A/N: I know it's a day late for Christmas, but welcome to a long holiday oneshot, partially written by Cheshire Swift (whom you should totally go read her lit) and read in drafts by both Nina Faustin (whom you should also check out) and Cheshire. As always, credit goes to them because this literally wouldn't have gotten finished without them! (Not sure if that's good or bad; depends on how you feel.)

Thanks also to those who review/alert/read my stories- I really appreciate it, I really do!

~Leiary

Snow! Snow was falling in droves, blanketing all of Witz End with its cool whiteness in a matter of hours, and dazzling Alice Kingsleigh with its sheer existence.

"It's snow!" she'd reply to any who would question why she could spend the longest times simply sitting and watching the flakes fall delicately to the sleeping earth, embracing all still-sitting objects and animals in its icy arms. Snow was draped across tree boughs; it sat on top of the brightly-coloured mushrooms, reminding one of a rather eccentric cake with vanilla icing; it formed itself on the lanes and paths that ran through the forest with seemingly no end, the little blank hills that were too beautiful for even the birds to disturb. Underland was being held in the grip of Jack Frost, and Alice couldn't be happier or more content to sit inside the warmth of the windmill and gaze, sighing, out of the window in her armchair.

The very same manner did Tarrant Hightopp find her in as previously described one particularly snow-filled day, a day that the sun would finally break herself through the gray prison of snow clouds. The hatter warned her of such, and Alice turned, alarmed, to him, exclaiming, "You mean to say that all this snow will be gone?"

"By tomorrow, if I'm any judge to how exuberant the sun can be."

"That seems terribly unfair," stated Alice, sadly turning back to the window, already mourning the oncoming-loss of her simple delight.

"All's fair in winter and snowdrifts," piped the other, "so cheer up! Enjoy it while it falls before it is gone!"

The despondant girl only sighed and continued peering out at the snow. Tarrant frowned, and in a decidedly smart impulse, grabbed her by her sleeved arm then proceeded to drag her in a backwards motion through the kitchen and down to the very end of the darkened hallway, lit briefly by a few smatterings of ever-burning candles, to finally stop in front of a door with no keyhole or doorknob. Alice, who glared a bit at the man patting all of his pockets (including the ones in his shoes and socks) in search of something she could only guess at, questioned, "Is it always knobless?"

"Always."

"And is there normally no way to enter?"

"Or exit."

She puzzled this over and over in her mind, and wondered what logic was there in a room that one couldn't make useful, then reminded herself that by way of logic, she herself shouldn't even be there, so the blonde leaned against a padded green door to watch Tarrant search for whatever it was he was searching for. This also left her free to examine his pallour closely without possible embarrasement, for he was concentrating on digging in his deep pockets. His complexion, unhealthily pale as usual, was without a freckle to break the smooth continuity of skin. There was something different, something she couldn't put her finger on...

Before she could fish the whatever-it-was from her observations, he had fished a yellow, square, key-like object from his left sock. "Aha!" he cried and shoved the thing full-force to where a keyhole should have been. The door, with a shlurp, sucked it in and opened itself slowly from the inside. Tarrant bent over to retrieve the object and stuck it distractedly into a pocket in his coat. "This," he said in an introductory tone, "was my sister's room."

Before Alice could take in this information, he was dragging her, yet again, to the armoire, opening it, and rifleing through his sister's clothes as if Alice had all the reason in the world to be in his sister's room.

"Tarrant, where is she?"

"Where is whom?" he inquired, still going back and forth from the hanging dresses, entirely unmindful of the dust flying off of the fabric.

"Your sister."

"Deceased." This caused Alice to gasp in shock.

"Deceased?"

"Aye," he half-turned to her, hands on a pale pink winter coat with what looked like bandersnatch fur at the cuffs and hood, "Ye remember? Jabberwock? Horuvendoush day?" His voice lasped into the Outlandish brogue that signaled oncoming madness.

Alice felt the blood drain from her face; how stupid was she to forget! "Tarrant, I'm terribly..." she trailed off softly, then found her voice again, "terribly sorry I forgot. It was a mistake..."

Tarrant smiled sadly, nodded his head to clear the buzzing beginning in his mind, and turned back to the clothes, having already forgiven her for the reminder of his lost clan, and browsed his sister's clothing, at last pulling out the aforementioned winter coat. "Yes, this will do." He held it out for her inspection.

"It's gorgeous," she said softly, hesitatingly smoothing her hand over the soft material of the coat, "but will it-"

"Fit? Aye," he nodded confidently. "You both were the same size, I believe." To prove his point, he removed the coat hangar and stepped behind Alice, slipping the garment over her shoulders in what would be considered a most intimate way, which she supposed was normal for bethrothed couples, yet terribly un-normal for Alices, particularly a certain Alice Kingsleigh. He stepped in front of- what seemed to him- a strangely blushing Alice, replacing his hands on her shoulders (he didn't seem to wish to remove them) and smiled. "Tá lá breá ann," he murmured, leaning ever so slightly closer, and Alice noticed his eyes were swirling with a lighter green mixed with a bit of pink; then he blinked and straightened suddenly, moving away from her and clearing his throat. He offered his arm to her in a most gentlemanly fashion, and after her acceptance of his escort, they walked quietly from the room, resealing the room, leaving it to its ghosts.

Down the hall, through the kitchen, past the death room and living room, then out of the windmill the pair strolled, out into the chill of the day. Alice's boots crunched in the snow, a happy rythym that kept half-time in synchopation to her companion's common-time stride. Across the snow-laden paths they travelled, slowly, leisurely, although sometimes Alice could feel Tarrant's body tense, as if he wished to take off running, and she was the only anchor he had. The occasional bird-song would flit across the sky, a rare disturbance of an otherwise comfortably quiet winter's day; Alice was comfortable as well, so comfortable, in fact, that she found her head feeling quite drowsy and leaning oh-so-cleverly toward the other's shoulder. The first few times this happened, she would rectify her stance immediately; the next few occasions, she would ponder on whether it would be too improper; the final time, she was doing entirely away with whether it would seem her to be too forward- after all, they were to be married, were they not?- and gave in to the desire to rest her lazy head (she would have to have a right bit of discussion with it later) against his shoulder as they walked on. By and by, Alice looked up and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular," he answered. "We are simply walking for you to get your fill of the frost before it melts."

"Oh," said she, then fell quiet again. Walking a few more feet, she asked, "Why?"

"To make you happy. I don't care for it very much myself, but you do, immensely so, and so here we are, we are walking together, so that you won't grieve so when it does melt, which it is sure to do, you know, it never lasts very-"

"Tarrant!"

"Yes, yes, we are walking. Simply walking." He smiled down at her, and Alice wondered at the simplicity of his happiness, how he went out of his way many times to indulge her of silly things, yet it seemed to make him happy as well. The frantic little pull of his arm signaled that he was, once again, wishing to run, and Alice was keeping him back; well that wasn't very fair of her, was it? No, it wasn't, she told herself, and so, she would indulge him, begin repaying him for his kindness. She released his arm gently and stood in the snow. Tarrant continued walking for a bit, then suddenly realized that he was missing an Alice; he swivelled around, ran back to where she was, and asked why she had stopped. Had he said something to upset her?

"No, not at all," she answered, smiling broadly, "I thought that we might have- might have a race!"

"A race?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed to the bemused but grinning hatter. "We should race! Enjoy the snow while it's here, correct? What better way to do so than a race?"

"Where shall we end it?"

"Hm..." this gave Alice pause. She looked around the area, finding not much but the curved path leading to a stone bridge that stood over a frozed stream and, across the bridge, a red-barked tree with white-flecked indigo leaves. "That tree," she decided, pointing, and looked to Tarrant for approval. A strange, giddy smile grew in his expression, lightening it, and he nodded, very approving of her choice.

"It's decided then! Ready?" He nodded and half-crouched, still grinning. "Set..." Alice got in a more relaxed version of Tarrant's position, the latter practically twitching with anticipation. "Go!" she shouted, and off they both ran, swiftly moving boots causing snow to fly from underneath their feet. Immediately Tarrant had a large gain on her, though he had to jog on the curve to make it across the bridge without sliding on the frosty ground. He was closing in on the tree, she saw as she ran as fast as she could in the multiple layers of feminine clothing, and wasn't stopping or slowing or anything- he would collide if he didn't slow! "Tarrant!" she shouted, "Slow down!" He ignored her yelling and kept running, running, running right into the- but wait! Alice was entirely confused; the tree was moving. She stopped at the edge of the bridge and watched as Tarrant ran after the tree, trying to catch it to win the race. Alice laughed and dashed off after the tree as well, which was moving in circles and zig-zags in an effort to get away from the racing duo. Their mingled laughter was shared freely in the open as the tree did not give up on its 'fight for freedom', so to speak; soon Alice was quite out of breath and unable to run, and halted at the base of a regular-looking tree. Leaning against it, she smiled to herself as she watched Tarrant stubbornly refuse to give up on the chase, letting the pent-up energy remove itself from his body and mind. A rustling sound was coming from one of the boughs, interrupting her gazing, causing her to look up; it was Chessur, of all people- er, cats.

" 'Ello, love," he grinned widely.

"Hello, Chessur," she greeted. "What brings you out of the orange grove?"

"I heard a disturbance," he purred, "and set out to investigate." He pawed at the branch, needlessly sharpening his claws in the doing so, and asked, "And what brings you out, Mrs. Hightopp?"

Alice blushed and countered, "I'm not Mrs. Hightopp. Chess."

"But you will be, correct?" The Cat's eyes took on a serious mood, staring her down sternly.

"Yes! Of course, yes."

"Good." His countanence returned to its default expression- one of madness, sarcasm, and joy mixed in one cynical, smiling cat's face. "You didn't answer my question," he reminded her.

"Tarrant decided we were going to go for a walk, and we had a race."

"A race?" Alice imagined if cats had eyebrows, Chessur's would be floating off of his head, judging by the high note of surprise in his voice.

"Yes, a race."

"And who's winning?"

"You see me standing here, don't you?"

"Yes, and a very odd angle to be at, if I do say so." He yawned and stretched out against the branch.

"Oh? What angle would you have me at, then, O Knowledged One?" asked the other, dripping with sarcasm.

"You could join me, you know. There are matters to discuss."

"Matters?"

"Hatter matters."

"Oh." Standing at the base of the tree, she considered the height of the nearest branch, and wondered how she'd accomplish climbing it, seeing as how it was so very high up.

Chessur drawled, "I'd offer to help, but I'm so tired..."

"Yes, of course, lazy cat," she muttered, jumping as high as she could in an attempt to grab hold of the branch, which left a lot to be desired she felt, recognizing the extra weight that the winter coat gave her, but she wasn't about to remove it to lay it on the ground; glancing about, she found a nearby tree with a low-laying nub of a branch that resembled a coat hook. Removing the article gingerly, she hung it, making sure it was secure, then set about to jump again. Chessur watched intently as Alice struggled briefly to climb up to the tree, what with being weighed down by all her layers of fabric. "Do hurry up, I have things to do," he drawled, drumming his claws against the peeling bark of the tree. Alice huffed as she and her dress pulled themselves up to the branch Chessur had made himself comfortable on.

"What sort of Hatter matters, Cat?" she asked, pausing for a bit before realizing that the Cat had dozed off. She reached out to scratch the feline between his ears, but before her fingers even made contact with the grey fur, Chessur's left eye snapped open and Alice drew back.

With an obnoxiously loud yawn, Chessur eyed the soon-to-be Mrs. Hightopp. "The ceremony, silly child. Have you given any thought to it at all?" He rolled his eyes at her silence and flicked his tail irritably. Alice turned her gaze downward. "This is going to be the biggest day of your life and you… don't even know how it will happen?

Alice glared back at Chessur in an attempt to stop the slew of insults the Cat was prepared to throw at her. "I don't want anything big… Why can't we just get married by the windmill without any need for heavy dresses and an explosion of flowers everywhere?"

"Naïve child!" the Cat snapped unexpectedly. "You will be married at Mirana's palace whether you like it or not. Mirana will not hear of it otherwise and Tarrant surely will object to not making a scene of the wedding." Alice shuddered and Chessur snorted. "You may not enjoy convention, Alice Kingsleigh, but we take certain things very seriously in Underland, contrary to popular belief."

Chessur paused to watch Tarrant continue chasing the Caucus Tree, smiling slightly to himself. Resting his head atop a paw, the Cat turned back to Alice. "Now, you don't have a father here, do you? You don't have a father at all…" He ignored her slightly surprised intake of air as he emotionlessly mentioned the fact that her father had passed. "I suppose you will walk in with one of Mirana's knights if we cannot find anyone… suitable."

Chessur mumbled something about Nivens being too late for everything to even consider for such an important role. Alice raised an eyebrow as the Cat went through her wedding plans, continuing with Mallymkun being the Flower Girl to Thackery catering the reception afterwards. "Perhaps the Tweedles can be the ringbearers, for there are two rings and two of them and I suppose if we gave one two and the other none a fight will arise… And Nivens can oversee them all. Once he gets to where he needs to be, he has an impeccable sense of time…"

"So, obviously, Cat, I get no say in-"

"And of course, I will be Tarrant's best man," Chessur interjected. "There is no one more responsible than I except for Absolem, who will be busy presiding over the ceremony." Alice scoffed and the Cat shot her a deathly glare. "If you had bothered to plan this out yourself earlier we would not be having this problem. Now sit quietly and pay attention."

Alice gathered up her skirts, preparing to climb back down and escape the Cat who enjoyed tormenting her mind, when Chessur hooked his claws into the fabric of her sleeve.

"You will say 'I do,' yes? You will not run. You will agree to this marriage, or else you will humiliate Tarrant at the altar in front of all of Underland."

"Why would I ever-"

"And I would be very, very upset with you."

"But what do I care if you-"

"And Mirana would be eternally mortified."

"Tarrant would-"

"Tarrant would go out of his mind, moreso than he already is. He would, in fact, probably die of heartbreak and insanity."

"Chessur, you're hurting me." Chessur dug his claws deeper into the sleeve, grazing her skin.

"You will marry him, without question, second thoughts and doubts. Do I make myself clear?" Alice nodded, with tears brimming in her eyes. Chessur's menacing glare suddenly transformed into a radiant grin. "Good, good, wonderful. Now we must go fetch Tarrant and begin the preparations!"

Alice watched as Chessur gave a final grin and disappeared slowly from sight, winking as he did so. Sighing, she stared into the snowy sky, shaking her head in wonder at what she had gotten herself into.

Tarrant, who finally gave up on the tree (which settled down nicely and comfortably once the man turned, panting, from it), looked round for Alice, who was nowhere to be seen. A voice floating about his left ear advised him to look up the tree in a general eastern direction, and so he did; Alice, who was still pondering over the things that were revealed to her by the Cat, was leaning pensively against a crook in the thick branch, hands folded in quiet contemplation across her stomach, one leg bent, the other hanging carelessly over the side, swinging a bit in the air. He felt he ought not to shout, lest she be startled enough to fall and harm herself. The most logical conclusion, he mused in a sane way, would be either to climb to where she was, or startle her and attempt to catch her as she fell. Both had their faults and successes, he felt, but it seemed that he would much rather risk bodily harm to himself than to her: so began he up the tree. It was a hard going, for he was a Hatter and not a squirrel, and thus was neither accomplished in tree-climbing, nor was he bred to do so; nor was he accustomed to the activity, besides. This showed greatly in his inability to gain leverage enough to reach the branch Alice was perched upon, like a content squirrel herself. She was staring upwards and away from Tarrant, past the treetop and into the white sky, thinking very animated and heavy thoughts it seemed, if her dire expression was any indication. Tarrant would rather have gone without tea for the rest of his life than break into those thoughts, so serious did they seem; so as quietly as he could, without calling to Alice for a helping hand (or two), he successfully and painfully climbed to her side, or rather, her company. Never taking notice of his struggle nor his arrival, she remained in her own mind. He patiently sat in front of her, legs hung over and using his hands to steady himself. Refusing to look downwards lest he lose his nerve, he studied Alice as she studied her gray matter. After a bit of this, he noted that his sister's coat was missing, which didn't bode well, and he felt the tiniest bit angry, yet felt that Alice must have not wished it torn or dirtied on the tree, and so he was appeased. Finally he sighed; the soft sound snapped the brown eyes away from the heavens and to him, widening in her surprise. "Tarrant!" she gasped. "I didn't notice you there! How did you get up here, anyway?"

"I climbed," he smiled.

"What about the tree?"

"The Caucus tree? It proved too much for me, and I grew out-of-breath before I could properly catch it. I got the barest touch of a branch once! I know I did! I felt it! The tree cheated," he declared, pouting.

Alice laughed. "Oh poor Tarrant, of course it did! You did marvelous," she added with a smile, prompting a smile from the hatter, who said in a very matter-of-fact way that of course, for he was an expert in Caucus trees.

"What shall we do now?" Alice wondered aloud.

"What do you wish to do?"

"I'm comfortable where we are, but you seem a bit..." she trailed off, searching for an accurate but kind word. "Uncomfortable," stated she with finality.

"Erm, yes," he agreed, still absolutely refusing to cast his eyes downward, "yes, a bit uncomfortable, whereas you seem to be content," she was eyed in what could be said as an odd manner, or as if she were an anomaly, "and so if you did wish to remain in a tree like so many squirrels, then in a tree shall we stay; but if you were to venture ground-ward, well, I do not believe I would be too harmed by the doing, mentally I mean, physically, too, I would hope-"

"Tarrant," she laughed a bit, leaned forward (never wavering in her perfect balance, and touched a hand to his cheek, hushing him immediately, and asked in a very serious voice, "would you like to climb down?"

"Yes," he croaked. "Very much."

"Would you like me to go first, or would you wish to start the thing?"

"I'll do it, I'll do it." Tarrant began the very slow, very careful process of undoing his doings that got him up the tree, in order to get him down. Alice was concerned with his stance, which looked a bit like an angry cat when confronted by water, yet said nothing and let him figure it out himself: he'd be happier and more accomplished that way, she said to herself. It took much effort and much patience, but at last Tarrant was on the ground, in one piece, and much happier. Alice, in contrast, swung herself gracefully down, boots and all, and landed in the snow next to Tarrant. "Show-off," he muttered. Alice simply grinned and reclaimed the coat from the tree after thanking it (just in case); she then shrugged it on without assistance and looped her arm in Tarrant's, smiling up at him in such a way that he couldn't resist very long and smiled back. The two began walking once more, across the bridge and in the direction of the windmill. "So," said Alice, "a wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"Our wedding, to be exact."

"Ours?"

"Yes, ours. I have some, ah, plans in mind, but I wondered if you wished to set a date-"

"Tomorrow!"

"Yes, that is- wait, what?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because there's no time-"

"Bah!" the excited fellow exclaimed. "That bugger is always being an annoyance in some form or the other. How does the day after tomorrow sound?"

"It's still too soon!"

"It couldn't be soon enough!"

"Tarrant, why not a month?"

"A month is far too long!"

She huffed exasperatedly, furrowing her brow and looking at the obstinate man. "Tarrant, please. Be reasonable! There are things to do, and these things take-" she was going to say time but seeing his darkening glare, finished with, "preparation."

His eyes cleared of red and his countenance smoothed. "Yes, I suppose you are right. A compromise, perhaps?"

"Three weeks," she offered, hoping Mirana would be able to work within that limit.

He thought on this very hard and long, then nodded. "Three weeks." Happily, he hummed as they arrived at the windmill in the sinking light, the night steadily approaching. "Did you enjoy yourself today, my dear?"

"Very much so," she sighed, turned at the door and took a last look at the snow as it was swiftly growing too dark to view. When she turned back, she saw Tarrant glaring at something hanging on the top of the doorway. "What is it?"

"Chessur."

"Hm?" She squinted and looked harder, attempting to scope out the tell-tale grin.

"Chessur. He has hung mistletoe."

"Mistletoe...?" Yes, now that she knew what was there, she could make out the outline in the dusky light. "We seem to be standing-"

"Right under it, yes." Before she could ask if the tradition she knew was the same in Underland, she found herself being lifted into the air, held in his arms, and grinned at (not that she could see anyhow). She almost got out "What are you doing?" but didn't get so far as the "are" before his lips were happily overtaking hers and her thoughts flew quickly out of her head. She found that she wasn't quite as solid, but terribly real, and that she was peculiarly moving, but was not, when these sorts of happenings took place, and that they always ended far too soon in her opinion, such as this kiss did. He broke their contact only through the intimacy of their mouths: he continued to hold her as if she were a babe. They entered the windmill in this manner, out of the cold (not that it was too cold anymore) and dark. He crashed against the white couch that occasionally crawled halfway up the paisley-patterned walls before setting itself right again (as it was doing now: crawling, not setting itself right), and used one of the armrests as a footrest, so that he could lay against the moon-shaped curve with her in tow. "To be perfectly clear," he said softly once they were both comfortably settled, "three weeks?"

She nodded and yawned. "Three weeks." Forgetting how scandalous it would seem to anyone walking through the windmill, her lazy head (that talk would need to be said later) nestled against his neck, and she felt herself falling asleep from the tiring day. Tarrant began singing lowly, only making it harder for her to remain conscious, and soon he was sleeping peacefully against him; Tarrant was following her, quite euphoric and pleased with himself and Alice. Three weeks, his thoughts buzzed before he was totally gone, three weeks, three weeks, three weeks...

To anyone interested (remove spaces):

The paisley wallpaper: http:/ t1. gstatic. com / images ? q= tbn: A N d 9 G c R d Y b Y t I c A h 5 f f J e Z M n P 9 9 U y d O D E j L V p M u G k h i R g E V H g f y s p 6 h L

The couch: http:/ www. woohome. com / wp-content /uploads /2008 /07 /lila007 canape1. jpg

I have no picture for the Caucus tree, because I totally made it up (an allusion to the caucus race in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland), but if you wanted to draw it, it'd be great! *hint hint*