Fic: Fallen Prey [Merlin | PG-13, Gwen/Merlin friendship, Gwen/Arthur]
Title: Fallen Prey
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,238 words
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Gwen, Leon, Merlin, Mithian, mention of Morgana | Gwen/Arthur, Gwen/Merlin friendship
Spoilers/Warnings: 4.11 The Hunter's Heart | Major Character Death
Summary: He wasn't fast enough. AU of 4.11 The Hunter's Heart.
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC and Shine. I make no claim on it and write this purely for entertainment purposes.
Author's Notes: Written for this prompt at kinkme-merlin.
He wasn’t fast enough. He hadn’t been fast enough to save Will, to get Freya out of Camelot before she was discovered and killed, to defend himself without his father stepping in and sacrificing himself.
He hadn’t been fast enough to save Gwen either.
He spent the whole night scouring the woods for her, but wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t find her until just before dawn.
Her body was cold, her blood having long since ceased its slow, agonizing trickle from the wound in her side. The arrow, which bore the marks of Mithian, was still imbedded deep inside. Merlin examined her mechanically, with the ease of many years of doing the exact same thing when directed by Gaius. The arrow had punctured her ribs as though they were kindling, and had punctured at least one vital organ.
She died alone.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gwen wasn’t supposed to die. She was supposed to marry Arthur, to have a family, to be happy in that fairytale way that little girls only dared to dream about. She wasn’t supposed to be seduced by the wraith of an old love, wasn’t supposed to be exiled by her erstwhile betrothed, wasn’t supposed to be turned into an animal and hunted down by the very people who should have stood side-by-side with her.
A part of him wanted to call for Kilgharrah, to rant and rave and demand to know if this was part of the grand design, of the great destiny (oh, how he had come to hate that word) the creature had filled his head with all these years. Another part wanted to flee deeper into the woods and seek out Morgana (because who else would do this?). Still another part wanted to just lay down in the dirt and die with her (because he was tired, so tired of everything).
In the end, though, Merlin did nothing of those things. Instead, he got to his feet and then lifted her up into his arms. His horse hadn’t wandered far, thankfully, and he walked over to the waiting animal. He whispered a spell that levitated Gwen while he mounted the horse, not bothering to look or even care if anyone might stumble across him using magic. Because he didn’t care, not now.
He nestled her against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as he nudged his mount back toward Camelot. He didn’t bother trying to be discrete, to ride toward one of the side entrances where there were only servants to see. Instead, he rode through the streets, not seeing the people staring at him in confusion. He rode through the gates and into the courtyard, ignoring the alarmed looks the guards gave him and the whispers that began to fly ahead of him.
A stable hand appeared when he brought his horse to a halt in front of the main staircase, where only days before he had stood with the rest of the royal household and the knights to welcome Arthur’s new bride. The man took hold of the bridle while Merlin maneuvered both himself and Gwen’s body off the horse, this time having the sense not to use magic (apparently his sense of self-preservation hadn’t deserted him completely just yet).
He said nothing to any of the gathering crowd, just clutched her tightly to him as he carried her up the steps. He said nothing to Leon when the man appeared in front of him, the knight’s skin going chalky white when he recognized who he was carrying. Leon must have seen something in Merlin’s face, because he stood aside without a word, letting him continue on his way.
Of course, he couldn’t count on everyone else having the same good sense as Leon. Certainly not Arthur. So, naturally, he would come across him in his trek through the corridors, with Mithian just a step behind. He watched as Arthur’s eyes grew huge and glassy with shock and tears, but said nothing. He watched as Mithian’s own gaze landed on the arrow still sticking out of Gwen’s side and her hand slapped against her mouth, muffling a distressed scream as she recognized the marks as her own. Merlin watched them both and felt nothing, thought nothing.
Until Arthur took a step forward and reached out, no doubt intending to relieve Merlin of Gwen’s body. That was when he reacted. He jerked back, clutching his friend tighter and narrowing his eyes at his king in furious warning. No, he thought, no. Arthur had let her go, threw her away because he couldn’t forgive a mistake, couldn’t forgive her for not being perfect, because he blindly accepted the poison that Agravaine so loved to pour into his ears. That was his choice, to give her up. He couldn’t take that back. Not now, not ever.
He shouldered past them both, ignoring Arthur’s hoarse, broken call. A small voice echoed in Merlin’s ears, saying that it wasn’t Arthur’s fault (except that it was it was it was, because she should have been here, happily married and safe as Camelot’s queen, and he put her out there), that he wasn’t to blame. It was Morgana’s fault, the voice pleaded. Only Morgana would be so cruel as to turn her once dearest friend into a deer and allow her to be hunted. Yes, Morgana too shared a great deal of the responsibility for this, but then, they all did. Morgana for casting the spell and writing Gwen’s death sentence, Mithian for being such a good shot (he hoped that gold crown made her very happy), Agravaine for his plots and treacheries, Arthur for casting Gwen out, Elyan for not following her as a brother should, Lancelot for holding so tightly to his love that it was used to bring him back to set up Gwen’s fall in the first place, Merlin for not being fast enough to stop it.
Merlin hoped none of them followed him right now. Because they all shared a responsibility for the life that had been taken, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he would be able to stop himself from killing them. Later, he would have control again. Later, he would be able to focus his anger on the one who had started all of this. Just not now.
He remembered how he’d once asked Gwen if she would kill Uther in recompense for her father’s death, if she would let him die when she had the power to save him. He remembered her answer, that Uther meant nothing to her anymore, but that to kill him or allow him to die would make her no better than him. It had been those words that had driven Merlin to try to keep the king alive instead of letting Morgana have him killed, all those years ago.
He imagined that if he asked her now he should seek revenge for her death, Gwen would still say the same thing. He should seek justice, she would no doubt tell him, not revenge.
Gwen was always a better person than Merlin could ever hope to be.
That was why he was going to kill Morgana. The next time he saw her would be the last. No secrets, no hiding behind the disguise of an eccentric, cackling old man. Just her and him.
Until it was just him.
And damn anyone alive who tried to judge him for it.
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,238 words
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Gwen, Leon, Merlin, Mithian, mention of Morgana | Gwen/Arthur, Gwen/Merlin friendship
Spoilers/Warnings: 4.11 The Hunter's Heart | Major Character Death
Summary: He wasn't fast enough. AU of 4.11 The Hunter's Heart.
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC and Shine. I make no claim on it and write this purely for entertainment purposes.
Author's Notes: Written for this prompt at kinkme-merlin.
He wasn’t fast enough. He hadn’t been fast enough to save Will, to get Freya out of Camelot before she was discovered and killed, to defend himself without his father stepping in and sacrificing himself.
He hadn’t been fast enough to save Gwen either.
He spent the whole night scouring the woods for her, but wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t find her until just before dawn.
Her body was cold, her blood having long since ceased its slow, agonizing trickle from the wound in her side. The arrow, which bore the marks of Mithian, was still imbedded deep inside. Merlin examined her mechanically, with the ease of many years of doing the exact same thing when directed by Gaius. The arrow had punctured her ribs as though they were kindling, and had punctured at least one vital organ.
She died alone.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gwen wasn’t supposed to die. She was supposed to marry Arthur, to have a family, to be happy in that fairytale way that little girls only dared to dream about. She wasn’t supposed to be seduced by the wraith of an old love, wasn’t supposed to be exiled by her erstwhile betrothed, wasn’t supposed to be turned into an animal and hunted down by the very people who should have stood side-by-side with her.
A part of him wanted to call for Kilgharrah, to rant and rave and demand to know if this was part of the grand design, of the great destiny (oh, how he had come to hate that word) the creature had filled his head with all these years. Another part wanted to flee deeper into the woods and seek out Morgana (because who else would do this?). Still another part wanted to just lay down in the dirt and die with her (because he was tired, so tired of everything).
In the end, though, Merlin did nothing of those things. Instead, he got to his feet and then lifted her up into his arms. His horse hadn’t wandered far, thankfully, and he walked over to the waiting animal. He whispered a spell that levitated Gwen while he mounted the horse, not bothering to look or even care if anyone might stumble across him using magic. Because he didn’t care, not now.
He nestled her against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as he nudged his mount back toward Camelot. He didn’t bother trying to be discrete, to ride toward one of the side entrances where there were only servants to see. Instead, he rode through the streets, not seeing the people staring at him in confusion. He rode through the gates and into the courtyard, ignoring the alarmed looks the guards gave him and the whispers that began to fly ahead of him.
A stable hand appeared when he brought his horse to a halt in front of the main staircase, where only days before he had stood with the rest of the royal household and the knights to welcome Arthur’s new bride. The man took hold of the bridle while Merlin maneuvered both himself and Gwen’s body off the horse, this time having the sense not to use magic (apparently his sense of self-preservation hadn’t deserted him completely just yet).
He said nothing to any of the gathering crowd, just clutched her tightly to him as he carried her up the steps. He said nothing to Leon when the man appeared in front of him, the knight’s skin going chalky white when he recognized who he was carrying. Leon must have seen something in Merlin’s face, because he stood aside without a word, letting him continue on his way.
Of course, he couldn’t count on everyone else having the same good sense as Leon. Certainly not Arthur. So, naturally, he would come across him in his trek through the corridors, with Mithian just a step behind. He watched as Arthur’s eyes grew huge and glassy with shock and tears, but said nothing. He watched as Mithian’s own gaze landed on the arrow still sticking out of Gwen’s side and her hand slapped against her mouth, muffling a distressed scream as she recognized the marks as her own. Merlin watched them both and felt nothing, thought nothing.
Until Arthur took a step forward and reached out, no doubt intending to relieve Merlin of Gwen’s body. That was when he reacted. He jerked back, clutching his friend tighter and narrowing his eyes at his king in furious warning. No, he thought, no. Arthur had let her go, threw her away because he couldn’t forgive a mistake, couldn’t forgive her for not being perfect, because he blindly accepted the poison that Agravaine so loved to pour into his ears. That was his choice, to give her up. He couldn’t take that back. Not now, not ever.
He shouldered past them both, ignoring Arthur’s hoarse, broken call. A small voice echoed in Merlin’s ears, saying that it wasn’t Arthur’s fault (except that it was it was it was, because she should have been here, happily married and safe as Camelot’s queen, and he put her out there), that he wasn’t to blame. It was Morgana’s fault, the voice pleaded. Only Morgana would be so cruel as to turn her once dearest friend into a deer and allow her to be hunted. Yes, Morgana too shared a great deal of the responsibility for this, but then, they all did. Morgana for casting the spell and writing Gwen’s death sentence, Mithian for being such a good shot (he hoped that gold crown made her very happy), Agravaine for his plots and treacheries, Arthur for casting Gwen out, Elyan for not following her as a brother should, Lancelot for holding so tightly to his love that it was used to bring him back to set up Gwen’s fall in the first place, Merlin for not being fast enough to stop it.
Merlin hoped none of them followed him right now. Because they all shared a responsibility for the life that had been taken, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he would be able to stop himself from killing them. Later, he would have control again. Later, he would be able to focus his anger on the one who had started all of this. Just not now.
He remembered how he’d once asked Gwen if she would kill Uther in recompense for her father’s death, if she would let him die when she had the power to save him. He remembered her answer, that Uther meant nothing to her anymore, but that to kill him or allow him to die would make her no better than him. It had been those words that had driven Merlin to try to keep the king alive instead of letting Morgana have him killed, all those years ago.
He imagined that if he asked her now he should seek revenge for her death, Gwen would still say the same thing. He should seek justice, she would no doubt tell him, not revenge.
Gwen was always a better person than Merlin could ever hope to be.
That was why he was going to kill Morgana. The next time he saw her would be the last. No secrets, no hiding behind the disguise of an eccentric, cackling old man. Just her and him.
Until it was just him.
And damn anyone alive who tried to judge him for it.