![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akainagiTen Extended Trips Through Wonderland (Trips 101-105)
Author: AkaiNagi
Rating: G
Pairing: Alice/Tarrant
Summary: Prompts 1-5/10 Table 11 from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
10_prompts.
Prompt: Give
Alice’s affliction, and the devotion with which Tarrant Hightopp cared for his grievously ill wife was the talk of the palace.
It was in times such as these, that true friendships are tested and proved sound.
All who knew the couple banded together to support them. The queen made her poultices and tinctures and potions to try and heal Alice’s battered body. Thackery made the nutritious broth that gave Alice the strength to continue her struggle. He also made the meals that Tarrant would have thoroughly ignored if not for the diligence of Mallymkun, who would not let her Hatter go without eating at least something every day. How would he care for Alice properly if he starved himself to death? This was the mantra she used on him. And it worked. The tweedles even made an appearance several times a week, with fresh flowers for Alice’s bedside.
Everyone gave as much as they could. Tarrant, in the fog of his single-mindedness did not see how many people supported Alice and him from the sidelines. Had he truly realized, he would have wept with gratitude.
Prompt: Poison
At first he thought it was a good thing, when one morning Tarrant woke from a light doze at his wife’s bedside to find her face suffused with pinkness. It was a change from the pale, waxy, almost porcelain doll-like complexion she had been wearing. His spirits were bolstered.
But as soon as they rose, his spirits were dashed. By mid day the light pink complexion had turned to the angry red.
Tarrant thought he would weep from despair.
The fever came on quickly. It was the outward manifestation of the infection that was raging through Alice’s body; the poison that flowed in her blood. He immediately called for the court physician. The dour and unpleasant man, who had the bedside manner of a cranky bandersnatch, informed him that it was merely a matter of time.
In desperation, he sought the Queen’s counsel. A master of healers, she could perhaps offer him a sliver of hope to cling to. She made no promises, but went straightaway to begin preparing a tincture designed to help Alice fight the infection that gripped her body, as well as a potion to bring down her fever.
He prepared and administered cool compresses, opened all the windows so the fresh cool breeze might cool Alice’s fevered brow. And all the while he spoke to her, pleaded with her, begged her to fight, to be strong, to come back to him and their daughter and their friends and their life.
He could only pray that she heard him.
Prompt: Colors
It was a black day; the day Tarrant saw his wife’s body into the ground. His prayers, his ministrations, his love, it seemed, had not been enough to bring her back to him.
He had been given five years of bliss and light. Now he faced a lifetime of darkness.
Lara had been silent through the funeral, the concept of death beyond what her two and a half year-old mind could grasp. But she could feel the sadness, most keenly from her father. And as Tarrant stood there, babe in arms, long after everyone else had departed, Lara began to cry.
“Want mama,” she sobbed and buried her face in her father’s shirt.
He clutched his daughter to him. She was the last spot of color in his gray life. He would live for her, he decided. He would raise her to be a woman who would have made Alice proud.
He stared at the mound of the fresh grave. It seemed so unreal, that Alice, one so full of life and joy, could be buried under that mound of dirt. Forever. Tarrant’s eyes, which had been dry since his wife’s passing, finally began to mist over. He wanted to weep, to pour out his loss until the well of his pain was dry. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the tears away. He had to be strong for Lara.
When he opened his eyes, it was all gone. Sunk back into that part of his subconscious where his worst fears slept. Instead there was the familiar scene of Alice’s sickbed. And in it, Alice, her body still raging with fever, but still full of life. Still fighting. Still breathing. Still waiting to come back to him.
His life, which had been so black, blossomed into color again.
Prompt: Sweat
That such a tiny thing could cause him such elation.
He had spent weeks studying every aspect of his wife’s condition, every change in her color, her breathing, her temperature, the little movements she sometimes made in her unconscious state.
So to him, something so tiny was monumental.
A single bead of sweat stood out on her forehead. Joined by another, and another, until the sheets were damp with her perspiration. Her hot, dry skin was suddenly awash with moisture. Wonderful cooling moisture.
Her fever had broken. Tarrant nearly wept from the relief.
Prompt: Hold your Breath
Alice had defied fate, the predictions of doctors, and all odds to survive not only a lethal wound, but a massive infection and raging fever.
Her wounds were healing, her color was returning, all signs pointed to a recovery.
They why, Tarrant despaired, did she not wake up?
It had been a full month Alice had lain in her sickbed, a place that some would have made her deathbed by their predictions. Alice had defied them all.
At the first light of dawn on the fourth week, Tarrant could stand it no longer. On his knees beside Alice’s bed, his voice choked with emotion, he began to speak.
“Alice, Love. “ He took her small hand in both his own. “Don’t you think it’s time you came home? Lara and I are waiting for you. I’m waiting for you. We miss you. I miss you. I’m afraid my other half shall go mad with the wanting of you.” Tears began to escape from the corners of his eyes. “Please wake up. Please wake up. Please-“
The slightest sound, a sigh. Or was it a moan? It echoed like thunder in Tarrant’s ears. He gripped Alice’s hand even tighter. Holding his breath, staring into her well-loved face, he silently begged, willed, prayed for her eyes to open.
And when Alice’s blue eyes met Tarrant’s own, they widened with concern.
“Tarrant? Whatever is the matter? Why are you crying?” she asked, her voice hoarse from non-use.
The most beatific smile graced the Hatter’s face. He covered his wife’s hands with kisses, and wept with joy.
Author: AkaiNagi
Rating: G
Pairing: Alice/Tarrant
Summary: Prompts 1-5/10 Table 11 from
10_prompts. Prompt: Give
Alice’s affliction, and the devotion with which Tarrant Hightopp cared for his grievously ill wife was the talk of the palace.
It was in times such as these, that true friendships are tested and proved sound.
All who knew the couple banded together to support them. The queen made her poultices and tinctures and potions to try and heal Alice’s battered body. Thackery made the nutritious broth that gave Alice the strength to continue her struggle. He also made the meals that Tarrant would have thoroughly ignored if not for the diligence of Mallymkun, who would not let her Hatter go without eating at least something every day. How would he care for Alice properly if he starved himself to death? This was the mantra she used on him. And it worked. The tweedles even made an appearance several times a week, with fresh flowers for Alice’s bedside.
Everyone gave as much as they could. Tarrant, in the fog of his single-mindedness did not see how many people supported Alice and him from the sidelines. Had he truly realized, he would have wept with gratitude.
Prompt: Poison
At first he thought it was a good thing, when one morning Tarrant woke from a light doze at his wife’s bedside to find her face suffused with pinkness. It was a change from the pale, waxy, almost porcelain doll-like complexion she had been wearing. His spirits were bolstered.
But as soon as they rose, his spirits were dashed. By mid day the light pink complexion had turned to the angry red.
Tarrant thought he would weep from despair.
The fever came on quickly. It was the outward manifestation of the infection that was raging through Alice’s body; the poison that flowed in her blood. He immediately called for the court physician. The dour and unpleasant man, who had the bedside manner of a cranky bandersnatch, informed him that it was merely a matter of time.
In desperation, he sought the Queen’s counsel. A master of healers, she could perhaps offer him a sliver of hope to cling to. She made no promises, but went straightaway to begin preparing a tincture designed to help Alice fight the infection that gripped her body, as well as a potion to bring down her fever.
He prepared and administered cool compresses, opened all the windows so the fresh cool breeze might cool Alice’s fevered brow. And all the while he spoke to her, pleaded with her, begged her to fight, to be strong, to come back to him and their daughter and their friends and their life.
He could only pray that she heard him.
Prompt: Colors
It was a black day; the day Tarrant saw his wife’s body into the ground. His prayers, his ministrations, his love, it seemed, had not been enough to bring her back to him.
He had been given five years of bliss and light. Now he faced a lifetime of darkness.
Lara had been silent through the funeral, the concept of death beyond what her two and a half year-old mind could grasp. But she could feel the sadness, most keenly from her father. And as Tarrant stood there, babe in arms, long after everyone else had departed, Lara began to cry.
“Want mama,” she sobbed and buried her face in her father’s shirt.
He clutched his daughter to him. She was the last spot of color in his gray life. He would live for her, he decided. He would raise her to be a woman who would have made Alice proud.
He stared at the mound of the fresh grave. It seemed so unreal, that Alice, one so full of life and joy, could be buried under that mound of dirt. Forever. Tarrant’s eyes, which had been dry since his wife’s passing, finally began to mist over. He wanted to weep, to pour out his loss until the well of his pain was dry. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the tears away. He had to be strong for Lara.
When he opened his eyes, it was all gone. Sunk back into that part of his subconscious where his worst fears slept. Instead there was the familiar scene of Alice’s sickbed. And in it, Alice, her body still raging with fever, but still full of life. Still fighting. Still breathing. Still waiting to come back to him.
His life, which had been so black, blossomed into color again.
Prompt: Sweat
That such a tiny thing could cause him such elation.
He had spent weeks studying every aspect of his wife’s condition, every change in her color, her breathing, her temperature, the little movements she sometimes made in her unconscious state.
So to him, something so tiny was monumental.
A single bead of sweat stood out on her forehead. Joined by another, and another, until the sheets were damp with her perspiration. Her hot, dry skin was suddenly awash with moisture. Wonderful cooling moisture.
Her fever had broken. Tarrant nearly wept from the relief.
Prompt: Hold your Breath
Alice had defied fate, the predictions of doctors, and all odds to survive not only a lethal wound, but a massive infection and raging fever.
Her wounds were healing, her color was returning, all signs pointed to a recovery.
They why, Tarrant despaired, did she not wake up?
It had been a full month Alice had lain in her sickbed, a place that some would have made her deathbed by their predictions. Alice had defied them all.
At the first light of dawn on the fourth week, Tarrant could stand it no longer. On his knees beside Alice’s bed, his voice choked with emotion, he began to speak.
“Alice, Love. “ He took her small hand in both his own. “Don’t you think it’s time you came home? Lara and I are waiting for you. I’m waiting for you. We miss you. I miss you. I’m afraid my other half shall go mad with the wanting of you.” Tears began to escape from the corners of his eyes. “Please wake up. Please wake up. Please-“
The slightest sound, a sigh. Or was it a moan? It echoed like thunder in Tarrant’s ears. He gripped Alice’s hand even tighter. Holding his breath, staring into her well-loved face, he silently begged, willed, prayed for her eyes to open.
And when Alice’s blue eyes met Tarrant’s own, they widened with concern.
“Tarrant? Whatever is the matter? Why are you crying?” she asked, her voice hoarse from non-use.
The most beatific smile graced the Hatter’s face. He covered his wife’s hands with kisses, and wept with joy.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-15 09:22 pm (UTC)