The Worst Kind of Hatred

Summary: The worst kind of hatred is the cold, calculating kind, the detached coolness. Because it means that you don't care anymore.

Author's Notes: This is from Mab's POV as Merlin walks away from her after the final battle, being the git that he is.

Disclaimer: Guess what? It's not mine. Which is a source of great sadness to me, as my friends will testify. Especially not owning Mab. Not owning Merlin isn't quite such a hardship.

"Merlin!"

Mab's voice seemed to echo back at her a thousand times from the cavernous ruins of Camelot. Only her voice, nobody else's. Nobody turned to answer the Queen of the Old Ways, none of the people gathered even turned to look at her. Not even Merlin himself.

Mab could feel fear taking over her, clouding her mind, clouding her vision. Every fight over the years, every struggle, every sacrifice, all the pain and suffering and grief that she'd had to endure had all been for the purpose of trying to stop herself from fading away, and she was failing. She could see, even through her fear and her anger, that there was nothing more she could do, that it was a matter of minutes, if that, before she faded into oblivion forever. She heard the fear in her voice, and it disgusted her, even as she felt the fear inside her grow stronger.

But there was nothing that could save her now, Mab saw that. The only person that could save her from disappearance was Merlin. And he wouldn't.

For all of his life, Mab had wanted Merlin to join her. Even after she had given up trying to entice him back to serving her, she had hoped that he might come back of his own volition, one day. Mab had never fooled herself into thinking that Merlin didn't hate her. She knew he did. But most kinds of hatred could be overcome so very easily…

Mab had seen it in Merlin's own eyes, what he felt for her now. She'd seen it in his eyes when he entered the throne room, heard it in his voice when he replied so calmly to her news of Mordred's death. Merlin no longer carried the bright, burning, angry hatred for her that he had carried every year since his foster mother's death. If it had, then such hatred could be dimmed, soothed away over time. It could be wavered by emotion. But over the years of war and loss, Merlin's hatred had condensed and hardened into something as crystal-like and hard as her own had towards the world. That kind of hatred could never be undone, Mab knew that from personal experience. Because it was the kind of hatred that meant you didn't care anymore. Just as she had done to her enemies over the years, Merlin would defeat her because she was his enemy, but there would be no triumph for him in his victory, and there would be no grief for him in his loss.

Mab watched him go, that knowledge burning into her mind like a brand. It was too late for both of them. Their hatred had destroyed them both, by destroying everything they both were, everything they both felt. And now it was too late for them to let their hatred go.

"Merlin!" Mab cried out again. Hopeless as it may be, she refused to meet her end with acceptance. Calm acceptance of horror had never been her way. Merlin never even glanced around at her.

"Don't forget me, Merlin," Mab cried, the pleading note in her voice causing her to wince, "I…" She trailed off, uncertainly, the desire to hold on to the last shreds of dignity she had left duelling with her uncertain attempt to shatter both her own hatred, and Merlin's. "I…love you," she managed at last, "As a son."

The words seem to hang in the air for a moment, and Mab stared pleadingly at Merlin. If she could see past the anger and hatred that had ruled her for so many years, perhaps he could, too. Perhaps he would help her after all…

But once again, Merlin didn't even look round at her. Instead, he simply walked slowly and deliberately away from her. Mab stared at his retreating form. She wouldn't let herself cry- she was still far too proud for that- but it was as close as she had come to it in centuries. Not only because of the oblivion that awaited her, but also because she saw in Merlin's ignorance of her pleas, the confirmation that he felt nothing for her but cold, uncaring hate.

The rooms and walls seemed to be fading away. Mab was dimly aware that she was still calling out to Merlin in desperation, but even as she did so, she knew that it was much, much too late for that.

Too late… The thought drifted through her mind until it was all she could feel. Not much of a requiem for the Queen of the Old Ways, the words "too late", and tears that refused to cry.

Then there was darkness, and even that thought was gone.

Cheery, isn't it? Anyway, this fic was written quite quickly- I'm not sure whether to be happy with it, or to despair of my skills at one-shots! Feedback is very much appreciated.

Happy Easter everyone!