Personal Vegeance

Personal Vengeance
By Misha

Disclaimer- Not mine.
Author’s Notes- So first of all, this fic is not Antony friendly. Sorry. I love him, I adore him and Portia, but this is set from the PoV of my other MC, Moira and she despises him and everything he stands for. This just popped into my head and I had to go with it.
Summary- Moira is so close to achieving her revenge on Caesar for the sake of her tribe, but first, she makes a detour in the plan and enacts some personal vengeance on the man she despises more than any other.
Rating- M

I checked Antony’s pulse, weak but still there. He was unconscious.

I had done my job, he wouldn’t be interfering, as I moved to step back, to hurry out of there, my eyes fell on the knife beside him and instinct had me reaching for it.

Could I do it? Stab an unconscious man? As my hands closed around the hilt, I knew the answer was yes. Should I do it though?

Anony had been taken care of. There was no need to kill him, at least not for the plan, and I was so close to my vengeance and I might actually have done it in a way that I could survive. But if I murdered Antony now… Would I be risking everything?

There were no servants in sight, but that didn’t mean no one had seen me. Brutus and Cassius knew I had come here and while Cassius may shield me, partially out of affection for me and his own loathing of Antony, would Brutus? He did have that infuriating moral superiority, but then he would have to admit to sending me to deal with Antony, putting blood on his hands. 

So far I had escaped consequence. Syphax had taken the punishment for killing Tribune Rufus, something I would regret to my dying day. Aquila’s murder had never been pinned on me, the letters proving his deceit enough that Antony didn’t care, and the gods had pardoned me for my attempt to kill Caesar and led me to a better plan.

Three times the gods had let me get away with my crimes, did I dare risk a fourth? Especially since this one would have nothing to do with vengeance for my tribe.

Antony had not wronged the Cataunili, he hadn’t even been in Gaul then. Killing him would do nothing to set their spirits at rest and yet, I still raised the knife.

I hated Caesar for my people. I hated everything he represented. But I hated Antony for myself. My loathing of him had begun the moment he had casually asked to buy me from Cassius, offering to pay double, showing that he saw me as nothing more than an object for his pleasure, like every other Roman man, and just increased from there.

I thought of the disgusting play he had taken me to, how at home he had been in that setting. How I had known then that there would never be any common ground between us and that I would only tolerate his company for Syphax. And even with that, with Syphax’s life in his hands, I couldn’t force myself to flirt with him, I loathed him too much.

I thought of the arrogant way he had mouthed “you owe me” when he had spared Syphax’s first opponent as if I owed him some great debt for sparing a stranger’s life seconds before he sold the man I loved into slavery.

I thought of his disinterest the night in the alley with Aquila, “your virtue has always been well protected”, and the knowledge that while he wanted my body, he cared nothing for me as a person and if something were to happen to me, he would move on.

I thought of the way he had spoken of Xanthe after their night together, of his absolute disregard for women in general, a fact made obvious when he had announced he intended to give me to Caesar as a gift. As if I had been a vase or a sculpture instead of a human being. But human life had no value to Antony or any of his ilk. Not really.

I thought of his coldness when he had told me “that can change”  when I’d protested that I was a free woman, yet more proof that I was nothing to him, just another body he’d hoped to warm his bed and whom he would use for his own means.

I thought of his visit to me in the dungeon, of how he had still been arrogant enough to be angry that I didn’t do as I was told, like a nice little slave was supposed to. The way his eyes had burned with anger as we had parted and the cruelty of his words. “I won’t find any joy in watching you get slaughtered in the arena… Well, maybe a little joy. Goodbye, Moira. You were a fun distraction, I hope your death is quick.”

Lastly, I thought of the feeling of his hands around my throat, the fact that he was willing to kill me now that I had outlasted my usefulness to him when he had become resigned to the fact that I would never grace his bed.

The memories strengthened my resolved, reminded me of the depth of my loathing for this man. The world would be a better place without it and I would be safer, some instinct told me that Antony would not let my part in the rebellion slide, and that last thought was all I needed, I plunged the knife into his chest, letting go quickly as the blood came out.

I didn’t check his pulse this time, I didn’t need to. I just ran.

I had wasted too much time here. I still had a plan to fulfill, a vengeance to complete. Yet, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. This might not have been part of the plan, but it felt good.

Antony was dead. His power over Rome, over me, was done forever. This one hadn’t been for Gaul, it had been for me, and it felt good. Maybe that made me as much of a monster as he had been, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

All I felt was joy and relief. Now I just had to kill Caesar.

• End