Merlin: Defintion of Vengenance
Title: Definition of Vengeance
Characters: Guinevere, Morgana
Words: 2,327
Rating: T
Warning: References to torture
Summary: Guinevere has a reckoning with her dark side when the opportunity for vengeance proves too irresistible to resist. Can be considered as part of the Desperate Measures/Destined for Greatness universe but without spoilers for either fic (as of the most recent chapters). A one-shot for the February femslash challenge, but without any romantic elements.
Definition of Vengeance
No good ever came of anger. It often posed a danger if allowed to fester and boil, causing more harm than aid to the possessor.
The words of warning had come from Guinevere's mother, the late Deira Degrance. All the years since her mother's untimely death, Gwen had tried her best to live by them. As well as by the many other pearls of wisdom that her mother had gently and painstakingly imparted before her tragic demise.
Always remember your worth had been another treasured gem.
Being the daughter of a Lady's maid and the township's blacksmith should have given her no right to conduct herself with such feelings of self-possession. Yet, her mother had been determined. Gwen sighed at the memory. It had been as if her dear Mum had known that one day her daughter would wear a crown of gold and sit on the throne beside the King of Camelot as his Queen.
His Queen.
Gwen's steps faltered just inside the armory. His Queen. Arthur could never learn of her intentions or the acts she planned to commit. Pushing thoughts of her beloved from her mind, she pushed forward with her plan. The time to face him would happen later. For now, she had to make things right with the past. The future was best left to fend for itself.
With the faithful knowledge of someone born to a man of the forge, she took great care in selecting a sword. Many had a nice balance and a sharp enough edge. But none had the something special she yearned for. Just as she had determined her dagger would have to do, the light from her torch flickered on a sword that was very familiar.
Shifting the torch to her left hand, she reached out with her right. This one was special. Lines of gold and silver blended together in intricate detail. But the weight of it! And how it just felt right in the palm of her hand.
Gwen waved the torched over the sword from hilt to tip.
"Of course," she murmured. "Arthur's."
She quickly sheathed the sword at her hip, further convinced that this task was ordained and that its completion must be reached quickly.
Using the dark of night like a thief on a mission, Gwen pulled over her hood and slipped out of the confines of the castle. She left coins at the livery in payment for a horse. One longing look at her home was all she allowed herself before she mounted the great stallion and guided it north.
Daybreak found her miles from her familiar royal chambers and the comforts of Camelot. Having fended for herself before, she had no problem with selecting her morning meal with a slingshot and breaking her fast over a fire. Her skins of water did much to quench her thirst. Gwen answered the physical calls of nature while remaining focused on the singular call of her quest: finding Morgana Pendragon and making her answer for her transgressions.
The next two days played out almost like a game. To her credit, she exhibited great skill in thwarting the Knights of Camelot who had been sent to track her. Eventually, she presented enough conflicting trails that they left her in peace. With them diverted and no longer a hindrance, she dug out the map that had cost her a small fortune. According to its information, she'd reach her destination by another sunrise.
This time alone provided her with the solitude to become one with her anger. Not to bury it as she had done after Arthur and the Dolma-no, Merlin in disguise as the Dolma-had pulled her from the darkness of Morgana's possession. Locked in that hell, she had been truly imprisoned. Aware of her actions but unable to stop them. Knowledgeable of the hurt and suffering that was caused but unable to express any corresponding emotion.
The burial of her anger brought on an overabundance of sadness. Unbearable pain. Deep. Dark. Sorrow. Magic couldn't bring her out the six months of that misery, but Arthur's steadfast love and care could and had. She became herself again for quite a long time. She was his Guinevere, Gwen or the Queen to everyone else. But something nagged at her. And that something was the need for justice.
For vengeance.
Sunrise arrived with its beautiful array of orange, yellow, and gold. Gwen rose with anticipation. Today was it.
Over the next rise, the castle ruins came into view. Decay hung in the air, leaving a bitter taste. Gwen choked down the bile that rose to her throat. That weakness would never do. She clasped the hilt of Arthur's favorite sword and pressed on. Morgana resided inside those decrepit walls. Their day of reckoning was upon them.
Gwen secured the horse on the softer side of the forest where the greenery still flourished. The saddlebag contained a sealed parchment that detailed her reasons why. Honestly, the ones closest to her would already know, but she couldn't depart without final words in case she didn't make it back.
Her hand squeezed the hilt again. For a moment, she almost sensed him there. The prince who had fallen in love with a servant girl had become the king who claimed her as his wife. She was certain he would fight this battle for her, but it was not his victory to claim. Morgana damaged Gwen in ways that Arthur could never fully comprehend. She could not allow him to serve as buffer. Gwen had to face this herself.
Entering Morgana's hideaway seemed far too easy. No minions stood guard. Her faithful white dragon was nowhere to be seen. Gwen didn't bother to wonder if this was a trap. Sure, the other woman had magic and can wield it better than anyone had a right to, but Gwen had something far better on her side. Her will to see this through.
Dressed for battle in a pair of breeches and a belted tunic, Gwen moved swiftly across the broken stone floor and tangled vines. An eerie silence lived in this space. Despite the openness of the structure, the chirping of birds and the whistling of wind failed to come in. It was if nature knew nothing good lived there.
Gwen’s first thought as she moved deeper inside the cold, barren, crumbling castle was why. Why would Morgana choose this place to reside? As a sorceress with great skill and ability, surely she could provide far better for herself than squalor dwellings. Was it a pathetic attempt to remind herself of what she was missing outside of Camelot? Yes, hate and bitterness had left Morgana a more dismal version of the woman that Gwen once considered a friend, but was she so far gone that she would deny herself the basic amenities.
The Dark Tower had been a horrid place. Looking back, Gwen thought the setting had been part of Morgana’s idea of torture. If so, it had worked splendidly. However now that she had found these ruins, Gwen could not help but wonder. As a young woman, Morgana loved finery…soft linens, silk gowns, and exotic foods. Had succumbing to magic change the very core of that part of her, too?
Eventually, Gwen’s steps took her into what could only be described as the throne room. Lit torches flickered from numerous posts throughout the open room. A lone, once majestic chair sat in the middle. From this distance, Gwen recognized the outline of a familiar figure. Dark hair spread out like angry flames. Morgana’s pale face seemed to glow amid all the darkness that surrounded her.
“You were a fool to come here.”
Gwen felt not a shred of fear as she walked steadily toward her prey. No, a sword and a dagger might not be enough against an opponent as unscrupulous as Morgana Pendragon, but with so much at stake, Gwen had long decided the risk was worth it.
“You would think that.”
Morgana’s laugh was cold and lacked warmth or humor. She only shifted slightly as Gwen stopped a few feet from her.
“My throne in Camelot wasn’t enough. I suppose you want this one, too.”
“You were never the rightful heir to Camelot,” Gwen said. “Uther crowned Arthur in that role. Blaming me is pointless.”
“You would take Arthur’s side-”
“I’m not here to talk about Arthur or about sides!” Gwen snapped. “This is about you and me!"
"Oh, grow up, Gwen."
"You almost cost me everything," she said. "All for something that was never rightfully yours and you suggest that I'm the one who's immature! You have proven that you will never be worthy of Camelot, the title or the throne."
Morgana leapt from the throne and was inches from Gwen's face before the Queen of Camelot could blink.
"How dare you! I need only snap my fingers and your life is over!" She lifted her hand as if she would.
Gwen jutted her chin in a silent display of defiance. "Indeed you could."
"Doesn't that frighten you?" Morgana asked. Her green eyes blazed with wildness. Heat flamed her pale cheeks. "You stand there unflinching, but I know inside you quake with fear."
"I have no fear of you," Gwen said. "I hated you for a long time and wished the worst. In fact, I came with the sole intention of killing you or die trying."
Morgana's eyes widened at that.
Gwen nodded. "Oh, yes. What? Do you still imagine the meek servant girl when you see me? The one who exhibits moments of courage but always knows her place in the end? You were so kind to me in the beginning but underneath there was always a limit to it, wasn't it? As long as I understood that we were not equal, everything was fine."
"We still are unequal," Morgana sneered.
"Why?" Gwen asked with a smile. "Because of your magic? Surely, you don't believe that something you were born with-that you have no control over-makes you the better person. That's always been the problem with people like you and Uther. You can't feel better about yourself unless you make someone else feel worse."
Morgana raised her hand, but Gwen was faster. She unsheathed Arthur's sword and poised the tip at Morgana's heart.
"I dare you."
Gwen tilted her head to the side and met Morgana's stare. "You shouldn't."
"So what do you want?" Morgana asked. "An apology? A promise?"
"And you would grant me my deepest desire." Gwen could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.
She harbored no misconceptions about Morgana. The other woman bore no resemblance to the girl who fought alongside her in Ealdor or promised her that the pain of losing a parent would ease in time. No, after all these years, Gwen was beginning to wonder if that Morgana ever truly existed.
"You came to me," Morgana shot back.
"Yes."
"You must want something," Morgana said through clenched teeth. "Is it my head to take back to your beloved Arthur? What is it, Gwen?"
An underlying current of madness tinged the air. Perhaps, this was what drove Morgana. Not hate, but madness. But Gwen remembered far too much to let her former acquaintance off that easy. Madness could be forgiven. But not greed. Not torture. Not murder. Not the single-minded goal of destruction that drove Morgana to destroy everything Gwen and Arthur had created. Not, it wasn't madness that festered in her veins like a disease. If only, it were that simple.
"Say something!"
"Who would you be without magic?" Gwen asked. "What would possess your every waking moment? What would drive you to distraction?"
For just a moment, a glimmer softened the hardness that wrapped around Morgana like a cloak. But only a moment. It was gone so quickly that Gwen doubted the occurrence.
"I would never wish to be without magic. It is not magic that drives me," Morgana said. "It is being denied what's mine. First Uther denied me my name and inheritance. Then Arthur denied me my place in Camelot. Now you, the daughter of a blacksmith and a servant, dare to sit on my throne!
"Bringing you to the Dark Tower was one of the grandest moments of my life! I watching you come undone as I ripped away everything that you hold dear…oh, what joy it brought to me. Your brother died in your arms just as my sister died in mine. Then knowing it was I-I who lead you to kill my dear brother, the King, and your great love. Oh, but that was the best gift of all. So, no apologies Gwen and if I may make one promise is that if given the chance, I would do it all again but next time I would succeed!"
Later as Gwen rode back to Camelot, she would remind herself of Morgana's last words and how she had no choice. She would remember the look of surprise and yet, gratitude as the tip of Arthur's sword broke through the other woman's flesh and pierced her heart.
While vengeance had been what had compelled Gwen to make her journey and yes, it had been achieved, she discovered no joy or consolation in its reckoning. Quite the opposite actually. For as Morgana drew her last breath, Gwen knelt beside her. She could not display any show of compassion with a touch or a gentle word, only her presence. That had to suffice. Staying until the end had to show that even if those early years meant nothing to Morgana, for Gwen they still mattered.
A roaring fire took care of the ruins and Morgana's body. Flames would not cure Gwen of her memories of that day and the days long past. Only time, she thought, brushing the wetness from her cheeks. Time and the relief in knowing that she, her family, and their home were finally safe.
The End
Characters: Guinevere, Morgana
Words: 2,327
Rating: T
Warning: References to torture
Summary: Guinevere has a reckoning with her dark side when the opportunity for vengeance proves too irresistible to resist. Can be considered as part of the Desperate Measures/Destined for Greatness universe but without spoilers for either fic (as of the most recent chapters). A one-shot for the February femslash challenge, but without any romantic elements.
Definition of Vengeance
No good ever came of anger. It often posed a danger if allowed to fester and boil, causing more harm than aid to the possessor.
The words of warning had come from Guinevere's mother, the late Deira Degrance. All the years since her mother's untimely death, Gwen had tried her best to live by them. As well as by the many other pearls of wisdom that her mother had gently and painstakingly imparted before her tragic demise.
Always remember your worth had been another treasured gem.
Being the daughter of a Lady's maid and the township's blacksmith should have given her no right to conduct herself with such feelings of self-possession. Yet, her mother had been determined. Gwen sighed at the memory. It had been as if her dear Mum had known that one day her daughter would wear a crown of gold and sit on the throne beside the King of Camelot as his Queen.
His Queen.
Gwen's steps faltered just inside the armory. His Queen. Arthur could never learn of her intentions or the acts she planned to commit. Pushing thoughts of her beloved from her mind, she pushed forward with her plan. The time to face him would happen later. For now, she had to make things right with the past. The future was best left to fend for itself.
With the faithful knowledge of someone born to a man of the forge, she took great care in selecting a sword. Many had a nice balance and a sharp enough edge. But none had the something special she yearned for. Just as she had determined her dagger would have to do, the light from her torch flickered on a sword that was very familiar.
Shifting the torch to her left hand, she reached out with her right. This one was special. Lines of gold and silver blended together in intricate detail. But the weight of it! And how it just felt right in the palm of her hand.
Gwen waved the torched over the sword from hilt to tip.
"Of course," she murmured. "Arthur's."
She quickly sheathed the sword at her hip, further convinced that this task was ordained and that its completion must be reached quickly.
Using the dark of night like a thief on a mission, Gwen pulled over her hood and slipped out of the confines of the castle. She left coins at the livery in payment for a horse. One longing look at her home was all she allowed herself before she mounted the great stallion and guided it north.
Daybreak found her miles from her familiar royal chambers and the comforts of Camelot. Having fended for herself before, she had no problem with selecting her morning meal with a slingshot and breaking her fast over a fire. Her skins of water did much to quench her thirst. Gwen answered the physical calls of nature while remaining focused on the singular call of her quest: finding Morgana Pendragon and making her answer for her transgressions.
The next two days played out almost like a game. To her credit, she exhibited great skill in thwarting the Knights of Camelot who had been sent to track her. Eventually, she presented enough conflicting trails that they left her in peace. With them diverted and no longer a hindrance, she dug out the map that had cost her a small fortune. According to its information, she'd reach her destination by another sunrise.
This time alone provided her with the solitude to become one with her anger. Not to bury it as she had done after Arthur and the Dolma-no, Merlin in disguise as the Dolma-had pulled her from the darkness of Morgana's possession. Locked in that hell, she had been truly imprisoned. Aware of her actions but unable to stop them. Knowledgeable of the hurt and suffering that was caused but unable to express any corresponding emotion.
The burial of her anger brought on an overabundance of sadness. Unbearable pain. Deep. Dark. Sorrow. Magic couldn't bring her out the six months of that misery, but Arthur's steadfast love and care could and had. She became herself again for quite a long time. She was his Guinevere, Gwen or the Queen to everyone else. But something nagged at her. And that something was the need for justice.
For vengeance.
Sunrise arrived with its beautiful array of orange, yellow, and gold. Gwen rose with anticipation. Today was it.
Over the next rise, the castle ruins came into view. Decay hung in the air, leaving a bitter taste. Gwen choked down the bile that rose to her throat. That weakness would never do. She clasped the hilt of Arthur's favorite sword and pressed on. Morgana resided inside those decrepit walls. Their day of reckoning was upon them.
Gwen secured the horse on the softer side of the forest where the greenery still flourished. The saddlebag contained a sealed parchment that detailed her reasons why. Honestly, the ones closest to her would already know, but she couldn't depart without final words in case she didn't make it back.
Her hand squeezed the hilt again. For a moment, she almost sensed him there. The prince who had fallen in love with a servant girl had become the king who claimed her as his wife. She was certain he would fight this battle for her, but it was not his victory to claim. Morgana damaged Gwen in ways that Arthur could never fully comprehend. She could not allow him to serve as buffer. Gwen had to face this herself.
Entering Morgana's hideaway seemed far too easy. No minions stood guard. Her faithful white dragon was nowhere to be seen. Gwen didn't bother to wonder if this was a trap. Sure, the other woman had magic and can wield it better than anyone had a right to, but Gwen had something far better on her side. Her will to see this through.
Dressed for battle in a pair of breeches and a belted tunic, Gwen moved swiftly across the broken stone floor and tangled vines. An eerie silence lived in this space. Despite the openness of the structure, the chirping of birds and the whistling of wind failed to come in. It was if nature knew nothing good lived there.
Gwen’s first thought as she moved deeper inside the cold, barren, crumbling castle was why. Why would Morgana choose this place to reside? As a sorceress with great skill and ability, surely she could provide far better for herself than squalor dwellings. Was it a pathetic attempt to remind herself of what she was missing outside of Camelot? Yes, hate and bitterness had left Morgana a more dismal version of the woman that Gwen once considered a friend, but was she so far gone that she would deny herself the basic amenities.
The Dark Tower had been a horrid place. Looking back, Gwen thought the setting had been part of Morgana’s idea of torture. If so, it had worked splendidly. However now that she had found these ruins, Gwen could not help but wonder. As a young woman, Morgana loved finery…soft linens, silk gowns, and exotic foods. Had succumbing to magic change the very core of that part of her, too?
Eventually, Gwen’s steps took her into what could only be described as the throne room. Lit torches flickered from numerous posts throughout the open room. A lone, once majestic chair sat in the middle. From this distance, Gwen recognized the outline of a familiar figure. Dark hair spread out like angry flames. Morgana’s pale face seemed to glow amid all the darkness that surrounded her.
“You were a fool to come here.”
Gwen felt not a shred of fear as she walked steadily toward her prey. No, a sword and a dagger might not be enough against an opponent as unscrupulous as Morgana Pendragon, but with so much at stake, Gwen had long decided the risk was worth it.
“You would think that.”
Morgana’s laugh was cold and lacked warmth or humor. She only shifted slightly as Gwen stopped a few feet from her.
“My throne in Camelot wasn’t enough. I suppose you want this one, too.”
“You were never the rightful heir to Camelot,” Gwen said. “Uther crowned Arthur in that role. Blaming me is pointless.”
“You would take Arthur’s side-”
“I’m not here to talk about Arthur or about sides!” Gwen snapped. “This is about you and me!"
"Oh, grow up, Gwen."
"You almost cost me everything," she said. "All for something that was never rightfully yours and you suggest that I'm the one who's immature! You have proven that you will never be worthy of Camelot, the title or the throne."
Morgana leapt from the throne and was inches from Gwen's face before the Queen of Camelot could blink.
"How dare you! I need only snap my fingers and your life is over!" She lifted her hand as if she would.
Gwen jutted her chin in a silent display of defiance. "Indeed you could."
"Doesn't that frighten you?" Morgana asked. Her green eyes blazed with wildness. Heat flamed her pale cheeks. "You stand there unflinching, but I know inside you quake with fear."
"I have no fear of you," Gwen said. "I hated you for a long time and wished the worst. In fact, I came with the sole intention of killing you or die trying."
Morgana's eyes widened at that.
Gwen nodded. "Oh, yes. What? Do you still imagine the meek servant girl when you see me? The one who exhibits moments of courage but always knows her place in the end? You were so kind to me in the beginning but underneath there was always a limit to it, wasn't it? As long as I understood that we were not equal, everything was fine."
"We still are unequal," Morgana sneered.
"Why?" Gwen asked with a smile. "Because of your magic? Surely, you don't believe that something you were born with-that you have no control over-makes you the better person. That's always been the problem with people like you and Uther. You can't feel better about yourself unless you make someone else feel worse."
Morgana raised her hand, but Gwen was faster. She unsheathed Arthur's sword and poised the tip at Morgana's heart.
"I dare you."
Gwen tilted her head to the side and met Morgana's stare. "You shouldn't."
"So what do you want?" Morgana asked. "An apology? A promise?"
"And you would grant me my deepest desire." Gwen could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.
She harbored no misconceptions about Morgana. The other woman bore no resemblance to the girl who fought alongside her in Ealdor or promised her that the pain of losing a parent would ease in time. No, after all these years, Gwen was beginning to wonder if that Morgana ever truly existed.
"You came to me," Morgana shot back.
"Yes."
"You must want something," Morgana said through clenched teeth. "Is it my head to take back to your beloved Arthur? What is it, Gwen?"
An underlying current of madness tinged the air. Perhaps, this was what drove Morgana. Not hate, but madness. But Gwen remembered far too much to let her former acquaintance off that easy. Madness could be forgiven. But not greed. Not torture. Not murder. Not the single-minded goal of destruction that drove Morgana to destroy everything Gwen and Arthur had created. Not, it wasn't madness that festered in her veins like a disease. If only, it were that simple.
"Say something!"
"Who would you be without magic?" Gwen asked. "What would possess your every waking moment? What would drive you to distraction?"
For just a moment, a glimmer softened the hardness that wrapped around Morgana like a cloak. But only a moment. It was gone so quickly that Gwen doubted the occurrence.
"I would never wish to be without magic. It is not magic that drives me," Morgana said. "It is being denied what's mine. First Uther denied me my name and inheritance. Then Arthur denied me my place in Camelot. Now you, the daughter of a blacksmith and a servant, dare to sit on my throne!
"Bringing you to the Dark Tower was one of the grandest moments of my life! I watching you come undone as I ripped away everything that you hold dear…oh, what joy it brought to me. Your brother died in your arms just as my sister died in mine. Then knowing it was I-I who lead you to kill my dear brother, the King, and your great love. Oh, but that was the best gift of all. So, no apologies Gwen and if I may make one promise is that if given the chance, I would do it all again but next time I would succeed!"
Later as Gwen rode back to Camelot, she would remind herself of Morgana's last words and how she had no choice. She would remember the look of surprise and yet, gratitude as the tip of Arthur's sword broke through the other woman's flesh and pierced her heart.
While vengeance had been what had compelled Gwen to make her journey and yes, it had been achieved, she discovered no joy or consolation in its reckoning. Quite the opposite actually. For as Morgana drew her last breath, Gwen knelt beside her. She could not display any show of compassion with a touch or a gentle word, only her presence. That had to suffice. Staying until the end had to show that even if those early years meant nothing to Morgana, for Gwen they still mattered.
A roaring fire took care of the ruins and Morgana's body. Flames would not cure Gwen of her memories of that day and the days long past. Only time, she thought, brushing the wetness from her cheeks. Time and the relief in knowing that she, her family, and their home were finally safe.
The End