Wife [Disney's The Little Mermaid, Eric/Ariel]
“Sire, are you listening to me?”
“Hm? Oh!” He chuckled apologetically at the slightly offended-looking manservant. “Sorry, Grims. What did you say?”
“I said,” Grimsby sniffed, “she went down to the beach, sire.”
“Oh.” Eric smiled again, mostly because his brain started chanting again: Wifewifewifewifewife. “Thanks.”
He slapped Grimsby on the shoulder as he passed, eliciting a surprised “oof” from the older man. He practically ran through the castle; he knew it wasn’t very princely, but he couldn’t help. Nothing in the whole wide world had ever made him as happy as Ariel did.
As he neared the beach, he saw her. His wife. She was wading, knee deep, in the sea with her dress pinned up to her thighs. The closer he got, however, the more his grin lessened until it faded completely. There was something about the slow way she was moving and the way her eyes were watching the water… It made his heart sink.
He hated the thought of her being sad when he was happy. But he knew she missed her old life. How could she not? He just…he just forgot sometimes. He forgot that she even had that other life because he was so deliriously happy to have her in his life. But sometimes he caught her thinking about it. He caught her wiping at her eyes when she looked out their bedroom window. He caught her immersing herself in the water of their bathtub. He caught her doing this-this slow wading thing out in the sea.
And it made him…well, sad.
She turned and saw him and her face lit up when she called, “Eric!” And she ran to the beach with her arms outstretched, and he just felt even worse.
He caught her hands in his before she could embrace him. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” She looked puzzled, but shook her head in a reassuring manner anyway. “Don’t be.”
“I just-” He sighed, looking down at their hands and past them, at the sand beneath their feet, at the beads of water on her ankles. “I feel bad for keeping you here.”
She followed his stare and said nothing for a moment, a small frown on her face. Then she slipped her hands free and cupped his face, gently coaxing him to meet her eyes.
“You aren’t keeping me here,” she said firmly, but softly, and sincerely. “I’m not a prisoner, Eric. I’m your wife.”
There was that word again. That word that somehow managed to make everything bad or sad disappear into nothingness.
And he got that goofy smile on his face again, he knew. Because she traced his lips with her fingers and laughed before leaning close and kissing him.
“Hm? Oh!” He chuckled apologetically at the slightly offended-looking manservant. “Sorry, Grims. What did you say?”
“I said,” Grimsby sniffed, “she went down to the beach, sire.”
“Oh.” Eric smiled again, mostly because his brain started chanting again: Wifewifewifewifewife. “Thanks.”
He slapped Grimsby on the shoulder as he passed, eliciting a surprised “oof” from the older man. He practically ran through the castle; he knew it wasn’t very princely, but he couldn’t help. Nothing in the whole wide world had ever made him as happy as Ariel did.
As he neared the beach, he saw her. His wife. She was wading, knee deep, in the sea with her dress pinned up to her thighs. The closer he got, however, the more his grin lessened until it faded completely. There was something about the slow way she was moving and the way her eyes were watching the water… It made his heart sink.
He hated the thought of her being sad when he was happy. But he knew she missed her old life. How could she not? He just…he just forgot sometimes. He forgot that she even had that other life because he was so deliriously happy to have her in his life. But sometimes he caught her thinking about it. He caught her wiping at her eyes when she looked out their bedroom window. He caught her immersing herself in the water of their bathtub. He caught her doing this-this slow wading thing out in the sea.
And it made him…well, sad.
She turned and saw him and her face lit up when she called, “Eric!” And she ran to the beach with her arms outstretched, and he just felt even worse.
He caught her hands in his before she could embrace him. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” She looked puzzled, but shook her head in a reassuring manner anyway. “Don’t be.”
“I just-” He sighed, looking down at their hands and past them, at the sand beneath their feet, at the beads of water on her ankles. “I feel bad for keeping you here.”
She followed his stare and said nothing for a moment, a small frown on her face. Then she slipped her hands free and cupped his face, gently coaxing him to meet her eyes.
“You aren’t keeping me here,” she said firmly, but softly, and sincerely. “I’m not a prisoner, Eric. I’m your wife.”
There was that word again. That word that somehow managed to make everything bad or sad disappear into nothingness.
And he got that goofy smile on his face again, he knew. Because she traced his lips with her fingers and laughed before leaning close and kissing him.