Meg, Margaret, Meagan
Meg. Even my name served to undermine me. Diminutive. As a woman grown, no man used my woman's name to my face. Never to be regarded as anything more than a child, with a child's name. Meg. I gave up trying to be Margaret when I gave up acting as a woman. They treated me as a child, and so I acted as one, gave them what they wanted. Meg is petty, spoilt, infantile petulance personified—Margaret is a fleeting dream, graceful, benevolent, and wise. Margaret is above the barbarity of this world of men. Meg only wishes she were.
When Meg acts up, throws a tantrum, it is only to be expected. I know that this pretense only prolongs men's belief in their own superiority, but acting superior to them would only get Margaret into further trouble. At least as a child, punishment is light.
Survival of the fittest, and all of that.
But when it came to marriage, when my father saw that beneath my veneer of childishness a woman's body fit to sell, I stopped playing along, and Meagan emerged. My Meg façade melded with Margaret's truth, and finally there was me. I am Meagan, though the name is a secret of my own.
Meagan is angry, but I burn with the anger of one who knows her cause is right. Meagan dispenses with formalities as Meg did, but does not fear to speak Margaret's mind, as shrilly as I please. Freedom is beyond my grasp, but to silence me the only way is death.
My father was not pleased to meet Meagan. Suitor after suitor after suitor, sent off! No, he was not best pleased. Sent to the Sheriff, he hoped to have disciplined me, frightened me into obedience. I know for a fact that he intended to bribe the guards and buy me back. Protect his investment. Once I had been properly humbled.
Something strange happened down there, in the dungeons.
I met a man that many might call a monster.
His name was Sir Guy of Gisborne.
I learned much from him. For the first time, I began to understand a small part of the paradox that dominates my life. Meg, Margaret, Meagan—I hate men, all men. But I love man's monster.
I don't think he likes me much, though.
Pity, because I—Meg, Margaret, and Meagan—always quite liked him.
Disclaimer: I have absolutely no claim on Guy of Gisborne or Meg Bennet. Damn it. :)
Author's Note: This is the product of some really sleepy musing on my part, inspired by a few of the inconsistencies in Meg's character as well as the fact that the name Meg is a diminutive of Margaret, as is Meagan. A strong woman like Meg in medieval times would have had to subordinate herself to men, and I had Meg deal with this by compartmentalizing different aspects of her personality, and giving them separate names. If it's confusing, that's because I was confused when I wrote it. Sometimes it feels as though half of the story is still in my head, and maybe that's why I understand it while no one else can. :)
Here's a guide, just in case:
Meg Bennet = fake, immature version that coincides with medieval society's expectations
Margaret = thoughtful, mature, ideal version that can only exist outside of society's rules
Meagan = a combination of Meg and Margaret; loud and insistent, but with Margaret's opinions and ability to forgive. This is the character we see throughout most of episode 9, season 3.
I hope this character exercise is not too muddled. Please review!
Owl-songs