7. As A Thank You
Margaret's eyes traveled up the crumbling side of the castle. It could barely even be called a castle, honestly: it was really just a tower surrounded by ruins. The door seemed ancient, but barred, and no life could be seen peeking from behind the windows that dot among the stone.
"This is it?" she said, turning to look at Hendrickson.
The former Grand Master nodded. "Vivian has used this before, for her experiments in magic. I've only been here once myself."
"She has nowhere else to go," Dreyfus interjected from the other side. "This must be the place."
Margaret drew in a deep breath, once more looking over the moss-covered tower and the dilapidated stone. The rage and agony she had been feeling since Gilthunder left—since he was taken—felt sour all of a sudden. The resentment towards Vivian, not just for this sin but for all of the others, was beginning to cool into something Margaret was not prepared to feel. Instead of the white hot ire that had kept her focused and away from despair, she felt… pity.
"Open it," she commanded.
The two knights moved together, neither even pausing to question. Margaret had found in the weeks since her release that she was particularly adept at giving orders. There was a tone in her voice that was not unlike her father's, and after some initial shock by the guards and the servants, she realized that they wanted to hear her authority. Margaret was becoming the monarch she had to keep locked away. With the door open, it was filling her, replacing the fear and loneliness with calm.
So it pleased her when the two men immediately set to pulling the door from its hinges. The squealing of the rusted metal echoed against the hard rock, and beyond it lay only darkness. For a moment, the old worry nicked her chest, making her smile. It was an old friend, that fear.
"Your Highness," said Dreyfus, "allow us to go in first."
"No," she answered. Margaret slid easily from her horse. "I am here for my revenge."
Later she would wonder what they thought, the sweet princess with eyes of steel and mouth set, wearing armor for the first time, her hand hovering over the hilt of her sword as she entered the unknown. The long lavender hair that had been her pride was pulled back into a braid, tied away from her features, and Margaret resisted twirling a lock around her fingers for comfort. There was nothing to fear, she reminded herself. Not anymore.
The pale light of the windows provided the only illumination, turning the inside of the tower into a dull gray. The two knights fell into step right behind her, but followed their princess as she walked into the room at the bottom.
To her surprise, it was empty. Only a bit of straw lay on the floor, but there was no furniture, no trinkets, nothing what she expected to see at the home of one of the most powerful mages in Britannia. Dreyfus and Hendrickson spread out to either side, sweeping the room, their weapons ready; but a moment later, it was clear there was nothing to see.
In front of them was a staircase that wound in a corkscrew up through the tower. Without waiting for either man to suggest it, she stepped forward to look up. Margaret half-expected to see Vivian's wild eyes at the top of the stairs, but it was as empty as the rest. Is it possible this was not the place?
"I know this is where she is," Hendrickson said quietly, as if he had read her thoughts. "They must be at the top."
"Then up we go too," Margaret answered.
Together they climbed the stairs. Margaret allowed Dreyfus to take the lead, all three with their eyes and ears sharp and ready for any sign of life. At the first landing, there was a room that looked like it could have been a kitchen, once. A cold, dead hearth covered in soot sat crumbling in a corner, a broken table snapped in half in the middle of the floor, and cabinets opened and empty along the walls. But no sign anyone had cooked or eaten or even breathed the air, so they continued.
Two more landings, two more rooms filled with cobwebs and broken furniture. They were nearing the top, and Margaret was becoming more and more afraid that they would not find Gilthunder there. Surely by now there would be a sign? But the only sounds came from their own feet and their own breathing.
But then, suddenly, a scream erupted in the air, causing Margaret to jump. Her heart beat wildly as she recognized it as a woman's scream. "Vivian!" hissed the princess.
"There is one more floor," Hendrickson said, nodding towards the staircase. "Princess, allow us to go up and investigate ourselves."
Margaret only laughed. "I did not come all this way to stop at the last floor," she replied, and drew her sword. "I will save Gilthunder!"
She quickly strode forward, hurrying up the steps as Dreyfus and Hendrickson followed closely on her heels. There was another door at the top, and with a cry she pushed against it. She stumbled inside as it gave way to her small frame, and only a firm hand from Dreyfus on her arm to steady her kept her from falling to the floor.
As she righted herself, she looked around wildly; only to find that this room, like all the others, was empty. "How can this be?" Dreyfus wondered behind her.
Margaret's lungs squeezed as she struggled to take in a breath. "They have to be here!" she shouted, the sound still so strange to her after all those years of silence, her voice shaking just a bit with emotion. "They have to! Gilthunder! Gilthunder, can you hear me?" She walked to the center of the room, turning and looking in every direction. "Gil! I'm here! Say something, please, so we can find you!"
But instead of Gilthunder's voice, another scream came again. It was so loud she could have sworn the woman was right in this room, had it not been empty. "That is Vivian, it has to be!" she cried.
"Step back, princess," came Hendrickson's voice over her shoulder. She turned to argue, but Dreyfus was there to guide her away towards the side of the room. With the Holy Knight's grip firm on her shoulder, she could only wait and watch.
Hendrickson stood in the middle of the room, his head slightly tilted, as if listening. His eyes were on the floor, until slowly, slowly, they lifted, focusing on a spot to his left. Margaret looked back and forth wildly, wondering what he was focused on; then without notice he raised his sword and called out, "Purify."
A squealing noise as if from a nightmare echoed in the room, and Margaret covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. It was the same sound that the demon that followed her for ten years had made as Meliodas' magic sliced it in half. The memory ripped at her in agony, as she whimpered, her entire body trembling as the echoes faded. It was too much, all at once, the fear and the disappointment and the exhaustion that came from being in charge.
"Margaret!"
Then, incredibly, she opened her eyes. The room was no longer empty: they stood among strange furnishings, tables, shelves filled with books and vials, papers and containers heaped on the floor. Lamps were lit around the room, maps and tapestries lining the walls; but none of that mattered, and she saw none of it. Because Gilthunder was there, running towards her, and with a cry she was swept into his arms.
He whispered her name over and over, the powerful and familiar feeling of him like a wall to steady herself against. His hands pressed against her back, and she felt his face press into her neck, his nose slightly cold and his cheeks wet. "Margaret, you're here," he murmured, and as she rose out of her shock, she realized she had not hugged him back.
Slightly shaking she wrapped her arms around him, her fingers gently sweeping through the pink hair that dusted his shoulders. This was not the way she had expected to react to their reunion, but a moment later she choked out his name, their embrace becoming fierce as he tightened his hold on her. "I found you," she said, immediately feeling very foolish for saying something so obvious.
But if Gilthunder found her foolish, he gave no sign. His grip on her loosened so he could cup her face, and Margaret gazed dazedly up at his adoring expression. "You did," he whispered back. "Thank you. Thank you."
She nodded, her lungs tight; then he kissed her, their mouths molding together as if made for one another, a quiet groan escaping him as he slanted against hers. Margaret grew a bit weak at the way his fingers slid into her hair and his powerful hands cradled her head so gently, tilting her face to kiss her deeply. All she could think to do was to grip onto his shirt in an attempt to keep herself upright.
"Gil," she finally breathed as their lips parted.
"I couldn't get out," he murmured against her skin. "The enchantment was so strong—there were no doors, no windows. I couldn't find you, but—" At that he leaned back slightly, looking her over. "A sword, Margaret? Armor? Did you come to fight for me?"
Margaret gave a shaking laugh, and he pressed a kiss on her temple. "I love you," he said.
Margaret opened her mouth to return the epithet, but another scream interrupted them. She jumped again, startled, and Gilthunder yanked her against him as they turned towards the source.
The two Grand Masters stood on either side of a table, upon which a writhing thing was screeching and clawing at the wood. "Stay back, Margaret," murmured Gilthunder, but the princess would not be swayed. She pulled from his grip and stepped forward, looking between the Holy Knights and the wailing creature.
"Vivian?" she breathed as she stood next to it. Somewhere in the mess of bloody scales two bright brown eyes snapped to hers, and another cry came between the darkness underneath. "What is this?"
"She has been cursed," Gilthunder explained, his hand pressing on her arm. "Merlin warned her, but she continued to use her magic. This was a way to protect us from her."
Margaret nodded, but her face was solemn. She had thought many times of the day she would bring justice to the girl that had set their curse on them. Margaret had sworn to herself she would see Vivian receive justice one day for her deeds. She had imagined her father sentencing her to prison, or seeing Vivian run through on the edge of Gil's sword; lately, she would picture her own sword to be the one to carve into her. Her fantasies of finding Gilthunder were always accompanied with just how she would pay the mage back for cursing them, for stealing their childhood and their lives, for stealing the man she loved and had given everything to keep her alive.
But now, in this moment, the thirst for revenge was gone.
"We should kill her," Gilthunder said. "Give me a sword and I'll do it."
"No," snapped Dreyfus. "It is not up to you to decide on her justice. She must face the king for her crimes."
"She could be redeemed," Hendrickson added, but Gilthunder argued back, "Redeemed? She's going to die anyway. Just look at her. This is beyond even your magic, Hendrickson."
"I feel nothing but pity," she said aloud.
"Pity? For this creature?" Dreyfus sounded incredulous.
"She is a woman in love. That is a powerful magic." All three men looked at her, but Margaret's eyes remained on Vivian's. She leaned forward and said quietly, "I'm sorry this happened to you. Love cursed us both, didn't it?"
There was movement among the darkness, which Margaret took as a nod in agreement. "Do you want to die?" she asked.
The movement came again, this time, a no. "Then we will leave you here," replied Margaret, standing back up.
"No, Margaret," Gilthunder murmured. "Vivian must answer her crimes!"
"Look at her, Gil," she answered sadly. "Is she not suffering enough?"
"Let's get out of here then," muttered Hendrickson. "No telling what other magic may linger around this place."
The others moved to leave, but before she did, Margaret turned back to what was left of the mage. The brown eyes were now lifted to the ceiling, the skin and scales shaking in what Margaret imagined was weeping. "Goodbye, Vivian," she said gently. "I hope you find peace. For nothing else, you were loyal, and you acted out of love, no matter how bad your crimes. For that, I will remember you."
The eyes closed, and Margaret took her leave. She turned towards Gilthunder, who stood waiting at the door. Their eyes locked, and Margaret watched as his softened just a bit. "Thank you," she said as she walked to his side, and leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
A/N: Yes, I know. Yes, this was started earlier this week. I wanted to keep going with my own.
