Fic: "The World Was on Fire " Robin Hood BBC, Guy gen, PG-13.
I spent the afternoon contemplating Robin Hood. Mind you, I've only SEEN up to 2.3. But thanks to YouTube, I'm spoiled rotten. Here are some recent bits of inspiration...
A heartbreaking Guy vid to "My Skin," by Natalie Merchant that showcases what set him on the path to what happened in season two: http://youtube.com/watch?v=wFdT-XxHQcU
The utterly perfect and appropriate season two vid set to "Wicked Game," by Chris Isaak: http://youtube.com/watch?v=MIUdc582nNY
And, honestly, I shouldn't watch interviews with people when I'm halfway through a fic, because watching the RH showrunners and Richard Armitage discuss where they see Guy going in the second series *totally* changed the direction of the following story and I'm not sure it works at all.
Title: "The World Was on Fire" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 975
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb owns all!
Summary: Set somewhere after season two, goes obviously AU because I have no idea what season three will be about. Guy still doesn't know why he lives.
For a dozen days afterwards, Guy immerses himself in drink. Hardly an easy task when the Saracens don't partake, and certainly don't brew. But someone finds him rotgut from the ranks of the king's men, stirred over campfires on the battlefield, and he climbs into the bottle, stays safely contained inside the glass. His innards pickle, his brain blessedly first, and every question Vaysey shouts at him comes out garbled, as if passed from child to child in a game.
Guy still doesn't know why he lives. Why Hood hasn't cut him down. Why any number of punishments have not rained down upon his miserable head. They're halfway home to England, with him draped over the rail of the ship and gifting rotgut to the sea, before he realizes that the sweet mark of death is not meant to touch him at all.
This… this is perhaps Hood's true revenge.
**
There doesn't seem to be a single fair-haired whore in all of Nottingham. They're all dark and pale-eyed and familiar. He curses the blood of Celts and Normans until his tongue is too thick with ale to curse anymore. Until he has no recourse but to avail himself of one of the kitchen girls in the castle who looks like a proper Saxon. She weeps the whole time, has the proper fear of his station and eagerness to please, which suits him perfectly.
Guy leaves the girl crumpled amidst two-day old straw in the stables with a few coins pressed into her palm. When she gazes up at him, brown eyes still hazy with pain, he tells her it's for the apothecary should she find herself with child. "I have no need for bastard brats. I left my last one for dead."
Then he remembers someone else he left for dead, lurches outside and vomits three tankards worth of ale into the dirt.
Marian never wept. Never feared him. Not even at the end.
**
There is, of course, finally a day where he and Hood come face to face. In a clearing in Sherwood where they've fought before. And though the bowstring is pulled taut and the arrow trained steadily at his heart, Robin is pale, thin, and has the look of a man who hasn't slept in months. From the last he saw of his own reflection, Guy's countenance is much the same.
They are both the walking dead.
It is the only thing they have in common now.
"Do it," Guy slurs, his blade loose in his hand. "Go on, Hood. It's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"
"No. No, I can't say that I have." He lowers his bow, standing just above Guy on the hill and taking his measure with hollow eyes. "I haven't thought of you at all, Gisborne."
There is a cursory tussle. Fists fly, blood is drawn, and Hood grabs him by the hair and slams his head repeatedly into the ground. His ears ring and for a moment he thinks he hears Marian laughing the way she did the day she died. At him. Sure in her love, in her lover, and of his supreme idiocy. "I love Robin Hood," she tells him as his mouth fills with the taste of copper. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood."
Only it comes out garbled. As if passed from child to child in a game.
**
One year afterwards, Guy has no commission, no lands, no rooms, and scarcely enough money to indulge his vices. Vaysey is aligned with the prince, the taxes in Nottingham are higher than ever, and even the cost of ale is too much to surrender the precious few coins in his pocket.
He hasn't been drunk in twenty days when he walks into the depths of Sherwood, going round in circles until he finds the camp. His head is clear, though he's not certain the same can be said for his conscience.
Hood's men are a score strong. A blacksmith, a fat friar, a wellborn lady in men's clothing, and all the familiar faces he remembers. Familiar faces… none of whom show anything but displeasure at his arrival in their midst. John Little, the Saracen and her man reach for their weapons, the friar for his bible.
"Stand down," Hood tells them, rising from tending the fire. Hardier now, burned dark from the sun, even quick with a smile. "It's all right. He's no threat to us. Not anymore."
Guy is too weary to take offense. Besides, it is the truth. His trousers still bear the imprint of the innkeeper's boot… and the innkeeper's boot is still attached to the innkeeper, where two years before the lout would have been a bloated body left in the street for show. "How do you do it?" he asks of Robin, only Robin. "How do you *feel* so bloody much and keep going?"
The gaze that flickers over him is no longer hollow. No, it's… pitying. "It's called being human, Gisborne. Welcome to the club."
A wooden locket on a length of cord is pressed into his palm. He, out of everyone, is the most surprised when he is invited to stay for supper… and forever.
Time passes and Guy still doesn't know why he lives. He robs from the rich, gives to the poor, and wonders why Hood hasn't cut him down. He gives the sheriff a solid thrashing, leads a raid on one of Prince John's supply caravans and doesn't know why any number of punishments have not rained down upon his miserable head.
Until one night around the campfire in Sherwood, he raises a toast, shouting, "We are Robin Hood," with his brothers in arms and realizes that he means it.
He is Robin Hood.
*"I love Robin Hood. I'm going to marry Robin Hood."*
This… this is Hood's true revenge.
And Marian's curse.
--end--
May 11, 2008
A heartbreaking Guy vid to "My Skin," by Natalie Merchant that showcases what set him on the path to what happened in season two: http://youtube.com/watch?v=wFdT-XxHQcU
The utterly perfect and appropriate season two vid set to "Wicked Game," by Chris Isaak: http://youtube.com/watch?v=MIUdc582nNY
And, honestly, I shouldn't watch interviews with people when I'm halfway through a fic, because watching the RH showrunners and Richard Armitage discuss where they see Guy going in the second series *totally* changed the direction of the following story and I'm not sure it works at all.
Title: "The World Was on Fire" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 975
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb owns all!
Summary: Set somewhere after season two, goes obviously AU because I have no idea what season three will be about. Guy still doesn't know why he lives.
For a dozen days afterwards, Guy immerses himself in drink. Hardly an easy task when the Saracens don't partake, and certainly don't brew. But someone finds him rotgut from the ranks of the king's men, stirred over campfires on the battlefield, and he climbs into the bottle, stays safely contained inside the glass. His innards pickle, his brain blessedly first, and every question Vaysey shouts at him comes out garbled, as if passed from child to child in a game.
Guy still doesn't know why he lives. Why Hood hasn't cut him down. Why any number of punishments have not rained down upon his miserable head. They're halfway home to England, with him draped over the rail of the ship and gifting rotgut to the sea, before he realizes that the sweet mark of death is not meant to touch him at all.
This… this is perhaps Hood's true revenge.
**
There doesn't seem to be a single fair-haired whore in all of Nottingham. They're all dark and pale-eyed and familiar. He curses the blood of Celts and Normans until his tongue is too thick with ale to curse anymore. Until he has no recourse but to avail himself of one of the kitchen girls in the castle who looks like a proper Saxon. She weeps the whole time, has the proper fear of his station and eagerness to please, which suits him perfectly.
Guy leaves the girl crumpled amidst two-day old straw in the stables with a few coins pressed into her palm. When she gazes up at him, brown eyes still hazy with pain, he tells her it's for the apothecary should she find herself with child. "I have no need for bastard brats. I left my last one for dead."
Then he remembers someone else he left for dead, lurches outside and vomits three tankards worth of ale into the dirt.
Marian never wept. Never feared him. Not even at the end.
**
There is, of course, finally a day where he and Hood come face to face. In a clearing in Sherwood where they've fought before. And though the bowstring is pulled taut and the arrow trained steadily at his heart, Robin is pale, thin, and has the look of a man who hasn't slept in months. From the last he saw of his own reflection, Guy's countenance is much the same.
They are both the walking dead.
It is the only thing they have in common now.
"Do it," Guy slurs, his blade loose in his hand. "Go on, Hood. It's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"
"No. No, I can't say that I have." He lowers his bow, standing just above Guy on the hill and taking his measure with hollow eyes. "I haven't thought of you at all, Gisborne."
There is a cursory tussle. Fists fly, blood is drawn, and Hood grabs him by the hair and slams his head repeatedly into the ground. His ears ring and for a moment he thinks he hears Marian laughing the way she did the day she died. At him. Sure in her love, in her lover, and of his supreme idiocy. "I love Robin Hood," she tells him as his mouth fills with the taste of copper. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood."
Only it comes out garbled. As if passed from child to child in a game.
**
One year afterwards, Guy has no commission, no lands, no rooms, and scarcely enough money to indulge his vices. Vaysey is aligned with the prince, the taxes in Nottingham are higher than ever, and even the cost of ale is too much to surrender the precious few coins in his pocket.
He hasn't been drunk in twenty days when he walks into the depths of Sherwood, going round in circles until he finds the camp. His head is clear, though he's not certain the same can be said for his conscience.
Hood's men are a score strong. A blacksmith, a fat friar, a wellborn lady in men's clothing, and all the familiar faces he remembers. Familiar faces… none of whom show anything but displeasure at his arrival in their midst. John Little, the Saracen and her man reach for their weapons, the friar for his bible.
"Stand down," Hood tells them, rising from tending the fire. Hardier now, burned dark from the sun, even quick with a smile. "It's all right. He's no threat to us. Not anymore."
Guy is too weary to take offense. Besides, it is the truth. His trousers still bear the imprint of the innkeeper's boot… and the innkeeper's boot is still attached to the innkeeper, where two years before the lout would have been a bloated body left in the street for show. "How do you do it?" he asks of Robin, only Robin. "How do you *feel* so bloody much and keep going?"
The gaze that flickers over him is no longer hollow. No, it's… pitying. "It's called being human, Gisborne. Welcome to the club."
A wooden locket on a length of cord is pressed into his palm. He, out of everyone, is the most surprised when he is invited to stay for supper… and forever.
Time passes and Guy still doesn't know why he lives. He robs from the rich, gives to the poor, and wonders why Hood hasn't cut him down. He gives the sheriff a solid thrashing, leads a raid on one of Prince John's supply caravans and doesn't know why any number of punishments have not rained down upon his miserable head.
Until one night around the campfire in Sherwood, he raises a toast, shouting, "We are Robin Hood," with his brothers in arms and realizes that he means it.
He is Robin Hood.
*"I love Robin Hood. I'm going to marry Robin Hood."*
This… this is Hood's true revenge.
And Marian's curse.
--end--
May 11, 2008