A/N: I was rewatching the third season of Blackadder and this happened.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Blackadder" in any shape or form.
Edmund Blackadder, butler to Prince George of Wales, opportunistic, ambitious, and a raging misanthropist, was not a good man.
For one thing, he was spiteful, too filled with the Blackadder bitterness that had passed down through generations to fully appreciate the beauty of life. He hated everyone and everything with a viciousness that few possessed, and he cared little whose feelings he hurt by saying so. Too much of his time was taken up with scornful comments and witty insults, to the point where one wondered if he took any joy in life at all. Then again, perhaps hating the world was the only thing that made him happy, in his own special snarling way.
For another, he was selfish and a coward, perfectly happy to throw others in harm's way if it could save his own skin. There is merit to be found in a little selfishness, to take once in a while instead of always giving, but Blackadder took it to an extreme, to the point where he took all he could lay his hands on and damn the consequences (as long as the consequences didn't affect him, of course).
He was other things as well. Cunning. Resourceful. Treacherous. Vicious. Cold-hearted. Manipulative. Sadistic. Moreover, he made no attempts to change these unfortunate qualities: as far as he was concerned, he was perfectly happy with his personality, thank you very much.
In short, Edmund Blackadder, butler to Prince George of Wales, opportunistic, ambitious, and a raging misanthropist, was a bastard, and he refused to let that bother him in the least.
But even the most uncaring of people have their...well, perhaps not good moments, but less bad ones. And Edmund Blackadder was no exception.
His moment occurred one night at the French Embassy, a few minutes after his arrest by the French revolutionaries. Trapped in a cell with two people he especially hated, Baldrick and le Comte de FrouFrou, he had little reason to relax. Instead, his mind was spinning wildly, coming up with one escape idea after another that he swiftly discarded, each more ludicrous than the last. So occupied was he that he barely flashed a sneer when the idiot Count handed him a suicide pill, the moron.
But when Baldrick (idiotic, foolish Baldrick with his small brain and even smaller backbone) moved to toss the pill in his mouth with the abandon that usually accompanied childish ignorance, Blackadder was snapped out of his musings.
Instinctively, he moved, fingers wrapping around Baldrick's hand to halt the path of the deadly pill, a gentle (for him at least) admonition on his tongue. It was an instant of something that could be vaguely related to kindness, if you squinted.
It didn't last long, of course. Within practically the next second, Blackadder was back to his usual cantankerous self. But it was there, if only briefly, and no amount of lies and self-denial on Blackadder's part could change that, no matter how uncomfortable he was with it.
Edmund Blackadder, butler to Prince George of Wales, opportunistic, ambitious, and a raging misanthropist, was not a good man.
But for one moment, one minuscule moment, he was able to care about someone besides himself for once. And although it wasn't enough, not by far...it was something, at least.