Chapter Twenty: Christmas and Magic (1)
Another two-part chapter. Grr. Must learn to use fewer words.
*~*~*~*
Alice has known many names in her lifetime:
Alice Kingsleigh, daughter of Charles and Helen Kingsleigh.
Champion Alice, champion of the White Queen - Mirana of Mamoreal.
Alice Lasling, mercenary-trained champion of Prince Jaspien.
Alice Hightopp, Tarrant Hightopp’s wife.
Lady Hightopp of Iplam.
And now...
Alice regards her son, who has worked up quite the appetite from trying and failing to (most likely) Futterwhacken for nearly an hour, and considers her newest name: mother.
She is Tamial Hightopp’s mother.
“I ken tha’ look.”
Alice smiles but doesn’t take her eyes off of their little Tam at the sound of her husband’s voice. “Do you? Already?” For, certainly, it’s a new one. She’s certainly never felt this particular expression from inside her own skin before!
“Aye.”
“What does it tell you?”
“How ver’much I luv ye, Alice.”
She looks up at that, at the sight of Tarrant leaning over her armchair, his hair still damp from his bath and his nightshirt is peeking out from between the lapels of the housecoat her father had once worn in winter. For a moment, she’s at a loss for words - she’s as wordless as a newly hatched jabberwocky! - but then they find her, as they always do... eventually.
“You take my breath away,” she whispers.
His eyes deepen in color, past that indigo of unconditional and absolute adoration to a shade she hasn’t seen much of recently - not since that morning before the duel, actually: violet.
“Th’ gentlemanly thin’teh do in tha’case would be teh giv’it back, wouldnae it?” he muses on an equally soft whisper of his own. And then he leans down and brushes his lips against hers.
“But are you a gentleman?” Alice murmurs when he pulls back after that too-brief and shallow contact. She leans forward, following his mouth. The arm not wrapped around Tam finds another use: her hand tangles in the worn, soft fabric of the housecoat lapels.
Tarrant’s eyebrows twitch: yes, he’ll play her game. “I’ve been told ‘twould be teh m’benefit teh b’come one.”
“But your wife would suffer horribly...”
“Och, nauw we cannae ha’tha’...” And with those words, he closes the distance between their mouths, thrusts his hand into her hair and possesses her. She groans, marvels, and shoves away the twinge of embarrassment and shame - here she is, suckling their son at her breast and yet she wants-desires-needs-longs-aches for her husband’s touch!
And because she needs More, of course, he pulls away. “No, Alice,” he lisps, covering her hand with his. “It’s too soon. The queen specifically said...”
“But I’m fine!” Dear Fates, had that been a whine?
It must have been, because Tarrant chuckles softly and a smile of pure Masculine Delight stretches his lips. “You are considerably more than fine,” he agrees. “However, now is not the time.” He cocks his head to the side and observes with delight, “Rhyme.”
She knows. Her sigh of impatience and regret signals her agreement. Yes, she may be healed, thanks to Mirana’s skills in alchemy. Yes, she wants him. But, perhaps, it’s best if they don’t... here.
This time next week, you’ll be home.
In Mamoreal.
Alice tells herself she can wait.
Herself disagrees.
But, Alice, being the more rational and determined of the two, releases his housecoat. Her father’s housecoat. A father’s housecoat. Tarrant is a father now, isn’t he? It wouldn’t be Right for him to wear the housecoat of a bachelor now would it?
“The robe suits you,” she tells him. “From one father to another. Perhaps you make it feel at home again.”
“Now that, my Alice, is a compliment deserving of some Attention.”
Alice tries to hide her smile of anticipation but feels it peeping out at him regardless. “What sort of attention, Raven?”
Again he leans down, but this time her lips encounter only his damp hair as he angles his face toward her neck. She obligingly tilts her head to the side and shivers when his lips - and then his teeth! - caress her skin.
“The sort,” he rumbles, “that you will enjoy Quite a Lot... once you’ve taken your turn in the bath.”
“Am I need of a bath?” she teases.
“You are, as always, utterly Alice-y,” he assures her, inhaling deeply. “But ‘tis m’job teh take care o’ ye...”
And she had better let him do it, she knows. Surprisingly, it’s gotten considerably less difficult for her to remember to allow him to. It doesn’t hurt that her reward for doing so is nothing less than his undiluted happiness.
“All right. Would you see to the fire, then? Tam’s nearly ready for bed.”
“Tam?” Tarrant asks, moving toward the hearth and knocking away the ashes before adding more coal.
“Tamial. Tam,” she explains and then dares to add, “Tam o’shanter...”
Her husband’s shoulders stiffen and he turns toward her just in time for her to see the Light of Inspiration enter his eyes. “Tam o’shanter...?”
Their son stirs, satiated and sleepy for now. Alice lifts him up to the square of linen draped over her shoulder and pats his back. “A hatter’s son must have a hat, Raven.”
“Indeed he must!” Tarrant declares and reaches for Tam after they hear his soft burp. With experience gained from minding the queen’s children one Wednesday morning after another for years (and then with that experience refined over the course of the previous month since Tam’s birth), Tarrant nestles their son into his arms. Tamial opens his eyes a bit, works his little lips and fists his little hands, waving his too-soft arms aimlessly.
“Ah, no more Futterwhacken t’nigh’, Tam,” Alice hears Tarrant tell him as he moves toward the bed. “Nauw ‘tis time fer th’ Bedtime Bandersnatch teh carry ye off teh yer dreams. ‘Ere he comes! Gal~umph! Gal~umph! Gal~umph!”
Alice swallows a giggle as each narrated stride of the fictitious beast is matched with a hypnotic sway of Tarrant’s upper body. Just watching him lull their son to sleep is making her tired!
She leaves the room with one last glance at Tarrant, sitting up in bed now and humming a tune that brings the Maigh Festival to mind. His arms still rock a bit, but very slowly and gently now. Surely, Tam has closed his tiny little eyelids and is falling asleep...
And if Alice wants to take advantage of the Attention Tarrant had promised her in exchange for the compliment she’d Paid him, she’d better stop dawdling!
When Alice emerges on a cloud of steam, hair washed but still damp, fingertips only slightly wrinkled and her skin still flushed from the hot water, she heads directly for the bed and her husband. Climbing up next to him, she leans closer and...
Stops.
A small, gentle snore whispers from between his slack lips and whistles lightly through his nose.
With a small huff of disappointment, Alice sits back a bit and regards him. Botheration, but she’d hoped...! It’s been over two months since the last time they’d...! And Mirana’s pastes and potions have worked wonders...! Even the depression her mother and sister had warned her about had run its course and now she’s Herself again and she wants...!
“Thwimble fumpt,” she mutters under her breath.
A small twitch from within the blanket Tarrant still holds close to his chest draws her gaze. Alice smiles down at Tam, who is wide awake and appears to be studying his father’s face with Great Interest.
“Yes,” she whispers to him, unable to not touch her son, offer her finger to him and watch him curl his little hand around it. “He may Share those features with you some day. I hope you like them as much as I do.”
Tamial is too young to have mastered the art of smiling, but he seems pleased nonetheless.
Alice gently lifts Tam from his father’s arms and moves off the bed. She paces with him in front of the fire until he gets drowsy and her hair dries. She keeps an eye on Tarrant, too: worries about his back, but lets him sleep.
When she looks down and sees Tam’s eyes - a soft amber now! Tarrant had told her they’ll keep changing until he chooses a Disposition he prefers over the others - soften with exhaustion, watches those little eyelids begin to lower, she places a soft kiss on his brow, inhales the scent from his thin, red-gold curls. She lays him down in his bassinet and then moves to the side of the bed to make sure Tarrant is deeply asleep. She sees that he is and dares to shove him a bit. He snuggles down until his head touches the pillow. She pets his long hair gently as she watches her husband sleep.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Without you, we wouldn’t have him.”
How many times has Tarrant saved her life?
In the makeshift hat workshop in Salazen Grum.
During the battle on Frabjous Day.
Through the looking glass of her cabin aboard the Wonder.
During the Trial of Threes.
During the Champions’ Duel when she had fought for Jaspien.
And not only had he Killed Time for her, but he had Moved it: had gone into the Past...
Her husband is a hero. She’s known this since she’d realized that he’d saved the White Queen on Horvendush Day, since he’d organized the Resistance...
Tarrant Hightopp has always been a hero. Most recently, he’s been Alice’s.
She glances once more over the edge of the bassinet at their son, who sleeps on his stomach, oblivious to the wide world and the great gift he’s already been given.
“Your Fa saved you,” she informs him softly.
Yes, he had. Alice doesn’t doubt that Tarrant would still do anything and everything necessary to save her life if it ever comes to that again, but now she knows she’s not alone in receiving that honor. Now she knows she shares that Special Place in his heart with another, with Tamial.
And Alice can think of no one else she would rather see secure and safe beneath Tarrant’s capable protection.
This is not the first time she’s had this particular Thought, but this time she does not cry. She does not sob. She does not wake Tarrant with the overflow of intense Anguish these sorts of things have been capable of coaxing from her until very recently.
Tonight there is no gut-wrenching, heart-twisting, inexplicable sorrow.
Tonight, Alice smiles, slides into bed, and when she feels Tarrant’s arm wrap around her waist and his nose press into her hair... she sighs and goes to sleep.
*~*~*~*
“Hightopp. I’m in need of your assistance.”
Tarrant looks up nervously at Hamish Ascot across the billiard table. “I’ve heard that before,” he mutters darkly.
Hamish frowns in confusion, blinks in recollection, then smirks in expectation. “This is a favor of a completely different variety,” he assures him. “Although, by some standards, it is more perilous.”
“Then tell me in the carriage,” Tarrant requests, lining up his shot. “So that I won’t have to repeat my refusal so many times.”
“I’m afraid I can’t take ‘no’ for an answer on this particular occasion,” Hamish replies. “Besides, ‘tis the holiday season. Christmas is just around the corner. It’s rude to refuse to help your fellow man.”
“But it’s not rude to drag him away from his wife and son on a moment’s notice?”
“For the love of the queen!” Hamish huffs. “You’ve been trapped in that house for an entire month. I rescued you!”
Tarrant pulls back the cue stick, pauses, looks up a Hamish, stands, pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger, takes a deep breath, counts all his friends from Thackery - backwards! - and says, “Ascot.”
His tone turns the unpretentious syllable into a very Dirty sort of word, indeed.
“Besides,” Hamish continues blithely, disregarding Tarrant’s Tone. “You can’t tell me you’ve completed all of your Christmas shopping! Not unless you’ve had the vendors come ‘round the house for you to peruse their wares!”
“Shopping?” Tarrant echoes.
“Yes. Shopping. For Christmas presents,” Hamish explains very carefully.
“Presents?!”
Hamish rolls his eyes. “Bloody...! Of course. I should have known what with your absolutely barbaric fascination with knives that you’d know nothing of Christian customs.” He eyes Tarrant warily. “I feel it’s my civic duty to inform you that your immortal soul may be in great jeopardy, sir.”
Tarrant blinks. “Immortal...? Never mind! Never mind! What’s this about presents? There’s to be some sort of Gifting?!” And why hadn’t Alice told him this?
“Yes! Pay attention, Hightopp!” Hamish clears his throat and lowers his voice. “Now, it’s customary to buy close friends and relatives a thoughtful gift. Perhaps something they would like to have but for some reason - expense, perhaps - refuse or hesitate to purchase for themselves.”
Tarrant swats the cue ball with the stick in his hands, giving up on taking the shot he’d been due. He’s too busy considering the fact that what little Uplandish money that still remains in their possession is with Alice at the moment, so how can he possibly purchase anything for his wife, their son, their hostess, and everyone else who ought to be Thanked properly with a Christmas gift?
“Must the gift be bought?” Tarrant queries, interrupting Hamish. But as he hadn’t really been paying attention anyway, it’s all for the best. No doubt the man will thoughtfully repeat himself. And be more blunt about it the second time around.
Hamish gives him a brief glare. “No, there’s no requirement stating that the gift must be bought, although I hope you’re not considering thievery.”
“What?! No, no, of course not!” Tarrant responds, thoroughly Offended.
Seeing his distaste at the Idea and his disgust with Hamish for even Thinking it, Ascot nods. “Good. Now, as I was saying, I’ll need your expert advice. I’ve noticed you have a way with children and I’m endeavoring to procure an appropriate gift for Winslow.”
“An appropriate gift,” Tarrant echoes nervously. “What would be an un-appropriate gift?”
Hamish frowns in thought. He inspects the tip of his cue as he often does with his walking stick when he’s uncomfortable or stalling for time. “Well, I wouldn’t want to purchase anything too... advanced for him. To do so might suggest that I expect to be present when he makes use of it in the future. That would... give the wrong impression, I believe. So I must find something he can enjoy now and also in the future as I’d regret it very much if the gift indicated that I wouldn’t like to be present in Winslow’s future when the fact of the matter is that I hope to...well... that is...”
“Ah. A gift for both Winslow’s mother and Margaret’s son! Now you’re starting to make sense.” Tarrant gives him a long look. “Was it really necessary to over-explain?”
Hamish huffs again but his lips twitch in a reluctant smile. “Yes, I believe it was. Otherwise I’m sure you would have expired from shock at my candidness.”
Tarrant snorts. Candidness. Candied. Candied-ness! “I enjoy being the one to tell you this, sir, but you’re going to have to work on your Sweet Somethings if you hope to one day charm Lady Manchester’s ears!”
Looking fabulously scandalized, Hamish hisses in the near-empty room, “You are enjoying this situation at my expense just a little too much, Hightopp!”
“I disagree! However can one enjoy something too much?” he counters, grinning.
Hamish leans back and sighs. “Yet again, you make far too much sense to be considered sane.” He regards the table. “Are you at all interested in finishing this or shall we begin my errand now?”
“Let’s begin your quest for Winslow’s gift,” Tarrant decides. “You can give me more examples of appropriate gifts. I’ll need to prepare something for Alice and Tam, and Mrs. Kingsleigh, of course...”
“Right, come along then,” Hamish says, sending the balls into nearby slots with fashionable flicks of his wrist and then turns and racks his cue stick. “I shall educate you on the way.”
And Tarrant will say one thing for Hamish Ascot: when the man takes on a task, he applies himself to it thoroughly. By the time they’ve disembarked from the carriage and entered a rather posh-looking toy shop, Tarrant wonders if, perhaps, he should have been taking notes! But never mind! Never mind! He knows what will be expected of him on this Christmas Day. Now all he has to do is find - formulate, finagle, figure out! - a way to...
He finds himself staring at a small, brown, velveteen figure of a stuffed rabbit and has a Moment of Inspiration. “Yes, exactly!” he very nearly shouts. Hamish, who had been inspecting a wooden train set, steps over and blinks at the toy.
“This one?”
“It’s perfect!” Tarrant enthuses, still wrapped up in his Plans. “Thackeries are highly useful, you know,” he continues, picking up the lifeless creature.
“Well. Despite your insistence on being incomprehensible most times, I must admit it’s a charming thing. If a bit plain.”
“Plain things are the very best sort,” Tarrant assures both Hamish and the velveteen rabbit. “For they can always be dressed with Imagination, which never ceases to suit them unfailingly well.”
He offers the squish-ably soft toy rabbit to Hamish with a smile.
Hamish blinks at him then accepts the potential Winslow Gift. “It’s sometimes frightful to hear such oddness come from you... and believe it actually makes sense,” the man mutters, looking over the brown bunny.
“You’ll miss me when I’ve gone,” Tarrant predicts suddenly. And then amends: “When we’ve gone. Don’t even try to deny that Alice’s muchness has grown on you!”
“Muchness is what you call it?” he responds in a skeptic tone. “But yes, I believe I will. As will my father. You know he’s been asking about the two of you. And your son, of course. He sends his best. He’d like you to come out for a visit before you go, if you think Alice is up for the trip.”
Tarrant hesitates, glancing out the shop window at the dour weather. It is cold and rainy and that rain often turns to ice by morning; he can see it gleaming in the light of the gas lamps on the street when he parts the curtain of their room and looks out...
“Suppose the carriage had trouble keeping its wheels together on the ice? Or found itself unequal to the task of staying on the road?” Tarrant murmurs. “I’d feel much better if I could interview the vehicle before we set out...”
Hamish snorts. “Well, perhaps in the spring you’ll make the trip out to the estate.”
Tarrant looks down and finds himself staring into the glass eyes of a porcelain doll in a blue dress. “Perhaps. Hamish...”
“Yes?”
“We’ll be returning home soon.”
There’s a brief pause. “Yes, I expect you would have to. But certainly not in this weather?!”
Tarrant sighs and meets his friend’s gaze. “In truth, the weather has no bearing whatsoever on our mode of transport. Alice has invited both her mother and sister to be there when we... leave. And I’m inviting you.”
“Of course I’ll see you off, Hightopp.”
“I... Thank you, but...”
“What is it now?”
Tarrant smiles. “I’m afraid it will be a terrible imposition for you, seeing as how you don’t believe in magic.”
Hamish snorts. “A magical mode of transport? What will you do? Walk through a wardrobe?”
“Not quite,” Tarrant replies, Intrigued by the idea. “Although it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest were that an actual route to... Somewhere.”
Hamish scowls. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Magic,” Tarrant repeats patiently. “I’m sure you’ll believe it when you see it.”
Hamish has no witty rejoinder to that. Instead, he asks, “Let us assume I will be able to... accept that some sort of magic exists. But... why show me at all?”
Tarrant grins. “It would be nice to see you at tea on Mondays.”
“Tea... on Mondays?” Hamish confirms slowly.
“Yes. It’s all arranged. Alice will be coming back on Mondays for afternoon tea with her mother and sister. When possible, I’ll be accompanying her.”
“Just... for tea?” Hamish repeats warily.
“Yes. Tea is quite the most Important beverage of the day.”
“Hightopp...”
“Ascot?”
“I do believe I...” And here, Hamish’s confused frown reverses itself into a delighted grin. “I should very much like to continue our association. It has been... unexpectedly rewarding.”
“Yes, yes, it has!”
And rewarding things deserve things awarded to them!
Tarrant watches Hamish call the clerk over and pay for Winslow’s Christmas present. Tarrant, however, does not follow the exchange. He feels his eyes un-focus as he considers all the he will have to do, and the brief time in which he must do it!
*~*~*~*
Fan art: Thackeries are quite boop-able (a.k.a. The Velveteen Rabbit) by balba-bunny
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Notes:
1. The reference to Alice's depression and moodiness since the birth of her son is a nod to postpartum depression. If anyone was wondering. It's a subject that deserves far more attention than I give it, but, dang it, this story is Long Enough already!! Besides, between the heart line and mysterious Mamoreal miracle medicines, I think she'd be OK... ish.
2. Yes, that was a Narnia reference. (^__~) b
3. Three words: The Velveteen Rabbit. *sniffleLOVEsniffle*