New Fic: "Where Old Ghosts Meet" (1/5)
I am officially on vacation!!
So, time to post some fic :)
Title: Where Old Ghosts Meet
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)
Pairing: Guy/Marian Guy/Allan friendship
Summary: Following the events in Episodes 212 and 213. SPOILERS!!
~^~^~
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had woo'd not as I should
A creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose
His wings at the dawn of day
~ Patrick Kavanaugh
"Enough." Vasey, Sheriff of Nottingham stood in the doorway of the tiny guest house bedroom, arms folded across his chest. He rocked back and forth on his heels, watching for a reaction from the figure before him. None was forthcoming. "Enough," he repeated, stepping into the room.
He wrinkled his nose immediately as the odors of sweat and sour wine assailed his nostrils. Waving a hand in in front of his face, he approached the bed.
Sir Guy of Gisborne lay on the bed, curled on his side with his back to the door. A blanket was draped over his lower half, dangling perilously close to the floor. All that was truly visible of him was his black clad shoulders and mop of oily black hair. The shoulders looked suspiciously as though they were trembling.
"Pathetic," Vasey muttered. "Absolutely pathetic." Louder, he said "Gisborne, enough. We have been here three days. Three days in this tiny stinking hole of an inn. I have no wish to live out the remainder of my days here in Acre. Tomorrow at first light we are getting on that boat and setting sail for England. If I have to," he paused and regarded the other man's size. "Have a stable hand carry you on board, I will."
There was still no response. Letting out a snort of frustration, Vasey strode forward and grabbed Guy's shoulder, giving it a rough shake. The blanket drooped even further toward the floor, and he saw the growing collection of wine skins on the other side of the bed. He curled his lip in disgust and shook Gisborne again.
"Leave me alone." Gisborne's voice might have been intended to be a growl, but it came out sounding rather more like a sob. He hunched further into the bed, pulling away from the sheriff's hand.
"Fine." Vasey withdrew his hand, wiping it dramatically on his tunic. "First light, Gisborne. Walk, or be carried. Your choice."
~^~^~
Gisborne held his breath until the sheriff's footsteps faded from his hearing, then let it out in one long slow shuddering gasp. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dingy clay ceiling. The shadows coming in through the tiny window slats, and the sounds of the animals in the stable below told him that it was early evening. He'd slept most of the day. Slept was an exaggeration, actually. He'd passed the day in a drunken stupor, the way he'd passed each day since he'd rode away on the back of Vasey's horse. Away from the dying woman, and her lover.
He groaned helplessly, and rolled back onto his side, fumbling frantically with one hand for a wineskin that was not empty. Marian was gone. More than that, the idea of Marian was gone. She'd never really cared for him, but had played him for the fool every step of the way, until that final moment when she'd brazenly laughed in his face, telling him she would rather die than be with him. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard her gasp as his sword thrust home, felt the hot blood pumping over his fingers.
"Oh, God." It was almost a prayer. His fingers felt twice their normal thickness as they found a skin that sloshed promisingly. Pulling it up, he tilted his head back and upended the skin over his mouth, splashing some of the wine down his stubble covered chin and under the collar of his filthy shirt. The wine tasted like ashes in his mouth.
His world had turned to ash. He gulped harder at the wine, seeking the welcome of oblivion.
~^~^~
"You killed me." There was no anger in her voice, just a cool statement of fact. She floated above him, ethereal and luminescent, her hair streaming out from her face to blow about about her shoulders as if there were a wind. Her white dress flowed as well as if a breeze moved it to shape and cling to her body. The white silk glowed in the moonlight, its color spoiled only by the dark scarlet rose spreading out from the point where his sword had pierced it. The sword was gone, but the rose remained.
"I'm sorry." There it was, out in the open. He'd regretted his action the second it had been too late. The white hot rage had vanished as quickly as it had come, but the fatal blow had already been dealt, and there was no way he could take it back. Or could he?
"I'm sorry," he repeated, knowing how lame it sounded, and yet so true. He stared at her face, smooth and perfect above him as she calmly stared back. She would forgive him, surely? Everything would be all right again. "I didn't mean it. Marian," he reached out his hand to stroke her porcelain cheek.
His hand passed through a wisp of ice cold air. "No, Guy," her voice was clear and firm even as she floated higher, fading, becoming translucent. "You may not touch me. Ever again."
"Marian please," he pulled his hand back, hoping it would bring her closer again. His fingers curled against his palm, imagining there were smaller, more slender fingers clasped inside them. "Everything I've done, it was all for you."
"For me," she repeated. "You burned down my home, for me. You tried to kill the king, for me. You ran me through with a sword and left me to die in the sand, for me." Again there was no anger in her cool voice.
"Yes. No." Guy rubbed his fingers across his forehead. He so desperately wanted her to understand, and yet right now he could not put anything into words that made sense.
She shook her head. "You want me to understand," she said, her voice becoming very soft as she echoed his thoughts. "And yet you understand so little." Her form started to spread, he could see straight through her as if she were a cloud, a vapor, fading from view.
"No, Marian, come back. Please." But he was staring only at a dark wall, alone.
So, time to post some fic :)
Title: Where Old Ghosts Meet
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)
Pairing: Guy/Marian Guy/Allan friendship
Summary: Following the events in Episodes 212 and 213. SPOILERS!!
~^~^~
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had woo'd not as I should
A creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose
His wings at the dawn of day
~ Patrick Kavanaugh
"Enough." Vasey, Sheriff of Nottingham stood in the doorway of the tiny guest house bedroom, arms folded across his chest. He rocked back and forth on his heels, watching for a reaction from the figure before him. None was forthcoming. "Enough," he repeated, stepping into the room.
He wrinkled his nose immediately as the odors of sweat and sour wine assailed his nostrils. Waving a hand in in front of his face, he approached the bed.
Sir Guy of Gisborne lay on the bed, curled on his side with his back to the door. A blanket was draped over his lower half, dangling perilously close to the floor. All that was truly visible of him was his black clad shoulders and mop of oily black hair. The shoulders looked suspiciously as though they were trembling.
"Pathetic," Vasey muttered. "Absolutely pathetic." Louder, he said "Gisborne, enough. We have been here three days. Three days in this tiny stinking hole of an inn. I have no wish to live out the remainder of my days here in Acre. Tomorrow at first light we are getting on that boat and setting sail for England. If I have to," he paused and regarded the other man's size. "Have a stable hand carry you on board, I will."
There was still no response. Letting out a snort of frustration, Vasey strode forward and grabbed Guy's shoulder, giving it a rough shake. The blanket drooped even further toward the floor, and he saw the growing collection of wine skins on the other side of the bed. He curled his lip in disgust and shook Gisborne again.
"Leave me alone." Gisborne's voice might have been intended to be a growl, but it came out sounding rather more like a sob. He hunched further into the bed, pulling away from the sheriff's hand.
"Fine." Vasey withdrew his hand, wiping it dramatically on his tunic. "First light, Gisborne. Walk, or be carried. Your choice."
~^~^~
Gisborne held his breath until the sheriff's footsteps faded from his hearing, then let it out in one long slow shuddering gasp. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dingy clay ceiling. The shadows coming in through the tiny window slats, and the sounds of the animals in the stable below told him that it was early evening. He'd slept most of the day. Slept was an exaggeration, actually. He'd passed the day in a drunken stupor, the way he'd passed each day since he'd rode away on the back of Vasey's horse. Away from the dying woman, and her lover.
He groaned helplessly, and rolled back onto his side, fumbling frantically with one hand for a wineskin that was not empty. Marian was gone. More than that, the idea of Marian was gone. She'd never really cared for him, but had played him for the fool every step of the way, until that final moment when she'd brazenly laughed in his face, telling him she would rather die than be with him. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard her gasp as his sword thrust home, felt the hot blood pumping over his fingers.
"Oh, God." It was almost a prayer. His fingers felt twice their normal thickness as they found a skin that sloshed promisingly. Pulling it up, he tilted his head back and upended the skin over his mouth, splashing some of the wine down his stubble covered chin and under the collar of his filthy shirt. The wine tasted like ashes in his mouth.
His world had turned to ash. He gulped harder at the wine, seeking the welcome of oblivion.
~^~^~
"You killed me." There was no anger in her voice, just a cool statement of fact. She floated above him, ethereal and luminescent, her hair streaming out from her face to blow about about her shoulders as if there were a wind. Her white dress flowed as well as if a breeze moved it to shape and cling to her body. The white silk glowed in the moonlight, its color spoiled only by the dark scarlet rose spreading out from the point where his sword had pierced it. The sword was gone, but the rose remained.
"I'm sorry." There it was, out in the open. He'd regretted his action the second it had been too late. The white hot rage had vanished as quickly as it had come, but the fatal blow had already been dealt, and there was no way he could take it back. Or could he?
"I'm sorry," he repeated, knowing how lame it sounded, and yet so true. He stared at her face, smooth and perfect above him as she calmly stared back. She would forgive him, surely? Everything would be all right again. "I didn't mean it. Marian," he reached out his hand to stroke her porcelain cheek.
His hand passed through a wisp of ice cold air. "No, Guy," her voice was clear and firm even as she floated higher, fading, becoming translucent. "You may not touch me. Ever again."
"Marian please," he pulled his hand back, hoping it would bring her closer again. His fingers curled against his palm, imagining there were smaller, more slender fingers clasped inside them. "Everything I've done, it was all for you."
"For me," she repeated. "You burned down my home, for me. You tried to kill the king, for me. You ran me through with a sword and left me to die in the sand, for me." Again there was no anger in her cool voice.
"Yes. No." Guy rubbed his fingers across his forehead. He so desperately wanted her to understand, and yet right now he could not put anything into words that made sense.
She shook her head. "You want me to understand," she said, her voice becoming very soft as she echoed his thoughts. "And yet you understand so little." Her form started to spread, he could see straight through her as if she were a cloud, a vapor, fading from view.
"No, Marian, come back. Please." But he was staring only at a dark wall, alone.