Hangover
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Hangover
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin was done waiting for Arthur, and if drink made him forget, then so be it.
Word Count: 300
Camelot_drabble Prompt: pt 440: Hangover
Author's Notes: Unbetaed. Originally, hangover described someone or something that remained or simply survived
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
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As the years passed and then the decades and the centuries, Merlin stayed away from drink. He’d always been a lightweight and he’d seen what would happen in Camelot after a feast, the next-day line of knights holding their heads and begging for mercy, red eyes, haggard faces, complaints about sounds and lights and vomit.
While Arthur wasn’t the worst, he did drink sometimes to excess. Next day, however, Arthur would be an intolerable cabbagehead. An explosion of endless complaints, a litany of inventive insults, demands for shutting off the sun or ridding his room of tiptoeing mice, or other ridiculous demands. Somehow, his aim got better, too, and Merlin found himself ducking missiles of every sort from goblets to pillows to the hopefully empty chamber pot.
Not that Merlin really minded. At least, Arthur was paying attention to Merlin. Later, they would laugh about it, Merlin rolling his eyes at the prat, Arthur pulling him into a headlock until Merlin surrendered.
How he wished for that now. The new millennium had come and gone and still Arthur hadn’t returned. A thousand years or more. Merlin survived, yes, but what did it matter if there was nothing and no one to live for?
What he wouldn’t do for endless insults and a smile that lit the sky.
With that, the sounds of the pub around him, Merlin downed the first whiskey, and asked for another, until he had a row of glasses in front of him as the room twirled and grew darker.
Chasing memories, drinking until he couldn’t think any more.
If in the morning, Merlin had a hangover, well so be it.
Merlin was a hangover from an earlier age, after all, and if drink let him forget, then destiny could go fuck itself.
Merlin was done waiting.
Title: Hangover
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin was done waiting for Arthur, and if drink made him forget, then so be it.
Word Count: 300
Camelot_drabble Prompt: pt 440: Hangover
Author's Notes: Unbetaed. Originally, hangover described someone or something that remained or simply survived
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
------------------------------
As the years passed and then the decades and the centuries, Merlin stayed away from drink. He’d always been a lightweight and he’d seen what would happen in Camelot after a feast, the next-day line of knights holding their heads and begging for mercy, red eyes, haggard faces, complaints about sounds and lights and vomit.
While Arthur wasn’t the worst, he did drink sometimes to excess. Next day, however, Arthur would be an intolerable cabbagehead. An explosion of endless complaints, a litany of inventive insults, demands for shutting off the sun or ridding his room of tiptoeing mice, or other ridiculous demands. Somehow, his aim got better, too, and Merlin found himself ducking missiles of every sort from goblets to pillows to the hopefully empty chamber pot.
Not that Merlin really minded. At least, Arthur was paying attention to Merlin. Later, they would laugh about it, Merlin rolling his eyes at the prat, Arthur pulling him into a headlock until Merlin surrendered.
How he wished for that now. The new millennium had come and gone and still Arthur hadn’t returned. A thousand years or more. Merlin survived, yes, but what did it matter if there was nothing and no one to live for?
What he wouldn’t do for endless insults and a smile that lit the sky.
With that, the sounds of the pub around him, Merlin downed the first whiskey, and asked for another, until he had a row of glasses in front of him as the room twirled and grew darker.
Chasing memories, drinking until he couldn’t think any more.
If in the morning, Merlin had a hangover, well so be it.
Merlin was a hangover from an earlier age, after all, and if drink let him forget, then destiny could go fuck itself.
Merlin was done waiting.