Post by Rachy on Jan 12, 2010 17:06:38 GMT 10
Title: Never Had Enough
Rating: PG
Summary: Merric sees his secret and lie.
Author's Note: Excessive drinking? and angst.
He’d fought by her side.
He’d die by her side.
He’d watched from the seat closest to the sidelines to see them fall at her feet.
Enamoured with the girl who had caused the soft whispers of the Lioness’s self-imposed exile from Corus, and disrupted the balance between conservatism and progression. He hadn’t quite fallen for her charm then, in the mess of running around doing chores and trying to stay awake during class and trying to master that damned bow, but it wouldn’t be too soon before he sunk. Into the quicksand, into the mud.
They’d become friends over the years. He’d had the privledge of being part of the group, and then they ended up at Haven. Just her, him and Neal.
That was his secret.
His love.
This was his lie.
That he didn’t care.
It was the first night that he was forced from her presence that he drank. He’d obeyed her icy order, despite wanting to go on. Not wanting to let her go on alone. He was stuck with Seaver and Esmond, returning all of their people home. She was going to her fate. What the Chamber willed. What no one really doubted was her death. He couldn’t convince himself it was worth it. He pulled a small tankard from his saddlebags. Neal had stowed it for medicinal purposes, and at the precise time, he felt like he needed it. There were only mouthfuls, but he drank. A celebration of escape. A lament for the living.
Their return to Corus was delightful. He looked as it as an escape. Three years stuck in New Hope. Three years waiting. Despairing. Abandoning hope. Pulling a smile on his face when she turned from conversing with him, every time the messenger came from Steadfast. It didn’t help his return, that Third Company returned as well. Watching her swirl around the floor, dragging his arm along to talk to him, sharing laughter at a joke, a memory. He raised his goblet in an ironic toast, again and again and again. He joined in the mocking that bought a blush to her cheeks, and a glare in her eyes. It was expected of him. He wished her a good night as she left, skirts swishing about her legs and a dreamy smile on her face, and slowed his descent into the mirage of hopes and dreams. He waited until they left, and Neal dumped his daughter in his lap, with orders to watch her while he found Yuki. His hand was clasped around the goblet and without thinking it brushed his lips until it was empty, and the pattern repeated itself again until he pretended he could no longer think.
The abrupt removal of weight from his lap awoke him from his stupor. Neal’s kid was cradled in the arms of her mother, and Neal was leaning over him, green eyes narrowed, concerned.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Neal’s voice was a plea, despairing and sharp.
He focused on the familiar eyes, the familiar scowl. He knew that Neal knew. He knew that Neal knew his act was a lie.
“Never. I’ve never had enough.” He whispered back. Neal’s fingers covered his with the slightest bit of pressure, before pulling them away from the goblet and setting it down on the table. He stared blankly at the swirling liquid.
"The King's looking for knights for the Tyran border." He nodded. "Just give it time."
Rating: PG
Summary: Merric sees his secret and lie.
Author's Note: Excessive drinking? and angst.
He’d fought by her side.
He’d die by her side.
He’d watched from the seat closest to the sidelines to see them fall at her feet.
Enamoured with the girl who had caused the soft whispers of the Lioness’s self-imposed exile from Corus, and disrupted the balance between conservatism and progression. He hadn’t quite fallen for her charm then, in the mess of running around doing chores and trying to stay awake during class and trying to master that damned bow, but it wouldn’t be too soon before he sunk. Into the quicksand, into the mud.
They’d become friends over the years. He’d had the privledge of being part of the group, and then they ended up at Haven. Just her, him and Neal.
That was his secret.
His love.
This was his lie.
That he didn’t care.
It was the first night that he was forced from her presence that he drank. He’d obeyed her icy order, despite wanting to go on. Not wanting to let her go on alone. He was stuck with Seaver and Esmond, returning all of their people home. She was going to her fate. What the Chamber willed. What no one really doubted was her death. He couldn’t convince himself it was worth it. He pulled a small tankard from his saddlebags. Neal had stowed it for medicinal purposes, and at the precise time, he felt like he needed it. There were only mouthfuls, but he drank. A celebration of escape. A lament for the living.
Their return to Corus was delightful. He looked as it as an escape. Three years stuck in New Hope. Three years waiting. Despairing. Abandoning hope. Pulling a smile on his face when she turned from conversing with him, every time the messenger came from Steadfast. It didn’t help his return, that Third Company returned as well. Watching her swirl around the floor, dragging his arm along to talk to him, sharing laughter at a joke, a memory. He raised his goblet in an ironic toast, again and again and again. He joined in the mocking that bought a blush to her cheeks, and a glare in her eyes. It was expected of him. He wished her a good night as she left, skirts swishing about her legs and a dreamy smile on her face, and slowed his descent into the mirage of hopes and dreams. He waited until they left, and Neal dumped his daughter in his lap, with orders to watch her while he found Yuki. His hand was clasped around the goblet and without thinking it brushed his lips until it was empty, and the pattern repeated itself again until he pretended he could no longer think.
The abrupt removal of weight from his lap awoke him from his stupor. Neal’s kid was cradled in the arms of her mother, and Neal was leaning over him, green eyes narrowed, concerned.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Neal’s voice was a plea, despairing and sharp.
He focused on the familiar eyes, the familiar scowl. He knew that Neal knew. He knew that Neal knew his act was a lie.
“Never. I’ve never had enough.” He whispered back. Neal’s fingers covered his with the slightest bit of pressure, before pulling them away from the goblet and setting it down on the table. He stared blankly at the swirling liquid.
"The King's looking for knights for the Tyran border." He nodded. "Just give it time."