"Yes, Amy my dear?"
"He will come back though, won't he?" Her eyes were filled with desperation and childish assumption, optimism and sanguineness. Arthur couldn't help but convince himself to convince her that he would in fact return. "Of course he will, poppet, of course he will..."
"But what if he doesn't?"
Arthur smiled, crouching down beside the girl sitting in the arm-chair "Amelia, I'm sure he will...and, in fact, I don't think he ever left." His emerald orbs were fixated on the oblivious girls face; if only she knew the extent of his feelings, if only she knew the true meaning behind his words and the face behind the mask.
"I don't get it."
"Maybe he dreams about you as much as you do him , maybe he loves you twice as much." His voice went soft and lulling, a comfort to the wistful young lady.
Her eyes sparkled as she took in his face "It's almost as if you are him." Arthur stiffened, but also from the ghosting of fingers across his cheeks. "You seem to understand how he feels so well, as if you feel the same desperation." She didn't see the very same thing in her friends eyes as he stood up and turned away. If only she knew how forlorn, how irremediable his love really was. The young man adjusted his glasses with a gentle sigh. "I'm nothing but a story-teller, a wordsmith, Amy; and I do wish I was more, but alas some things are never meant to be. The only reason I understand is because I have the same longing for something, or someone in particular." He smiled weakly "Don't we all wish we could escape from this?"
"Yes, sometimes I wish I could. But who on Earth do you love? You're so devoted to your work!"
"That's the very thing."
"You love your job?"
Arthur smiled genuinely and tapped his nose with a slender finger "Mayhaps, but then that would be telling~"
"Oh please, Arthur!~" And with that, the two began their day; all the while Arthur feeling pensive and desirous. At first glance Amelia didn't seem to realise how reflective, yearning and plaintive the young man was; but with a restive shrug she simply dismissed it as him having writers block or being uninspired. Surely he couldn't be that meditative about a mere legend, a hero that she'd perhaps never even meet again?
Later on that afternoon, Arthur had delivered the letter that Amelia had wanted him to; and was then heading back through the town as a short-cut. He hadn't paid any heed to the faded parchment posters that peeled off the grimy brick walls, but his gaze was immeadietly attracted to one when he realised he was staring into his own face. Of course it was a rather amature sketch of him, with comically large eye-brows, but all the same it was a startling and bewildering experience- He was moved, something like butterflies stirring in the pit of his stomach for all the wrong reasons. He hadn't realised he'd been thought so malicious as to be put on a wanted poster! Dead or alive too, and the reward was a handsome one...
The green-eyed young man whipped around when he felt a hand on his shoulder; glasses knocked askew slightly. His face fell when he saw who had caught him looking at the image.
"Oh, it's you Francis."
"Indeed it is, mon lapin~ What are you doing on such a lovely day as this?"
Francis Bonnefoy wasn't a man whom you'd initially think bitter or detrimental; but he was all the same. Jealous, malignant, rancorous, petty and obsessed with women, among other things- Arthur Kirkland had hated him his whole life, detesting the fact that the blue-eyed man had sought to be a 'brotherly' figure towards him. He knew exactly what the French-man wanted though, and knew he also wanted to make his life a misery despite his seemingly innocent facade.
The smaller blonde allowed himself a small, smug smile as he remembered the care he'd took when practically demolishing the older mans home. He'd caused an awful mess, and he'd taken a lot of pleasure when he was destroying Francis's favourite possession: a particularly expensive vase from the halls of some French palace. Of course it was expensive, and he'd have been better off stealing it, but he wanted to cause extra havoc for his life-long rival. Normally Arthur would touch barely anything at all, but that one time had been the only exception. And by the Queen he absolutely loved it. He'd also taken a journal belonging to the man, and had delighted in reading it. Even more so satisfying was the horrified look on Francis's face when he casually let slip some of his darkest secrets. Even though it wasn't particularly being a highwayman, sometimes Arthur would stoop to lower forms of crime just for his entertainment.
And, as it always did, his guiltlessness and chastity always let him get away with it. Thought of as humble and righteous, Francis didn't even consider that Arthur would have gone as far as to sneak into his house (even though he had done).
The French-man followed his companion around the town, Arthur occasionally making a sour comment and pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Francis!" He snapped, when his company had become too much.
"I need to discuss something with you~" He said, placing a hand over his heart "I'm offended that you don't like spending time with me!"
"Well, you could have told me earlier. I've got places to be, obligations, unlike you."
"Fine, I'll cut straight to the point. I need you to give this to one of the maids for me." Arthur stared, pertrubed at a small parcel that had been retrieved out of the French-mans pocket. Whatever the item was, it was wrapped in white silk and tied up with lace. To tell the truth, the young Englishman didn't want to know what was inside, just so he wasn't possibly scarred for life.
"Which maid is it?"
"It isn't from me to her, it's for my friend Gilbert~"
"Just tell me who it is, and then let me go."
"It's a charming young la-"
"Francis."
"Elizaveta."
"Fine." Arthur snatched the parcel out of the mans hands. "Though she won't like it, she's been making eyes at our piano tutor Rodereich for weeks now." He nodded quickly, not giving Francis enough time to say anything else as he hurtled away. He was late enough already, and he still had that blasted poster on his mind.
"Miss Amelia, I'm here!" Arthur called up the stairs, watching the annoyed Elizaveta disappear back into another room with the parcel from Gilbert in her hands. Soon enough Amelia appeared, skipping down the flight and then smiling widely.
"Did you send it?"
"Of course I did, My Lady."
"Why do you call me that!"
"I thought you liked the formality, and after all, didn't you say it made you feel royal?"
"B-But I want you to call me by my own name now..."
"Then I shall." Arthur nodded, smiling fondly "Is there anything else you need though, Amy? If you don't mind, I've been given the evening off."
"Oh yes, because of the ball."
"Yes. I didn't want to get in the way of the festivities."
"While you're at home, will you think of another story for me?"
"Anything for you~" He finished, before pivoting on his heel and heading towards the dusty trail that lead towards his cottage. Secluded and like something out of a children's book, it was private enough for the young man; and he knew for certain that it was impossible for anyone to find out about his secret identity. A bit of a shy young man who wrote books and lived on the edge of the woods, that's all he was and all he would be to everyone else. It was a satifsfying thing knowing that he had his own thrilling secret, his own way of escaping the trials of reality.
Really, the highwayman persona he had created for himself was nothing but a story, a character he had found appealing at first. He only ever thought to become one for real when the children had started singing the songs about him that he wrote; and when he felt that his life had become arduous and boring. It could have been just a rebellious phase, but all the same Arthur liked the liberation and the sensation that he got when becoming something that he wasn't. Truly, he'd never actually be heroic or brave- But when he was Him, an entirely different person, he could do anything.
He wasn't disappointing, he wasn't a nobody.
He wasn't weak or ridiculed.
He was someone capable of being loved by Amelia.
