Avalon Assisted Living
Author: candymacaron
Title: Avalon Assisted Living
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Dragoon/Arthur
Summary: After failing to find Arthur, Merlin goes into retirement as Dragoon The Great.
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1196
Prompt: Century
Author's Notes: No beta. It is not my intent to disrespect the elderly. ._.
Merlin Emrys was old enough to remember when the automobile replaced the horse drawn carriage, and marvel at how humans had claimed a sky once ruled by dragons. And yet, after over a thousand years of observing technological progress, he still had no bloody clue how to operate his Rascal Mobility Scooter.
He squeezed the scooters engager lever, but the smooth starts and stops promised in the owner’s manual eluded Merlin. The scooter lurched under his touch, careening down the lobby of Avalon Assisted Living and crashing him full force into a potted plant.
Merlin’s frail eighty-year-old body jolted forward, but luckily the impact hadn’t ejected him from his seat.
It did, however, grab the attention of a nursing assistant, the woman throwing her hands up and shrieking loud enough shatter glass.
“Mr Dragoon!” she belted.
Merlin eased the scooter into reverse, greeting the scarlet-faced nurse. He hated the staff at Avalon. Hated the way they talked to him like he was a deaf four-year-old, not of the most powerful warlock alive. But most of all he hated that he took the abuse.
This cynical century had broken Merlin, convinced him that he was never going find his beloved, Arthur. Instead of roaming continents in a fruitless searches, as he’d done in the past, Merlin withdrew for the world. Hiding himself within Avalon's elderly community as Dragoon The Great, and praying that fate would be merciful and finally let him meet the reaper.
Clearly, that hadn’t happened yet, but Merlin was optimistic.
“I’m fine, no broken bones. Thank you for inquiring.” Merlin grunted at the nurse.
The nurse righted the planter with a shove. ““Mr Dragoon, I cannot have you wandering the hallway at this time of night! You’ve been warned several times about your behavior-“
“I do not wander. I was heading back to my room.”
“Your new room is in the opposite wing of this facility, or don’t you remember?”
A ludicrous question. The nurse herself had pried Merlin from his old one-bedroom. Tossing him headfirst into a two-bedroom with a roommate who was nearly catatonic. Though conversation between them was lacking, Merlin’s new roommate was, to his credit, a good listener.
“What kind of damned fool question is that?” Merlin backed into the planter again, this time out of spite. “Of course I remember! I remember things forwards, backwards, upside-down, and sideways. More than can be said for your pea-brain. I’ll have you know I paid dearly for that single room!”
“You used to pay for a single, but our bed fees increased four months ago and still haven’t paid the difference.”
“And if I paid it now?”
The assistant rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It would be too little too late. We've rented your old room out to a gentleman who does pay his dues. Until you make us the back payments, and another room opens up, it’s a double room for you, Sir, or nothing at all.”
A thinly veiled threat. No doubt the tyrant nurse would make good of it the first chance she got.
Merlin wanted to tell the overgrown toad that he’d been aware of the increase, but had hoped he’d croak himself before he had to pay it.
But Instead of arguing with her, Merlin kicked his robe to reveal his spindly legs (The robe trick always made the young attendants squirm. They hated being reminded of the shapeless, wrinkled, one-size-fits-all suit of age), revved up his scooter, and drove to his new quarters. Aiming to destroy as many planters as he could along the way.
***
Merlin met the single-room usurper the following week.
It was raining, the foul weather leaving him to putter indoor again on his scooter. He traveled Avalon's familiar corridors, nodding at acquaintances who’d left their doors open to visitors.
The door to his old room had been left open as well, a hired man entering with moving boxes and then leaving again empty handed. Overseeing the affair was a man with silver hair, his Romanesque face wrinkled as a pair of worn leather breeches.
Merlin’s scooter came to a screeching halt in the center of the hallway, a step away from where the man stood. His throat felt dry. And for the first time in a century, he was self-conscious of his scraggly beard.
There was no mistaking who this elderly gentleman was. Age hadn’t bowed Arthur’s regal posture, or stolen the determined gleam from his eyes. Even with the youth drained from his cheeks, Arthur was still an attractive man. The kind of picturesque geriatric in erectile dysfunction adds, strolling a tropical beach.
Merlin expected to see the king in his prime when he returned. But glancing at Arthur now told Merlin everything he needed to know. It didn’t matter how Arthur had come back to him. Arthur's body was a vessel. A vessel that housed the beautiful prat Merlin so fondly remembered…
Arthur must have sensed Merlin staring because he looked over his shoulder, their eyes meeting.
Merlin managed a somewhat strangled, “Arthur?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Arthur said in a familiar posh accent. He turned around and offered Merlin a curious look along with his hand. “How do you know my name? Have we… met somewhere before?”
Merlin grabbed Arthur’s hand like it was the air he needed to breath. “It is you, isn’t it?” he blurted thoughtlessly. “Arthur Pendragon, the once in future king-”
Arthur snorted, as if waiting for the punch line of a joke he’d heard a dozen times.
“You... don’t remember Camelot?” Merlin prompted.
He chuckled back, but there was no mirth in his eyes. Arthur swiftly extracted himself from Merlin’s grip. “Brilliant. My children have sent me to a home full of nutters. Well, Mr-”
“Dragoon. The Great,” Merlin rasped, hopes plummeting. Arthur was wearing his please-don’t-let-this-stranger-touch-me-again face, and as much as Merlin had missed the kings snobbery, he had never liked when it was directed at him.
“Right. Well, Mr, I-made-up name, I suggest that you have the nurses up your medicines and find you trousers before you leave your room again,” Arthur said, going to his room and slamming the door.
Merlin blinked. Dazed.
This reunion was not how he’d fantasized it would be.
How long would it take before Arthur remembered who he was? And, once he remembered, how many years would they have left together?
Ten or twenty at best?
Merlin’s withered hand shook as he clutched the scooter handlebar. No, another thousand years of waiting won’t do, he decided. He would fight to make Arthur Remember who he was, whatever the cost.
***
Title: Avalon Assisted Living
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Dragoon/Arthur
Summary: After failing to find Arthur, Merlin goes into retirement as Dragoon The Great.
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1196
Prompt: Century
Author's Notes: No beta. It is not my intent to disrespect the elderly. ._.
Merlin Emrys was old enough to remember when the automobile replaced the horse drawn carriage, and marvel at how humans had claimed a sky once ruled by dragons. And yet, after over a thousand years of observing technological progress, he still had no bloody clue how to operate his Rascal Mobility Scooter.
He squeezed the scooters engager lever, but the smooth starts and stops promised in the owner’s manual eluded Merlin. The scooter lurched under his touch, careening down the lobby of Avalon Assisted Living and crashing him full force into a potted plant.
Merlin’s frail eighty-year-old body jolted forward, but luckily the impact hadn’t ejected him from his seat.
It did, however, grab the attention of a nursing assistant, the woman throwing her hands up and shrieking loud enough shatter glass.
“Mr Dragoon!” she belted.
Merlin eased the scooter into reverse, greeting the scarlet-faced nurse. He hated the staff at Avalon. Hated the way they talked to him like he was a deaf four-year-old, not of the most powerful warlock alive. But most of all he hated that he took the abuse.
This cynical century had broken Merlin, convinced him that he was never going find his beloved, Arthur. Instead of roaming continents in a fruitless searches, as he’d done in the past, Merlin withdrew for the world. Hiding himself within Avalon's elderly community as Dragoon The Great, and praying that fate would be merciful and finally let him meet the reaper.
Clearly, that hadn’t happened yet, but Merlin was optimistic.
“I’m fine, no broken bones. Thank you for inquiring.” Merlin grunted at the nurse.
The nurse righted the planter with a shove. ““Mr Dragoon, I cannot have you wandering the hallway at this time of night! You’ve been warned several times about your behavior-“
“I do not wander. I was heading back to my room.”
“Your new room is in the opposite wing of this facility, or don’t you remember?”
A ludicrous question. The nurse herself had pried Merlin from his old one-bedroom. Tossing him headfirst into a two-bedroom with a roommate who was nearly catatonic. Though conversation between them was lacking, Merlin’s new roommate was, to his credit, a good listener.
“What kind of damned fool question is that?” Merlin backed into the planter again, this time out of spite. “Of course I remember! I remember things forwards, backwards, upside-down, and sideways. More than can be said for your pea-brain. I’ll have you know I paid dearly for that single room!”
“You used to pay for a single, but our bed fees increased four months ago and still haven’t paid the difference.”
“And if I paid it now?”
The assistant rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It would be too little too late. We've rented your old room out to a gentleman who does pay his dues. Until you make us the back payments, and another room opens up, it’s a double room for you, Sir, or nothing at all.”
A thinly veiled threat. No doubt the tyrant nurse would make good of it the first chance she got.
Merlin wanted to tell the overgrown toad that he’d been aware of the increase, but had hoped he’d croak himself before he had to pay it.
But Instead of arguing with her, Merlin kicked his robe to reveal his spindly legs (The robe trick always made the young attendants squirm. They hated being reminded of the shapeless, wrinkled, one-size-fits-all suit of age), revved up his scooter, and drove to his new quarters. Aiming to destroy as many planters as he could along the way.
***
Merlin met the single-room usurper the following week.
It was raining, the foul weather leaving him to putter indoor again on his scooter. He traveled Avalon's familiar corridors, nodding at acquaintances who’d left their doors open to visitors.
The door to his old room had been left open as well, a hired man entering with moving boxes and then leaving again empty handed. Overseeing the affair was a man with silver hair, his Romanesque face wrinkled as a pair of worn leather breeches.
Merlin’s scooter came to a screeching halt in the center of the hallway, a step away from where the man stood. His throat felt dry. And for the first time in a century, he was self-conscious of his scraggly beard.
There was no mistaking who this elderly gentleman was. Age hadn’t bowed Arthur’s regal posture, or stolen the determined gleam from his eyes. Even with the youth drained from his cheeks, Arthur was still an attractive man. The kind of picturesque geriatric in erectile dysfunction adds, strolling a tropical beach.
Merlin expected to see the king in his prime when he returned. But glancing at Arthur now told Merlin everything he needed to know. It didn’t matter how Arthur had come back to him. Arthur's body was a vessel. A vessel that housed the beautiful prat Merlin so fondly remembered…
Arthur must have sensed Merlin staring because he looked over his shoulder, their eyes meeting.
Merlin managed a somewhat strangled, “Arthur?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Arthur said in a familiar posh accent. He turned around and offered Merlin a curious look along with his hand. “How do you know my name? Have we… met somewhere before?”
Merlin grabbed Arthur’s hand like it was the air he needed to breath. “It is you, isn’t it?” he blurted thoughtlessly. “Arthur Pendragon, the once in future king-”
Arthur snorted, as if waiting for the punch line of a joke he’d heard a dozen times.
“You... don’t remember Camelot?” Merlin prompted.
He chuckled back, but there was no mirth in his eyes. Arthur swiftly extracted himself from Merlin’s grip. “Brilliant. My children have sent me to a home full of nutters. Well, Mr-”
“Dragoon. The Great,” Merlin rasped, hopes plummeting. Arthur was wearing his please-don’t-let-this-stranger-touch-me-again face, and as much as Merlin had missed the kings snobbery, he had never liked when it was directed at him.
“Right. Well, Mr, I-made-up name, I suggest that you have the nurses up your medicines and find you trousers before you leave your room again,” Arthur said, going to his room and slamming the door.
Merlin blinked. Dazed.
This reunion was not how he’d fantasized it would be.
How long would it take before Arthur remembered who he was? And, once he remembered, how many years would they have left together?
Ten or twenty at best?
Merlin’s withered hand shook as he clutched the scooter handlebar. No, another thousand years of waiting won’t do, he decided. He would fight to make Arthur Remember who he was, whatever the cost.
***