’t everyone? As big and as bad as you are! Although... I guess I ought to do you the favor of letting you practice on me. Bethie’s up for a bit of wooing soon enough! And with her vows...”
“I know,” Alice replies. “There have already been inquiries.” She glances at Mirana, who nods.
“Yes. Several. Including one from a certain unicorn lord we both know, on behalf of his son. Whom I believe you are also acquainted with, Alice?”
Alice snorts. “Wonderful.” She smirks at Leif. “I’ll try not to let you feel too left out.”
“How generous!”
And despite Leif’s sarcasm, Mirana cannot help hearing the truth of his words as they ring out in the kitchen Yes, Mirana hears the Truth... and she is not alone in that:
Thackery twitches.
The Tweedles elbow each other.
Mally sighs.
Alice smiles.
Tarrant giggles.
And Mirana feels Dale’s warm hand turn and clasp hers beneath the table. Yes, all things considered, Fate has been very generous, indeed.
*~*~*~*
Notes:
1. A reminder about the Wooing Rites: in order for a member of the royal family (who has taken vows to not harm any living creature) to marry, a Champion needs to conduct the Wooing Rites. Tarranya, who has made no such vow, only has to go through with the Wooing Rites if she is underage... which she is... but not for much longer (if Leif can manage to convince her to wait)! As for her twin sister, the Wooing Rites will start when she’s nineteen and of age in Underland. (It would be rather rude for someone to petition the hand of an underage prince or princess! [Leif and Tarra are a rather atypical case.] So, Alice hasn’t had to fight on behalf of the queen’s children... yet. But soon Bethie will be old enough to be “properly” courted and Alice will be rather busy chaperoning, interviewing, and fighting suitors!) None of the queen’s other children have taken those vows, so - unless they are courted when they are under the age of nineteen - Alice won’t have to battle their potential spouses.
2. Perhaps Alice’s levity is a bit... odd. Well, everything has turned out all right and she is focusing on that. Alice is a pragmatist and she knows that nothing good will come from holding a grudge against the Fates (just look at where Tarrant’s grudge against Time has gotten them!) so she is purposefully Not Thinking About the things she cannot change. Yes, deep down, I think she’d like a chance to bop each of the Fates on the nose, but she has her husband, her son, and her life back - just the way it was before. For now, she’s more than happy with that.