Who pays the price for revenge?
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Who Pays the Price for Revenge?
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Helen of Mora, Mary Collins
Summary:. Mary Collins plots revenge for what Uther has done. killing off her beloved son, and if Helen of Mora got in the way, so be it.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 404
Camelot_drabble prompt 555: Price
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Once, Mary had been a healer, using herbs and magic to ease the suffering of others, to bring joy to any and all who sought her services. Once she had been welcomed, friends and family surrounding her, and casting out that sweetness into the world.
Until Uther Pendragon. Until the Purge and the death of all she knew.
Until her son died under Pendragon’s command.
She had lost her boy to that viper and he would pay. He would pay.
A son for a son.
It didn’t matter that, long ago, she had brought goodness and light to all she knew. No longer a healer, but with a heart as cold as iron, now she was a bringer of death.
But how to do it? For her revenge would require a closeness, not just to feel the Pendragon whelp’s hot blood spilling out onto her hands, but to revel in Uther’s horror when he awakened to find his son’s body cold and lifeless, all that black blood congealing on the floor.
She would need a way into that stone coffin of a fortress.
And then Uther gave it to her.
That celebrated songstress, Helen of Mora, was invited to dine with the king, to sing at the feast. Only Helen would be able to get close enough to entertain the whole of the court, to perform in front of Uther and Arthur.
It would be easy enough to take Helen’s place, using dark magic and a spell rooted in hatred.
As luck would have it, or maybe it was destiny, Mary easily tracked Helen to her encampment. Watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Hiding in the forest, Mary could hear Helen call out softly to her entourage, then moving around inside the tent, her voice carrying into the night, so full of melody, she hummed a soft lullaby that Mary’s mother had once sung to her, that Mary had sung to her own son.
Listening, for a moment, she hesitated. After all, Helen was innocent in it all, a useful pawn to be sure, but did she really deserve to die?
But when the song ended, so too did Mary’s reluctance.
If Helen died so that Mary could have her revenge, then so be it.
Helen would never know what hit her.
And Mary would sing that same lullaby one last time in the Great Hall of Camelot. For her beloved son.
Title: Who Pays the Price for Revenge?
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Helen of Mora, Mary Collins
Summary:. Mary Collins plots revenge for what Uther has done. killing off her beloved son, and if Helen of Mora got in the way, so be it.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 404
Camelot_drabble prompt 555: Price
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/
Once, Mary had been a healer, using herbs and magic to ease the suffering of others, to bring joy to any and all who sought her services. Once she had been welcomed, friends and family surrounding her, and casting out that sweetness into the world.
Until Uther Pendragon. Until the Purge and the death of all she knew.
Until her son died under Pendragon’s command.
She had lost her boy to that viper and he would pay. He would pay.
A son for a son.
It didn’t matter that, long ago, she had brought goodness and light to all she knew. No longer a healer, but with a heart as cold as iron, now she was a bringer of death.
But how to do it? For her revenge would require a closeness, not just to feel the Pendragon whelp’s hot blood spilling out onto her hands, but to revel in Uther’s horror when he awakened to find his son’s body cold and lifeless, all that black blood congealing on the floor.
She would need a way into that stone coffin of a fortress.
And then Uther gave it to her.
That celebrated songstress, Helen of Mora, was invited to dine with the king, to sing at the feast. Only Helen would be able to get close enough to entertain the whole of the court, to perform in front of Uther and Arthur.
It would be easy enough to take Helen’s place, using dark magic and a spell rooted in hatred.
As luck would have it, or maybe it was destiny, Mary easily tracked Helen to her encampment. Watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Hiding in the forest, Mary could hear Helen call out softly to her entourage, then moving around inside the tent, her voice carrying into the night, so full of melody, she hummed a soft lullaby that Mary’s mother had once sung to her, that Mary had sung to her own son.
Listening, for a moment, she hesitated. After all, Helen was innocent in it all, a useful pawn to be sure, but did she really deserve to die?
But when the song ended, so too did Mary’s reluctance.
If Helen died so that Mary could have her revenge, then so be it.
Helen would never know what hit her.
And Mary would sing that same lullaby one last time in the Great Hall of Camelot. For her beloved son.