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But during those six long months, not much had changed between Merlin and his sons.
Arthur, at least, seemed to make an effort. They were amiable and open with each other, and Annie could tell that Merlin’s older son did not hold a grudge for his father having given him away to the warlord Uther when he was a babe. Their relationship was in “start from scratch” mode. They really didn’t know each other at all.
Arthur, Annie noticed, had a big, soft heart. Which made it even more pronounced when he was so cool to the man who’d literally given him his life.
Poor Lance. There must be a complicated history there.
Wolfe, however, was a different story.
Between the two sons, both by Merlin and Igraine, Wolfe looked most like Red. Arthur had a more refined bone structure,perhaps because he got more of Igraine’s exquisite beauty (which Annie was petty enough to begrudge, even though she knew Merlin loved her beyond anything. She was just unreasonably possessive and protective of him, and jealous of his time. It wasn’t one of her more commendable traits, but she didn’t feel too bad about it).
Arthur possessed a deeply-moving masculine beauty that attracted everyone and anyone, no matter who they were. He inherited Igraine’s blue eyes instead of Merlin’s citrine gems. They were a compelling ocean blue that a person could happily drown in. Yet, he also inherited Red’s build, at least the height and the breadth if not the depth in terms of thickness of muscles. Arthur was more elegantly constructed overall.
Wolfe, on the other hand, was rough-hewn, just like Merlin. Scarred and weathered, like tempered steel. He was still more refined than Red, but their builds were the most similar, almost identical. In a couple hundred more years, Wolfe might be even more of a replica of his sire.
With respect to their relationship, he was civil, didn’t go out of his way to show any animosity or resentment. But he didn’t exactly welcome rapprochement. And given that these weremen, the sort who embodied every outdated stereotype of the word (read: emotionally constipated in certain ways), they hadn’t made any real progress on the warm and fuzzies that Annie could tell.
That’s why she arranged this little getaway. She was going to make them face their past, get over it, and do the kumbaya at the end of this.
“How does your beer taste, Wolfe?” she asked in her friendliest, cheeriest voice.
“Is it anything like what you used to have back in the day?”
Wolfe looked into his half-empty tankard and proclaimed, “The ale I’m used to tasted like liquid bread. As if youwere drinking a meal. This tastes like watered-down piss. No substance at all.”
“Oh,” Annie said, her smile faltering a little. “I guess you don’t like it then.”
The stoic man shrugged those wide shoulders and downed the rest of his beer.
“I’ve drunk worse to stay alive. I’m not picky.”
Annie felt Merlin stiffen up next to her.
She knew what he must be thinking. She could almost hear it in her own mind through their link, though he wasn’t actually broadcasting.
Wolfe’s words reminded him of how he’d abandoned his second son, the one he’d loved beyond life itself, when his first love, Igraine, had broken his heart and driven him to madness. Wolfe had only been ten years old or thereabouts. He’d been all alone, because Igraine had died shortly after.
She’d taken her own life when her mind couldn’t reconcile that the husband she’d loved all this time was not whom she thought. It had all been an illusion. Her husband hadn’t even been a man, but a powerful dragon.
Because of this sequence of events, Wolfe spent the rest of his life, until he met his own dragon, hunting the Beasts. After all this time, it was clear that he was a long way from forgiving Merlin for everything that happened.
But at least he didn’t seem hell-bent on killing his sire, as he used to be in his time, which Annie credited Rui for. She’d shown him true love. A love that lasted beyond the worlds that separated them. She’d come back to him, never to be apart again.
Wolfe suddenly jerked upright when Rui’s elbow connected with his ribs.
They exchanged a silent communication through their eyes and linked minds.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, I like the food in this time significantly more. The…”
He squinted at his menu to make out the words. He was slowly getting used to modern English.
“…Tomahawk steak looks mighty fine.”
Annie smiled.
Of course, he’d pick the largest cut of meat on the menu. He saw the different cuts hanging over the grill that ran across the entire far wall of the restaurant when they came in, pointed to the biggest and said “I want that one.” And Annie explained what that particular cut was called.
Red cleared his own throat next to her and said, “I would like the same. The food on the plane was akin to bird feed, not enough to sustain.”
