Andrew Lincoln Age Novels & Stories

LINCOLN’s POV (Before he became Lincoln Webber, his name was Andrew Morgan Jr.) Lincoln Webber took a sip from his glass. The taste of the liquor he drank gives a bitter-sweet taste as it runs down his throat. He clenched as he remembered the horrible past that happened to his father, which caused his mother's mental breakdown when he was ten years old. His name was Andrew Morgan Jr. before he became Lincoln Webber. Andrew Jr. was dragged inside the cell with his eyes blindfolded. His hands were tied at his back and his mouth was covered with duct tape.

He answered. "How many years have you been married?" She asked again. "For about seven years." Lincoln responded. Keeping his irritation to himself as everything she was asking was already written in the file before her. "So may I ask the reason behind adopting a child?" She asked. Sophie squeezed her hands on her skirt, preventing herself from bursting out. "Inability to birth a child." Lincoln answered with a forced smile and gritted his teeth. The matron picked her telephone and punched a few numbers then she placed it closed to her ears. "Yes, bring her in." She ordered and dropped the telephone.

Sophia smiled shyly and said, "Mr. Lincoln, this is Olivia. She's new. Say hello to Mr. Lincoln, Olivia." Lincoln was around 40 years old. He was the typical middle-aged man: greasy and pot-bellied. He squinted his eyes when he sized up Olivia. He was even more satisfied after a closer look. He thought the picture he was sent had been touched up. But she looked prettier in person. "Hi, Mr. Lincoln." Olivia greeted him expressionlessly. Lincoln immediately reached out to pull her closer to him. "Olivia, I'm an old acquaintance of your team leader. Come over and sit."

"Not quite that old, but I appreciate the guess." "Tell me your age then," I asked, feeling a mix of curiosity and amusement. "I am tired of guessing." Andrew chuckled again. "32 years old," he finally revealed, his smile never faltering. "You were close enough to 35," he added, still amused by my attempts to guess his age. "Damn, I slept with an old man, and I don't even remember the night I spent with him," I thought to myself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement at the situation. How did I get myself into this situation?

We were in love and happy, and we never failed to show each other that. In any and every way. Lincoln had been Lincoln. The death of his brother was a lot for him, but him and his parents have come to terms and accepted the fact. He held onto the good memories, and that seemed okay for him. I was worried for him though. He was twenty four and he still hasn't found his mate. When I asked him, he just said he wasn't in any rush to find her, and that just like everyone else, when the time is right he'll find her.

He sighed, rubbing his palms down his face. He was quiet for a moment, as though recollecting his thoughts. She waited patiently for him to do so and soon he lifted his head up, begining his story. " I was just fifteen years old." He started, letting out a shaking exhale. 'I was free, ate what I wanted and I went where I wanted and did what I wanted." He said, shrugging a shoulder. "It was Lincoln that was kept on a short leash." He chuckled lightly at the memory, sighing heavily afterwards.

Lincoln regards her quietly, expression indecipherable but eyes intent where they stare at the girl. "How old are you?" he asks instead. Stella doesn't reply, staring blankly down at the ground instead. Lincoln returns to his position, resting against the wall. He's just about to relax when he hears it: "Twenty-one," muttered more to the floor, than to him. Lincoln hums. At twenty-one, he'd already led his troops to victory in two wars and three skirmishes. At twenty-one, he'd held no worries other than the burning desire to protect and serve his great kingdom, and to protect those men he called his own.

“That’s all.” Selective truths, but still technically true. He snorts through his nose. “You’re seventeen,” he all but snarls. “And?” I say with a shrug. “Lincoln, how old were you when you got your ink?” I point at the tribal runes decorating his arm. Lincoln shrugs. “Fifteen, maybe?” I turn back to my brother and give him a pointed look. I see the exact moment I win. “Fine,” he huffs, dropping down onto the bench.

Uh, but why would he ask about that? "Andrew Reece?" Eland called once more, intent on waking Andrew up. Andrew immediately brought himself back to his senses, "Uh, I'm ... 29 years old." Eland was somewhat surprised, "Um, you're much older than me." "That's so. According to what I heard, you are 23 years old." "24 years old, to be more precise," Eland corrected. Andrew immediately corrected, "Oh, yeah. 24 years old." He then smiled awkwardly.

"Lincoln sprained his ankle going down the stairs. He's being such a baby about it and absolutely refuses to get examined unless I'm with him. "I know you're still angry about him not approving your salary advance. I'll give you the money. Just go and don't let Lincoln see you. He'll misunderstand."