AN: Aha, new chapter. Anyway, I'm feeling a little smug seeing as I beat the rush to do fics about Arthur's mother. Wahayy ;). Anyway, here's a one shot focusing on Nimueh, who is pretty much my new favourite character for some reason :L.

Anyway, this one is just a really short one-shot about the relationship between Uther and Nimueh and how it deteriorated.

Another angst driven one I'm afraid. Next time, I'll try for some fluff :) By the way, these aren't ordered one shots at all. They're just written when I get the inspiration and posted accordingly. Be warned that I may shuffle things around a bit :L.

Please read and review :D.

Nimueh. Her name put fear into the heart of Uther. His name put anger into the heart of her.

Twenty-one long years she had waited for revenge. Twenty-one long years of heartache and misery, curled up in her cave staring pensively at the images in the water. Never in her wildest dreams had she foreseen this, this wretched existence, where the only pleasure she experienced was when she was taking revenge on her former friend.

They had been friends, although Uther never hesitated to deny it. The king of Camelot friends with a sorcerer? Nay, was not so. How could Uther have been friends with the very thing that he despised? Nimueh knew better, and that's what made his betrayal all the worse.

He had not always despised her. For years, they had been inseparable, two sides of a coin. Yes, they had had others, but they were always there for each other when it mattered, and for the most part, they had been happy. Nimueh had grown to love the man like a brother, watching silently in the shadows as he had taken Igraine as his wife. It had broken her heart to foresee the childless future which they held, not that he knew it.

Everything had changed after that. Nimueh was cast aside, no longer of such importance to Uther. He had a new rock, someone else to lean on when pressures of his life became too much. They would go for weeks without seeing each other and even longer without speaking. Ignored and lonely Nimueh became, though she spoke of her heartache to no one for fear of the king finding out. Uther was happy, and Nimueh should have been to.

Soon, it became common knowledge that the queen was barren, unable to produce an heir. Uther had come running back to her then, the months of neglect forgotten. He had begged her to provide him with a son, an heir to whom Uther's kingdom would one day belong. Nimueh had refused at first, too wary of the consequences to even contemplate the idea.

Uther's wrath had been terrible. He'd threatened her, told her that she would have no place at his court if she disobeyed him. She had been frightened and confused, and in her foolishness, she had agreed. Now she was suffering the consequences.

Igraine should never have died. Of course, Nimueh knew that it would be a life for a life, but never had she entertained the possibility that it would be the queen of Camelot. A random peasant, she had thought, known by few and missed by less, not the strong, healthy queen who had had a great many years left in her. How Uther expected her to know the outcome baffled her; she was a sorceress, yes, but she was not God. No, Igraine's death had been a terrible tragedy, one that should never have happened but one that did anyway.

Uther's retribution had been terrible. He had come for her in the darkest night, eyes wild as he dragged her through the corridors by her hair. She had screamed and had cried and had begged him to reconsider but he had cast her from the court without a second thought. In his eyes, she was evil, no longer a friend but a murderer of that he had loved more than anything else.

"I will not kill you," he had said, "because I want you to suffer the way I have. The way I always will do."

Then, he'd spat at her feet before walking away, the final farewell of a friendship annihilated. Nimueh had risen to her feet and scarpered. That night, the killings had begun.

It had been her mother first, her poor, defenceless mother who had never done anything to anybody. Uther had met her, had eaten in her house, yet he had still ordered her killing. The body was still warm when Nimueh had arrived.

Next had been her sister. Nimueh had found her burning, the blonde of her hair melting in the heat. Her face had been blackened and charred, unrecognisable save for the deep blue of her eyes. The blue that Nimueh shared. The blue that now wept a thousand tears for what had come to pass.

Of course, the killings had not ended there, but her life had. Every death made her just that little bit more less human, a little more evil. Uther didn't understand of course, but by taking away her friends and her family, by persecuting her kind, he was making her stronger. He was removing what made her weak, her Achilles heel as it were, and providing her with the most powerful weapon her arsenal could possess.

For the first time in Nimueh's life, she had felt hatred towards Uther.

She felt the same hatred now as she stared at him, the frightened king of a cold, cruel land. Here he was, about to risk his life for his son, the son whom Nimueh had given him because he had asked! No, it was not Nimueh's fault that Igraine was dead but Uther's, not that he could see it. Now, he was never going to have the chance.

Maybe when he was dead, she would find the solace that she was seeking. She didn't need his forgiveness, and she certainly didn't want it. Uther had made her this way, stripped away her humanity until there was nothing but hatred and anger left. For Nimueh, he had committed the ultimate betrayal.

Granted, her revenge had been harsh, and many innocent people had been killed, but sacrifices had to be made and people had to die. She had tried to reason with Uther before and it had not worked, leaving her with no alternative but to butcher his kind. It had started with him, and it would end with him to.

Death would not wait for Uther Pendragon.