"My dad, Artie, he's invited you over for dinner," Alfred repeated. Arthur's questioning look did not falter. "You don't have to if you don't have time, but it'd be really cool if you could!"
"No, no – that's not it…"
Anthony Jones. Anthony Jones was dead. Arthur had heard the name clearly, and yet Alfred was stating that the man was still alive. Was Arthur dreaming? No, no, that wasn't it, but something was definitely amiss. "I'm sorry, Alfred, but your father… wasn't he mentioned at the harbour?"
"What? No."
"Are you sure? I'm positive I heard him." Alfred shook his head incredulously.
"No! My dad is at home right now. When did you hear him get called up?"
"At the harbour! They said it there; Anthony Jones. I'm sure I heard it." Was he wrong? Maybe they hadn't said Anthony Jones at all; he might've imagined it. Arthur stared in shock as Alfred grinned.
"My dad's name isn't Anthony, Artie. It's Henry."
"It's Henry? Henry Jones?"
"Yes, Arthur, it's Henry Jones."
"Not Anthony Jones?"
"Nope."
"Are you sure?"
"I think I'd know my own dad's name."
"Right. Of course you do."
Arthur felt so stupid, so incredibly stupid and relieved. There he'd gone for days, just assuming that that man – Anthony – was Alfred's father. Why had he drawn such a hasty conclusion? Maybe because he had expected the worst all along.
"There were a lot of Joneses counted up, you know? What made you think it was Anthony?"
"I… I didn't think, I guess. I'm sorry, Alfred." Arthur was laughing now, a little awkwardly, but still laughing. This was so absurd – how he'd worried himself sick over nothing. His friend looked at him with a sympathetic smile. Arthur suddenly felt a hand on his cheek, stroking gently. He only then realised he'd been crying – probably from laughing.
"You okay? Do you want me to hold you?" Alfred asked kindly. He removed his hand and held out his arms in invitation. Arthur shook his head, but leaned in all the same. He didn't really need the comforting – not like the first time it had happened – but it felt nice, being held like that. Alfred was really spoiling him when it came to hugs, but he didn't receive any from anyone else, so Arthur figured it was fine.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, perfectly content with how things had turned out. "Thank you."
"Good." Alfred sounded unaffected as usual, but Arthur knew better now. After the small breakdown Alfred had last month, he wasn't sure what the other was actually thinking. It bothered him, but he doubted Alfred would give him an honest answer if he asked. Alfred pulled away slightly, so that they came face-to-face again. Arthur was no longer crying, and there were hardly any traces of tears left on his face either. "So… Do you wanna come over for dinner?"
Right. Arthur had almost forgotten about the invitation. Was there any good way of turning him down politely? He did want to dine with Alfred's family – in fact, he would have loved to – but there still was that small problem of Alfred's mother. What if she recognised him? He had managed to stay relatively hidden from her sight last time, but he couldn't wear a hood during dinner. "I… I don't know Alfred. I would have loved to, but my schedule's really tight… homework and all." He sent him an apologetic smile, feeling even worse about lying when he saw how Alfred's ever-present smile fell.
"Oh… Well, yeah. That's okay. Mine's pretty packed too." He laughed, but Arthur could tell that it wasn't genuine. It was actually a miracle that Alfred hadn't seen through his façade yet, especially when he knew that Arthur had to live somewhere on the castle grounds. The boy's shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked up at him again with faint hope in his eyes. "It's just… it's not like you'd impose or somethin'. My mom's still busy with funerals, so it's just me and dad." He shrugged, but still eyes Arthur with those shining eyes. The princess contemplated his options.
"Shouldn't the funerals already be over with?" Arthur asked casually, not wanting to seem too interested, but in a way he guessed that he was. It had been a month since Hearts sank the ships. One couldn't wait with a funeral for that long. "The ones for the war casualties, I mean."
Alfred shook his head, looking rather sad about the fact. "Well, they're already buried and all, but there hasn't been time to hold ceremonies for everyone. Mom's really stressed." Arthur sent him a sympathetic smile, knowing that Alfred had probably been lonely at home without his mother. He didn't know if his father had come home a long time ago, but he had a feeling Alfred would have told him if that was the case.
Even though Arthur pitied his friend at the moment, he couldn't help but smile inwards. Alfred's mother wasn't home. Since Eleanor was the only one who could possibly recognise him, that meant that there shouldn't be any harm in accepting the invitation, right? Even if she had told her husband about him, he shouldn't be able to identify him – especially not if he could make Alfred introduce him as "Artie" again. Wonderful.
"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that," he said, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "You know, actually, I might be able to squeeze it in… I mean, it's just one evening." He smiled a little timidly at him. He hadn't been lying when he said that his schedule was packed, but this was a special occasion; a once-in-a-lifetime chance for him, probably, and with Alfred's mother gone he just couldn't miss it.
Whatever hesitance he still felt about the matter completely melted away when he saw Alfred's reaction. There were few times when he actually saw him shine. There was no other way to describe the look on his face; it was like a sun that radiated happiness.
"Really?" Alfred threw himself at him in another hug. "Awesome! I'll let him know you're coming. Does tomorrow work for you?"
Arthur, a little flustered at the exaggerated reaction, nodded dumbly, his arms hanging limp by his sides. "Yeah, tomorrow's fine."
"Great!" Alfred pulled away again and – much to Arthur's surprise – planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Meet me here at 5 sharp tomorrow, then," he said. Arthur could have sworn that his cheeks looked redder as Alfred looked down at his side of the wall, as if averting his gaze. "I-I'll go and tell him now… Yeah, I'll do that." He flashed Arthur another bright smile before jumping down onto the moss, and with a wave began to jog off. Arthur could only stare after him, feeling confused and disappointed. He was confused because of Alfred's reaction – he rarely blushed like that – and he was disappointed because he had just run off like that. Arthur had hoped that they could talk for at least another thirty minutes or so. It almost felt as if Alfred couldn't wait to get away. Arthur gave a mental shrug and jumped down from the wall. He rubbed the part of his cheek that still tingled lightly as he walked back. Alfred had gradually developed a tendency to kiss his forehead or cheeks when excited. Arthur didn't know what to think of it. At first it had only been when he hurt himself somewhere – and he could understand that, it was a comforting gesture – but did all friends really kiss each other like that? It wasn't on the mouth, but the kisses were starting to come more often and usually without any reason. Despite the weirdness of it, Arthur found that he didn't mind them.
"Oh, but please! Really, I'm begging you! You can have my food if you'd like, just please, cover for me?" Arthur was on the verge of falling to his knees in front of the maid. Begging was not really his thing, but Svea did not leave him much of a choice when refusing his first request. He could not tell if he was even close to winning her over either – her face maintained the same expression she'd had at the beginning of the conversation.
It was currently 3 o'clock, with only two hours left before he was supposed to meet up with Alfred. Yao would under no circumstances allow him outside for so many hours, especially when Arthur didn't have any good explanation as to why. Being with his "invisible friends" would not do, and he could definitely not say anything about Alfred. That's why Arthur called Svea up to his chambers. It was supposed to go smoothly, with the maid simply fulfilling his request, but she did not seem to want any part in his "escapades" any longer.
She was still eyeing him indifferently, and Arthur was beginning to contemplate if he should just sneak out for the evening and deal with the consequences later. But finally, finally, she gave a curt nod. The princess almost shouted with joy. "Thank you!" he said, and got up from his crouching position. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."
"How long will you be gone?" Her voice almost startles him. For how long would he be gone? He honestly had no idea. The dinner should not take too long, and they would probably be having it around 6… Svea seemed to notice his hesitance, and spoke up. "Be back at 9 latest." Arthur looked up at her in surprise. Nine seemed a little late, but he was not going to complain. Instead, he sent her a thankful smile.
"I will! Thank you so much for doing this."
Picking out an outfit for the dinner proved to almost be a greater challenge than his talk to the maid. He did not want to come in the simple, everyday clothes Alfred had already seen him in so many times. Considering the boy's enthusiasm, he should probably try to dress up. But there was the second problem; he couldn't dress too fancy. Arthur had to find a good balance in between the ragged clothes he usually wore and his royal outfits. Unfortunately, he did not own many "in-between garments". They were either of comfortable, but practical and cheap fabric that hung loosely over his small frame, or of fine silk with gold-trimmed cuffs. Arthur groaned. He felt silly, standing on his lonely island surrounded by a sea of clothes that had been thrown to the floor in fit of agitation. Why did it even matter? Alfred should be grateful that he found time to come over at all! The princess sighed, reaching down to pick up a crisp, white shirt. The fabric wasn't too much, but someone had embroidered the front; a spade in gold and sapphire threads. It wasn't too fancy, but Arthur was paranoid. It wasn't unusual for Spadians to wear clothes with spades on them, but he still felt that it was too big a hint for what he was. Arthur peeked inside his wardrobe again, at the few clothes that still hung there. His torso was already bare from having tried on different shirts, so he simply slipped on the embroidered one before reaching inside the closet to grab a dark navy vest. He put it on, and after buttoning it, happily noted that it covered up most of the spade motif. That worked. Now he just had to find a pair of trousers to go with it.
The rest of the outfit was easier to pick out. Ten minutes later, Arthur examined himself in front of the mirror. Dark brown trousers clothes his legs, as well as a pair of white stockings, trimmed with gold thread. His shoes looked more like boots. They were sturdy, practical more than anything, but still polished on the black surface. He would be walking through a forest – destroying a finer pair of shoes would raise suspicion.
Much like the time he had snuck out to the town without consent, Arthur's journey through the castle was slightly nerve-wrecking, but successful. He made it to the wall without anyone seeing him. A smile spread across face when he saw Alfred already there, fidgeting impatiently – out of excitement or nervousness, Arthur couldn't tell, but he guessed on the former. The boy noticed his arrival almost immediately, having already gazed his way.
"Hey!" he called out, voice loud and clear. Arthur mentally cringed, his paranoia wondering if someone had heard. Of course no one had. They were too deep into the woods for any servant or guard to even entertain the thought of going there. Arthur wasn't supposed to be doing this though, and he knew it. He would be forbidden to ever leave the castle if Yao found out, and Alfred would probably receive some sort of punishment as well. God, what would they do to him if they found out that he knew? Arthur didn't want to think about it, so he didn't. Instead, he returned the greeting, waving at him.
"Hey… I'm not late, am I?" Alfred shook his head and helped pull him up on the wall.
"Nope, I'm early!" He said it as if it was something he was proud of. Arthur couldn't understand why – he was rarely "late" whenever they met, not that they had a specific time...
"All right, then." Arthur mentally smirked when he noticed Alfred checking out his outfit. His eyes seemed to linger on certain places longer than others, but Arthur thought nothing of it. Alfred whistled lowly.
"Nice clothes."
"Thank you." Arthur had to admit, Alfred didn't look half-bad himself. The puffy, white cotton shirt he wore made him appear broader, made him look older. Straps that were attached to a pair of light-brown trousers made the shirt accentuate the form of his chest. Alfred hadn't been as practical with his choice of shoes though. They were hardly meant for walking on anything but a hard, smooth and dry surface. "Yours, too." Alfred grinned, and Arthur almost regretted saying anything, for he didn't look up to meet his gaze as he mumbled a "thanks". Rude. Arthur sat there awkwardly, waiting for the boy to realise his mistake, but the apologise and sheepish smile never came. Alfred continued staring into thin air – or well, he was staring at Arthur, but not at his face – and the princess eyed him impatiently. Why was he spacing out? Arthur sighed. "It's rude to stare, you know," he told him sharply. Alfred seemed to finally come to at that. He looked up at Arthur with slightly widened eyes. And was that a blush on his face?
"Ah, sorry… Let's go," he mumbled, and they both jumped down on Alfred's side of the woods. His feet had hardly met the ground when Alfred practically flew down the road he'd created during his many trips to the wall. Arthur struggled to keep up at first. The wheat-haired boy was walking, but it felt as if his feet hit the ground twice as fast as Arthur's. If he was doing this on purpose or not, Arthur couldn't tell.
"What's the hurry?" the princess asked, slightly annoyed. Maybe the boy was embarrassed because he had spaced out, or maybe he was giddy? Either way, it didn't justify leaving him behind! He was supposed to be a guest now, wasn't he?
Alfred looked back, and then slowed his pace to walk next to Arthur. "Sorry, it's just, the faster we get there, the more time we have, right?" The blush was completely gone – Arthur wondered if he might have imagined it – and Alfred took his hand to guide him down the trampled road. "I can't wait to show you the house! Oh, and my room! And for you to meet my dad… It's gonna be awesome!" Alfred was back to his normal self, it seemed. It felt surreal that he'd acted any differently back at the wall, and Arthur silently forgave him.
"I'm sure," he said. It would be nice to finally see Alfred's house. He just hoped the boy understood that it was a rare occurrence, and that he wouldn't be able to come over regularly from now on. Hopefully, he did. He hadn't bothered Arthur about coming with him to school or even into town since last time. Granted, things hadn't gone so well back then, but still. It didn't take long before the colourful church came into sight. Arthur eyed the funny-looking building while Alfred led him down a different path than the one that led to the city. The soft moss under their shoes was soon replaced by cobblestone. Unlike the path that led to the gate, this one went behind the church, towards the graveyard. Arthur shuddered. Thankfully, they didn't have to walk amongst the gravestones. Alfred turned right just before they reached the cemetery, heading down yet another path. This one led to a small opening in the forest that lay opposite from the Holy Woods. It was a rather small patch of trees, just enough to cover what lay behind them. Alfred was practically skipping down over the cobblestones now, pulling Arthur along. There was a small, white fence ahead, with a matching gate. Arthur could see a house lying on the other side, though not facing them. The small route they were walking now was obviously meant to make Eleanor's access to the church easier. The family's house was facing the city, though there was a small brick wall there, too, marking the property. The house was white – wooden, from what Arthur could tell –, fairly large two-story building. Arthur had expected it to be a small, almost humble house considering Alfred's mother's profession, but he had to remind himself that his father was a rather successful navy captain from what he'd gathered. They did not seem to be short on money.
"There it is!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly. His walk turned into a jog and he let go of the monarch's hand. Arthur followed him up to the small gate. To his surprise, Alfred didn't stop at the fence. Using one hand for leverage, he easily jumped over it. Arthur eyed him sceptically, stopping a few metres from the gate. Surely, Alfred didn't expect him to follow like that? His gaze had apparently got through to the boy, for he chuckled. "Sorry, it's a magical gate – I can't open it."
Arthur couldn't help himself; he snorted. That was a magical gate? But it was so small! Why would someone even go through the trouble of enchanting it? Anyone could just follow Alfred's example of jumping over it. The princess strode up to the fence, brow creasing in confusion. He didn't get any vibes from the gate that indicated magical activity. It was just a plain wooden gate for all he knew. The gaze he sent Alfred was almost condescending as he snapped his fingers, making the gate swing open. Alfred jumped back to avoid being hit by the small door, and grinned at Arthur. "That's awesome!"
Arthur sent him an unimpressed look. "It wasn't enchanted," he said in a deadpan voice. It hadn't taken any effort to lift any enchantment or find a way around it, only to open the door through telekinesis. There hadn't been any magic near that gate. Alfred's grin caught him off guard.
"I know – I just wanted you to open it."
Oh… now that was rude. He had practically tricked him! Arthur would have been mad if he wasn't already smiling with pride. Even if it was something simple like opening a small gate, telekinesis was one of the most difficult magic forms, and Arthur took pride in mastering it… or well, mastering it to some extent. It was highly unusual for anyone under sixteen to be half as skilled as he was. But no other thirteen-year-olds went through the same training either. "You could have just told me so…" Arthur said, walking up next to him.
Alfred shrugged, "Wouldn't have been as fun." He took Arthur's hand again, guiding him along the cobblestone path that led to the house's front. The garden was not as colourful and lively as Arthur had first expected. There was a small assortment of blue and indigo flowers just behind the building, but other than that everything was green. The lawn was surprisingly trimmed. The grass strands seemed to be shorter than thumbnails. It couldn't feel nice to walk around barefoot in that, Arthur noted, then tore his gaze away to stare at the front of the house. Yes, it was definitely larger than Arthur had imagined. It obviously belonged to a wealthy family, and yet Alfred didn't strike him as a spoiled boy. If he had to guess, Arthur would have thought it more likely that the boy came from a poor family, considering his vigilant personality.
"It looks nice," he finally said. Alfred nodded.
"Thanks. Takes a lot of people to maintain it though." Arthur sent him an inquiring look.
"Meaning?"
"Ah, Alfred, I was just going to go looking for you!" exclaimed a woman, standing in the doorway. The first thing that came to Arthur notice was that she wasn't Eleanor; the second was that she wore the outfit of a housemaid. "Please come inside – dinner will be ready soon." She held the door open for them. Arthur kept glancing at Alfred, looking for answers, but the other boy merely smiled at the maid, nodding.
"Thanks, Christine!" he said and practically dragged Arthur up the staircase to the small porch of the house. "And this is Ar–"
"– Artie –"
"– Artie," Alfred finished. He gave the princess an amused look, wondering why he encouraged the use of the nickname. Alfred didn't question it though. "And Artie, this is Christine! She's worked here for as long as I can remember." Christine nodded, smiling politely at Arthur.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Artie," she said.
"Likewise." Arthur returned the smile, wondering what she meant by "finally". He didn't have time to ponder though, for Alfred pulled him inside quickly, his excitement shining through.
"Dad!" Alfred called. It was followed by a sigh from the maid, who disappeared into a room down the hallway. Unlike the house's façade, the inside was surprisingly simple and relaxed. It had obviously been cleaned recently, but there were telltale signs such as the carpet running down the hallway being slightly askew – by the look of it, someone had come running too fast around the corner and skidded – and the small marks in the wall from where a door had been slammed open too violently, that indicated that the house was usually filled with life and thus also messier. The maid – maids, Arthur corrected himself as another one entered the hallway a little farther down – were probably needed much more than he had first thought. After all, Alfred lived here, and with such a big house on top of that it was to be expected. It just felt weird that a priest had housekeepers. "Dad, we're here!" Alfred shouted again.
Soon, loud footsteps could be heard coming from upstairs. If Arthur didn't know better, he would have guessed they belonged to a horse. Alfred's father must be rather large, though his profession spoke against being too plump. Henry Jones, coming down the stairs, proved to be anything but plump. The man was on the burly side with broad shoulders, prominent biceps, and a body that slimmed slightly at the waist and hips. He wore a white shirt much similar to Alfred's and a pair of black slacks. Boots adorned his feet – with the man's body weight on top of those low heels, it was no wonder his footsteps had sounded like thunder.
Henry's smile was broad, bright blue eyes glistening, and for a moment he looked just like Alfred – or well, an older version of Alfred. The only thing that set them apart was the hair. Whereas Alfred's was a lovely wheat-blond colour – much like his mother's – Henry's was considerably paler, almost borderline platinum blond. Looking at the man's tan skin, Arthur guessed that his hair was originally darker, but had become bleached after countless of days spent outside in the burning sun.
"Hey there!" He had a deep baritone voice. Once he had descended, he stuck his hand out towards Arthur. The princess gladly shook it, making it as firm as possible to impress. Henry seemed to notice and grinned. "You must be Arthur! I've heard so much about you. I'm Henry Jones." So this man already knew his name. Of course he did, if he'd "heard so much about him". Arthur's eyes flickered to Alfred for answers, only to see the boy sending his father a mild glare, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. Well, that was unexpected.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jones."
"Please, call me Henry." He smiled warmly and then turned to his son, ruffling his hair. The boy swatted the hand away, obviously embarrassed. "Dinner will be served soon. Why don't you show your friend around? I have some things I need to finish in my study first."
Alfred nodded, and as Henry Jones disappeared upstairs again, he turned to Arthur. "Yeah, that's my dad. So, uh, you wanna see the house?" Arthur smiled. It wasn't often that Alfred acted this bashfully. The boy was usually radiating confidence.
"I would love to."
Even though Alfred dragged him around the entire bottom floor, Arthur didn't see much of the house. He did not have time to, since his friend was far too eager with the tour and pulled him through door after door before the princess could take the interior in. One thing he did take notice of was that all furniture was more functional than decorative. Despite the grandeur of the actual building, the inside was relatively simple. Perhaps Alfred hadn't spent his life living in vast excess after all? In the main hallway of the bottom floor stood a longcase clock, its design fine and delicate. Just as Alfred was about to drag him upstairs, it began to sound, emitting six melodious clangs in tow. On cue, a maid appeared from a nearby room, telling them dinner was served. Alfred had stopped mid-step, and began to drag Arthur with him again, this time to the dining area. The first thing that struck Arthur as they now re-entered the room was the sweet aroma of spices. On the table was an assortment of delicious food. The princess felt his mouth water at the sight of seasoned vegetables, fried potatoes, juicy steaks, and what undoubtedly was delectable broth. Having been served food from the castle kitchen his entire life, Arthur's taste buds had become spoiled. This meal did however meet the usual standard of his dinners. At least the less formal ones.
Alfred gestured for him to take a seat, and Arthur obliged, watching as the other sat across from him. He wasn't the only one who was looking forward to the meal, that much was obvious from Alfred's famished expression. It looked like he was about to steal all the steaks for himself. Soon, Henry joined them as well, and just as promised Eleanor remained absent. Arthur still couldn't help but feel a little paranoid though, for it wasn't an impossibility that the woman would finish early and head home. Her trip wouldn't take long if the ceremonies were held in the church just a hundred metres away. As the dinner proceeded, Arthur tried to dismiss any uneasy thoughts. He didn't want to ruin the mood, and more importantly he wanted to enjoy himself. It wasn't often that he got an opportunity like this – Eleanor shouldn't prevent him from making the most of it.
The food tasted heavenly. It might have had something to do with the fact that Arthur had eaten an unusually light lunch that day, but he liked to think that whoever had cooked the meal was simply very skilled. It was very different from his usual dinners at the castle too. The atmosphere here was light and carefree. More than once did Alfred speak with his mouth full of food, and his father's boisterous laugh resonated around the table every other minute. Arthur himself had a smile plastered on his face most of the time; soon his jaws were hurting from the excessive use. The temperature in the room rose, the boys' cheeks flushing with merriness and excitement. Even though Arthur didn't know him that well, Arthur could tell that Alfred's father was also feeling overly giddy. The man cracked joke after joke, almost sparing no time to eat. Arthur was thoroughly enjoying himself. At first it had been a little awkward with his practiced table manners that were more or less instinct by now, but once he saw how Alfred stuffed his mouth full of potatoes using a simple fork, Arthur had followed suit and tried to imitate.
Soon, almost all food had disappeared from the table. Alfred patted his stomach with a content sigh, and Arthur sipped at his drink to get the last of the steak down. It felt as if he wouldn't have to eat for days, as if his stomach was threatening to burst any minute. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.
"Make sure you thank Anne later," Henry said, sending his son a nod. Alfred grinned in reply, and Arthur could only assume that they were talking about the cook.
"Sure will!"
Before they knew it, two maids had entered the room and began to take away their plates and what few scraps of food remained from the dinner. Arthur was about to thank them and stand, but a gesture of Henry's hand had him remaining seated. The quizzical look he sent him didn't produce any answers, so Arthur stayed silent and waited for the older man to take initiative and start conversation. Alfred remained completely oblivious to the silent exchange – he was weighing on his chair, staring expectantly after the maids as they retreated to the kitchen with the dishes. Arthur soon understood why when they returned with a bowl of what first looked like lemonade, but on a closer inspection the princess realised the liquid was frozen. The next woman to enter the room carried a bowl of fresh fruit, and after her one who brought the table wear. Arthur stared at the dessert with mild curiosity, mostly entranced by all the bright colours, while Alfred was beaming. How he was supposed to fit any of it into his already full stomach was beyond the monarch.
"Man, it's been so long since we had frozen lemonade," the wheat-blonde said. It looked like he was about to help himself to the dessert, already reaching over the table to grab the big metal scoop from the bowl, but his father spoke up, making Alfred's hand freeze in mid-air.
"Before we begin I would like to say something. I have an announcement." Alfred immediately retracted his hand at that, looking pined as he forced himself to sit still on his chair.
"Announcement?" he asked, and Henry nodded. There was some conflict going on in those baby blues. It almost went unnoticed, but Arthur could tell that Alfred didn't expect what came next to be good. How could he, when Spades were at war and his father was one of their top captains? He would be called out again soon; it was only a question of when. "What's it about?"
"Well, it's more like news. Good news, actually." Henry rose from the table. Alfred jerked in his seat for a second, looking like he was about to follow suit. His father saw this and smiled. "Wait here, I'll be right back." And with that, he was gone. He left the room and thumps of heavy feet hitting the staircase could be heard seconds later.
"Do you have any idea what it's about?"
Alfred shook his head. He looked a little more at ease after the promise of good news, but apprehension still twisted his facial features. "No. I mean, nothing's really happened since he got home. I thought he was gonna be called out again, but…" He shrugged. Arthur wanted to suggest that they stay positive, but the hammering of feet drowned his first words, and moments later the navy captain re-entered the room. A bright grin was on his face, not unlike the one Alfred usually sported. In his hand was a parchment, new judging by its crisp white colour and lack of crinkles.
"This here," he said in a loud voice, gesturing to the paper, "is a letter from the Royal Naval Academy."
Arthur still understood little to nothing, but Alfred's eyes widened considerably. "The Naval Academy?"
"Yes." He walked over to his son and handed him the parchment. Alfred eyed the blank side with wonder before flipping it. There was a moment of silence while the boy interpreted the cursive writing. Arthur saw his brow crease in concentration, confusion, and disbelief. All the while he remained silent, stealing a glance at the beaming captain.
"Wait." Alfred finally looked up, a small smile now tugging at his lips. It was obviously restrained though – his jaws were unusually tense from keeping a huge grin from breaking out. "Is this…?"
"Yes, son. You've been accepted. Congrats!" The words had hardly left the man's lips before Alfred had jumped up from his chair to envelope him in a tight hug, but just as he was about to wrap his arms around his father, he hesitated. With the bright grin intact, he took a step back and held out his hand. His father laughed and gave it a hearty shake. Arthur was beginning to realise what was going on, and shared their smiles. It was cute, the way Alfred tried to act all mature while he obviously wanted to bounce up and down from excitement. It was a shame, really. Such a bright young boy shouldn't try to restrain himself, but if that letter said what Arthur thought it did, it was only natural for Alfred to want to be mature. After all, wasn't this too soon? Alfred was only fourteen. He had never heard of anyone going to the Naval Academy before turning sixteen, but times were changing. The war was probably the only reason why Alfred was accepted two years early.
Realisation suddenly hit Arthur. Now he saw the bigger image, the one where Alfred, only two or three years into the future, would be joining their army on the seas. Arthur felt sick. The frozen lemonade and fresh fruits suddenly didn't look so appetising, and the delectable meal was threatening to escape back up his throat. How could his father be so happy about this? He knew Alfred wanted to contribute to the war more than anyone, but what kind of father wanted his own son to be out there? What kind of father was willing to put his fourteen-year-old son up for military training? It felt as if he was watching from a distance now, as if the distance separating him from the Joneses was far greater than the mere expanse of the dining table. He no longer shared their joy or excitement. If anything he wanted it to stop. He would rather they cry in agony than celebrate the possibility of Alfred's death. The almost inevitability, if the war didn't end before his training was completed. And still they were smiling, exchanging encouraging and animated words. Arthur merely stared. The longcase clock struck 7.
"Hey. Hey, Artie! I got accepted into the RNA!" The princess' vision focused on Alfred again. The boy was talking to him as if he didn't already know when in fact, he knew and understood the meaning of this better than Alfred himself did.
"That's great, Alfred," was all he could muster himself to say. Alfred didn't notice his inner turmoil.
"I know, right!"
It was truly a shame that the news had to come before dessert. Now, Arthur found it almost impossible to force the frozen drink and fruit down his throat, and even harder to make them stay in his stomach. The other two members around the table still didn't notice his distress though. It wasn't unexpected of Alfred, but Arthur thought at least Henry would have been better at reading people. As it was now, the two Joneses left the table with full stomachs and content smiles. Arthur, on the other hand, tried to keep the bile from coming up his throat. Still, he couldn't let this one thing ruin the evening. It would undoubtedly cause many problems in the future, but tonight wasn't about that. And it wasn't fair to Alfred. The boy was currently skipping up the stairs in front of him, excitedly rambling about how he wanted to show him his room. Sometimes he wondered whether Alfred's mind had stopped aging at the age of 7. When he wasn't acting serious or grave, he was incredibly childish and sometimes immature. Not that Arthur minded. It was amusing to watch and a rather pleasant contrast from the people at the castle.
"Here it is!" the wheat-blond exclaimed. He was bouncing slightly on his heels in front of a white door in the wooden hallway. Arthur made an attempt at a smile as he was led inside. Just like the rest of the house's interior Alfred's room wasn't anything special. He had some necessary furniture, a few parchments with colourful drawings pinned on the walls, and Arthur recognised the boy's guitar standing propped up under the wide window – the sole source of daylight. It was facing the town instead of the estate's beautiful garden.
Alfred skipped over to his bed, jumping down on the covers and bouncing slightly on the surface. Arthur wished he he'd had the enthusiasm to mimic him. "So what do ya think?"
"It looks great. Very roomy," the princess said before walking over to sit down on the bed in a more relaxed manner. Alfred's eyes were glinting up at him.
"Thanks! You gotta show me your room sometime, too."
"Yes, sometime."
Alfred would not let them fall into silence and instead got up from the bed and grabbed the guitar. With a look of concentration he sat down again and began to tune it. Arthur could only watch. "Do you still play?"
"Yeah, it's fun… Hey, I've finished that song I was working on in class. Wanna hear it?" Arthur nodded, and the other boy wasted no time in picking the strings of his instruments. The same melancholic yet hopeful notes from the harbour all those years ago filled the air. Despite not having given it much thought, Arthur actually found himself remembering the melody. It was one he would always associate with that day; the most eventful day of his life so far. He remembered the nervous excitement he'd felt when first following Alfred to school, the fear when he was attacked by those bullies, and then the rest of the day as a blur of embarrassment, confusion, relaxation, and peace. The spot where he'd gotten the burn mark itched slightly. Arthur reached up to scratch at it with his eyes still trained on Alfred's fingers as they moved in repetitive yet complicated patterns across the guitar.
Then the music stopped. Arthur looked back up at Alfred just as the clock struck eight. His voice was almost drowned by the noise. "Would you sing to it?"
"Sing? No. I can hum?" the monarch suggested. Alfred's smile twitched slightly. Then he nodded. When the music began to play this time, Arthur hummed along softly to it. He could not remember some parts of it and had to completely improvise when Alfred began to play on the latest addition of notes. Still, it didn't sound too bad and Alfred sure seemed content. For most of the time, Arthur's eyes were trained on the guitar, but when he looked up at the end of the song he realised the other boy was staring at him. "What?"
"I wish you'd sing. Your voice is real pretty."
"Pretty?" Arthur sent him an incredulous look. "Well, sorry, but I won't sing."
There was a sigh, but Alfred was still smiling, albeit not as brightly as before. "Aw, fine. Some other time then." With that, Alfred jumped off the bed again to put away his guitar. Arthur passed the time with eyeing the books that filled the oaken shelves on Alfred's wall. Their spines were delicate and it took quite a number of them to fill the bookshelf to the brim.
"You like to read?"
"No, not really."
"Then why all the books?"
Alfred walked over and pulled out a few of the slim books, throwing one in Arthur's lap where he was still sitting on the bed. It was indeed light and delicate, not unlike the short stories the princess had read when he was younger. After flipping it open, it turned out to be quite different though. Just like the short stories, Alfred's book contained pictures. But unlike the short stories, there were more pictures than text. Whole pages were covered in pictures and only few lines of text. The artwork was quite simply, mostly just lines, as could be expected. The printing was slightly smooched in places, making the lines blurry and the text almost unintelligible. Arthur had never seen something quite like it. Alfred handed him a few more that he skimmed through. They looked much like the first one. "What are these?" he questioned.
"Visual stories." Alfred once again took a seat next to the monarch, opening one of his visual stories and gesturing to a few lines of text. "I usually get really bored and my head starts aching when reading, so my mom gave me these. She says they're better than nothing. They really are. Too bad the school books don't have pictures like these. I'd be a genius if that were the case."
Arthur hummed, eyes fixed on the black and white images. Alfred must have returned to the bookshelf for the next thing he knew another visual story was laid out before him. "This one's my favourite!" the wheat-blonde declared and lay down next to Arthur on the bed. He kept his chin propped up in one hand while the other generously turned a page for the royal boy. Arthur followed his example and lay down. The story was far from complex, something obviously meant for children or younger teens, but it was entertaining. There was a clear definition of what was good and what bad, nothing was in between. The protagonist was everything kindness and justice personified while the antagonist was the exact opposite. Arthur vaguely wondered how seriously Alfred took these views. They were obviously not realistic. But that probably wasn't the point. They were made to be entertaining, and Arthur found himself quite amused when only a few pages remained of the story.
"This is actually quite good," he commented. He could almost feel Alfred's smile.
"I knew you'd like it! This was one of my first ones. The hero sorta reminds me of my dad."
"Hmm, I can see why. How old were you when you got this?"
"I'd just turned eight, I think." Arthur hummed in reply, reading – or more like looking through – the current page, before asking Alfred if he was done. After a confirming reply, the princess flipped the page and continued reading. He didn't notice that he was the only one currently paying attention to the story, not until Alfred spoke up again. "You know… you have real beautiful eyes."
Not believing he'd heard correctly, Arthur turned his head to look at him. "My eyes?" He didn't receive a reply, and quite frankly Arthur couldn't muster another word either. He was stuck staring into Alfred's own sky blue orbs. When had he gotten this close? Arthur only watched in confusion as Alfred began to slowly lean forward, towards him. The other's cheeks were tinted a light pink and he looked torn between closing his eyes and watching Arthur. His pupils flickered around nervously. Arthur could feel his slightly uneven breath on his face now.
Then there was a loud, resonating noise, that of the longcase clock striking nine. Arthur's eyes widened as Alfred was caught off guard, clumsily bumping their noses together before scrambling back on the bed. The boys were panicking for completely different reasons, but Arthur hardly noticed Alfred's embarrassment at all. He was too busy getting to the door as quickly as possible; praying to God no one at the castle had noticed his absence yet. Nine o'clock had been the curfew, right? He sent Alfred a look. "I really, really need to go. I should have been home by now." He was expecting Alfred to offer to follow him out the door or something, but the other boy was completely frozen on the bed. Something that looked like dread contorted his features. "I… I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He received a shaky nod this time. Arthur frowned slightly, but didn't have time to worry about Alfred's uncharacteristic behaviour. He had to get home. Now. "Bye then!"
After that it was just running. Running and burning lungs. It was just like running back from the harbour, only a shorter distance and without Alfred to keep him company. Just what had gotten into the boy? First the weird comment about his eyes, and then… Arthur didn't know what. His behaviour had been uncalled for though. Or had he missed something? There was nothing weird about looking at another's eyes. But then again it had looked like Alfred was about to close his. But then again, no. There had been nothing weird about it, nothing except for Alfred's behaviour when he told him he had to leave.
Arthur was lucky; no one at the castle had noticed his absence, and he managed to sneak back up to his chambers without anyone seeing. Everything was normal and okay again until the next day. Arthur waited on the wall as usual, but his friend never showed up. The princess waited for hours, until he had to return back to the castle to dine. Perhaps Alfred was sick? That was what he told himself as he returned the next day. He waited patiently, legs swinging back and forth as he sat there alone on the cold stone. Alfred didn't show up that day either. Now Arthur was beginning to worry. Was the boy that badly ill, or had something happened? He had seemed healthy enough last time he saw him…
Was it something he had done?
Alfred had acted strangely just before he left his house. Had he said something weird, something rude? Arthur couldn't recall no matter how many times he tried to replay the evening's events in his head. There had to be something he was missing. It frustrated him immensely, and as he pondered over it on the third day without Alfred he actually considered going over to his house to check on the boy. But there was the chance of Eleanor being there. Would it be worth being seen? No. Not if Alfred was actually just lying sick in bed. So Arthur continued to wait patiently.
As he walked to the wall on the fourth day, Arthur almost gave a shout of joy when he saw a shape huddled up on the edge. "Alfred!" he called, running over. As he came closer, he saw his friend wearing that signature smile of his. It calmed him a little. "What happened? Where were you? Were you ill?" Arthur asked, climbing up to sit next to him.
"Ill?" The look Alfred gave him was unreadable. "Uh, yeah. But I'm feeling much better now!"
"Good. That's good." Arthur smiled and the other returned it. He chose to ignore the dark bags under his eyes, the slight puffiness and bloodshot sclera; signs that he had been crying.
A/N
I'm not dead! And neither is this story. Really, I promise I'll finish it, even if it takes me a few years with my slow writing. xD
Anyway, a lot of things – not just my laziness – got in the way when I was trying to write this. Things have been a little tough for me outside the internet (I haven't had energy to do much of anything, so if I haven't replied to a PM yet it's not because I'm trying to ignore you! I'll get to writing those as soon as possible) but it's getting better :) Hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the next chapter. I'm also sorry to say that I have yet to read through this chapter. I'll get to it eventually, but right now I just felt the urge to post it. xD (I know that not much happened ;u; Next chapter though, I promise will contain more plot)
Feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated, especially since I want to know if people still remember and want to continue reading this. :3