Alfred and Arthur met when they were very young. Arthur was terrified of Alfred, and the young fox didn't know why until he was older.

Foxes used to kill rabbits and eat them back when they were full animals. It was rabbit instinct to be scared of foxes. Foxes were larger and stronger and had long, sharp teeth.

But when Alfred met the beautiful rabbit, he was the small one. Probably because he was also younger.

All Alfred wanted to do was show the older rabbit that he wasn't scary. The rabbit wasn't scared of his younger brother, so why was he scared of him? That hurt Alfred's feelings. Alfred wanted the rabbit to like him, too.

He just didn't know how to tell a rabbit that.

So, every way he tried to impress or show the rabbit he wasn't scary, he ended up frightening the older rabbit more.

Why? He brought him presents. Did Arthur not want presents? He smiled, too! His biggest smile that his mama loved and praised.

Nothing Alfred did did anything to improve his relation with Arthur.

Until when they were teenagers. Arthur was sixteen, Alfred twelve, so not quite a teen. He was close. Just two more months until he was a real teen. He was so excited!

Arthur had to go into town to but some things, and Alfred followed. Arthur had dropped the list and the wind tossed the paper into an alley. Alfred knew that alley too well. He'd never personally experienced what happens there, but he knew if he didn't jump in, the same thing the others said would happen was going to happen to his precious rabbit. He couldn't have that!

So, as swiftly as he could, Alfred ran into the alley just in time. Arthur was being grabbed by a lustful, nasty, greedy cat, others nearing them.

Arthur was so terrified.

Alfred flattened his ears as his fluffy tail bristled. He snarled and leapt on the cat grabbing Arthur. He pushed the rabbit behind him and glared at the alley cats. He hissed and barked each time one of the alley-dwellers stepped closer as he backed out with Arthur clinging to the back of his cloak.

"Are you okay?" Alfred asked, turning to the rabbit, concern replacing anger and protection.

Arthur only nodded as he shook, clutching the basket in his trembling hands.

From then on, Arthur would stay close-by Alfred. At fourteen, Alfred was a whole inch taller than Arthur. Arthur claimed that it was annoying and stupid since he was much older than the fox, so Alfred teased him constantly about it.

Alfred was just so glad Arthur wasn't scared of him anymore. However, Alfred still didn't understand one thing about Arthur.

Arthur would disappear for a week, somewhere in the mansion. His mom said, when he asked, that Arthur would go to the maid's 'heat room.' Alfred had no idea what that meant until he was sixteen.

His father and mother sat him down, telling him that they needed to speak with him. He wondering why Matthew wasn't with them, and his mother simply said he already had this talk since his heats already started. Alfred was confused, but he wouldn't question his mother. So he listened to his father and mother as they explained to him what heat was and how those on heat should be treated.

Oh, he remembers thinking, so that's where Arthur and Matthew go.

When Alfred turned seventeen, he experienced a rabbit's heat first hand. Arthur had been stressed and tired, exhausted from more and more work, so he was oblivious to the signs of heat until he started.

He started in Alfred's room, right in the middle of cleaning.

Arthur couldn't rush down stairs-couldn't even make it to the door. His heat just fell right on top of him. He was burning and he needed Alfred.

Alfred caught Arthur's scent as he came up the stairs, and was immediately aroused. He cautiously neared his room, ears flicking as he listened to Arthur pant and whine.

Arthur smelled so good. Alfred wanted more of that. Once he reached his room, Alfred spotted Arthur writhing and flustered on the floor. Arthur must have noticed Alfred because he opened his arms, beckoning Alfred. "I... I need you... I need you..."

Alfred couldn't resist. He didn't want to resist. He shut the door behind him and was on Arthur in seconds. Clothes were shredded by Alfred's eagerness and mouths sloppily and urgently moved together. Alfred quickly won dominance, then carried Arthur to his bed before finishing what he started.

Neither regretted that night, nor the next week, despite Alfred's parent's disapproving looks. Alfred marked Arthur as his. They were mates, and Alfred loved that.

Arthur was no longer a maid, he was Alfred's mate. He was treated with respect, although most were reluctant to show such respect to a rabbit. However, the treatment was mandatory since he was the Jones' heir's mate.

Alfred and Arthur were officially married once Alfred was eighteen. Arthur bore their first child two years after their marriage. Alfred was so excited. His little girl was the cutest thing he'd ever seen, and to see her bundled in her mother's arms made the sight all the more precious.

However, when darling Elizabeth was just a year old, barely walking, she fell ill. Her tiny body couldn't handle the sickness, and she passed away. Alfred and Arthur were devestated, having held their daughter when she slipped away.

It was three years later when they had their second child. Well, second and third. A boy and a girl. Arthur coddled the twins and Alfred got them the best and only that.

The twins grew up healthy and played a lot. Little Rosie was more shy like her mother while her brother, Andrew, was more outgoing like their father. Rosie was often sick and Arthur would fret over his child, but her sickness was never bad and she always recovered easily.

Andrew grew up an athlete while Rosie sang, danced, and played many beautiful instruments such as the piano, violin, and the harp. Her favorites to play were the piano and the flute.

Alfred and Arthur were so proud of their twins, but Arthur wanted another child.

Arthur did have another child- another little girl, but he fell ill. He was put on bed rest with his newborn in a cradle next to their shared bed. Arthur got worse and worse until they had to take Amy out of the room at three months old. Arthur had to have someone tending to him at all times, regulating his temperature, and making sure he ate and drank.

Alfred was hopeful. He promised Arthur that he was going to get better, but Arthur wasn't sure. Arthur didn't think that he would get better.

One night, Arthur woke to Amy crying in the room across the hall. He didn't want to wake Alfred because Alfred had been so stressed and tired from paperwork and meetings and caring for the children and Arthur.

So slowly and weakly, Arthur pushed himself out of bed and made his way into his six-month-old's room. He smiled and took little Amy into his arms. She had his rabbit traits while her older siblings had more fox traits.

Arthur sat back in the rocking chair and sang to his youngest. Amy stopped fussing and looked up at her mother with wide, curious green eyes. Arthur smiled.

"Mum is going to get better... Just for you, darling. For you and your father and your siblings."

So, Arthur did. Arthur began to recover very steadily. He could go outside, he could watch his son play catch and tackle with his father, he could sit in the music room with his daughter and in the nursery with his youngest.

Arthur and Alfred watched as their children grew together until the twins were fifteen and Amy was eight.

Just two month's after Amy's eighth birthday, Alfred collapsed during a party hosted by one of their neighbors. They were all standing or sitting on the couches in the sitting room, conversing and laughing when Alfred suddenly spaced out. One man questioned him, then he collapsed. Just fell like dead weight to the floor. He was rushed immediately to the hospital.

"Cancer," was all the doctor said once he stepped out of the room. At least, that's all Arthur heard.

For the next several months, Arthur and his children all received pitied glances and sympathetic phrases from people they hardly knew. Andrew was devastated that he couldn't play with his father, but stayed strong to protect his family. Rosie was often found crying, but little Amy didn't understand. All she knew was that her daddy was sick.

Everyday, Amy would go in her parent's room, a new present for Alfred. He would sit against the headboard and pull her into his lap. She sing to him and talk to him and played with him.

Until one day, she wasn't allowed into that room.

"Go play with your brother and sister," Arthur told her. She only nodded, even though she wanted her daddy. Rosie told her that the doctor was checking up on her daddy.

"Will daddy get better, big brother," Amy pondered as she crawled into Andrew's lap. She thought Andrew looked just like daddy, but his hair looked more like Mommy's.

Andrew sighed. "I... I don't know, Ames." He ruffled her hair, then began to braid the sandy blonde locks how she liked it. "That's why the doctor needs to see him."

She hummed, and nodded, then later fell asleep in her big brother's arms as she listened to her big sister play the piano and sing a sad song.

On Amy's ninth birthday, she went into her parents room and snuggled up to her father's side. He couldn't sit up on his own anymore. He could barely breathe right. Amy finally understood that her daddy might not get better. He wouldn't see her meet her prince. He might not even make it to her tenth birthday. She wanted him to live just long enough for her to make it to double digits. Her daddy always said that double digits were magical, but hard times. A time where you can really start adventures. She wanted to go on an adventure with her daddy.

"Daddy," she whimpered, his arms loosely wrapped around her. He hummed, kissing her forehead. "Daddy, I don't want you to go. Please don't go. Mommy will be sad and so will Rosie and Andrew."

Alfred chuckled best he could. "Amy, sweetheart... I'll always be with you. Always."

Amy started to sob. "Daddy, you know what I mean! I know you'll always be in my heart, you told me every night when you'd tuck me in! I don't want to never see you again!"

Alfred squeezed her with the little strength he had left. "I know, baby girl. I know... Why don't you go find your mother? He wanted to give you more sewing lessons today. I want you to sew me something."

Alfred gently wiped away Amy's tears as she nodded. She kissed his cheek, but didn't say goodbye.

Just seventeen days after Amy's birthday, while everyone was asleep except for Arthur, Alfred stopped breathing. Arthur panicked, crying and telling a maid to call for the doctor.

At three-twenty four a.m., Alfred Jones was proclaimed dead.

The whole next week, the family was locked in their house. The house was darker than Arthur had ever seen it. Andrew would silently cry as he'd comfort his sisters, cradling them and whispering to them as they sobbed and wailed.

Amy often woke in the middle of the night, and would crawl into the bed with her mother. She'd curl up around her father's pillow and breathe in his lingering scent as she snuggled closer to Arthur.

Arthur finished raising his three children with the helps of his maids as he took over for Alfred until Andrew was eighteen.

Andrew married at nineteen to a beautiful, kind vixen. Lola, Andrew's wife, loved Amy. They'd always play and sew and sing together.

Rosie married at twenty to a kind man. He was fairly wealthy and reminded her of her late father.

Amy decided she didn't want to marry. At least, not as early as her siblings did. She wanted to go on adventures that she used to act out with her father. Adventures that she used to dream about going on with her father.

Young Amy traveled around the world, taking her mother with her. She'd write in her journals as if she was writing to her dad, and each time her pencil would scratch across the paper, she felt as if her father was sitting right beside her. Amy often dreamt of seeing her father again, of watching him sing to her mother and dance with him, or play with her brother or listen as Rosie played her instruments and sang for him. Sometimes she'd have a dream which was really the memory of her father's death.

She woke up from a peaceful sleep to hear her family crying. Then she knew... Her daddy was gone.

At twenty-three, Amy met a fox while venturing through mountains. He was kind for a fox, like her father. He was playful, but usually very serious. He easily complimented her personality, and she fell in love more quickly than should would have liked. At twenty-four, she married this fox- Adam. She only had one child. A little boy.

"Alfred," she murmured as she held her baby for the first time. She smiled up at Adam. "I want to name him Alfred."

Adam smiled and kissed her forehead. "That's perfect."

Arthur cried when he heard what Amy named her baby, as well as her siblings, whom already had children of their own. Amy's baby boy looked just like his grandfather. Large, bright blue eyes, shining smile, sun-kissed skin, fluffy tail and pointed ears.

Arthur would never admit it, but Alfred was his favorite Grandson.

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(Lol, not the twist I was expecting, but okay.)