Have I Ever Told You?
Prologue
"You should write to him."
Arthur scowled at his cup of tea. "Certainly not."
Francis leaned over the back of the ornately decorated couch and looked down at Arthur. "You can't tell me you have nothing to say. You've always been very . . . verbose."
Arthur snorted, knowing that Francis was thinking of less than flattering instances. "That's one way to put it."
"Mon ami. . . ." Francis hesitated. He knew this was delicate ground he was treading on. "Alfred has always been one to value the written word. I know it is against your nature to write down your true thoughts, but clearly talking face-to-face is getting you nowhere."
"Yes, you and Alfred and writing things down," Arthur said, acid dripping from his voice. "Him and his Decl– his Bill of Rights–" (Francis winced at Arthur's near slip; he knew it pained him) "And you and your Declaration of the Rights of Man or whatever. I'm sure you understand each other better than I understand either of you anyway."
Francis bit back a comment and made his way around to the front of the couch. He sat down next to Arthur and poured himself a cup of tea (mostly to be polite, and to force himself to be as tactful as possible). He took a sugar cube from the bowl and delicately placed it in his tea. "I really think he wouldn't mind hearing from you more regularly."
Arthur set down his teacup with a sharp click. "I'm not against sending him regular correspondence. I'm against using it as some sort of therapy, as you seem to be suggesting. I don't need therapy."
Francis sighed. "I simply think you would benefit from more contact than you've been getting." Arthur's eyes narrowed and Francis quickly backed down. "Ah, I mean, you should communicate with him more. Perhaps you do not realize it, but I think he misses you."
"Right," Arthur said. He did not sound impressed.
"I simply think it might be more fruitful than you expect," Francis said softly.
Once Francis had left, Arthur went into his study and found his fountain pen. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a bottle of ink and set them on his desk. He dipped the nib of the pen in the ink, very carefully, and looked at the wide expanse of the paper. He had written letters to Alfred before. They had always had a purpose, yes, but they had still been about casual matters, sometimes. A friendly letter was surely hardly any different. A "Dear Alfred" seems like a safe way to start, he thought, and lowered the pen. He stopped it just above the paper. "Dear" Alfred? Would simply "Alfred" be better? His eyes narrowed. His hand withdrew, then returned again. He freshened the ink on his pen. Perhaps he should date it first. He moved his pen to the upper righthand corner.
His hand clenched into a fist around the pen. He set it down on the desk angrily and then stood up. He left the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Francis was right. He could not write down his Constitution because it was too close to his heart, and neither could he pen a letter to Alfred in which he did not lie.
Author's note: I know it's basically a death sentence to my other fic to start another one concurrently, but it's really not, I swear! I'm just a little stuck at the moment, and I've been wanting to write this story for a long time. My updates for my other one shouldn't be too much slower. Also, this fic is going to have crazy short chapters sometimes. Sorry. ^^
Edit: Bowtiecat has made a wonderful fanart for this story and you should definitely check it out! It is the cover for this story, but you should look at the full version on her deviantart (same name). The link is in my profile.
Edit 2: And Sky Tea has translated it into Chinese! Link in my profile.
