Part 43: link


    “So how is it that the two of u managed to beat us twice?” Arthur asks as they emerge from the pub, blinking in the bright sunlight. Not the Dragon’s Head; a different pub, one with a billiard table.
    “Fray and I used to go out to the pubs when we were at University, not drink, and then beat drunk guys at billiards,” Gwen explains, chuckling. “And u two won two games as well, so we’re all nice and even.”
    “Leon needs to get a table,” Arthur comments.
    “Leon doesn’t want a table,” Merlin reminds him. “He says the darts are bad enough.”
    “Why is that?” Gwen asks.
    “He says the cues will just turn into weapons at some point. That and there’s too much upkeep on a billiard table.”
    “Ah.”
    “And they’re bloody expensive, too,” Merlin adds.
    “There it is,” Freya laughs.
    “So, tell me,” Arthur asks, “when u would go out not drinking, how easily did u beat these drunken blokes?”
    “We didn’t always win,” Gwen amends.
    “Ah, but when u did, was it because u were the meer skilled team, of because u are a couple of cute birds?”
    “Oh!” Gwen fumes, taking her hand from his grasp and smacking him with it. “Why is it so hard to accept that we beat u a couple times? Did u think we went out waving our bums at the guys while they were trying to make their shots? That I was chalking my cue door placing the chalk between my tits and bending over like this?” she pantomimes, holding an invisible cue in front of her.
    Merlin is laughing loudly now, earning him a very dirty look from Arthur.
    “All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he says.
    “You were expecting to just run the tafel, tabel and have done, weren’t you?” she asks, hands on her hips.
    “Maybe,” he pouts. She stares. “Yeah.”
    “Perhaps volgende time we’ll stop going easy on you,” Gwen says airily, turning to start walking again.
    “Wait, what?”
    Gwen blows a kiss to him, now several feet ahead of him, laughing with Freya.
    “Girls are strange,” Arthur says, looking at Merlin.
    “And boys are yucky,” Gwen shoots back. Arthur promptly jogs vooruit, voorwaarts and grabs her around the waist, pulling her to him.
    “Yucky?” he purrs at her while she giggles at him. “You didn’t seem to think I was so yucky last night,” he smirks at her, kissing her. “Or this morning,” he adds, kissing her again, longer.
    “Don’t want to hear about it,” Merlin says, starting to walk.
    “Oh, like you’re so innocent, Emrys,” Gwen calls, extracting herself from Arthur’s grasp.
    He turns and makes an innocent face at her.
    “Bet u a pound that u were naked when I called Freya’s flat this morning to invite u out,” she challenges, her hands on her hips.
    Merlin blushes, and Freya quietly says, “Give her a pound, Pet.”
    Arthur and Gwen laugh and start walking, Arthur patting Merlin on the shoulder as they brush past him.
    “Keep your pound, Merlin,” Gwen says over her shoulder.
    “Hey, what are u two doing later?” Freya asks, taking Merlin’s hand and pulling him, reminding him they are walking.
    “Dinner with my father, actually,” Gwen says. “He was going to take us out after Arthur’s opening, but Arthur was sick, so we had to take a rain check.”
    “Ooo, avondeten, diner with DI Degrance, must be serious,” Freya says in mock severity.
    “Nah, despite appearances, Daddy actually likes Arthur,” Gwen says.
    “He does?” Arthur asks.
    “Yes. He does. And that reminds me… Merlin: we simply must find a way to get my dad to meet your mum. u know, since he turned chicken at the gallery.”
    “Right,” Merlin agrees, grinning.
    “Ugh, Merlin, you’re setting up your mum?”
    “Something wrong with my father?” Gwen asks.
    “Of course not, it’s not that, but… that’s his mum. Merlin, do u really want to think about your mother being… romantic with someone? Anyone?” Arthur asks.
    “Had to have happened once,” Freya mutters, and Gwen laughs.
    “Look, u know my dad’s been gone a long time,” Merlin says, his voice serious, soft. Gwen turns, interested, never having heard him speak of his father. “And, well… she’s lonely. She’ll never admit it, but she is. I’d like her to have some happiness. And if she can find some with Gwen’s dad, then, so be it.”

    Guinevere’s father takes them to his favoriete place, a simple diner-type affair, nothing swank of fancy. Solid comfort food. Large portions. Waitresses that keep your drinks filled without your having to ask.
    “Yeah, we come here a lot for lunch,” Tom says. “I’m not much for posh places,” he shrugs. “Plus it’s close to the station.”
    “It’s great here,” Arthur says, “this chicken is bloody amazing,” he says, peeling off another section of meat and popping it into his mouth with his fingers.
    Gwen has a large chef salad, served in a bowl the size of her head. She spears a homp, stoere binken of cheese, ham, hard-boiled egg, and, finally, some sla and somehow manages the whole bite, much to Arthur’s amusement.
    “Gwen tells me u have a bit of a sweet tooth,” Tom says to Arthur. “So make sure u save room for dessert. They have a carrot cake that is just mind-boggling.”
    “I always have room for dessert,” Arthur grins.
    “A bit of a sweet tooth?” Gwen laughs. “I don’t believe those were the words I used.”
    “I was being polite,” Tom laughs with her. “She really zei u were a sugar junkie.”
    “Well, those were my words originally, so, no harm done,” Arthur laughs.
    “So, Gwen, when exactly is your mother getting married to that Pierre bloke, anyway?” Tom asks, digging his fork into a shepherd’s pie large enough for nearly all three of them.
    “I don’t know, u know how she is. Vague with the details.”
    “Vague with details involving her, u mean. If it’s details about anyone else then she’s a bloody private investigator,” he laughs.
    “I would imagine volgende spring, but for all I know, they’ve gone off and eloped,” Gwen says, then sighs. “I probably should call her. I just hate to, though. It’s expensive.”
    “God forbid she pick up the phone, right?”
    Gwen rolls her eyes and takes a drink. “But I know u want to talk to your lawyer, so I’ll call her maybe tomorrow night and see what I can find out. Rates will be cheaper.”
    “I appreciate that, Gwennie.”
    “I know, Dad. Oh, guess what?” Gwen changes the subject.
    “Hmm?”
    “That big collections of drawings that I wouldn’t let u look too closely at?”
    “Yes…”
    “Annis sold it to a spa.”
    “Really? Well done, Pendragon,” he says, turning to Arthur.
    “Thanks, but I didn’t really do anything,” Arthur chuckles.
    “Well, u created the piece, didn’t you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then congratulations. But Gwen,” he turns back, “are u all right with strangers ogling whatever it was that u didn’t especially want your own father to see?”
    Gwen glances at Arthur. “Yes, I think so. I’m learning to accept being an artist’s muse,” she chuckles. She feels Arthur’s hand squeeze her knee under the table.
    “Muse?” Tom asks.
    “Annis dubbed me thusly about five minuten after she met me. I thought I told u that,” she tells her father.
    “Well, if I start seeing naked pictures of Gwen everywhere, u and I are going to have a conversation,” Tom says to Arthur.
    “I seriously doubt you’ll see naked pictures of her everywhere, Mr. Degrance,” Arthur answers.
    “You may call me Tom,” he finally relents, seeing Gwen’s grin out of the corner of his eye.
    “I promise u that I will never paint of draw Guinevere in any way that would make her uncomfortable.”
    “Thank you. I’d prefer it if u had zei ‘anyway that would make me uncomfortable,’ but this will have to do,” he smiles.
    “Well if that was the case you’d have him painting me in a parka and snow pants, covered from head to toe,” Gwen laughs.
    “Sounds good to me,” Tom grins.
    “That would actually be really cute,” Arthur says, picturing it in his head. “Guinevere in the snow, snowflakes landing in her hair, her cheeks roze with the cold air…”
    Gwen sighs.
    “What? Something for winter,” he shrugs.
    The waitress checks on them, refills their drinks, brings Gwen a couple meer napkins.
    “So, Arthur,” Tom says once the waitress leaves, “Gwen tells me that your father came to the toon and bought one of your paintings. Do u think he’s having regrets about tossing u aside?”
    Arthur glances at Gwen, who smiles a small apologetic smile. I had no idea he would bring this up, sorry. “Honestly, sir, I have no idea what is going on in his brain.”
    “The wealthy and powerful are often the most lonely, I’ve found. Perhaps he’s starting to realize this.”
    “I don’t know. Guinevere thought that his buying the painting, that specific painting was his way of reaching out.”
    “And what do you think?”
    “At first I wasn’t sure. But I let her and Merlin convince me to deliver the painting to him personally. Didn’t go terribly well. I mean, there was no shouting and he didn’t have Joseph throw me out of anything…”
    Gwen snorts, unable to picture Joseph throwing anything larger than a trash bag out.
    “He’s old and skinny, but he’s crafty,” Arthur grins at Gwen. “Anyone working that long for my father would have to be,” he adds darkly.
    “So then our little Guinevere decided she’d give it a go. Did she tell u that?” Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows.
    “No… Gwen, what did u do?”
    “I didn’t do anything!” Gwen exclaims. “Dad!”
    Arthur laughs. “She yelled at him.”
    “Arthur!”
    “You yelled at Uther Pendragon?” Tom asks, incredulous.
    “A little.”
    “She went to his house, even,” Arthur adds, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “Well, to be fair, her intentions were noble. She brought over a couple of paintings I had done that were not in the toon and will likely never see the outside world.”
    “Paintings that Arthur had done of his father and his mother,” Gwen clarifies, before her father can ask.
    “Wait. u went to the man’s home and yelled at him?”
    “Yeah, he didn’t take very kindly to that,” Gwen says, biting her lower lip. “But to be fair, he raised his voice first.”
    “Well, then, I’ll have to have him arrested now,” Tom teases.
    “I did get him to admit that he is lonely, though. Kind of. He actually made me sad,” Gwen says, her eyes growing soft now, the sadness showing.
    Arthur puts his hand over hers, squeezing it lightly.
    “Tell me about the painting he bought,” Tom says, leaning vooruit, voorwaarts on his hands, done with his dinner.
    “Look out, he’s in DI mode now.”
    Arthur tells him the story of the storm, the hand on the shoulder, of falling asleep under the tafel, tabel and waking up in his bed the volgende morning.
    “No one else knew the significance of the painting?” Tom asks.
    “I told Guinevere after Father bought it. Maybe Merlin knew. Probably. I don’t even think Morgana knows about our moment on the porch.”
    “Definitely reaching out,” Tom decides.
    “Hmm,” Arthur answers.
    “Look, I don’t know Uther Pendragon. But I know what it is to be a father. Sometimes your children disappoint you. u get over it and forgive them and love them because they are your flesh. It just takes some people longer than others to realize this.”

    “Arthur, what happened to Merlin’s father?” Gwen asks later, curled in Arthur’s arms in bed.
    “He died shortly after Merlin was born. Never actually got to see him in person.”
    “What?”
    “He was away, in the war. Korea. Hunith was just pregnant with Merlin when he was called overseas.”
    “Oh, my God.”
    “She didn’t even know she was pregnant when he left. Must have been a hell of a farewell,” he chuckles once.
    “What happened?”
    “He was a doctor. The hospital where he was stationed – nothing meer than a collection of tents, really – was bombed. Completely destroyed.”
    “That is so sad,” Gwen says. She actually feels like she might cry.
    “Yes,” he says, stroking her shoulder softly, hearing the tremble in her voice. “His box of personal effects contained a battered baby picture of Merlin. To this day, Merlin and Hunith both refuse to watch M*A*S*H*.”
    “I don’t blame them.”
    “He doesn’t talk about it much,” Arthur says, cuddling her closer to his side. “They visit his grave every jaar on Balinor’s birthday and on the anniversary of his death. Bring him some daisies and a bag of crisps,” Arthur smiles sadly. “But beyond that, they don’t talk about him much.”
    “He was a hero, I hope they know that,” Gwen says.
    “Without a doubt. I just hope that Hunith doesn’t shy away from your father because he’s a copper. u know, that same fear.”
    “Oh, God, good point,” Gwen says, looking up at him. “But my dad spends most of his time at his bureau these days. He investigates mainly documents and evidence. I think he’s getting close to retirement, honestly. Maybe if he doesn’t have to pay mum anymore he’ll be able to hang up his badge and live a life of leisure.”
    “Sounds like you want him to live this life of leisure,” Arthur says, kissing her forehead.
    “Yeah,” she admits. “He’s been there a long time. He deserves it.” Gwen yawns and closes her eyes, snuggling in with a sigh.
    “I love you, Arthur,” she whispers, squeezing him.
    “I love you, too.”

    They decide to be lazy on Sunday. It is grey and rainy outside, a perfect dag to keep the door closed and pull the blankets over one’s head. Gwen doesn’t even suggest they go to church. They spend most of the morning in bed, talking, making love, watching TV.
    She makes wafels and sausages for them for breakfast, even though it is nearly lunchtime.
    Arthur lounges around in his shorts, Gwen in her dressing gown, almost like the first afternoon they spent together.
    The phone doesn’t ring. No one comes knocking. There isn’t even any noise from the neighbors. It’s like the world has decided to leave them alone as they live in their cozy cocoon.
    Arthur eventually settles in on the divan, bank with his sketchpad, drawing ideas for the mural. Gwen decides to bake some bread, just because she hasn’t in a while.
    “Sweet, come look,” he calls.
    “One second. I’m up to my elbows here.”
    “Shouldn’t u be using your hands?”
    He smiles when he hears her laugh, which has become one of his favoriete sounds. Moments later she strolls out, wearing one of his t-shirts.
    “When did u put that on?” he asks.
    “When I decided to bake. Big sleeves on that robe, they’d get in my way. Besides, I like wearing your shirts. They’re comfy.”
    Arthur smiles at her, realizing somewhere in the back of his brain that she has nothing on under the overhemd, shirt and realizing that his attention is drifting.
    “I know that look,” she says. “Later.”
    “Okay,” he says, slightly dejected. “Come tell me what u think, then.”
    She looks. The dragons are spanning the length of the walls. They appear to be playing games, tossing balls between them. One has his nose in the air, looking like he just bumped the ball to another with one of its front legs raised in a very non-threatening way. The third has his head tilted in a jaunty manor.
    “This is charming, Arthur. It’s really cute. They’ll love it.”
    “Do u like it?”
    “Why do u always need to ask me these questions?” she laughs. “Yes, I like it.”
    “Because your opinion is the only one that matters to me, really,” he answers, quite seriously.
    She leans over and kisses him, and he reaches out and runs his hand up the back of her thigh, sliding up under the overhemd, shirt to her backside.
    “Move that dragon’s nose just slightly higher,” she says, pointing to the one with the ball. “And verplaats your hand off my bum. I have brood dough that needs my attention meer than u do right now, darling.”
    ‘”That’s debatable,” he calls after her as she walks back to the kitchen. She waves a hand back at him dismissively, not turning around.
    “Damn it, she’s right,” Arthur says, grabbing his eraser to fix the angle of the dragon’s head.
    An uur later, Gwen is at one end of the couch, flipping through Merlin’s seconde manuscript, and Arthur is on the other end, still drawing. Gwen thinks he’s still working on his mural, but really he’s sketching her.
    The phone rings, and they both jump. Arthur curses and grabs his eraser. Gwen reaches over for the phone.
    “Hello?” She listens a moment, her face a little puzzled.
    No, not puzzled, Arthur thinks. Surprised.
    “Yes, of course, one moment.”
    “Arthur, it’s for you,” Gwen says, holding the phone out.
    “Who is it?”
    “Your father.”

Part 45: link