Obviously (and sadly), I don't own Merlin. Enjoy!
Hours ago, death had seemed a thing faraway; unimaginable. It had been a disease that could not spread to her family. It had been a thief that would never enter the confines of their safe little home – in fact, if her father had gotten his way, death would not even have tiptoed across the border of their village, which had been so untouched and pure before this very minute.
Vivienne wiped her besmirched hands – unaware that they were trembling like leafs in the cold winter wind – on her plain frock. Her lids had shuttered over her eyes, as if that would make her blind for the horror that lay before her knees. Had she been looking, Vivienne would have seen that her fingers left smears of dark crimson on her simple gown. She would have noticed the flakes of snow fluttering out of the laden sky above and settling in her father's greying hair. She would have seen the gaping hole in Joseph the physician's chest.
She would have seen death, the thief.
Without thinking twice about what she was doing, Vivienne threw her arms around Joseph's cold corpse, and although no tears cleared her grubby cheeks, she could not help the raw cries that tore their way up her throat and shook her frame. A shaky exclamation of denial was heard; the villagers mumbled in discomfort and some stepped away, either out of respect or fright. None dared to haul the girl away from her parent's body – not even her brother, who bowed his head to hide his sorrow.
The first audible words Vivienne uttered to the still body were a shaky plea for her father to wake up – and when that didn't work, her tongue roamed her mouth, trying to find smarting words to curse the murderers; these so called respectable knights of King Arthur, who showed no pity for a man with the aptitude to heal wounds that other humans could not.
"Oh, you!" she cried in the old language, which flowed freely from her cracked lips. "You, who call yourself honourable, have killed an old man; a beloved father, husband and physician, who intended only good for this cruel world! You will regret this day like you will regret the oncoming demise of your king – you will howl with pain when the time comes that your hearts will feel as mine does now, as if a poisoned arrow has been run through it. You will plead for my mercy, kiss my soiled feet and utter both honeyed and raw words in an attempt to heal the wounds of the past – but when that time comes, foul slaughterers of my kin, I will show you the same clemency you showed my father. You will suffer as he has – as his family has – and I will make sure the tears you shed do no good to lighten your suffering!"
"You will hold your tongue unless you wish to be dealt the same penalty, maiden!" warned a particularly burly knight. His hand crept towards the sheath of his sword. "There is no place for magic in Camelot, and all must pay the price if they choose to ignore our wise king's decision. You must praise yourself lucky that you have not been burned to the ground with your house for being associates of magic."
"How can you?" cried out Elaine, unable to hold her peace any longer. She fell to her knees in front of her husband's corpse and lifted his hand to her heart. "How can you deal an innocent man such a sentence? How dare you kill a being without granting him a fair trial, as is the law in this land?"
A young boy standing next to one of the knights lowered his gaze; shame painted his pale cheeks a bright shade of cerise, not unlike the colour that stained the thin layer of snow underneath Joseph's body. His black hair was too short to cover his eyes, which, when Vivienne stared angrily into them, seemed moist. But the king himself – oh, that supposedly righteous ruler – looked away like a coward, as if it was truly so easy to rid himself of guilt. This thought caused revulsion to work its way up Vivienne's throat; it caused her to ball her hands into fists, all but ready to launch herself at this admired man and accept the quick death that would surely await her. It was almost pleasant to imagine the cold metal of a sword running through her chest, causing a crimson flower to blossom on the fabric of her dress. They could tear life away from her mortal body, but they could not take away her hatred – oh, such deep and icy hatred, which bit at her heart like frost.
"Our business here is settled," King Arthur finally spoke, still unable to look any of the villagers in the eye. "I want to reach the castle before dusk; we must hurry." He turned away, and while his knights made towards their horses, the boy continued staring at the corpse. His lips parted as if he wished to utter his regret, but no words spilled out of them.
"Come, Merlin," said the king impatiently. "Don't stand there like a fool." He patted his horse's neck, who nickered and shook his head as if to disagree with his master's words. The sound travelled across the still air, a ghostly echo to accompany the unspoken elegy for Joseph.
"I'm coming," the boy finally answered, tearing his gaze away from Joseph. His dark eyes crossed Vivienne's briefly, but Merlin – as he was in fact named – made no move to acknowledge her further.
While Elaine appeared to become wrapped in a cloak of grief, Vivienne maintained her hold on her father and kept her steady gaze on the retreating men. One day, she thought, the venomous promise sealing itself inside her mind. One day they will pay, and then magic will once more reign the land and punish the nonbelievers; the wicked; the coarse.
Vivienne stopped listening to the sound of hooves sinking into the snow and buried her face in the crook of Joseph's neck, inhaling the already fading scent of paternity.
One day.