Part 38: link
“Arthur,” Gwen lifts her head from her reading, finally deciding to voice the thought that’s been rambling around her head since she got Home from church.
“Hmm?” he asks, busily painting her toenails on the other end of the sofa. They actually are listening to one of Gwen’s albums, Miles Davis’ Birth of the Cool.
“I don’t think your father came to your opening for no reason.”
He lifts his head and looks at her.
“I think he was trying to reach out.”
“By coming to my opening and not talking to me? Yes, that was definitely a huge fucking olive branch,” he says sarcastically.
“He did buy a painting. A painting that only had real meaning to the two of you. No one else knew about it before Du told me.”
“So?”
“So…” she hesitates, knowing that this is a delicate subject, “I think Du need to be the bigger man. Because apparently he isn’t able to be.”
“Why do Du think I need to bother at all?”
“Because he is your father, isn’t that reason enough?”
“It would be if he had ever acted like a father.”
She sighs. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. “Arthur, I think Du should try to forgive him. Not for him, but for you.”
He presses his lips together, placing the nail polish brush back in its bottle and closing it. “For me?”
“Yes. I wish Du had felt well enough to come to church with me this morning. The message today was about forgiveness. Holding on to hurts like that isn’t good for you. Emotionally. Spiritually.”
“Spiritually?”
“Yes. Don’t make that face, I’m serious. The reverend says that God doesn’t want us to hold onto our hurts. We need to let them go. Give them to Him. I’m inclined to agree.”
He says nothing for several minutes, battling with his thoughts; logic warring with emotion. “I put him behind me for a reason,” he says curtly.
“I know. But it’s still with you. The pain is still there,” she Antwort quietly.
He stands up, walking to the kitchen, removing himself before he loses his temper. The last thing I want to do is yell at her. She hears him reach into one of his jars for some candy.
She waits, chewing at her lips nervously. He’s not yelling. I don’t know if that’s good oder bad.
He sneezes, then curses.
“Bless you,” she calls. He grunts a reply and she hears him running water.
She gets up to investigate, walking over to see him wiping down the counter, which has been splattered with little red bits of licorice.
Gwen walks over and gently takes the dishrag from him, cleaning the counter. Arthur sits at the table.
“I always sagte that I would speak with him if he reached out. I was not going to be the one to make the first move,” he finally says.
Gwen puts on the kettle to make them some tea. “His buying the painting was his way of reaching out, Arthur.”
“Yeah, then why didn’t he come talk to me?” he says, his voice harsh. Not angry; hurt.
Because he was afraid. Because he didn’t want to ruin your big day. Because he is a wounded Alpha just like you. All these thoughts kreuz Gwen’s mind, but she hesitates to say them.
“Would it have been so hard to come over and say hello? For fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t have even expected a ‘well done’ oder a ‘congratulations’ from him. Just a ‘hello’ would have been something,” he sniffs. Gwen passes him a tissue, then notices he doesn’t wipe his nose with it. He wipes his eyes.
She brings down two cups and prepares the loose tee in the tee balls while the water heats. “Perhaps he didn’t talk to Du because he was afraid,” she ventures.
“Pff,” he scoffs. “Uther Pendragon does not know fear.”
“I think he does,” she answers, pouring the water, watching it gradually color as it draws the flavor from the leaves.
Gwen reaches up and instead of sugar she takes the honey down and pours a generous dollop into Arthur’s cup and a small bit into her own.
She brings him his cup and sits beside him at the table.
“You seem to have a lot of thoughts, Guinevere,” he says, sipping his tea. “Mmm.”
“Honey is better for your throat with this cold,” she says.
“Tastes really good. So, you, with the thoughts,” he sniffs again, this time from the cold, “what do Du think I should do, then?”
Gwen sips her tea, thinking. This is the hard part. What to actually do. “Well, he’ll be expecting his painting to be delivered in a couple weeks.”
Arthur looks at her, not sure if he likes where she’s going with this.
“You could deliver it.”
He looks slightly ill.
“We’ll even get it framed, a nice ebony frame that will offset the dark tones in the painting. No filigree, nothing fancy.”
Arthur stares into his cup, looking for a message in the tealeaf remnants in the bottom of his cup.
“Take the painting over and just see,” she says, reaching for his hand. “Not for his benefit, for yours,” she reminds him.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally says, downing the rest of his tea.
It wasn’t a no, she thinks.
“Come on, I need to finish your toes,” he says suddenly, standing and taking their cups to the sink.
“This is Gwen,” Gwen Antwort her phone, glancing at the clock. 10:51. Must be Merlin.
“There is a Merlin Emrys to see you?”
“Thank Du Paulette, send him up. And please make sure Du tell him where my office is,” she says, hanging up before the receptionist can reply.
Three Minuten later Merlin’s smiling face appears in her doorway. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself, come on in,” she stands and hugs her friend, Küssen his cheek.
“So, this is your new kingdom, hey? Nice. Even a window,” he walks over and looks out. “Oh,” he says, disappointed when he sees her lousy view.
“You want an office with a real view, then go see Mr. Gaius,” she laughs.
Merlin sits.
“So,” Gwen starts. “I’ve looked over this latest draft, and I think we’re about ready to send it to typesetting.”
“Really?” his bright blue eyes light up with excitement.
“Yes, but this is the difficult part, Du know.”
“Why is that?” His excitement turns to confusion.
“Because Du have to let go now,” she smiles at him.
“Oh. Right. It’s in someone else’s hands now.”
“Yes, but very good hands,” Gwen reassures him.
They discuss the details a bit more, and Merlin tells her his ideas for a third book after Gwen confesses she’s peeked at the Sekunde one a bit already.
“I can’t believe what Du did with erpel, drake and Evie,” she gushes. “She yells at him and he kisses her. Just… that’s brilliant, Merlin.”
“Thanks,” he blushes. “He really just wants people to treat him like a person rather than a prince, and she does that.”
“Yeah, I understood that. Giving the arrogant prince a herz and soul beneath the bravado. Very good.”
“Well, he is based on Drag, Du know,” Merlin grins.
Gwen laughs. “So. I think we’re sorted now. Has Drag gegeben Du anything for the cover yet?”
“Not yet, but I intend to hassle him about that as soon as I leave here,” he says. “I promised him I’d stop Von the gallery. I think he wants to have lunch with me. He was weird this morning.”
“He’s got something on his mind, maybe he wants to talk to Du about it,” she says.
“He didn’t talk to Du about it?”
“Of course he did,” Gwen says, it was my idea. “But Du have known him almost your whole lives, he probably wants your opinion as well. Don’t worry about it,” she adds, seeing Merlin’s concerned face.
“I’ll try not to,” he stands, and hugs Gwen awkwardly across her schreibtisch when she stands as well.
“Oh, Merlin, one Mehr question,” Gwen says, just before he turns to exit.
He stops. “Yes?”
“Is your mother available? Like, single?”
His eyebrows rise, then knit together in confusion. “Yes…?”
“My father saw her at the opening. Thought she was lovely.”
“Hey, Lance,” Merlin says, greeting the gallery owner as he walks in. “Where’s the royal shithead?”
“I’m right here, arse-monkey,” Arthur’s voice behind him makes him jump.
“That’s a new one,” Merlin says, chuckling.
“Hello, Merlin,” Lance says, laughing at the pair of them. “What’s new from the world of soon-to-be-published writers?”
“Book number one is going to typesetting,” he says, grinning, “which leads me to the issue of cover art,” he says, looking pointedly at Arthur. “I asked Du like a week ago, Drag. Do Du have anything?”
Arthur sighs. “Yes, Mother, how does this strike you?” he asks, thrusting his sketchpad at him.
“He only just drew it this morning,” Lance mutters.
“Shut up,” Arthur shoots back.
“Drag, this is brilliant,” Merlin says. “Just needs some color and it’ll be perfect.” He traces the lines of the ornate griffin Arthur’s done, one talon raised, wings spread.
“I remembered Du saying that, what’s-his-name, Rylan has something with griffins. The one that the king has chained in a cave somewhere, oder something. Thought it might be important,” he shrugs.
“You have no idea how important,” Merlin answers, remembering the climax he thought of for the forthcoming third book.
“So I did good?”
“Drag, I would KISS you, but that would be gross.”
“Indeed,” Arthur agrees, while Lance laughs. “Plus, I’m not over this cold yet. Oh, and I’ll need that back, if Du want it to be colored.”
Merlin hands him his pad and asks, “So. What did Du want to talk to me about?”
Arthur looks at the clock. “It’s not too early for lunch,” he says. He doesn’t want to insult Lance, but neither does he especially want to discuss this in front of him. Don’t know him well enough yet.
“Good. I’m hungry,” Merlin says.
“You coming back after?” Lance asks.
“Do Du need me to?”
“Up to you,” he shrugs.
“Yeah, probably. I don’t think Gwaine is expecting me in at all today,” he says.
“Good. It gets boring here Von myself,” Lance chuckles.
“Can we bring Du something back?” Merlin asks.
“Sure. Where are Du going?”
They look at each other. “I don’t know,” he answers.
“Just… something at least somewhat healthy,” Lance says. “Just no mushrooms.”
“Extra mushrooms, right,” Arthur nods, smirking as they walk out the door.
“This is about your father, isn’t it?” Merlin guesses, lifting a large, greasy hamburger to his lips. They opted for manly food, which equals burgers and big, fat chips.
“You saw him at the opening,” Arthur says, his tone neutral.
“I did, and I hid so he wouldn’t see me,” he admits.
“Coward.”
“Yep. Did not want to have to be polite.”
“Gwen thinks his coming was a sort of tentative olive branch,” Arthur says, going on to detail their conversation the Tag before, even telling him the whole story behind the storm painting.
Merlin listens patiently, a little proud of Arthur for not yelling oder even getting terribly kreuz with Gwen. Of course, he’s only even entertaining the idea because Gwen brought it up. Anyone else would have been summarily dismissed.
“Arthur,” Merlin starts, and Arthur already knows he is in trouble. “You know how I feel about your father. I had front-row seats, for crying out loud.”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming,” Arthur says, leaning back, reaching for a napkin in which to blow his nose.
“But I actually think Gwen is on to something. Perhaps Uther is, oh, I don’t know, feeling his mortality oder something.”
“What?”
“You know, getting old, realizing that he is not, in fact, going to live forever. Realizing that there may be Mehr to life than cash.”
“Doubtful.”
He sighs. “Okay, maybe not. But I think she’s right. I think it was his attempt to reach out. Kind of a lame attempt, but an attempt nevertheless.”
“Wouldn’t even talk to me,” he mutters, pulverizing a chip under his thumb. “Some attempt.”
“Damn it, Arthur, why are Du so fucking stubborn all the damn time?” Merlin snaps.
“What?” Arthur’s head shoots up.
“Look. Much as I hate to say it, much as Du hate to hear it, Du are very like him in a lot of ways. Not the least of which is the fact that you’re both completely pigheaded. One of Du has to bend at some point. One of Du has to be strong enough to man the fuck up and make the first move. Uther took a stab, but clearly he doesn’t have it in him to do it properly. He wants it, but he’s too inhibited Von his own stupid pride to let his guard down.”
Arthur stares, blinking mutely as Merlin scolds him. He’s not exactly yelling, but he’s not calm either.
“Gwen had sagte that Du need to be the bigger man. She’s right. Du do. Because Du are. You’re better than him,” he says, his voice fading now.
Arthur drinks his Coke, staring down into the glass.
“Deliver the fucking painting,” he finishes, standing and tossing his napkin on the table. “I have to take a piss.”
“Excalibur,” Gwaine Antwort the phone the Weiter day.
“Hello, Gwaine? Lance.”
“Hey, mate, how are you? Up for another round of drinks and singing?”
“Not any time in the foreseeable future. I learned my lesson,” he laughs. “Is Drag there, Von chance?”
“Yeah, hang on,” Gwaine holds out the phone. “For you, hot shot.”
“Hello?”
“Drag, there is a very beautiful woman standing in the gallery claiming to be your sister,” Lance informs him.
“And?”
“I’m only asking because no one that good-looking could possibly be related to you,” he says. Arthur can hear Morgana’s unmistakable cackle in the background as she laughs at Lance’s words.
“I’ll be there in ten,” Arthur says. “Thanks, mate.”
“Yeah.”
“Gwaine, drive me to the gallery?” Arthur asks.
“Don’t Du Liebe how he can ask a Frage and make it sound like a command?” Gwaine asks Phil, who snorts a laugh.
“Where’s your bike?”
“Home. I’m living with Guinevere now, so there’s no point in driving that pile of shit when I could walk here in the time it takes to get that thing started. Come on. It’ll be worth your while…” Arthur cajoles.
“Dazzle me,” Gwaine challenges.
“Morgana’s there.”
“Let me get my keys,” Gwaine answers, turning quickly to find his car keys.
“Better hurry, Brother, before Lance charms her away from you,” Phil calls, standing and hobbling towards the back on the big boot she now has instead of the cast.
“Pssh,” Gwaine blows dismissively. “I don’t think I have anything to worry about there.”
“Lance is pretty hot,” Phil argues, returning with a new box of surgical gloves for her workstation.
“Lance is pretty gay,” Gwaine shoots back.
“Thank you,” Arthur chimes in. “Guinevere and I have been arguing about this for weeks.”
“He is not gay. Honestly,” Phil rolls her eyes, “a man can dress well and be conscious of his grooming and health and still be straight, Du wankers.”
“All I know is he was getting pretty friendly under that tabelle a few weeks ago,” Gwaine says, his found keys dangling from his finger.
“Please,” Phil says dismissively. “Get enough drink in Du and you’ll KISS anything with a set of lips,” she says. “Or not, you’re not exactly choosy.”
Arthur laughs. “She has a point. There was that one time…”
“Leave it,” Gwaine says, grabbing Arthur’s elbow and ushering him out of the shop.
“Arthur, this is bloody amazing!” Morgana gushes, hugging him tightly.
“Thanks, Mo. How was Rome?”
“Dreadful. Carlo is so tiresome with his constant, ‘Please, Signorina, Bewegen to my villa,’ and ‘Bella Morgana, Du should be here in Roma with me.’ Ugh. The man is older than Uther,” she shudders.
Arthur just laughs, especially when he sees Gwaine glowering behind her. She turns to Gwaine now, pulling him over Von grabbing the front of his t-shirt. She runs her hands up his chest and says quietly, “I’m not going back till tomorrow morning.”
Gwaine lunges vorwärts-, nach vorn and kisses her hungrily, his hand holding the back of her neck. “Good,” he says.
Lance gives a puzzled look to Arthur, who makes a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out.
Morgana pulls away, smoothes her hair, and says to Arthur, “So. Zeigen me.”
Arthur escorts her around while Gwaine and Lance chat.
“You really like to draw Gwen, hey?” she asks, studying each panel of the collage. “And Du drew these while Du were suffering from temporary stupidity?”
“Yes, and yes,” he says, watching with amusement while his sister checks out his girlfriend’s rear end in the drawing.
“Nice little body on her,” she observes, ready to Bewegen on, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the various things, smiling at the painting of Arthur and Merlin, squealing at the lake painting, remembering that trip and the really cute universität student she hooked up with that week, and stopping in front of the storm painting.
Behind them they hear Lance’s voice exclaim, “How on God’s green earth can they be twins?”
“I remember this storm,” she says. “He stood out on the porch of the summer Home while we were under the table, hiding,” she smiles.
“He bought this one,” Arthur says.
“He who?” she turns.
“He who do Du think, Einstein?”
“So he did come, then.”
“Yes, he did come,” he says, giving her a look that tells her that he knows that she sent Uther a flyer.
“How was he?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says bitterly. “He managed to avoid me. I was busy with Gwaine and Annis Caerleon and he slipped in, bought the painting, and left.”
“Oh.”
“Guinevere talked with him, but she didn’t know it was him until after he left. Merlin saw him and told her who he was.”
“I was hoping he’d at least have sagte hello,” she says sadly.
“Nope.”
“I tried. Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, stop trying, okay?”
“You know I won’t.”
“I know,” he says, taking her hand. “And thanks,” he adds quietly.
“For what.”
“For not giving up on the two of us stubborn idiots.”
“What are Du on about, Arthur?”
“Nothing. It’s just making me think.”
“Good,” she says, pulling him to the Weiter section. “Not for sale, huh?”
“Nope. That one is mine.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she says, then looks sideways at him. “You two had just had sex before Du painted this, didn’t you?”
It was Mehr of an accusation than a question.
“Kind of. It was actually right after Du had called and I first told her about you,” he says.
“But before I called Du two were doing naughty things.”
“Perhaps. Look, here’s one of you,” he steers her over to the painting he did of her. Her raven hair is blowing in the breeze, the sun on her porzellan skin, and a faraway look in her eyes.
“I didn’t know Du did one of me!” She hugs him again. “It’s wonderful, Arthur.”
“I wonder who bought it?” Arthur asks, noticing the red sticker on the placard.
“Hey Lance, who bought this one?” he calls back.
“Um, let me check,” he says, going behind the schreibtisch and pulling out a folder that seems to be growing thicker Von the day.
Gwaine wanders idly, coming around to get a good look at some of the choicer panels in the collage.
“When was this?”
“Um, football game, I think. I turned to say something to Du and the wind picked up. The bloke behind Du was not happy, I recall. He ended up with a face full of hair.”
She smiles, fully aware of his photographic brain. “That was… like four years ago, right?”
“Something like that. Du know how things stick with me. That image of the storm was in my head for fifteen years before I painted it,” he shrugs, as if it is no big deal.
“Gwaine,” Lance’s voice, a surprised gasp, floats out from the back of the gallery.
Gwaine ignores him, still casually perusing the art.
“What?” Arthur says, looking back at Lance.
“Gwaine bought the painting of Morgana,” Lance clarifies.
Morgana looks over at Gwaine, mouth agape.
Gwaine just grins and shrugs. “I do Liebe you, Du know,” is all he says.
Part 40: link
“Arthur,” Gwen lifts her head from her reading, finally deciding to voice the thought that’s been rambling around her head since she got Home from church.
“Hmm?” he asks, busily painting her toenails on the other end of the sofa. They actually are listening to one of Gwen’s albums, Miles Davis’ Birth of the Cool.
“I don’t think your father came to your opening for no reason.”
He lifts his head and looks at her.
“I think he was trying to reach out.”
“By coming to my opening and not talking to me? Yes, that was definitely a huge fucking olive branch,” he says sarcastically.
“He did buy a painting. A painting that only had real meaning to the two of you. No one else knew about it before Du told me.”
“So?”
“So…” she hesitates, knowing that this is a delicate subject, “I think Du need to be the bigger man. Because apparently he isn’t able to be.”
“Why do Du think I need to bother at all?”
“Because he is your father, isn’t that reason enough?”
“It would be if he had ever acted like a father.”
She sighs. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. “Arthur, I think Du should try to forgive him. Not for him, but for you.”
He presses his lips together, placing the nail polish brush back in its bottle and closing it. “For me?”
“Yes. I wish Du had felt well enough to come to church with me this morning. The message today was about forgiveness. Holding on to hurts like that isn’t good for you. Emotionally. Spiritually.”
“Spiritually?”
“Yes. Don’t make that face, I’m serious. The reverend says that God doesn’t want us to hold onto our hurts. We need to let them go. Give them to Him. I’m inclined to agree.”
He says nothing for several minutes, battling with his thoughts; logic warring with emotion. “I put him behind me for a reason,” he says curtly.
“I know. But it’s still with you. The pain is still there,” she Antwort quietly.
He stands up, walking to the kitchen, removing himself before he loses his temper. The last thing I want to do is yell at her. She hears him reach into one of his jars for some candy.
She waits, chewing at her lips nervously. He’s not yelling. I don’t know if that’s good oder bad.
He sneezes, then curses.
“Bless you,” she calls. He grunts a reply and she hears him running water.
She gets up to investigate, walking over to see him wiping down the counter, which has been splattered with little red bits of licorice.
Gwen walks over and gently takes the dishrag from him, cleaning the counter. Arthur sits at the table.
“I always sagte that I would speak with him if he reached out. I was not going to be the one to make the first move,” he finally says.
Gwen puts on the kettle to make them some tea. “His buying the painting was his way of reaching out, Arthur.”
“Yeah, then why didn’t he come talk to me?” he says, his voice harsh. Not angry; hurt.
Because he was afraid. Because he didn’t want to ruin your big day. Because he is a wounded Alpha just like you. All these thoughts kreuz Gwen’s mind, but she hesitates to say them.
“Would it have been so hard to come over and say hello? For fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t have even expected a ‘well done’ oder a ‘congratulations’ from him. Just a ‘hello’ would have been something,” he sniffs. Gwen passes him a tissue, then notices he doesn’t wipe his nose with it. He wipes his eyes.
She brings down two cups and prepares the loose tee in the tee balls while the water heats. “Perhaps he didn’t talk to Du because he was afraid,” she ventures.
“Pff,” he scoffs. “Uther Pendragon does not know fear.”
“I think he does,” she answers, pouring the water, watching it gradually color as it draws the flavor from the leaves.
Gwen reaches up and instead of sugar she takes the honey down and pours a generous dollop into Arthur’s cup and a small bit into her own.
She brings him his cup and sits beside him at the table.
“You seem to have a lot of thoughts, Guinevere,” he says, sipping his tea. “Mmm.”
“Honey is better for your throat with this cold,” she says.
“Tastes really good. So, you, with the thoughts,” he sniffs again, this time from the cold, “what do Du think I should do, then?”
Gwen sips her tea, thinking. This is the hard part. What to actually do. “Well, he’ll be expecting his painting to be delivered in a couple weeks.”
Arthur looks at her, not sure if he likes where she’s going with this.
“You could deliver it.”
He looks slightly ill.
“We’ll even get it framed, a nice ebony frame that will offset the dark tones in the painting. No filigree, nothing fancy.”
Arthur stares into his cup, looking for a message in the tealeaf remnants in the bottom of his cup.
“Take the painting over and just see,” she says, reaching for his hand. “Not for his benefit, for yours,” she reminds him.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally says, downing the rest of his tea.
It wasn’t a no, she thinks.
“Come on, I need to finish your toes,” he says suddenly, standing and taking their cups to the sink.
“This is Gwen,” Gwen Antwort her phone, glancing at the clock. 10:51. Must be Merlin.
“There is a Merlin Emrys to see you?”
“Thank Du Paulette, send him up. And please make sure Du tell him where my office is,” she says, hanging up before the receptionist can reply.
Three Minuten later Merlin’s smiling face appears in her doorway. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself, come on in,” she stands and hugs her friend, Küssen his cheek.
“So, this is your new kingdom, hey? Nice. Even a window,” he walks over and looks out. “Oh,” he says, disappointed when he sees her lousy view.
“You want an office with a real view, then go see Mr. Gaius,” she laughs.
Merlin sits.
“So,” Gwen starts. “I’ve looked over this latest draft, and I think we’re about ready to send it to typesetting.”
“Really?” his bright blue eyes light up with excitement.
“Yes, but this is the difficult part, Du know.”
“Why is that?” His excitement turns to confusion.
“Because Du have to let go now,” she smiles at him.
“Oh. Right. It’s in someone else’s hands now.”
“Yes, but very good hands,” Gwen reassures him.
They discuss the details a bit more, and Merlin tells her his ideas for a third book after Gwen confesses she’s peeked at the Sekunde one a bit already.
“I can’t believe what Du did with erpel, drake and Evie,” she gushes. “She yells at him and he kisses her. Just… that’s brilliant, Merlin.”
“Thanks,” he blushes. “He really just wants people to treat him like a person rather than a prince, and she does that.”
“Yeah, I understood that. Giving the arrogant prince a herz and soul beneath the bravado. Very good.”
“Well, he is based on Drag, Du know,” Merlin grins.
Gwen laughs. “So. I think we’re sorted now. Has Drag gegeben Du anything for the cover yet?”
“Not yet, but I intend to hassle him about that as soon as I leave here,” he says. “I promised him I’d stop Von the gallery. I think he wants to have lunch with me. He was weird this morning.”
“He’s got something on his mind, maybe he wants to talk to Du about it,” she says.
“He didn’t talk to Du about it?”
“Of course he did,” Gwen says, it was my idea. “But Du have known him almost your whole lives, he probably wants your opinion as well. Don’t worry about it,” she adds, seeing Merlin’s concerned face.
“I’ll try not to,” he stands, and hugs Gwen awkwardly across her schreibtisch when she stands as well.
“Oh, Merlin, one Mehr question,” Gwen says, just before he turns to exit.
He stops. “Yes?”
“Is your mother available? Like, single?”
His eyebrows rise, then knit together in confusion. “Yes…?”
“My father saw her at the opening. Thought she was lovely.”
“Hey, Lance,” Merlin says, greeting the gallery owner as he walks in. “Where’s the royal shithead?”
“I’m right here, arse-monkey,” Arthur’s voice behind him makes him jump.
“That’s a new one,” Merlin says, chuckling.
“Hello, Merlin,” Lance says, laughing at the pair of them. “What’s new from the world of soon-to-be-published writers?”
“Book number one is going to typesetting,” he says, grinning, “which leads me to the issue of cover art,” he says, looking pointedly at Arthur. “I asked Du like a week ago, Drag. Do Du have anything?”
Arthur sighs. “Yes, Mother, how does this strike you?” he asks, thrusting his sketchpad at him.
“He only just drew it this morning,” Lance mutters.
“Shut up,” Arthur shoots back.
“Drag, this is brilliant,” Merlin says. “Just needs some color and it’ll be perfect.” He traces the lines of the ornate griffin Arthur’s done, one talon raised, wings spread.
“I remembered Du saying that, what’s-his-name, Rylan has something with griffins. The one that the king has chained in a cave somewhere, oder something. Thought it might be important,” he shrugs.
“You have no idea how important,” Merlin answers, remembering the climax he thought of for the forthcoming third book.
“So I did good?”
“Drag, I would KISS you, but that would be gross.”
“Indeed,” Arthur agrees, while Lance laughs. “Plus, I’m not over this cold yet. Oh, and I’ll need that back, if Du want it to be colored.”
Merlin hands him his pad and asks, “So. What did Du want to talk to me about?”
Arthur looks at the clock. “It’s not too early for lunch,” he says. He doesn’t want to insult Lance, but neither does he especially want to discuss this in front of him. Don’t know him well enough yet.
“Good. I’m hungry,” Merlin says.
“You coming back after?” Lance asks.
“Do Du need me to?”
“Up to you,” he shrugs.
“Yeah, probably. I don’t think Gwaine is expecting me in at all today,” he says.
“Good. It gets boring here Von myself,” Lance chuckles.
“Can we bring Du something back?” Merlin asks.
“Sure. Where are Du going?”
They look at each other. “I don’t know,” he answers.
“Just… something at least somewhat healthy,” Lance says. “Just no mushrooms.”
“Extra mushrooms, right,” Arthur nods, smirking as they walk out the door.
“This is about your father, isn’t it?” Merlin guesses, lifting a large, greasy hamburger to his lips. They opted for manly food, which equals burgers and big, fat chips.
“You saw him at the opening,” Arthur says, his tone neutral.
“I did, and I hid so he wouldn’t see me,” he admits.
“Coward.”
“Yep. Did not want to have to be polite.”
“Gwen thinks his coming was a sort of tentative olive branch,” Arthur says, going on to detail their conversation the Tag before, even telling him the whole story behind the storm painting.
Merlin listens patiently, a little proud of Arthur for not yelling oder even getting terribly kreuz with Gwen. Of course, he’s only even entertaining the idea because Gwen brought it up. Anyone else would have been summarily dismissed.
“Arthur,” Merlin starts, and Arthur already knows he is in trouble. “You know how I feel about your father. I had front-row seats, for crying out loud.”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming,” Arthur says, leaning back, reaching for a napkin in which to blow his nose.
“But I actually think Gwen is on to something. Perhaps Uther is, oh, I don’t know, feeling his mortality oder something.”
“What?”
“You know, getting old, realizing that he is not, in fact, going to live forever. Realizing that there may be Mehr to life than cash.”
“Doubtful.”
He sighs. “Okay, maybe not. But I think she’s right. I think it was his attempt to reach out. Kind of a lame attempt, but an attempt nevertheless.”
“Wouldn’t even talk to me,” he mutters, pulverizing a chip under his thumb. “Some attempt.”
“Damn it, Arthur, why are Du so fucking stubborn all the damn time?” Merlin snaps.
“What?” Arthur’s head shoots up.
“Look. Much as I hate to say it, much as Du hate to hear it, Du are very like him in a lot of ways. Not the least of which is the fact that you’re both completely pigheaded. One of Du has to bend at some point. One of Du has to be strong enough to man the fuck up and make the first move. Uther took a stab, but clearly he doesn’t have it in him to do it properly. He wants it, but he’s too inhibited Von his own stupid pride to let his guard down.”
Arthur stares, blinking mutely as Merlin scolds him. He’s not exactly yelling, but he’s not calm either.
“Gwen had sagte that Du need to be the bigger man. She’s right. Du do. Because Du are. You’re better than him,” he says, his voice fading now.
Arthur drinks his Coke, staring down into the glass.
“Deliver the fucking painting,” he finishes, standing and tossing his napkin on the table. “I have to take a piss.”
“Excalibur,” Gwaine Antwort the phone the Weiter day.
“Hello, Gwaine? Lance.”
“Hey, mate, how are you? Up for another round of drinks and singing?”
“Not any time in the foreseeable future. I learned my lesson,” he laughs. “Is Drag there, Von chance?”
“Yeah, hang on,” Gwaine holds out the phone. “For you, hot shot.”
“Hello?”
“Drag, there is a very beautiful woman standing in the gallery claiming to be your sister,” Lance informs him.
“And?”
“I’m only asking because no one that good-looking could possibly be related to you,” he says. Arthur can hear Morgana’s unmistakable cackle in the background as she laughs at Lance’s words.
“I’ll be there in ten,” Arthur says. “Thanks, mate.”
“Yeah.”
“Gwaine, drive me to the gallery?” Arthur asks.
“Don’t Du Liebe how he can ask a Frage and make it sound like a command?” Gwaine asks Phil, who snorts a laugh.
“Where’s your bike?”
“Home. I’m living with Guinevere now, so there’s no point in driving that pile of shit when I could walk here in the time it takes to get that thing started. Come on. It’ll be worth your while…” Arthur cajoles.
“Dazzle me,” Gwaine challenges.
“Morgana’s there.”
“Let me get my keys,” Gwaine answers, turning quickly to find his car keys.
“Better hurry, Brother, before Lance charms her away from you,” Phil calls, standing and hobbling towards the back on the big boot she now has instead of the cast.
“Pssh,” Gwaine blows dismissively. “I don’t think I have anything to worry about there.”
“Lance is pretty hot,” Phil argues, returning with a new box of surgical gloves for her workstation.
“Lance is pretty gay,” Gwaine shoots back.
“Thank you,” Arthur chimes in. “Guinevere and I have been arguing about this for weeks.”
“He is not gay. Honestly,” Phil rolls her eyes, “a man can dress well and be conscious of his grooming and health and still be straight, Du wankers.”
“All I know is he was getting pretty friendly under that tabelle a few weeks ago,” Gwaine says, his found keys dangling from his finger.
“Please,” Phil says dismissively. “Get enough drink in Du and you’ll KISS anything with a set of lips,” she says. “Or not, you’re not exactly choosy.”
Arthur laughs. “She has a point. There was that one time…”
“Leave it,” Gwaine says, grabbing Arthur’s elbow and ushering him out of the shop.
“Arthur, this is bloody amazing!” Morgana gushes, hugging him tightly.
“Thanks, Mo. How was Rome?”
“Dreadful. Carlo is so tiresome with his constant, ‘Please, Signorina, Bewegen to my villa,’ and ‘Bella Morgana, Du should be here in Roma with me.’ Ugh. The man is older than Uther,” she shudders.
Arthur just laughs, especially when he sees Gwaine glowering behind her. She turns to Gwaine now, pulling him over Von grabbing the front of his t-shirt. She runs her hands up his chest and says quietly, “I’m not going back till tomorrow morning.”
Gwaine lunges vorwärts-, nach vorn and kisses her hungrily, his hand holding the back of her neck. “Good,” he says.
Lance gives a puzzled look to Arthur, who makes a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out.
Morgana pulls away, smoothes her hair, and says to Arthur, “So. Zeigen me.”
Arthur escorts her around while Gwaine and Lance chat.
“You really like to draw Gwen, hey?” she asks, studying each panel of the collage. “And Du drew these while Du were suffering from temporary stupidity?”
“Yes, and yes,” he says, watching with amusement while his sister checks out his girlfriend’s rear end in the drawing.
“Nice little body on her,” she observes, ready to Bewegen on, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the various things, smiling at the painting of Arthur and Merlin, squealing at the lake painting, remembering that trip and the really cute universität student she hooked up with that week, and stopping in front of the storm painting.
Behind them they hear Lance’s voice exclaim, “How on God’s green earth can they be twins?”
“I remember this storm,” she says. “He stood out on the porch of the summer Home while we were under the table, hiding,” she smiles.
“He bought this one,” Arthur says.
“He who?” she turns.
“He who do Du think, Einstein?”
“So he did come, then.”
“Yes, he did come,” he says, giving her a look that tells her that he knows that she sent Uther a flyer.
“How was he?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says bitterly. “He managed to avoid me. I was busy with Gwaine and Annis Caerleon and he slipped in, bought the painting, and left.”
“Oh.”
“Guinevere talked with him, but she didn’t know it was him until after he left. Merlin saw him and told her who he was.”
“I was hoping he’d at least have sagte hello,” she says sadly.
“Nope.”
“I tried. Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, stop trying, okay?”
“You know I won’t.”
“I know,” he says, taking her hand. “And thanks,” he adds quietly.
“For what.”
“For not giving up on the two of us stubborn idiots.”
“What are Du on about, Arthur?”
“Nothing. It’s just making me think.”
“Good,” she says, pulling him to the Weiter section. “Not for sale, huh?”
“Nope. That one is mine.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she says, then looks sideways at him. “You two had just had sex before Du painted this, didn’t you?”
It was Mehr of an accusation than a question.
“Kind of. It was actually right after Du had called and I first told her about you,” he says.
“But before I called Du two were doing naughty things.”
“Perhaps. Look, here’s one of you,” he steers her over to the painting he did of her. Her raven hair is blowing in the breeze, the sun on her porzellan skin, and a faraway look in her eyes.
“I didn’t know Du did one of me!” She hugs him again. “It’s wonderful, Arthur.”
“I wonder who bought it?” Arthur asks, noticing the red sticker on the placard.
“Hey Lance, who bought this one?” he calls back.
“Um, let me check,” he says, going behind the schreibtisch and pulling out a folder that seems to be growing thicker Von the day.
Gwaine wanders idly, coming around to get a good look at some of the choicer panels in the collage.
“When was this?”
“Um, football game, I think. I turned to say something to Du and the wind picked up. The bloke behind Du was not happy, I recall. He ended up with a face full of hair.”
She smiles, fully aware of his photographic brain. “That was… like four years ago, right?”
“Something like that. Du know how things stick with me. That image of the storm was in my head for fifteen years before I painted it,” he shrugs, as if it is no big deal.
“Gwaine,” Lance’s voice, a surprised gasp, floats out from the back of the gallery.
Gwaine ignores him, still casually perusing the art.
“What?” Arthur says, looking back at Lance.
“Gwaine bought the painting of Morgana,” Lance clarifies.
Morgana looks over at Gwaine, mouth agape.
Gwaine just grins and shrugs. “I do Liebe you, Du know,” is all he says.
Part 40: link
