Gwynevere ♕ Geula Sinclair (vivatregina) wrote in mythologs, @ 2012-04-03 12:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !event #018, death, gwynevere |
[closed/complete]
Characters: Death (nonespared) & Gwynevere (vivatregina)
Date/Time: 2 Apr
Location: The Maze
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of bloodied children.
Summary: Gwynevere flees Cihuateteo. Death intervenes.
It was the beginning of Holy Week. Knowing that she would be performing the prayer later on in the week, Gwynevere was reviewing the Way of the Cross when she'd fallen asleep. One moment, she was mulling on the beauty of the phrase "How little is a life for making atonement!". The next, there was darkness.
When she rose, she was in a strange garden, hedges higher than her considerable 5'9". Her laptop was lying next to her, her phone on top of it. Adjacent to these were a knife and a compass. Gwynevere almost began to examine the items, but she paused, taking a moment to enjoy the serenity of her surroundings. The peace didn't last for long -- there was a rustle as a woman emerged. Beautiful, with sleek black hair and a dusky complexion... Wielding a battle axe.
Gwynevere didn't think twice, grabbing her phone, the knife, and the compass but leaving the laptop behind. It would only be a hindrance, and she was meticulous enough that she'd several back up hard drives. But these matters weren't at the forefront of her thoughts. Gwynevere was consumed by the need to escape. Even as she sprinted through the hedges, she could hear the footfalls of the woman right behind her, as if the other woman were mere inches away. Still, the former Queen of Camelot persisted.
But pain grew with every step she took, and hallucinations began to swim before her eyes. Images of children that looked suspiciously like herself and Arthur, or herself and Lancelot, on one occasion even herself and Hector -- swiftly followed by images of the very same children, bloodied and dead. Something began to curl in Gwynevere's stomach, similar to the pain of never having borne a child, only amplified. Amplified to a degree she didn't know how much longer she could withstand.
Her resolve was flagging, and as she stretched the limits of her stamina, her stride slowed and her breaths became more shallow.
Unlike all her siblings, Death was the shortest at a very neat five-foot-six. And that was fine because if there was every anything she needed from some place high, she could get a chair or elbow Famine if he was around (her bony one, her dear comrade). But if peering over the hedges was a lost idea to Gwynevere, it was not thinkable to Death.
After checking her inventory, she didn't make a post or call, not just yet. Instead, she moved to check out the layout of things, to see if she could make sense of all this. If it was a dream or otherwise.
That would be answered when she saw something moving (and not all that quickly, it seemed). Swift to hide herself, she peered around the side of a hedge to see just who (or what) it was that had arrived. Gwynevere, the queen, the wife and the adulteress. And that woman... A name didn't come forth but she knew the axe-wielding female was one of Khaos'.
Now, Death was not someone who would save another from death. Was there logic in that at all? But over the many months that had come and gone, she had grown to greatly dislike this unnatural dictation of their lives by this Greek woman. Just who was she to decide how they lived, when they died? She was no one. And her minions were no one.
It was selfishness, a sense of balance that drove Death from her place, to interfere before she had to witness a pointless death (what a displeasing thought). She knew she had nothing against an axe and not being War, she wasn't about to throw her knife and hope it struck true. But she had her wits and they would be used to buy the once-queen time to hide.
Like a snake, she dashed out to snatch Gwynevere by the arm, only hissing out in the softest of breaths "do not shriek" before dragging her toward another hiding spot, a thicket.
Fortunately, Gwynevere was not the type to shriek. With Death, there was an immediate and inexplicable trust. Even before knowing Death as an incarnate, Gwynevere had had an intimate relationship with her. The death of thousands in Camelot, the death of Arthur, her own death... That she relied on Death's timing was no surprise. Death would not be happy with taking her until it had let Life torture her to the fullest. Now was too soon, and Gwynevere was well-aware that Death would not have saved her otherwise.
She held her breath, watching as the woman with an axe paused, scanning the path for Gwynevere. Fortunately, Death had pulled the queen off near an intersection, so it was possible Gwynevere might have gone any which way. After a time, the woman chose to run right -- opposite of the thicket Gwynevere had been pulled into.
However, the queen did not breathe freely until a minute or so after the woman had stepped away. "Thank you," she uttered once she was absolutely certain they were in the clear. "That's another tick to the innumerable list of things I owe you. You're very good at garnering debts to collect, aren't you?" The tone was lighthearted, humorous, to assure the other woman that she was not about to descend into a bout of hysteria.
Death had no meaning if life was pointless. There had to be that balance for her to maintain power. It was the same for any of her comrade. They wouldn't be feared if the life of mortals was not meaningful.
Having be unsure how the unknown woman would have reacted, Death had gingerly plucked some fruit from one of the nearby bushes, prepared to launch in another direction to send the woman a false trail. But, with good fortune, they were abandoned and it seemed safe enough to speak.
A tilt of her head was offered at the thanks and the question. "Yes," she finally said, having decided there was nothing better than a simple, clean answer. "We are not who we once were. Therefore, some us must do what we can to maintain some part of our truest of selves. You are unhurt, then?"
Gwynevere nodded. But likely she would have been nodded had she sustained any non-threatening injury. She did not excel at being independent, but she would always try.
"Do you have any plans so far?" This was familiar territory for them. Planning, strategising, acting. The routine soothed Gwynevere's frazzled nerves. So long as she kept her mind away from those disturbing images and the difficulty of the situation they were forced into, she could manage. She had to.
"I'm in searched of my fellow Horsemen. They can survive without me fine. We all can manage alone if needed but there is something to be said about strength in numbers." God knew that the time she had spent under Khaos' thumb spoke volumes about this.
"I'll take you with me," she added on, a decision she made without inquiry of Gwynevere's wishes (Death took, she did not give unless a string was attached). The only way she saw it was that she wasn't abandoning the woman to try again on her own.
"That's fine." Gwynevere could definitely see the strength in those numbers. The four that had razed the world -- what harm could this maze bring upon such a menace? Was it wrong to ally herself with such a group? No, she didn't think so. God had ordained their reincarnation for a reason, just as He had allowed Gwynevere to fall into a faction with half the horsemen involved. This was what He wanted of her. There would be no questioning His will.
"After all, you'll have my life in the end."