Precious Things DVD Commentary
This was requested by kat_lair like ages ago. I'm going to do this in very short parts whenever I get the inspiration. So don't expect too much at one go.
Also because the story is huge, I've only done the commentary in the beggining of each section, instead of putting it inbetween paragraphs. Hope this is not too much of an inconvenience. Also I think I'm really not very eloquent in this......
Commentary in italics, the rest indented. 'nuff said.
This entire story was born from my need to have some seriousness (because I am inherently uptight) and some sex (because I was horny at the time) in Robin Hood. It was written between several episodes and the story line changes as new things were introduced in the show, and some of them were actually incorporated into the plot. So this is not complete AU, even though it’s pretty out there.
Precious Things
I bleed but I'm choosing you again
I'm done but I'm ready to begin
- Elisa, the Wave
Running after the rain
These precious things
Let them bleed
Let them wash away
These precious things let them break
Their hold over me
- Tori Amos, Precious Things
You can’t really write about Marian without including something about Robin. So it was natural for her to be looking for him. It was natural to write her expecting Robin as her rescuer. But she is also angry at him, and she does not like his choices.
I don’t like writing rape, or non-con of any kind. I think that might show through in this sequence. I did not want to go into detail, and there has been some confusion to the fact if Marian was indeed raped. I wanted it to only be an attempt, because the idea of a raped woman having sex couple of hours after is insulting and ridiculous and disgusting. (At least it is to me!)
I wanted to make it as disorienting to the reader as it is for Marian, I don’t know how well that really worked, but as much as I disliked writing this, I think it works okay.
I felt it was important for later plot reasons to set up Guy’s horror at the events. He is a cruel man and he has no problem killing or wounding the men. But he does not tolerate violence to women, at least towards noble women. This was my way of getting beyond the thug image of him.
i.
The breath of the horse ghosted in the air, mingling with the thick mist. Marian’s hands pulled on the reins, forcing the beast’s head to the side. In her heart she knew she was lost, but her head still refused to face the truth. She searched for familiar sights between the trees and tried to listen. But the forest was still and the leaves shivered against one another. The horse was beginning to feel her panic and its hooves clattered against the hard ground.
She needed Robin now, needed someone to tell her that her father would be better. His return from war had let a faint hope into her heart. He had given them the backing of a real title and real royal blood. But now Robin had disappeared into the forest like a thief in the night and left her and her father to fend for themselves. She understood his reasons, even respected them, but right now she could do nothing but hate Robin of Locksley. Why could he not be here when her father was dying? The rattle of his breath still rang in her ears and made her fury so much greater. Harshly she pulled on the reins commanding the horse to move down valley.
The trees were huge, thick trunks obstructing the final thin rays of the sun. Suddenly the leaves shook violently and men rose from the undergrowth. Her stomach rolled with relief and she urged her horse towards them.
Since childhood Marian had been taught to expect the unknown, expect the impossible. Her safe and secure life had been pulled away from her so many times she thought herself impervious to surprises. But as the large man she did not know grasped a hold of her horse’s reins, and pulled her off with a sudden jerk, the unexpected happened again; once again leaving Marian unawares.
Their rough laughter rung in her ears, and the grubby hands travelling over her body soiled her dress. The edges of the hair pin pressed into her hand, creating little flower impressions on the inside of her palm. As a hand forced its way on her breast she struck out. The thin blade hit the face of man on her left, it sunk into his eye. Thick blood spilled over her fist and someone punched her in the face making her fall to the ground. The earth was loose and she could not breathe. A foot pressed down on her back and she could hear them calling her a bitch amidst the screams. The earth shook as the man she had stabbed fell down. She could see him convulsing on the ground, not too far away from her. The side of his face was covered in blood and puss. Then she felt a hand in her hair, pulling her backwards.
“Now, you little whore!”
She could feel the man’s spit on the back of her neck, and Marian fought like never before. Forgotten were the starving poor and the dead of last year’s winter as the muddy ground clogged in her throat like ash she screamed into the endless forest. She could see the row of their feet and badly crafted boots round her and portly hands squeezed her ankles until they were numb. She knew their faces in a distant sort of way. They were the brothers and sons of her countrymen, but none of them looked her in the face. The man pulled on her braided hair and forced her legs apart. She screamed and thought about the end. An arrow whizzed through the air, and the pull on her hair disappeared. Marian prayed upon the familiar sounds as she lay on the ground; on the drawing of a sword and clatter of hooves. She clawed on the ground, the earth loose and thick between her fingers. Then the men ran and screamed. She felt the horse gallop past her and heard the blade sinking into flesh, but she could not look.
And then she was alone with sound of her breathing, a harsh painful sound in the cold air. She looked up with his name on her lips, but the face of her rescuer was not familiar or dear. His horse threw its head about, clamouring for more battle. She could see the fine sheen of blood on the blade of his sword dripping in the sodden leaves on the ground. Slowly Guy of Gisborne dismounted. He let his sword drop on the ground and approached with halting steps. She could read the horror on his face, but her body was frozen, unable to cover her bleeding knees or bared shoulders. He kneeled by her, his hands reaching out, but never quite touching. He said nothing and she found the silence strangely comforting. Her hands stung fiercely and she stretched open her cramped fist. The knuckles were torn and bruised and she started to cry, thick wailing sobs filling the clearing.
His hands felt heavy and huge on her shoulders, and she flinched away as he placed his heavy coat over her. The leather felt awkward and she could not stop sobbing. Hastily he pulled his hands away, lifting his palms up in surrender.
I know it’s very unlikely that any of Robin’s men would actually try and rape Marian, but it’s a plot device. So live with it. My reasoning was that not all of the men were there for Robin, not loyal to him per say. Some of them would be there just because there is nowhere else to be.
Okay, the hunting lodge in the biggest cicklit cliché in existence. It really is, but it’s also very effective way of getting two people together without any outside influences and that’s what I needed. In theory Guy would have taken her home, so I set the scene at evening, I needed there to be a reason to go to the lodge instead of ride back to Nottingham. I still think the exchange is a bit wooden, but alas, I had to content myself with it.
In the end Marian is beginning to crack. I wanted her independence to come in to question, not so much from Guy but from herself.
ii.
She stumbled on the uneven ground in her haste to get to the body. It had rolled down the slope during the fight. The side of his face where her pin had struck him was bloated and blood covered. The healthy eye stared at her with the still gaze of the dead, but Marian could not feel any pity for this man. She knelt down and rummaged in the front of the man’s shirt. Gisborne stood behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword as if the dead man would rise and attempt to hurt her anew. Marian felt no such fear from the dead, now she only wanted certainty of the men who had disappeared into the forest. The tiny piece of wood was flimsy and light against her palm. She pulled the pendant from around the man’s neck and dangled it against the dying sunlight. It twirled in her hand like a little trinket.
“What is it?”
His voice was tense and Marian fought the tears that threatened to return.
“This mark is worn by all of Robin’s men; that is how they know one another. They knew me. They knew who I was.”
She squeezed the wood against her sore palm. Gisborne knelt next to her and tilted the man’s face towards him with a gloved hand and her voice was barely above a whisper right beside his face:
“I wonder if they watched me, if they thought and planned this. Or was it just chance that I came their way? Did they watch me and think to themselves: I shall take her. Is that not what you men think?”
He would not look at her, but she knew he had heard her question. He let go of the man’s face suddenly, as if it had burned his fingers through the leather.
“Some do My Lady.”
She nodded and threw the wooden plate into the woods.
“We need to leave. The sun will set soon and it will get very cold.”
He offered his hand to help her up, but still he would not touch her directly, not after she had flinched away from him.
“Go where? We cannot ride to Nottingham before the nightfall. There is nothing here.”
“There is a secluded hunting lodge not too far away from here. I was hunting deer, when I heard you.”
She reached out for his hand, gripping his fingers with her own.
“Thank you.”
He said nothing, but grasped her hand harder and helped her up.
The movement of the horse was fluid beneath them and every step jolted her sore legs. She had never been this close to Guy of Gisborne. Her body in his coat and face pressed against his shoulder. The trees passed her by, leaves and branches catching hold of the sleeves. The woods were darkening fast around them, and soon Marian could no longer see the trees surrounding her.
The cabin was well hidden underneath two huge oaks. The log walls were still rough under her hands as she ran her fingers over the wood, not yet worn by the winter rains. Gisborne took his horse into a small make-shift pen in the back and tied it up for the night. She watched his motions, his steady hands as he groomed the beast and she found she could breathe a little easier. Marian had never been the sort of maiden to be rescued, she had never admired the skills of the Knights or Lords in the tournament; she had never needed to. Now she could still hear Gisborne’s sword in her ears, forever burned in her mind.
The cabin was very small, with a small hearth and a berth against the back wall, with a thin mattress and a mountain of furs. He shoved a few new logs into the embers and slowly the fire lit up the small room. He stood stiff by the flames and the glow threw strange shadows over his face.
I wanted there to be a contrast between Guy and the other men. For me it was important to show how disgusted he was and how shaken he is by Marian’s accusation.
“Guy of Gisborne was not an honourable man; he was not even a gentleman. But he was a gentle man, at least for now. For her. “
At this passage my beta noted that the attraction of evil men is that when they are good, you know that they are good for you, and that is incredibly flattering. I think here Marian begins to understand that goodness is not a trait but a choice. And it is a choice Guy is making for her.
This is the point where Marin starts to see him differently. He is such a contrast to Robin by association. The actions of the men in the woods have tainted Robin in her eyes and through that Guy gets a chance with her.
iii.
She let the water run down her legs. The little droplets caught in the scratches and cuts and then fell onto the wooden floor. After a while she could not distinguish between her tears and the water. The bowl rested on the floor by her feet and the water was already tinted red, but she did not see any of this.
“Marian.”
His voice was joined by the creak of the door. His body was strained towards her, as he could not hold himself away.
“Are you all right?”
She squeezed the rag once more and pressed the hard cloth against a cut by her knee.
“No. I am not.”
He walked closer with halting steps and kneeled yet again by her side. He took the rag from her lifeless fingers and ran it over the cut with gentleness she could never have imagined him capable of. But she felt hateful.
“What are you thinking, Sir Guy? Do you find this enticing?”
His jaw tightened and the softness of his eyes disappeared again behind his mask of indifference.
“Unlike some of my countrymen I do not find the sight of a woman in distress arousing.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her lashes sticking together from the tears. She felt like her heart would burst out of her chest and leave her empty and vacant. Maybe it would be better. Anything would be better than this hopeless fear and loathing. He made a move to rise and desperately she grasped to his wrist.
“Don’t go. I need you to stay.”
He was frozen in place and Marian thought she would die. Her fingernails left deep grooves on his skin where she squeezed his wrist and slowly he settled back down on the floor. He would not look at her anymore, even when his hands slid over the cuts and bruises and Marian felt shaken. She had pushed blame where none was deserved. Guy of Gisborne was not an honourable man; he was not even a gentleman. But he was a gentle man, at least for now. For her. She was starting to understand the distinction. Much later she was finally ready to say the words to him.
“I am sorry for what I said. Before.”
He nodded; eyes still fixed to some far away point in the pitch black horizon. He had given her the one shirt he had carried with him on his hunting trip and it hung almost to her knees. Marian had managed to salvage most of her dress. With the rope from her belt she had tied the torn shoulders, but the hem was ruined. It hung in limp soiled strips around her feet.
“I know why you said what you said. And I do deserve it. We all do. All of us men.”
“You do not.”
She looked past him, into the darkness and tried to find with her eyes what he was seeing.
“How do you know?”
He nearly choked on the words and they hung between them for a long time. Marian thought she could feel the darkness beginning to creep into the little hut. She moved past him and pulled the door into its latch.
“Because I am not afraid of you.”
This bit was a bit cagey because I know what I needed to accomplish. Marian needed to be the one making the choice, making the request, the one driving the action. My beta just went: “Ohhh, she’s such a player”, which I hadn’t really considered at the time, but I think it’s true. Marian is playing him expertly. I don’t even think that she realizes how well she is manipulating him.
Again I think the dialogue is a bit bulky and abrupt, but the truth is I just wanted to get to the sex. Everything else is just icing. I wrote this piece because I really wanted Guy and Marian to get it on, and because I have plot issues; I had to wrap the whole experience into this angst and consciousness fest.
But even though I don’t like the dialogue, I love this line:
“Deny me in my request if you do not want me. Deny me if you feel that I will compromise your honour, but do not deny me because you fear for mine.”
I just thought it was such a movie line, and I could hear the girl that plays Marian delivering it really well.
ix.
She woke up screaming to the feel of earth slowly filling her throat. The flames of the fire had died and the dark glow of the embers filler the small room again. He was already on his feet from the chair sword in hand. In the darkness his eyes seemed almost soft. Marian fought herself out from underneath the furs pushing her way outside. The early morning was still dark and the air biting cold. Soft petals of frost were visible in the shaft of light from the doorway. His form eclipsed their glow as he followed her outside.
“Marian, what do you fear so?”
She found the sound of her name from his lips soothing.
“I fear the earth. I feel it in my mouth; stopping my breath. I fear that the ground will shallow me whole and I will be forever lost. I dream that I will be buried alive.”
He stood right behind her, the warmth of his skin radiating through their clothing. He palmed her arm softly and she wanted to fall back against him and never rise.
“Come back inside. It’s so cold out here.”
“I like the cold. It numbs the pain.”
And then she allowed herself to fall. His chest was warm from sleep and his palm froze on her arm. For a moment she though he would pull away; leave her alone in the cold and her heart contracted at the thought. But then he pressed against her back, arms wrapping themselves around her middle. His nose was cold against the bare skin of her shoulder, but his lips were warm. He breathed her in as if he could not help himself and some of the rage in Marian died.
“I am no better than them. I cannot help myself but want to hold you.”
She felt his words travel over her skin, wrapping themselves in her flesh, becoming part of her as they stood together in the cold night.
“You are nothing like them.”
Her fingers found their way around his wrist, soothing over the raised nail marks of her own causing.
“There is nothing in me that you would take without my consent.”
She felt the words in her mouth, the familiar shape of them. She had said them to herself so many times, over and over in the silence of her own room. Now they came tumbling out in the night, with his breath in her ears.
“Even if you would never need consent. It is the only thing of value I own, my maidenhead, but it is also the one thing that holds me prisoner. Men will fight for me because of it. I can be sold and bough because of it. Without it I am worth nothing, but I would be free.”
He went rigid at her words, his hands freezing on her waist, but Marian would not let go of his wrists, holding him prisoner in their embrace.
“And I want to give it to you.”
His chin scratched her and in her mind Marian could imagine his closed yes and drawn face.
“I cannot, Lady Marian. You do not want me and I will not take anything from you which you do not want to give.”
He shook his head, adamant in his words, but she captured his face in her hand and forced him to be still.
“Listen to me, Guy of Gisborne. I am asking you. No one has ever taught me how to want this. I do not know what I am supposed to feel. But I know I do not want what happened to me in that forest. So I am asking you to show me.”
Her hands travelled on his face, fingertips ghosting over the sharp stubble and soft and vulnerable skin around his eyes.
“Deny me in my request if you do not want me. Deny me if you feel that I will compromise your honour, but do not deny me because you fear for mine.”
Okay, I’m not an expert smut writer even though almost all of my fics are totally adult and totally dirty. I always have huge issues with writing sex, because I’m always afraid of sounding like a women’s lit schoomp. I don’t know if I’ve managed to avoid that (I think not). And I do want to write good sex for my people. Because it’s not about realism, or truth, but about fiction and in fiction Marian can have a fucking awesome first time.
I wanted it to be romantic, because as much as it is about Marian having to do it, needing to have some control over her life, it’s also about romance and Guy wanting to worship her this one chance he gets. And I wanted it to contrast very strongly with the rape scene. Not only in description, but in the way the power-play between them works. It’s important that Guy chooses the location, but it is Marian’s choice to come to him and to instigate the sex.
The marriage metaphor was very important for me, because it’s technically what Marian is doing, she is soiling herself for any kind of wedded bliss, and she wants this to be the wedding night she will never get. I never intended it to be about love, just about this mutual need and understanding. And that is why she leaves in the morning; she can’t let herself be happy with him, to live in the moment. I think she is far too noble for her own good.
x.
She sat on the edge of the thin mattress, hand smoothing the fabric of her torn dress over her knees. The furs and their suffocating warmth did not invite her, but she would go if he wanted her to. He latched the door and the light of the moon was locked out and the warm glow of the ashes was their only light. But he would not come to her, seating himself in the armchair beside the fire. His voice was barely above a whisper again and she had never heard it quite like that before.
“Come to the warmth, Marian.”
His fingers laced between her own and helped her climb over him, both of her knees sinking into the malleable leather. She slid down his legs until there was not even an inch between them. She felt him hard and insistent against her; pressing in places she would never even let her own hands travel. She fought the little breaths and the sighs her toes curling against the leather. His hands travelled on her back; long strokes and the rough linen made her skin feel on fire. He would not kiss her, his lips just barely out of reach. He chanted her name like it was the Lords prayer; reverently and silently. Marian Marian Marian.
Finally she let her knees clamp against his sides and pushed herself against his hardness. The linen was rough and hard against her and she closed her eyes, willing the pain and pleasure to pass. She could not help her movements and Marian feared she would rub herself raw. But slowly his hands slid over her thighs and around her hips; thumbs gently stroking the bone, fingers slowly sliding between her and the fabric. And oh God how she wanted this; it was as if someone had poured oil into her and it was now spilling over. Gently he pushed against her, fingers sliding in and she could not breathe.
His hands guided her then, up up, until her stomach was resting against his chest. Her knees ached from the pressure, but the pain was a mere sliver in her mind. The soft and unyielding rhythm of his fingers was consuming her mind and she could feel her legs starting to shake. And then they were gone and she wanted to cry in their absence.
His fingers travelled up her leg, slowly, and then spread her open like she had never felt before, stretched and vulnerable. His other hand guided her down, and she would not close her eyes. She wanted to see this, see his face. He was huge and like silk against her and Marian was so hungry for this. With fury, unknown to her before, she pushed down and was suddenly being torn open, cloven in two. Marian though there would never be anything more wonderful than this moment. She pushed her knees against the leather and whispered his name, and finally understood the revered tone she had heard in his voice.
His hands lost their gentleness against her back and moved her with a rage matching her own. She cried and shouted and bit his shoulder, and the pleasure in her would not stop. And then his fierce fingers were back between them and her entire body exploded, as if someone had sent the oil on fire. He pushed, short and sharp into her and shuddered. Whispering her name like Amen.
His fingers loosened their hold on her shoulder blade and travelled into her hair, brushing it away from her face. His mouth was soft and open beneath her own as he kissed her, and Marian felt like she had just entered into a holy agreement, consummated something sacred. Let no man put asunder.
She woke up next to him among the furs. He had carried her to bed after and she remembered pulling of her dress and throwing it to the floor. He was still beside her, his arms warm and tight around her. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to wake up like this every morning; would she be content or would his arms become stifling over time? She pushed the thoughts to the back of her head. Something like this could never happen again. It had been her one indulgence and her one trespass. Her morbid thoughts seemed awake him and the stubble of his jaw slid over her shoulder and made her shiver.
“Are you cold?”
His voice was rough and almost a whisper and she shook her head. She once more found his hands circling her waist with her fingers. It was the comfort of his touch, that made her rise, and detangle herself from his embrace. She could not afford to lose her heart to this; she could not live with the sorrow. He seemed to understand her need for distance and did not follow her. She dressed mechanically, ignoring the gaze she could feel burning into her back.
The air was still cold outside, but the morning sun was already warming the forest. Her horse stood docile by the pen, picking the short blades of grass with its lips. She could fee Guy behind her, his chest nearly touching her back.
“Horses are very smart. They can follow their master for miles and miles and they will know when you have stopped even if they cannot see you.”
She grasped his hand, squeezing the fingers tightly in her own. How she wanted to stay here, in this isolation and peace. Here where he did not feel like her enemy; where they did not have to speak as society demanded of them.
“I have to leave, I have to return to my father and see to his wellbeing.”
“I know. I will take you to the edge of the village. There is no need for the questions or gossip my presence would bring upon you.”
Then she prayed, silently in her mind, like she had not done since she was a little girl. Please, O Lord, let me not remember the parting. Let me only remember the time here, and how happy I have been for such a short time.
The story could have technically ended here, but then the hair thing happened and I just had to go on.
TBC
Also because the story is huge, I've only done the commentary in the beggining of each section, instead of putting it inbetween paragraphs. Hope this is not too much of an inconvenience. Also I think I'm really not very eloquent in this......
Commentary in italics, the rest indented. 'nuff said.
This entire story was born from my need to have some seriousness (because I am inherently uptight) and some sex (because I was horny at the time) in Robin Hood. It was written between several episodes and the story line changes as new things were introduced in the show, and some of them were actually incorporated into the plot. So this is not complete AU, even though it’s pretty out there.
Precious Things
I bleed but I'm choosing you again
I'm done but I'm ready to begin
- Elisa, the Wave
Running after the rain
These precious things
Let them bleed
Let them wash away
These precious things let them break
Their hold over me
- Tori Amos, Precious Things
You can’t really write about Marian without including something about Robin. So it was natural for her to be looking for him. It was natural to write her expecting Robin as her rescuer. But she is also angry at him, and she does not like his choices.
I don’t like writing rape, or non-con of any kind. I think that might show through in this sequence. I did not want to go into detail, and there has been some confusion to the fact if Marian was indeed raped. I wanted it to only be an attempt, because the idea of a raped woman having sex couple of hours after is insulting and ridiculous and disgusting. (At least it is to me!)
I wanted to make it as disorienting to the reader as it is for Marian, I don’t know how well that really worked, but as much as I disliked writing this, I think it works okay.
I felt it was important for later plot reasons to set up Guy’s horror at the events. He is a cruel man and he has no problem killing or wounding the men. But he does not tolerate violence to women, at least towards noble women. This was my way of getting beyond the thug image of him.
i.
The breath of the horse ghosted in the air, mingling with the thick mist. Marian’s hands pulled on the reins, forcing the beast’s head to the side. In her heart she knew she was lost, but her head still refused to face the truth. She searched for familiar sights between the trees and tried to listen. But the forest was still and the leaves shivered against one another. The horse was beginning to feel her panic and its hooves clattered against the hard ground.
She needed Robin now, needed someone to tell her that her father would be better. His return from war had let a faint hope into her heart. He had given them the backing of a real title and real royal blood. But now Robin had disappeared into the forest like a thief in the night and left her and her father to fend for themselves. She understood his reasons, even respected them, but right now she could do nothing but hate Robin of Locksley. Why could he not be here when her father was dying? The rattle of his breath still rang in her ears and made her fury so much greater. Harshly she pulled on the reins commanding the horse to move down valley.
The trees were huge, thick trunks obstructing the final thin rays of the sun. Suddenly the leaves shook violently and men rose from the undergrowth. Her stomach rolled with relief and she urged her horse towards them.
Since childhood Marian had been taught to expect the unknown, expect the impossible. Her safe and secure life had been pulled away from her so many times she thought herself impervious to surprises. But as the large man she did not know grasped a hold of her horse’s reins, and pulled her off with a sudden jerk, the unexpected happened again; once again leaving Marian unawares.
Their rough laughter rung in her ears, and the grubby hands travelling over her body soiled her dress. The edges of the hair pin pressed into her hand, creating little flower impressions on the inside of her palm. As a hand forced its way on her breast she struck out. The thin blade hit the face of man on her left, it sunk into his eye. Thick blood spilled over her fist and someone punched her in the face making her fall to the ground. The earth was loose and she could not breathe. A foot pressed down on her back and she could hear them calling her a bitch amidst the screams. The earth shook as the man she had stabbed fell down. She could see him convulsing on the ground, not too far away from her. The side of his face was covered in blood and puss. Then she felt a hand in her hair, pulling her backwards.
“Now, you little whore!”
She could feel the man’s spit on the back of her neck, and Marian fought like never before. Forgotten were the starving poor and the dead of last year’s winter as the muddy ground clogged in her throat like ash she screamed into the endless forest. She could see the row of their feet and badly crafted boots round her and portly hands squeezed her ankles until they were numb. She knew their faces in a distant sort of way. They were the brothers and sons of her countrymen, but none of them looked her in the face. The man pulled on her braided hair and forced her legs apart. She screamed and thought about the end. An arrow whizzed through the air, and the pull on her hair disappeared. Marian prayed upon the familiar sounds as she lay on the ground; on the drawing of a sword and clatter of hooves. She clawed on the ground, the earth loose and thick between her fingers. Then the men ran and screamed. She felt the horse gallop past her and heard the blade sinking into flesh, but she could not look.
And then she was alone with sound of her breathing, a harsh painful sound in the cold air. She looked up with his name on her lips, but the face of her rescuer was not familiar or dear. His horse threw its head about, clamouring for more battle. She could see the fine sheen of blood on the blade of his sword dripping in the sodden leaves on the ground. Slowly Guy of Gisborne dismounted. He let his sword drop on the ground and approached with halting steps. She could read the horror on his face, but her body was frozen, unable to cover her bleeding knees or bared shoulders. He kneeled by her, his hands reaching out, but never quite touching. He said nothing and she found the silence strangely comforting. Her hands stung fiercely and she stretched open her cramped fist. The knuckles were torn and bruised and she started to cry, thick wailing sobs filling the clearing.
His hands felt heavy and huge on her shoulders, and she flinched away as he placed his heavy coat over her. The leather felt awkward and she could not stop sobbing. Hastily he pulled his hands away, lifting his palms up in surrender.
I know it’s very unlikely that any of Robin’s men would actually try and rape Marian, but it’s a plot device. So live with it. My reasoning was that not all of the men were there for Robin, not loyal to him per say. Some of them would be there just because there is nowhere else to be.
Okay, the hunting lodge in the biggest cicklit cliché in existence. It really is, but it’s also very effective way of getting two people together without any outside influences and that’s what I needed. In theory Guy would have taken her home, so I set the scene at evening, I needed there to be a reason to go to the lodge instead of ride back to Nottingham. I still think the exchange is a bit wooden, but alas, I had to content myself with it.
In the end Marian is beginning to crack. I wanted her independence to come in to question, not so much from Guy but from herself.
ii.
She stumbled on the uneven ground in her haste to get to the body. It had rolled down the slope during the fight. The side of his face where her pin had struck him was bloated and blood covered. The healthy eye stared at her with the still gaze of the dead, but Marian could not feel any pity for this man. She knelt down and rummaged in the front of the man’s shirt. Gisborne stood behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword as if the dead man would rise and attempt to hurt her anew. Marian felt no such fear from the dead, now she only wanted certainty of the men who had disappeared into the forest. The tiny piece of wood was flimsy and light against her palm. She pulled the pendant from around the man’s neck and dangled it against the dying sunlight. It twirled in her hand like a little trinket.
“What is it?”
His voice was tense and Marian fought the tears that threatened to return.
“This mark is worn by all of Robin’s men; that is how they know one another. They knew me. They knew who I was.”
She squeezed the wood against her sore palm. Gisborne knelt next to her and tilted the man’s face towards him with a gloved hand and her voice was barely above a whisper right beside his face:
“I wonder if they watched me, if they thought and planned this. Or was it just chance that I came their way? Did they watch me and think to themselves: I shall take her. Is that not what you men think?”
He would not look at her, but she knew he had heard her question. He let go of the man’s face suddenly, as if it had burned his fingers through the leather.
“Some do My Lady.”
She nodded and threw the wooden plate into the woods.
“We need to leave. The sun will set soon and it will get very cold.”
He offered his hand to help her up, but still he would not touch her directly, not after she had flinched away from him.
“Go where? We cannot ride to Nottingham before the nightfall. There is nothing here.”
“There is a secluded hunting lodge not too far away from here. I was hunting deer, when I heard you.”
She reached out for his hand, gripping his fingers with her own.
“Thank you.”
He said nothing, but grasped her hand harder and helped her up.
The movement of the horse was fluid beneath them and every step jolted her sore legs. She had never been this close to Guy of Gisborne. Her body in his coat and face pressed against his shoulder. The trees passed her by, leaves and branches catching hold of the sleeves. The woods were darkening fast around them, and soon Marian could no longer see the trees surrounding her.
The cabin was well hidden underneath two huge oaks. The log walls were still rough under her hands as she ran her fingers over the wood, not yet worn by the winter rains. Gisborne took his horse into a small make-shift pen in the back and tied it up for the night. She watched his motions, his steady hands as he groomed the beast and she found she could breathe a little easier. Marian had never been the sort of maiden to be rescued, she had never admired the skills of the Knights or Lords in the tournament; she had never needed to. Now she could still hear Gisborne’s sword in her ears, forever burned in her mind.
The cabin was very small, with a small hearth and a berth against the back wall, with a thin mattress and a mountain of furs. He shoved a few new logs into the embers and slowly the fire lit up the small room. He stood stiff by the flames and the glow threw strange shadows over his face.
I wanted there to be a contrast between Guy and the other men. For me it was important to show how disgusted he was and how shaken he is by Marian’s accusation.
“Guy of Gisborne was not an honourable man; he was not even a gentleman. But he was a gentle man, at least for now. For her. “
At this passage my beta noted that the attraction of evil men is that when they are good, you know that they are good for you, and that is incredibly flattering. I think here Marian begins to understand that goodness is not a trait but a choice. And it is a choice Guy is making for her.
This is the point where Marin starts to see him differently. He is such a contrast to Robin by association. The actions of the men in the woods have tainted Robin in her eyes and through that Guy gets a chance with her.
iii.
She let the water run down her legs. The little droplets caught in the scratches and cuts and then fell onto the wooden floor. After a while she could not distinguish between her tears and the water. The bowl rested on the floor by her feet and the water was already tinted red, but she did not see any of this.
“Marian.”
His voice was joined by the creak of the door. His body was strained towards her, as he could not hold himself away.
“Are you all right?”
She squeezed the rag once more and pressed the hard cloth against a cut by her knee.
“No. I am not.”
He walked closer with halting steps and kneeled yet again by her side. He took the rag from her lifeless fingers and ran it over the cut with gentleness she could never have imagined him capable of. But she felt hateful.
“What are you thinking, Sir Guy? Do you find this enticing?”
His jaw tightened and the softness of his eyes disappeared again behind his mask of indifference.
“Unlike some of my countrymen I do not find the sight of a woman in distress arousing.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her lashes sticking together from the tears. She felt like her heart would burst out of her chest and leave her empty and vacant. Maybe it would be better. Anything would be better than this hopeless fear and loathing. He made a move to rise and desperately she grasped to his wrist.
“Don’t go. I need you to stay.”
He was frozen in place and Marian thought she would die. Her fingernails left deep grooves on his skin where she squeezed his wrist and slowly he settled back down on the floor. He would not look at her anymore, even when his hands slid over the cuts and bruises and Marian felt shaken. She had pushed blame where none was deserved. Guy of Gisborne was not an honourable man; he was not even a gentleman. But he was a gentle man, at least for now. For her. She was starting to understand the distinction. Much later she was finally ready to say the words to him.
“I am sorry for what I said. Before.”
He nodded; eyes still fixed to some far away point in the pitch black horizon. He had given her the one shirt he had carried with him on his hunting trip and it hung almost to her knees. Marian had managed to salvage most of her dress. With the rope from her belt she had tied the torn shoulders, but the hem was ruined. It hung in limp soiled strips around her feet.
“I know why you said what you said. And I do deserve it. We all do. All of us men.”
“You do not.”
She looked past him, into the darkness and tried to find with her eyes what he was seeing.
“How do you know?”
He nearly choked on the words and they hung between them for a long time. Marian thought she could feel the darkness beginning to creep into the little hut. She moved past him and pulled the door into its latch.
“Because I am not afraid of you.”
This bit was a bit cagey because I know what I needed to accomplish. Marian needed to be the one making the choice, making the request, the one driving the action. My beta just went: “Ohhh, she’s such a player”, which I hadn’t really considered at the time, but I think it’s true. Marian is playing him expertly. I don’t even think that she realizes how well she is manipulating him.
Again I think the dialogue is a bit bulky and abrupt, but the truth is I just wanted to get to the sex. Everything else is just icing. I wrote this piece because I really wanted Guy and Marian to get it on, and because I have plot issues; I had to wrap the whole experience into this angst and consciousness fest.
But even though I don’t like the dialogue, I love this line:
“Deny me in my request if you do not want me. Deny me if you feel that I will compromise your honour, but do not deny me because you fear for mine.”
I just thought it was such a movie line, and I could hear the girl that plays Marian delivering it really well.
ix.
She woke up screaming to the feel of earth slowly filling her throat. The flames of the fire had died and the dark glow of the embers filler the small room again. He was already on his feet from the chair sword in hand. In the darkness his eyes seemed almost soft. Marian fought herself out from underneath the furs pushing her way outside. The early morning was still dark and the air biting cold. Soft petals of frost were visible in the shaft of light from the doorway. His form eclipsed their glow as he followed her outside.
“Marian, what do you fear so?”
She found the sound of her name from his lips soothing.
“I fear the earth. I feel it in my mouth; stopping my breath. I fear that the ground will shallow me whole and I will be forever lost. I dream that I will be buried alive.”
He stood right behind her, the warmth of his skin radiating through their clothing. He palmed her arm softly and she wanted to fall back against him and never rise.
“Come back inside. It’s so cold out here.”
“I like the cold. It numbs the pain.”
And then she allowed herself to fall. His chest was warm from sleep and his palm froze on her arm. For a moment she though he would pull away; leave her alone in the cold and her heart contracted at the thought. But then he pressed against her back, arms wrapping themselves around her middle. His nose was cold against the bare skin of her shoulder, but his lips were warm. He breathed her in as if he could not help himself and some of the rage in Marian died.
“I am no better than them. I cannot help myself but want to hold you.”
She felt his words travel over her skin, wrapping themselves in her flesh, becoming part of her as they stood together in the cold night.
“You are nothing like them.”
Her fingers found their way around his wrist, soothing over the raised nail marks of her own causing.
“There is nothing in me that you would take without my consent.”
She felt the words in her mouth, the familiar shape of them. She had said them to herself so many times, over and over in the silence of her own room. Now they came tumbling out in the night, with his breath in her ears.
“Even if you would never need consent. It is the only thing of value I own, my maidenhead, but it is also the one thing that holds me prisoner. Men will fight for me because of it. I can be sold and bough because of it. Without it I am worth nothing, but I would be free.”
He went rigid at her words, his hands freezing on her waist, but Marian would not let go of his wrists, holding him prisoner in their embrace.
“And I want to give it to you.”
His chin scratched her and in her mind Marian could imagine his closed yes and drawn face.
“I cannot, Lady Marian. You do not want me and I will not take anything from you which you do not want to give.”
He shook his head, adamant in his words, but she captured his face in her hand and forced him to be still.
“Listen to me, Guy of Gisborne. I am asking you. No one has ever taught me how to want this. I do not know what I am supposed to feel. But I know I do not want what happened to me in that forest. So I am asking you to show me.”
Her hands travelled on his face, fingertips ghosting over the sharp stubble and soft and vulnerable skin around his eyes.
“Deny me in my request if you do not want me. Deny me if you feel that I will compromise your honour, but do not deny me because you fear for mine.”
Okay, I’m not an expert smut writer even though almost all of my fics are totally adult and totally dirty. I always have huge issues with writing sex, because I’m always afraid of sounding like a women’s lit schoomp. I don’t know if I’ve managed to avoid that (I think not). And I do want to write good sex for my people. Because it’s not about realism, or truth, but about fiction and in fiction Marian can have a fucking awesome first time.
I wanted it to be romantic, because as much as it is about Marian having to do it, needing to have some control over her life, it’s also about romance and Guy wanting to worship her this one chance he gets. And I wanted it to contrast very strongly with the rape scene. Not only in description, but in the way the power-play between them works. It’s important that Guy chooses the location, but it is Marian’s choice to come to him and to instigate the sex.
The marriage metaphor was very important for me, because it’s technically what Marian is doing, she is soiling herself for any kind of wedded bliss, and she wants this to be the wedding night she will never get. I never intended it to be about love, just about this mutual need and understanding. And that is why she leaves in the morning; she can’t let herself be happy with him, to live in the moment. I think she is far too noble for her own good.
x.
She sat on the edge of the thin mattress, hand smoothing the fabric of her torn dress over her knees. The furs and their suffocating warmth did not invite her, but she would go if he wanted her to. He latched the door and the light of the moon was locked out and the warm glow of the ashes was their only light. But he would not come to her, seating himself in the armchair beside the fire. His voice was barely above a whisper again and she had never heard it quite like that before.
“Come to the warmth, Marian.”
His fingers laced between her own and helped her climb over him, both of her knees sinking into the malleable leather. She slid down his legs until there was not even an inch between them. She felt him hard and insistent against her; pressing in places she would never even let her own hands travel. She fought the little breaths and the sighs her toes curling against the leather. His hands travelled on her back; long strokes and the rough linen made her skin feel on fire. He would not kiss her, his lips just barely out of reach. He chanted her name like it was the Lords prayer; reverently and silently. Marian Marian Marian.
Finally she let her knees clamp against his sides and pushed herself against his hardness. The linen was rough and hard against her and she closed her eyes, willing the pain and pleasure to pass. She could not help her movements and Marian feared she would rub herself raw. But slowly his hands slid over her thighs and around her hips; thumbs gently stroking the bone, fingers slowly sliding between her and the fabric. And oh God how she wanted this; it was as if someone had poured oil into her and it was now spilling over. Gently he pushed against her, fingers sliding in and she could not breathe.
His hands guided her then, up up, until her stomach was resting against his chest. Her knees ached from the pressure, but the pain was a mere sliver in her mind. The soft and unyielding rhythm of his fingers was consuming her mind and she could feel her legs starting to shake. And then they were gone and she wanted to cry in their absence.
His fingers travelled up her leg, slowly, and then spread her open like she had never felt before, stretched and vulnerable. His other hand guided her down, and she would not close her eyes. She wanted to see this, see his face. He was huge and like silk against her and Marian was so hungry for this. With fury, unknown to her before, she pushed down and was suddenly being torn open, cloven in two. Marian though there would never be anything more wonderful than this moment. She pushed her knees against the leather and whispered his name, and finally understood the revered tone she had heard in his voice.
His hands lost their gentleness against her back and moved her with a rage matching her own. She cried and shouted and bit his shoulder, and the pleasure in her would not stop. And then his fierce fingers were back between them and her entire body exploded, as if someone had sent the oil on fire. He pushed, short and sharp into her and shuddered. Whispering her name like Amen.
His fingers loosened their hold on her shoulder blade and travelled into her hair, brushing it away from her face. His mouth was soft and open beneath her own as he kissed her, and Marian felt like she had just entered into a holy agreement, consummated something sacred. Let no man put asunder.
She woke up next to him among the furs. He had carried her to bed after and she remembered pulling of her dress and throwing it to the floor. He was still beside her, his arms warm and tight around her. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to wake up like this every morning; would she be content or would his arms become stifling over time? She pushed the thoughts to the back of her head. Something like this could never happen again. It had been her one indulgence and her one trespass. Her morbid thoughts seemed awake him and the stubble of his jaw slid over her shoulder and made her shiver.
“Are you cold?”
His voice was rough and almost a whisper and she shook her head. She once more found his hands circling her waist with her fingers. It was the comfort of his touch, that made her rise, and detangle herself from his embrace. She could not afford to lose her heart to this; she could not live with the sorrow. He seemed to understand her need for distance and did not follow her. She dressed mechanically, ignoring the gaze she could feel burning into her back.
The air was still cold outside, but the morning sun was already warming the forest. Her horse stood docile by the pen, picking the short blades of grass with its lips. She could fee Guy behind her, his chest nearly touching her back.
“Horses are very smart. They can follow their master for miles and miles and they will know when you have stopped even if they cannot see you.”
She grasped his hand, squeezing the fingers tightly in her own. How she wanted to stay here, in this isolation and peace. Here where he did not feel like her enemy; where they did not have to speak as society demanded of them.
“I have to leave, I have to return to my father and see to his wellbeing.”
“I know. I will take you to the edge of the village. There is no need for the questions or gossip my presence would bring upon you.”
Then she prayed, silently in her mind, like she had not done since she was a little girl. Please, O Lord, let me not remember the parting. Let me only remember the time here, and how happy I have been for such a short time.
The story could have technically ended here, but then the hair thing happened and I just had to go on.
TBC