#your poor hound...

My hound wouldn't get drunk at their wedding, no. He hopes to disassociate his way through the wedding in its entirety, pretend he's floating away and while yes, alcohol might help with that, well. He's clinging to his self control oh so tightly, keeping the wire of it wrapped around both hands, uncaring if it cuts into his skin and makes him bleed because if he loosens his grip, he's going to freefall straight into a panic attack. And he is terrified of what that may mean diplomatically, when Arthur learns they've married someone who has one foot on a landmine, on their wedding day. Possibly via tables being flipped and magic being thrown around, followed by his spouse snapping his teeth like a cornered dog.