It's The Waiting Around That I Can't Stand...

A/N: Just a bit of OOC fun (although Cenred never really had enough character for him to be out of it anyway, unless he took up ballet and started wearing bunny slippers. That would be pretty out of character) Reviews are always appreciated and replied to!

Cenred sat in the great, black void of emptiness, scuffing what would once have been his boots against what he could only describe as a floor.

He felt a bit sad.

More than anything, he was just bored.

Now that he didn't exist, he just didn't have anything to do with his time. Eternity could become so monotonous.

When he was dying, Cenred had imagined he was headed for hellfire and brimstone and such; but apparently eternal damnation doesn't apply to fictional characters.

So, there he was. Sitting around endlessly. Doing sod all.

He seemed to spend all of his time waiting around; desperately hoping that someone, somewhere would decide to write a story about him. It would only be a momentary escape, and the fanfictions he usually popped up in were often of questionable quality, but he wasn't too bothered. It was something to do.

He occasionally got the chance to make an appearance in people's flashbacks, and that wasn't too bad: at least he knew what he was expected to do.

He quite liked the alternate universe ones, or even the ones set in the future; although he often ended up far too nice for his liking in those things.

Hell, he thought to himself, scratching what was probably his chin, I'd even take one of those Cenrause fics right about now...

And then Cenred's thoughts trickled off in the direction of Morgause. He'd been mildly disappointed when she killed him, but not particularly surprised.

His mother had always warned him about girls like her. She'd sat him down and told him that, if he didn't want to go in the way of his father, he'd stay away from beautiful women. They have an awkward habit of killing people.

Cenred sighed, wishing he'd listened to his mother and married a nice, pretty girl with mulch for brains. He could still hear her voice in his head as she told him: That's the sort of girl you want, lad. Someone nice and simple who couldn't wrap her head around treachery if she tried.

He smiled at the crisp, clear memory of his mother in his mind. Cenred really did love his mummy. It was times like these he wished he hadn't killed her.

Cenred shook his head, wishing he could see his shiny hair swish around once more as he did so. Of all the things Cenred missed about life... his wealth... his power... his armies... the thing he missed most was definitely his hair.


He moaned to himself mournfully.

What glorious hair it had been!

There were bald men who would have killed for hair like his. To think that he could never run his fingers through it again... Cenred couldn't bear it. It was too cruel.

He leaned further back into the nothing, and pondered whether it was really so bad. Sure, he was stuck for eternity with nothing but his own mind for company, and he'd never been a genius (hence his gullibility when it came to long-haired pretty magic women with bones to pick); but he could think of worse things.

After all, there were advantages to no longer having a body.

He didn't have to wear leather all the time.

That was quite nice.

He'd forgotten how loose and light a body could feel when it wasn't so tightly restricted. He also didn't miss the squeaking noise his trousers had made as he walked; that had somewhat undermined his credibility as a scary guy... It had also led to a number of embarrassing situations at banquets that nearly always ended up with him having to assassinate everyone in the room just to save face. It was such effort.

He had enjoyed being a baddie, though. At least it had been fun while it lasted. He'd spent a long time practising, and cracked a lot of mirrors, but he'd finally got the crazy evil stare down to a fine art. And his manic cackle was, quite frankly, second to none.

But people do expect so much of you when you're a bad guy, he thought to himself. It really is harder than it looks. Everyone was always expecting him to do something dramatic and scary; it was always, "Ooh, Cenred! You're so rebellious!" He had quite a reputation to live up to. Before long, it was "Hey, Cenred, you're just not cool anymore. Where were you last friday when we all went raping and pillaging?"

Being a medieval evil dictator was hard work.

Cenred snapped to attention, he thought for a second he heard the sounds of someone very cautiously typing his name into a keyboard.

"Yes!" he practically screeched, punching the air with a fist. "Success!"

But then that person clearly changed their mind. Maybe they decided to write their story later, or perhaps not at all. They might even have been writing it right now, just without Cenred.

Cenred's face fell, and he flopped back to the floor.

Nobody liked him.

Just then, a shred of light pierced the darkness, and Cenred saw a figure moving towards him. It did occur to him that perhaps he had simply finally gone mad; but if madness meant company, he wasn't fussed.

The first thing he saw was an extremely blue pair of eyes, and then an eager hand was thrust out to meet him.

"I'm Nimueh."