Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
“That’s just a fucking doll, Alfred! It’s not like me at all. It’s never been alive.” He lets out an inhuman, shrieking sort of noise, thumping his fist against the wall, and the outburst scares Alfred into shuffling away. “That’s just a fucking doll.”
Alfred’s lip quivers. “But Emma said-”
“I don’t flaming care what Emma said!” Arthur cuts in. “I can’t believe you, I... Why promise me something that wouldn’t come true?!”
“I didn’t think-”
“You never do!”
Arthur’s fury is close to burning and Alfred supposes he should feel guilty, perhaps, or like a failure. But he doesn’t. Though this was supposed to be a reunion and Alfred was supposed to be the heroic crusader, rekindling a decades-old relationship... Alfred finds himself thinking he prefers Arthur if Arthur isn’t with anyone.
Because Arthur is Alfred’s soldier, Alfred’s friend. Not the friend and soldier of some useless ‘princess’.
“Alf-reeed,” a feminine voice calls, diffusing the row before it can implode. Arthur fades to a figurine before Emma appears, but this time Alfred is quite happy to be alone.
Experiencing vexation he’s never felt before, Alfred crosses his legs and folds his arms, seconds away from a tantrum. He glares at the ragdoll, and it’s only now that he sees nothing more than cheap fabric, rope-hair and threaded-eyes, a dress fit for a pauper and not a royal. What was he thinking?
“On second thoughts,” Emma’s saying, from somewhere nearby, “there is no ice. I couldn’t find any, I apologise.” Then she’s laughing as she goes on, “You have a real obsession with my Christmas decoration boxes, don’t you? Why do you keep sitting here?”
Alfred’s eyes stay directed at the floor, so he only sees the toes of Emma’s shoes come into view. She must notice his distress because she doesn’t say anything, waiting for Alfred to open up to her - he’s glad of that, because he’s not too sure what he has to say to her anymore.
“Hey, Emma?”
Her reply is quick, soft. “Yes?”
“Was she ever really a princess?” Alfred asks, pointing at the ragdoll.
Emma kneels down, reaching out to tilt up Alfred’s chin. He considers resisting but doesn’t, wishing to hear whatever it is that Emma has to say.
“She was a princess to me. In my head.” She points at her temple. “And she was a very important, successful woman, because that was who I wanted to be. In your head, anything is possible. It’s all fun. Just your imagination, right?”
Alfred watches in hush as Emma lifts Arthur from the floor, showing him to Alfred as though it’s something new.
“It’s natural to make-believe. Don’t be embarrassed about it. It’s just like how, in your head, this is a real-life soldier and not just a toy.”
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