Chapter Fifteen: A New Beginning (2)
Warning: This entry is rated M for sensuality, nudity,
and non-explicit reference sexual situations.
*~*~*~*
“Tarrant, have you quite recovered from last night?”
“Oh, yes! Thank you, madam. As Alice suspected, one of those suspicious food items must have Disagreed with me.” And, had they been creations of Thackery's they very well might have Disagreed with him! Most vehemently and on a variety of topics! Noisy things, a March Hare's Appetizers for Special Occasions!
“They tend to do that” had been her surprising agreement.
“Now, Alice. You can’t seriously be considering going back to wherever it is you’ve come from!” Mrs. Kingsleigh had blustered by way of a proper greeting. “You’ve only just arrived and, quite frankly, I’m not prepared to start missing you again!”
“All right.”
“And another thing, young lady, I-!” Helen had paused, backed up a step and continued, “I beg your pardon?”
“All right. We’ll stay if you’ll still have us. We talked about it and...” Alice had glanced at Tarrant who had given her an encouraging nod and a smile that had been so wide he could feel it stretching his cheeks. “We have something to tell you, actually.”
“Yes? What is it?”
Tarrant had taken his cue and pulled out her chair. “Perhaps you’d like to sit down first, madam?”
Watch that grin, lad. Ye’re goin’teh smile yerself right inteh a Fit...!
Mrs. Kingsleigh hadn’t made it as far as the chair before - having taken one look at Alice’s lopsided grin and a second at the beamish expression Tarrant could feel (still!) on his own face - guessing the very news they’d been about to impart: “You’re expecting!”
“Yes! Alice, your mother is most talented at guessing Things!” Tarrant had heard himself crow in delight. “I suspect she’s who you get it from! How do you suppose she knew?”
Fighting a smile, Alice had replied, “It couldn’t possibly be from that huge Papa Grin on your face, could it?”
“Huge Papa?” he’d echoed. “Alice, I assure you, I am of quite average height.”
And then Alice had laughed and Tarrant had Known that everything would be all right.
And, for the most part, everything is.
Questions had been asked:
“What month are you?”
“Have you seen a physician yet?”
“You’ll be staying until both you and the baby are strong enough to travel, won’t you?”
“Just where is this country you’ve come from, Alice?”
And answered:
“Oh, um, nearly to the fourth month, I suppose...”
“Er, yes, I have seen a physician...” Tarrant had held his tongue at the lie. But, no, Alice hadn’t Lied for they’d “seen” a physician at the Ascots’ country estate, on his way out as they’d arrived for the second meeting with Townsend. Still, that had not been what Mrs. Kingsleigh had meant at all!
“Well, actually, the journey back isn’t very arduous...”
“Oh, it’s here and there. Couldn’t possibly be found on a map, so don’t bother with the atlas, mother, please.”
And Others had been Notified:
“Alice! You're...! But your husband can't even properly support you!” Tarrant had overheard Margaret object. Yet again, he'd found himself eavesdropping on a private conversion of which he had been the topic of discussion.
“His trade already places a heavy burden on you financially and socially...!"
“No, it doesn’t. Not where we live. Tarrant is very fortunate in his position. He's employed by the queen’s court and, for the most part, the work is light. He’s well-compensated for his efforts.”
“Court?” Margaret had echoed and Tarrant had briely debated whether or not to take offense at her obviously startled tone. But then he’d reminded himself that the only examples of his work she’s seen are Alice’s hat and his own. “So that’s why mother didn’t look upset when I...”
Alice had allowed the guilt from her sister’s admission to fill the room. “Told her that Tarrant’s a milliner? I expected you would mention it to her.”
“But she already knew.”
“Tarrant told her himself.”
“He didn’t have to. He could have left her to assume that his title was...”
“But it’s not and he wouldn’t lie about that. Not to his wife’s mother.” There’d been a long pause and Tarrant had wondered if he might be able to (finally!) interrupt tactfully and announce tea, but... Alice had whispered, “He's the last of his family... well, the last surviving adult.” He'd imagined Alice's hand pressed against her belly then. “At the moment. But, one day, when we’ve managed to rebuild Hightopp Village, we’ll have those responsibilities to deal with. And... I must admit: I’m not looking forward to that... change.”
Somehow, the silence that had followed had been filled with hope, confidence, promise. “You’ll do fine, Lady Hightopp. As will your lord-tailor-husband. He’s very... honorable.”
And because nearly anything Alice might have said in reply would have merely drawn attention to the many shortcomings of Lord Manchester, Tarrant had chosen that moment to noisily stumble into the room and inform them of tea in the drawing room.
For that, Alice’s smile had been one of relief, hope, and love.
But the Notifications had not ended there:
“You. Are. With. Child?” Mirana had asked, half-in and half-out of the free-standing looking glass in Alice’s childhood bedroom, each and every word on an evenly spaced breathless-sounding sigh.
“Yes.”
Tarrant had never seen the queen’s dark eyes flash with fury before. “And you did not see fit to inform me of this before I’d made my request for you to travel Up Here?!”
“How would that have changed anything?” Alice had asked, albeit in a chastened tone that Tarrant had enjoyed just a bit More Than He Should Have. “You would have still had to ask me to go. Are you truly angry with me for trying to spare you that additional responsibility?”
And the queen had actually glared! “I suppose I can’t be. But I won’t be forgiving you for withholding this from me so soon, Alice.” And then she’d looked from her Champion to him - her Hatter - and then back to Alice again, her pale face softening with disappointment and sorrow. “I’d thought, as your friend, you would have wanted to share your joy with me...”
Alice had winced. “Um...”
“Although, I suppose I should have known, what with Chessur going on about how I must be running short of Himoha flower but not saying a thing as to why...”
Tarrant had heard Alice grit her teeth. “I’ll have Words with that cat when I get back!”
Oh, iambic pentameter!
But before he’d been able to draw their attention to the verse, the queen had turned on him: “And Tarrant...! Why would you wish to keep this from me?”
“He didn’t,” Alice had bravely admitted.
“Ah. I see. In that case... however did you manage to keep yourself from running through the halls, shouting the news from the top of your lungs?” the queen had mused aloud, still addressing him.
“I very nearly did just that! Several times!” Instead, he’d had to rely on his Alice to help him channel the energy into less... disruptive pursuits. He’d grinned at Those Memories.
“I didn’t want to give up my position until it was absolutely necessary,” Alice had explained. “So...”
“So you asked poor Tarrant to keep the news to himself. And, of course, he did. Oh, Alice...!”
The White Queen had glared.
Alice had fidgeted.
Tarrant, having decided that his Alice had suffered enough, had cast about for a way to break the awkward silence... a way that hadn’t involved iambic pentameter, which he’d been sure would not have been Appreciated at that moment.
He’d heard himself say, “We felt the first Futterwhacken just the other evening!” He had even successfully avoided thinking about the specifics of That Evening in particular.
“Oh, that is wonderful! Congratulations, both of you! So, the child is to be...?”
“A Hightopp. Not a Kingsleigh,” his wife had confirmed. (And, oh what a Discussion that had been at the time!)
“Oh, I see. So, you’ll be returning to Mamoreal shortly?”
“Well, actually...”
“I have concerns about Alice’s health, Your Majesty. I’m worried... that, well...”
“Tarrant fears I might have trouble during the labor and will need medical assistance.”
Mirana had agreed, looking worried, “Yes, our healers here - myself included - won’t know anything about Uplandish mothers should you experience difficulties.”
“But I’ll need someone from Underland to come through to help with the birth... you know... just in case...”
“Ah! I see. Yes, your Uplander physicians won’t know the first thing about Outlandish babies now, will they?”
Tarrant hadn’t considered That! He’d merely assumed...
What? Tha’ th'blue blood woul'nae make any difference? Or th’changin’ eyes? Or th’-!
“Yes, exactly,” Tarrant has agreed, suddenly understanding why Alice had demanded the White Queen be present for the Main Event, “which is why we’d like to ask you to assist Alice. When the time comes.”
“Which I will be more than happy to provide, but A~lice...”
“Er... yes?”
“No more of this ‘I can manage by myself’ business. When you go into labor, I expect to be notified immediately!”
“You know me so well,” Alice had grumbled.
“Yes, I do. Are we in agreement?”
“We are.”
After a moment of heavy silence, Mirana had reluctantly admitted, “I am glad you told me. Finally.”
Alice’s laugh had been a little forced. “I’ll be glad when you finally forgive me for keeping it a secret for so long.” And the queen had managed a smile that had hinted at the possibility of Alice being forgiven... someday... in the Distant Future.
“But, there is one other thing... Krystoval. I know our staying here, in this land, is causing the Jabberwocky to be ill...”
“Krystoval is holding up just fine. If anything changes, I shall let you know. Do not concern yourself with that when you have much more important things to sort out.”
Alice had sighed yet again. “I do, don't I? My mother is going to require an explanation. For a lot of things. Especially if you come through the mirror on a moment’s notice to help me through the labor.”
“How about the truth?”
Alice had blinked at her. “The truth? No. No, impossible.”
“How odd,” Mirana had replied with a sad smile, “that you should allow impossibility to defeat you now, my Champion. It never has before.”
Tarrant had suggested, “You might be surprised, you know, Alice. She may be able to understand.”
Still, he could see Alice’s resistance to the perfectly sound idea.
“Dearest Alice, my closest friend,” Mirana had spoken up, “do not lose your muchness now. Be with your family, share this miracle with them, even if that means revealing Underland. For once this adventure is over, they will expect certain things from you, will they not? Now that they know you survived the sinking of your ship?”
“Yes...”
“Then. In that case, as a wise friend once counseled me, ‘Begin as you mean to go.’” Mirana had winked. “And we all know that lies, even white ones, cause more problems than they solve.”
“Indeed, they do!” Tarrant had been unable to not concur.
“So, you both will remain Here, for the time being,” the queen had decreed. “You shall both be missed terribly, but it’s quite obvious that you have things you must do and questions you must answer.”
“Botheration, I suppose so,” Alice had huffed. “Why do you always have to be right?”
“Because I’m the queen,” Mirana had replied. “Or didn’t you hear the coronation announcement?”
“My invitation must’ve gotten lost along the way.”
“A pity. I’ll issue you another.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Only sometimes, dear Alice.”
And then, with an air of finality, the queen had bid them farewell: “Do not hesitate to call upon me should you have need of me!”
She’d held out her hand to Tarrant, which he’d bowed low over, then had dragged Alice into her arms for a brisk hug. And, an instant later, the looking glass had rippled and then smoothed flat again.
“Alice,” Tarrant had said, wrapping an arm around her.
“Yes?”
He’d giggled. “I don’t mind telling you that I truly Enjoyed that.”
“I thought you might” had been her droll, but light-hearted reply. “And should you ever wonder whether or not I truly love you or would do anything for you...”
“I shall remember this afternoon, my Alice, and it will - most hastenly! - put my irrational fears to Rest.”
“Just so,” she’d replied, smiling.
And, from that day onward, things are different. New. Begun a-new. A new beginning. Why, even schedules had been arranged to keep him Busy:
“Hightopp, Alice has ordered us to-”
“Hamish! I did no such-”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, your majesty.”
Tarrant had swallowed a giggle at the glare Alice had directed at Ascot over the tea service. Tarrant had chosen that moment to shift, to feel her knee press against his beneath the table.
“Hamish,” Helen had interjected delicately. “I’m sure Alice is fully aware of how... demanding a character she possesses.”
“Indeed you are correct, madam,” he’d allowed.
Margaret had smiled. “But that’s why we adore you so much, dear sister.”
For some reason, the comment had drawn a mocking smile across Alice’s lips.
“Ahem. As I was saying, Hightopp, Alice has decreed that I’m to take you to the club for fencing lessons. I’ve a membership, you know.”
“But the question is: have you ever used it before?” Alice had challenged over the rim of her teacup.
“Of course. I even know the way there!” he’d sniffed. “So. Tomorrow. Following lunch, sir. We have an appointment with a pair of fencing foils. Or else Queen Alice, here, shall be most displeased.”
“Oh, stop being such an ogre, Hamish Ascot,” Margaret had declared. “And pass the scones before I toss a sugar cube at you!”
At that particular comment, neither Tarrant nor Alice had been able to withhold their snickers.
And also correspondence with friends in Mamoreal had begun:
“Another note to you.” Tarrant had handed it over with a large, toothy smile. “From Mally.”
“Again?!”
“It appears she has quite A Lot To Say to you regarding a certain secret you kept from her.”
“We kept from her.”
“You asked me to keep from her.”
“I wish she didn’t appreciate that distinction so much.”
Correspondence of All Kinds had begun to... pop through the small Mamoreal mirror, actually:
Plop!
“Did you hear that?”
“The plopping noise?”
“Um, yes. Is it coming from...?”
Plop!
“The vanity? I believe it is, Raven. Ah! Spinach puffs from Thackery! I sent him my observations you know. Here, give it a try!”
“You go ahead. I’ll catch the next one he tosses through.”
Plop!
Yes, in a matter of days, Tarrant’s world has been completely Changed.
The Good Things are plentiful.
Unfortunately, so are the Bad...
*~*~*~*
Alice gasps awake on a rush of terror.
The nightmare again, she realizes as she pats Tarrant’s cheek, shakes his shoulder, whispers his name in the darkness.
With a violent start, he opens his eyes. Unlike all the other nights, he does not curl himself around her. His hands seek out hers and his fingertips ghost over her knuckles and in the sensitive spaces between, but he does not grasp or clutch at her. Not this time. Not after a week of suffering in the dark.
“I’m sorry I woke you, Alice,” he sighs and in his voice Alice hears something different. After the first nightmare, she’d heard panic and fear. On the nights following that, his tone had changed to guilty and then accepting. Tonight, however, she hears something new. Something Bad:
Resignation.
Something must be done about this! For Tarrant is not recovering - not truly - despite his bubbly cheer during the day. She can only assume the heart line and his new role as a recognized, expectant father are saving him from the madness. Or worse: the Blackness.
“These dreams won’t haunt you forever,” she whispers.
He takes a deep breath. “They will.” He speaks with gravity and certainty. She doesn’t doubt he also speaks from experience. “They’re memories, Raven. Haunting is what memories do best.”
“Tell me about them,” she asks, without any real hope of him agreeing to do so. She’s argued and debated and cajoled on this point to no avail; he will not share his terrible burden with her. Tonight is no different:
“No, Alice. Please. Ask me for anything else.”
“All right.” Alice sits up in bed, leans over and lights the oil lamp on the sideboard. As she knows she can’t force him to divulge that unmade future... “If you won’t tell me what you see, then tell me what reminds you of it. Permit me that much, please.”
He takes an unsteady breath. “The shadows. Your hands. Fingers. Curling, grasping...” He closes his eyes, shakes his head.
Alice watches him for a moment, contemplating something she normally would not. Something she is not sure will work. Something she shouldn’t do in her mother’s house. Something she’s willing to risk nonetheless.
She rolls away, stands, removes her nightgown, turns down the lamp until the room is as mysteriously shadowed as the Ascots’ terrace had been, and leans over him.
“Alice?” he whispers, watching as she climbs onto the bed, sits on top of the quilt and straddles his hips. “What are you...?”
“Look at me,” she replies, knowing there is just enough light for her request to be possible.
“I am.”
“What do you see?”
She doesn’t wait for him to answer. She can see it in the softening of his gaze as he studies the gently glowing light against her skin. Alice collects his hands and presses them to her naked belly.
She asks, “What do you feel?”
She leans over him, deliberately reaches for him until her fingertips touch his chest. He shudders, closes his eyes.
“Look at me,” she reminds him.
After a moment, he does.
“Watch my hands.”
She sees him swallow and then his eyelids lower as he obeys her command. Against his chest, Alice curls her fingers until they become claws. She softly - but not so softly it tickles! - drags her nails across his skin.
“What do you see?” she asks.
He shivers. “Alice...”
“My hands are fine. Just fine. Do you see that? Do you see me? Feel me? This is real,” she asserts in a low tone.
“Real,” he agrees, watching her hands open, reach, curl, and scratch across his skin. Against her belly, his fingers splay wider. She gently claws his chest again just as their child fidgets, flutters, Futterwhackens against his palms.
His breath catches. As does Alice’s. Truly, she’ll never become used to the sensation: where a Kingsleigh baby would have kicked, punched, and shifted, a Hightopp baby dances and twirls like a mad dervish. Perfectly normal, Tarrant had told her, looking shocked at her surprise as he’d done so.
“This is real,” she repeats, marveling again at the miracle they’ve created between the two of them.
“Yes,” he agrees, his eyes closing as he concentrates on the feel of their child moving against his hands, on the feel of her hands moving over him. Alice allows him to surround himself with that darkness, to test himself.
When he opens his eyes, he focuses on her hands. She holds them up, over his chest, splays her fingers then curves them, reaches for him. This time, when he takes a deep breath, she recognizes the gasp. The Desire.
“Tarrant?” she asks.
“This is real,” he answers.
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m going to be a...” Still, he doesn’t say the word. With a start, she realizes she’s never heard him do so. He’s announced that they are expecting. He’s declared that Alice is with child. But he’s never said that he’s going to be...
“A father. Say it, love,” she urges, petting his chest.
She watches his jaw clench. He squeezes his eyes shut. “A father,” he whispers, a tremor wracking his body.
“Say it again. Let me hear it again...”
“I’m goin’teh b’a fa’her.”
“Yes.”
“Our littlin’s Fa.”
“Yes.”
He opens his eyes. “’Tis real.”
“Yes. It is.”
“No one took ye from me.”
She rubs her palms over his skin.
“Ye’re no’dyin’...”
Alice brushes her thumbs over his nipples and his breath catches in his throat.
“Ye’re safe. Our littlin’s safe.”
She nods.
“’Tis real.”
“We’ve made it real,” she whispers. “We’ve made this. This moment. This memory. Let go of that other one. Please.”
His hands move from her stomach to her hips. “Alice...”
“I need you to be all right,” she tells him. “Tell me what you need.”
“Teh feel ye, teh have ye hold on teh me.” His hips shift beneath her, Questioning, Asking...
She Answers. Alice pushes the bedclothes out of the way, tugs aside his night clothes. She places his hands on her bare hips again. “I need you to be all right. Show me what you need.”
He does.
He pulls her toward him and she feels her weight pressing against his body - or does she feel his strength holding her up? But it doesn’t matter, she realizes, as he pulls her down to him, until her skin meets his and her breasts are pressing down - or perhaps his chest is pushing up - and his lips brush over hers, dry and warm. Her own lips tingle at the sweet friction.
His arms wrap around her and his palms move over her back, rough and solid.
She holds onto him, curling her fingers over his shoulders, pulling herself even tighter against him. Their lips brush but do not cling. They’ve never embraced like this before, as if they might each sink into the other’s skin on a sigh rather than a shout of passion.
The clock ticks. Time passes, whispers to Alice of More and she wants that, but this is not about what she wants. This is about what he Needs.
“Alice...” he whispers and then opens his mouth against hers. She feels his tongue brush between her lips, which she opens. She returns the soft caress, agrees to other touches...
She holds onto him in every way. She wraps herself around every part of him she can manage to grasp and protects him from those inconceivably horrifying memories he cannot speak of or share. Here, now, she is his Champion although she does not hold a weapon, does not fight.
She simply holds onto him, just as he’d asked.
And, in exchange for this comfort, he attends to her.
“Tarrant,” she breathes. “I need you.”
And she does Need him. In so many ways. He indulges her in this one. And she gladly loses herself in his touch.
And when she opens her eyes and arrives back in her own mind, in their bed, in their room, Tarrant is still there, waiting for her once again.
Yes, he had seen to her desire, but his own... She whispers, frowning, “You didn’t...”
He shakes his head, kisses the corner of her mouth. “I d’nae need to.”
Need. Again, that word.
She would have shivered if her body were capable of it. “Are you all right?” she manages, weakly wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
“Aye. Fer nauw, aye...”
She closes her eyes, fights exhaustion. “And if you need me...”
“I’ll tell ye, my Alice.”
“And you’ll show me what...?”
“I need,” he finishes. “I will. And whate’er ye need, we will.”
She feels him settle into bed beside her, reach for the lamp and, moments later, she’s sucked into the darkness of sleep.
And there are no more nightmares that night.
*~*~*~*
Book 3 Chapter List
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Notes:
1. OK, I am totally NOT a fan of sexual-healing-an-orgasm-can-fix-anything philosophy, but I think being with someone, without anything in the way (like nightgowns which Alice has taken to wearing because her pj trouses are getting a mite tight at this point) and just feeling their body, experiencing their warmth can be healing and reassuring, which is what I'm trying - in my usual fumbling way - to express here. Tarrant needs to know - deep down in his heart/mind/madness Know - that Alice is OK and alive and safe and still with him, still his Alice. So, if you tell me the sex was lacking, yeah, I know. Because it's not about sex. It's about affirmation. (^__^)