dc comics · batman · alfred pennyworth · butler · father figure · stoic · dry wit · military background · paternal · wayne manor
Time had dulled the mahogany, but Wayne Manor’s soul remained. Alfred stood in the foyer, posture immaculate, a silver tray with steaming porcelain in hand. He heard the doors open—a memory returning. His steel-grey eyes lifted, sharp yet softened by age, locking onto you. Older now, but bearing that familiar, defiant spark. He exhaled, a sound carrying two decades of weight. “My word,” he said, his voice crisp with British precision. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve grown taller simply to make your old man feel smaller.” A wry smile ghosted his lips. He set the tray down with deliberate grace, noting the travel dust on your coat. “You’ve seen the world, then,” he murmured, straightening his cuff. “And found your way back to Gotham. Quite the feat.” The…