“It’s nothing,” Sorin said.
“You’re thinking it, so it’s not nothing. You are everything to me.”
Sorin’s heart beat harder at that.
Ere said such things so effortlessly. He said them all the time. But they never lost their ability to humble Sorin, to warm him to the depths of his soul.
He wished he had the same ability, but he was not good with words. And even when he knew the words, he was terrible at saying them, even in his own mind.
He was a male of action. He expressed his emotions physically. With looks, touches, with every fiber of his being.
“Mmm,” Ere purred, wriggling his ass closer against Sorin’s uncomfortably hard groin.
“I miss that as well. So very much. Perhaps we can disappear together for a brief interlude at the next stop so I can have my way with you. It will have to be fellatio, since I do want to continue riding a horse without wincing with pain every step of the way. Good thing I’m absolutely starving for your cream, my love.”
Riding with a massive erection and full-to-bursting stones wasn’t a pleasant experience either, Sorin wanted to point out. And Ere’s enflaming words didn’t help.
“Behave,” he commanded.
Ere chuckled delightedly.
“Since when have I ever?”
Sorin’s lips twitched in answer.
Never.
Ere was an imp through and through.
“Tell me what you aren’t telling the others,” Sorin said, trying to distract him.
“Why this quest? Why this place and this time?”
“How well you know me,” Ere said, sounding enormously pleased.
Was there any doubt?
“I have some suspicions,” he began slowly, likely organizing his thoughts as he went.
“It can’t be a complete coincidence that we’re plopped in the midst of the Arthurian legends. It’s one of the least understood periods of time in Western history. Partly why it’s called the Dark Ages, actually. Not because of this godawful weather, the general lack of sanitation and hygiene and endless warmongering. But because there’s little passed down about this time in both oral and written records. Everything we have of this age was written centuries later.”
“What are the legends?”
“Arthur was supposed to have been the greatest king of Britain. Single-handedly beat off foreign invaders for fifty or so years after the Romans pulled out their military might. His sire was a warlord called Uther Pendragon.”
“Coincidence?” Sorin asked, pausing on the name.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Ere replied. “Although, the name could be explained by its various derivations. It could simply mean ‘top warrior,’ which is what Uther was, to have won many great battles, and what Arthur is reputed to be as well. In one account, he defeated hundreds of men single-handedly in battle.”
“But you think differently.”
“About the name? Yes. As a student of languages and history—see, I knew all my PhDs would come in handy one day!—one could argue that Pendragon simply represents the literal meaning of the words. First or top dragon. So, what does it mean that Uther and Arthur have this name?”
“They are somehow connected to the first dragon,” Sorin supplied.
“Bingo. Which makes me wonder about this mythical dragon. But keep that thought tucked away as I tell you the rest.”
Sorin was really paying attention now.