New Fic: "Where Old Ghosts Meet" (2/5)
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!!
Guy stared at the ceiling above him. Funny, the clay looked more like wood. The wood lurched, as did the bed beneath him. Lurched upward and then back down. Guy groaned as the meager contents of his stomach lurched along with it. He sat up, and promptly cracked his head on the ceiling, which was much closer than it looked. Rubbing his head with one hand, he realized that it was not the ceiling after all, but a bunk bed. He grasped the edge and hauled himself carefully to his feet, groaning as the floor pitched beneath him again.
Supporting himself by leaning on the boards of the bunk, and bending his head to avoid the real ceiling which was still low, he carefully made his way to the door which seemed to be swinging in and out with each pitch. He pushed it open, and was met with an icy blast of wet wind. The stinging drops against his face revived him, and blinking, he realized for the first time that he was on a boat. He didn't remember getting on a boat. He didn't remember leaving his bed in the inn for that matter. He did remember Vasey threatening to have him carried onto the ship, and hoped against hope he'd somehow made it of his own volition.
Carefully, he crossed the wet boards of the deck to the rail on the far side. As he gripped the rail and looked down at the dark water, the ship pitched again, and the remnants of sour wine in his stomach made an abrupt exit. It occurred to him, as he stared at the white caps on the black water, that he probably should not be out on deck. He gripped the rail more tightly and leaned further over the edge, mesmerized by the foaming water. The sea spray plastered his hair down thickly onto his forehead and dripped into his eyes. Just a bit further, and the waves would reach up and swallow him, drag him down to the cool, clear depths...
"Exhilarating, is it not?"
He rocked back, staring in the direction of the voice that penetrated the wind. Marian was perched on the rail a few feet from him. She was wearing her night watchman's costume this time, with the vest hitched up to reveal her flat stomach and the matching wounds he'd given her on either side. Her cape and hair streamed out behind her, floating impossibly against the wind. She twirled the mask between her fingers.
"Yes," he answered slowly.
She smiled, and twirled the mask higher, swinging her legs against the railing. She was not actually sitting in it, he saw, but floating a few inches above. Her skin glowed as it had before, though there was scant moonlight. She seemed more solid this time, more real. He reached out his hand.
"No," she floated a short distance away, waggling her fingers in disapproval. He dropped his hand limply to his side.
"Why are you haunting me?" he asked, his eyes drifting from her face to the scars on her body.
"Haunting you?" She floated back, twirling the mask again.
"Isn't that what you are doing? You're dead. You are a ghost." It seemed perfectly logical to Guy, but then he was standing drunk on a deck of ship in a storm somewhere on the Mediterranean sea, having a calm conversation with the woman he had killed. He allowed for the fact that he just might not be thinking clearly.
She cocked her head considering. "You wanted us to be together," she said.
"Yes," he nodded. "But not like this. Marian." He took a step closer, and this time she held her position, as he kept his arms firmly at his side. "I'm sorry," he said again. Could he possibly say it enough? He drew a deep breath for the harder part. "Will you forgive me?"
Her body drifted away from the railing, out over the open sea. Slowly she lowered her legs so that her feet were barely grazing the foaming water. The water seemed to flow through them. She held out her hand, but not close enough to touch. "Come with me," she said. "And we'll be together."
~^~^~
The mate stood in the sheltered doorway of the main cabin, watching the storm and soothing his unhappy passenger. His main job this night, it seemed was to keep the sheriff of Nottingham away from the captain, so the captain could steer the ship safely through the rough sea. "Look," he said, nudging the sheriff's arm lightly and receiving a dirty look in return. "Your friend is awake."
The sheriff followed his gaze to where a figure dressed in black staggered across the deck, leaned over the rail and proceeded to vomit in to the sea. "Friend is a bit of an exaggeration," the sheriff said.
The mate squinted at the man on the far side of the ship who now seemed to be leaning perilously far over the edge of the rail. "What is he doing?"
The sheriff gave a dramatic sigh. "Not a clue. Fetch him inside before he drowns himself, hmm? There's a good lad." He swept past the mate into the cabin, pulling the door sharply shut behind him.
The mate crossed the treacherously wet deck to join the sheriff's man at the rail. The man was staring intently at a spot just above the side, and appeared to be talking to himself.
"... forgive me." the mate heard as he drew closer. The man began to lean out even further over the edge, lifting himself up slightly.
"Here!" The mate grabbed the man's arm, his fingers sliding in the wet leather. "Watch where you're going!"
Startled, the man slid away from the rail, slumping back against the mate, who grasped his shoulders to steady him. "Don't go," he whispered, continuing to stare out into the waves.
"I'm not going anywhere, my lord," the mate raised his voice above the building wind. "But you should come inside where it's safe." He wedged his hand firmly into the other man's elbow and steered him toward the cabin.
Inside the cabin, he pushed the man toward a chair, which he collapsed into bonelessly, his head drooping forward over his chest. The sheriff looked up from where he was sitting, wine cup in hand, and clicked his teeth "You'd best snap out of this by the time we get to Nottingham, Gisborne," he said.
Gisborne made no reply, only lowered his face to his hands.
"What's wrong with him?" the mate asked, curiously.
The sheriff rolled his eyes and took a sip of wine. "He's mourning a leper."
"A leper?" the mate took a step back, wiping his hands on his pants.
"She had a name." Gisborne's voice was muffled by his hands.
"And which name would that be? Hmm? Liar? Betrayer? Mrs Hood?" Vasey took another sip of wine and waited, but Gisborne did not rise to his bait. Vasey sighed. "Give him some wine," he said, gesturing to the flagon on the table. "He's more amusing when he's passed out."
Still wary about contact with lepers, the mate did as he was told and placed a cup in front of Gisborne, who took it silently and drained it in one gulp.
Vasey sighed dramatically. "This is going to be a long trip."
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)
Pairing: Guy/Marian Guy/Allan friendship
Summary: Following the events in Episodes 212 and 213. SPOILERS!!
Guy stared at the ceiling above him. Funny, the clay looked more like wood. The wood lurched, as did the bed beneath him. Lurched upward and then back down. Guy groaned as the meager contents of his stomach lurched along with it. He sat up, and promptly cracked his head on the ceiling, which was much closer than it looked. Rubbing his head with one hand, he realized that it was not the ceiling after all, but a bunk bed. He grasped the edge and hauled himself carefully to his feet, groaning as the floor pitched beneath him again.
Supporting himself by leaning on the boards of the bunk, and bending his head to avoid the real ceiling which was still low, he carefully made his way to the door which seemed to be swinging in and out with each pitch. He pushed it open, and was met with an icy blast of wet wind. The stinging drops against his face revived him, and blinking, he realized for the first time that he was on a boat. He didn't remember getting on a boat. He didn't remember leaving his bed in the inn for that matter. He did remember Vasey threatening to have him carried onto the ship, and hoped against hope he'd somehow made it of his own volition.
Carefully, he crossed the wet boards of the deck to the rail on the far side. As he gripped the rail and looked down at the dark water, the ship pitched again, and the remnants of sour wine in his stomach made an abrupt exit. It occurred to him, as he stared at the white caps on the black water, that he probably should not be out on deck. He gripped the rail more tightly and leaned further over the edge, mesmerized by the foaming water. The sea spray plastered his hair down thickly onto his forehead and dripped into his eyes. Just a bit further, and the waves would reach up and swallow him, drag him down to the cool, clear depths...
"Exhilarating, is it not?"
He rocked back, staring in the direction of the voice that penetrated the wind. Marian was perched on the rail a few feet from him. She was wearing her night watchman's costume this time, with the vest hitched up to reveal her flat stomach and the matching wounds he'd given her on either side. Her cape and hair streamed out behind her, floating impossibly against the wind. She twirled the mask between her fingers.
"Yes," he answered slowly.
She smiled, and twirled the mask higher, swinging her legs against the railing. She was not actually sitting in it, he saw, but floating a few inches above. Her skin glowed as it had before, though there was scant moonlight. She seemed more solid this time, more real. He reached out his hand.
"No," she floated a short distance away, waggling her fingers in disapproval. He dropped his hand limply to his side.
"Why are you haunting me?" he asked, his eyes drifting from her face to the scars on her body.
"Haunting you?" She floated back, twirling the mask again.
"Isn't that what you are doing? You're dead. You are a ghost." It seemed perfectly logical to Guy, but then he was standing drunk on a deck of ship in a storm somewhere on the Mediterranean sea, having a calm conversation with the woman he had killed. He allowed for the fact that he just might not be thinking clearly.
She cocked her head considering. "You wanted us to be together," she said.
"Yes," he nodded. "But not like this. Marian." He took a step closer, and this time she held her position, as he kept his arms firmly at his side. "I'm sorry," he said again. Could he possibly say it enough? He drew a deep breath for the harder part. "Will you forgive me?"
Her body drifted away from the railing, out over the open sea. Slowly she lowered her legs so that her feet were barely grazing the foaming water. The water seemed to flow through them. She held out her hand, but not close enough to touch. "Come with me," she said. "And we'll be together."
~^~^~
The mate stood in the sheltered doorway of the main cabin, watching the storm and soothing his unhappy passenger. His main job this night, it seemed was to keep the sheriff of Nottingham away from the captain, so the captain could steer the ship safely through the rough sea. "Look," he said, nudging the sheriff's arm lightly and receiving a dirty look in return. "Your friend is awake."
The sheriff followed his gaze to where a figure dressed in black staggered across the deck, leaned over the rail and proceeded to vomit in to the sea. "Friend is a bit of an exaggeration," the sheriff said.
The mate squinted at the man on the far side of the ship who now seemed to be leaning perilously far over the edge of the rail. "What is he doing?"
The sheriff gave a dramatic sigh. "Not a clue. Fetch him inside before he drowns himself, hmm? There's a good lad." He swept past the mate into the cabin, pulling the door sharply shut behind him.
The mate crossed the treacherously wet deck to join the sheriff's man at the rail. The man was staring intently at a spot just above the side, and appeared to be talking to himself.
"... forgive me." the mate heard as he drew closer. The man began to lean out even further over the edge, lifting himself up slightly.
"Here!" The mate grabbed the man's arm, his fingers sliding in the wet leather. "Watch where you're going!"
Startled, the man slid away from the rail, slumping back against the mate, who grasped his shoulders to steady him. "Don't go," he whispered, continuing to stare out into the waves.
"I'm not going anywhere, my lord," the mate raised his voice above the building wind. "But you should come inside where it's safe." He wedged his hand firmly into the other man's elbow and steered him toward the cabin.
Inside the cabin, he pushed the man toward a chair, which he collapsed into bonelessly, his head drooping forward over his chest. The sheriff looked up from where he was sitting, wine cup in hand, and clicked his teeth "You'd best snap out of this by the time we get to Nottingham, Gisborne," he said.
Gisborne made no reply, only lowered his face to his hands.
"What's wrong with him?" the mate asked, curiously.
The sheriff rolled his eyes and took a sip of wine. "He's mourning a leper."
"A leper?" the mate took a step back, wiping his hands on his pants.
"She had a name." Gisborne's voice was muffled by his hands.
"And which name would that be? Hmm? Liar? Betrayer? Mrs Hood?" Vasey took another sip of wine and waited, but Gisborne did not rise to his bait. Vasey sighed. "Give him some wine," he said, gesturing to the flagon on the table. "He's more amusing when he's passed out."
Still wary about contact with lepers, the mate did as he was told and placed a cup in front of Gisborne, who took it silently and drained it in one gulp.
Vasey sighed dramatically. "This is going to be a long trip."