Christmas 1193
(This is a bit of Robin Hood fic, which I'm basing here so that I can collect the comments in one place, if there are any! Many of my f'list regulars will want to skip)
Title: Christmas 1193
Author: Rochvelleth
Rating: PG
Word-count: 886 words
Characters: Mostly Guy and Marian, with very brief Allan, some Sheriff and the odd reference to Robin
Notes: Written for a challenge in the hoodland Christmas round. It's set between 2x09 and 2x10, and at Christmas (this is an estimation of when Christmas 1193 would be: see here for my calculations).
Disclaimer: I don't own nobody :(
Christmas 1193
As Allan dozed in the corner of the castle’s Great Hall, Guy sipped slowly from a tankard of mead, staving off the chill of the night. Tonight was Christmas night, a supposedly magical time. But it had been a long, long time since Guy enjoyed a Christmas - not since he was about eight years old, the last time his father had bothered to stay around rather than going off to fight the King’s wars in some foreign land. For that matter, his little sister, Isabella, had never known a Christmas with both her parents. Taking another sip of the honey-warm liquid, he wondered vaguely what she was doing now, and what she looked like, and how many children she had given birth to, to carry on their bloodline. If she was anything like their mother, she would be doing her best to see that her own children were happy at Christmastime...
But for Guy there was nothing but solitude. He surrounded himself with soldiers, and had even adopted his own henchman to be to him what he was to the Sheriff. But they were not company, they were lackeys. Alright, so Allan had an undeniably cheerful air to him and was a fair source of amusement sometimes - he even seemed somewhat loyal, which was surprising. But he wasn’t what Guy needed.
Unfolding himself from his chair by the fire, Guy put down his tankard and stretched his limbs. He would go and turn out the guard - that was better than sitting here brooding. When his father had been around, he had always said that action was better sitting around doing nothing, in any circumstances. So he went towards the door beneath the Hall’s stairs, which led into a lower corridor of the castle. To his surprise, as he turned the corner, he saw Marian standing there before him, hair loose, swathed in a long blue cloak. She gave a guilty half smile, as if she had been caught doing something wrong.
Guy blinked, wondering whether he was dreaming. “Marian? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you?” Her raising tone made it sound like a question.
Guy half shook his head, and said slowly: “Marian...”
“I was bored!” she exclaimed. “So I thought I would take a turn around the castle...”
“You are here for your own safety,” Guy said, indicating that she should walk with him. “These were your father’s wishes, that you should be safe. You can’t go wandering around in the dark. It’s dangerous. There could be outlaws...”
Marian sighed. “I’m quite sure the outlaws are making merry in the forest, or wherever it is they live,” she said. For once, Guy noted that her chagrin at the outlaws sounded genuine - and so it was, because Marian was absolutely fuming at the fact that Robin hadn’t been to see her in a week. At Christmas! No present, no message, no nothing.
“It’s the sort of thing outlaws do, I suppose,” Guy said. “They take money from honest people and spend it on beer.”
“Well,” Marian said with a change in tone, from wan to cheerful, “let’s not think about them.” She took Guy’s arm, and let him lead her back to her room. When they reached it, she thought she felt Guy shaking, and did not realise that it was the excitement of being close to her that engendered it. “Are you cold?” she asked.
The note of what seemed like genuine concern struck Guy’s heart like a dagger, and he almost had to bite his tongue to prevent himself crying out, blurting out his feelings for her in an incoherent jumble of words. So he simply nodded.
Marian let go of his arm, and with a smile unpinned her cloak and handed it to him. “Put this on,” she said.
He took it from her, silent. The flickering light of a nearby torch danced across his face, making it seem as though his eyes were gleaming. They were. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Good night, Guy” Marian said kindly. “And happy Christmas.” Then she was gone, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind her as she went into her chamber.
Guy stood in the corridor, and after a few moments he threw her cloak about his shoulders, and pulled it tight around him. It was still warm from her flesh, and he buried his face in the soft fabric.
Then, suddenly, he heard a faint voice, someone shouting. Snapping back into reality, he realised it was the Sheriff, calling from somewhere nearby. Guy headed towards his chambers.
“Gisborne!” Vaizey was screaming, now standing in the corridor in silk pyjamas. Allan was with him, and was rubbing a bruise on his head. “Where the hell have you been? Five of the guards are unconscious, three are unaccounted for, and the tax money has gone missing!”
Guy closed his eyes, an ineffective defence against the tirade of abuse. Outlaws. Not making merry in the forest after all then.
“What do I hire you for, Gisborne, remind me? And what are you doing wandering around the castle dressed like a girl?!”
Title: Christmas 1193
Author: Rochvelleth
Rating: PG
Word-count: 886 words
Characters: Mostly Guy and Marian, with very brief Allan, some Sheriff and the odd reference to Robin
Notes: Written for a challenge in the hoodland Christmas round. It's set between 2x09 and 2x10, and at Christmas (this is an estimation of when Christmas 1193 would be: see here for my calculations).
Disclaimer: I don't own nobody :(
Christmas 1193
As Allan dozed in the corner of the castle’s Great Hall, Guy sipped slowly from a tankard of mead, staving off the chill of the night. Tonight was Christmas night, a supposedly magical time. But it had been a long, long time since Guy enjoyed a Christmas - not since he was about eight years old, the last time his father had bothered to stay around rather than going off to fight the King’s wars in some foreign land. For that matter, his little sister, Isabella, had never known a Christmas with both her parents. Taking another sip of the honey-warm liquid, he wondered vaguely what she was doing now, and what she looked like, and how many children she had given birth to, to carry on their bloodline. If she was anything like their mother, she would be doing her best to see that her own children were happy at Christmastime...
But for Guy there was nothing but solitude. He surrounded himself with soldiers, and had even adopted his own henchman to be to him what he was to the Sheriff. But they were not company, they were lackeys. Alright, so Allan had an undeniably cheerful air to him and was a fair source of amusement sometimes - he even seemed somewhat loyal, which was surprising. But he wasn’t what Guy needed.
Unfolding himself from his chair by the fire, Guy put down his tankard and stretched his limbs. He would go and turn out the guard - that was better than sitting here brooding. When his father had been around, he had always said that action was better sitting around doing nothing, in any circumstances. So he went towards the door beneath the Hall’s stairs, which led into a lower corridor of the castle. To his surprise, as he turned the corner, he saw Marian standing there before him, hair loose, swathed in a long blue cloak. She gave a guilty half smile, as if she had been caught doing something wrong.
Guy blinked, wondering whether he was dreaming. “Marian? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you?” Her raising tone made it sound like a question.
Guy half shook his head, and said slowly: “Marian...”
“I was bored!” she exclaimed. “So I thought I would take a turn around the castle...”
“You are here for your own safety,” Guy said, indicating that she should walk with him. “These were your father’s wishes, that you should be safe. You can’t go wandering around in the dark. It’s dangerous. There could be outlaws...”
Marian sighed. “I’m quite sure the outlaws are making merry in the forest, or wherever it is they live,” she said. For once, Guy noted that her chagrin at the outlaws sounded genuine - and so it was, because Marian was absolutely fuming at the fact that Robin hadn’t been to see her in a week. At Christmas! No present, no message, no nothing.
“It’s the sort of thing outlaws do, I suppose,” Guy said. “They take money from honest people and spend it on beer.”
“Well,” Marian said with a change in tone, from wan to cheerful, “let’s not think about them.” She took Guy’s arm, and let him lead her back to her room. When they reached it, she thought she felt Guy shaking, and did not realise that it was the excitement of being close to her that engendered it. “Are you cold?” she asked.
The note of what seemed like genuine concern struck Guy’s heart like a dagger, and he almost had to bite his tongue to prevent himself crying out, blurting out his feelings for her in an incoherent jumble of words. So he simply nodded.
Marian let go of his arm, and with a smile unpinned her cloak and handed it to him. “Put this on,” she said.
He took it from her, silent. The flickering light of a nearby torch danced across his face, making it seem as though his eyes were gleaming. They were. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Good night, Guy” Marian said kindly. “And happy Christmas.” Then she was gone, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind her as she went into her chamber.
Guy stood in the corridor, and after a few moments he threw her cloak about his shoulders, and pulled it tight around him. It was still warm from her flesh, and he buried his face in the soft fabric.
Then, suddenly, he heard a faint voice, someone shouting. Snapping back into reality, he realised it was the Sheriff, calling from somewhere nearby. Guy headed towards his chambers.
“Gisborne!” Vaizey was screaming, now standing in the corridor in silk pyjamas. Allan was with him, and was rubbing a bruise on his head. “Where the hell have you been? Five of the guards are unconscious, three are unaccounted for, and the tax money has gone missing!”
Guy closed his eyes, an ineffective defence against the tirade of abuse. Outlaws. Not making merry in the forest after all then.
“What do I hire you for, Gisborne, remind me? And what are you doing wandering around the castle dressed like a girl?!”