Fic: Shackled
Title: Shackled
Rating: T for violence, angst
Characters/Pairings: all regular show characters, Prince John, Guy/Marian, Robin/Marian
Word Count: 20,299
A/N: This fic was written for the Gift Exchange Ficathon at the Robin Hood yuku board and is based on ladykate63's prompt with the following premise:
3x06 (Do You Love Me) with a twist.
On his way to Nottingham, Prince John has Guy brought to him and orders him to kill the Sheriff; when he arrives at the castle to find Vaisey alive, he secretly orders Vaisey to kill Guy. The twist: all this takes place in an AU in which Season 2 ended with Marian marrying Guy (supply the backstory of your choice) and the trip to the Holy Land never happened.
More details of the prompt are:
In this AU, the Black Knights are still disbanded (due to Richard learning about them from Robin's reports), Prince John is still angry at Vaisey for the botched operation, and Guy was still sent to London early in Season 3 as Vaisey's scapegoat. Isabella either doesn't exist or is with her husband in Shrewsbury (in other words, she doesn't appear in the story), Marian is still helping Robin and emotionally torn between Robin and Guy, and Will and Djaq are still with the gang (but Kate is not). Whether to include Tuck, and whether Allan is still with Guy or back with the gang, is up to the author. Whether Vaisey dies is also up to the author, but no other character deaths please. The fic should be reasonably Guy/Marian-friendly but with no Robin-bashing. Bonus point for including the Locksley church-burning, and for some progress toward a Robin/Guy reconciliation.
Again, a very big thank you to my betas novindalf and cleo_eurydike.
Part One
The flames twitched and glowed in the warm shelter of the hearth. She watched them, their oranges and yellows moving up and down, left and right, until she found herself lost in the movements of their enthralling dance.
She watched them until they merged into a blur and thoughts clouded her vision. They were nothing particular, her thoughts; they flitted about and reached all the places, all the moments her life had seen in the last few months. It wasn't anything new- she was often thinking now, and most of the time she did not even notice. But sometimes she was aware of it: when her spoon stayed for too long in her mouth at dinner; when her afternoon rides took her far beyond the premises of the land where she was supposed to stop; when Guy drifted off to sleep and she, despite being surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, kept awake till the last embers had died down.
She couldn't exactly recall when it started; when her thoughts started outweighing her actions and she became a more solemn, less idealistic woman. She often thought it must have begun during the weeks after the wedding- long, long weeks which washed over the short space of her life before and diminished everything about it.
***
The day she married him, there was no sun in the sky. She woke up to a listless world of pale blue-grey, aware of the frantic thump-thump of her heart. With the last remnants of a disordered dream still lingering in her mind, she stood up and set to the task of preparing herself for her wedding. It hadn't been long before several bustling maids had entered and continued the task.
She was to be a bride after all. His bride.
While they fussed and fidgeted with hair ornaments and rebellious fabric, she was aware of the same sensation which had pounded through her a year ago, on the day of what had supposed to be her marriage- that heavy feeling of the future pulling her down. This time, however, she knew that nothing would whisk her away from her fate, not even herself if the chance came to her. There was a limit to the number of times one could ruin a man on his wedding day.
She still remembered that other ceremony, the events of her previous visit to the altar. Except that now there was a hollow where her father's presence should have been and instead of the flowing breeze as her sole company, Allan walked beside her.
But the church was the same, and the same black and yellow festooned the yard. The crack in the big cobblestone on the steps still gaped at her. The faceless villagers were still flocked together on the benches. At the altar, it was still the same man who awaited her.
She approached him slowly, almost with trepidation, and when she knelt beside him, his head quickly turned her way. He averted his gaze just as swiftly. The moment had been enough for her to see wild uncertainty and a dash of hope filling his face. For an instant, the burden lessened.
The ceremony had started, and she found herself unable to focus, thoughts leaping in disarray from the mundane observation of the world around her, to the night to come, to Robin and the perplexed grief he had shown at their last meeting, to everything that had led her here to be. Here for a second time, when a month ago the thought of wearing a bridal veil was a vague and distant thing, part of an equally uncertain future.
The priest's words called her to attention. She recited through them, but half of her senses were drawn to the massive oak door behind. She wondered whether Robin or anyone of the gang would appear today.
Nearly shaking her head to ward off such thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on her own hands. But it was hard, and soon she found her thoughts straying to other places. What if she had done things differently? What if she had not let herself be carried away by the urgency of the situation? Everything had happened so swiftly- the Sheriff's suspicions, the threat of getting married off to some nobleman she did not know, and then finding the forest empty of the outlaws. Maybe she should have taken shelter somewhere else. Maybe she should have escaped before the threat became too close to a reality cornering her from all sides.
Guy had been a constant hovering presence then, proposing this and proposing that, but never mentioning the solution which had been constantly on both their minds- not after that failed forced wedding, not after the Nightwatchman. She had eventually stumbled in that direction herself. And even now as she recalled his uncertainty, his happiness- him nearly believing she was glad to be doing this- she could not help but wonder and question at what she had done. She had never believed herself to be as helpless to resort to this.
A warm hand took hers, and reality swarmed over her again. She did not look up. Her gaze remained on her hands until the ring circled her finger.
***
She was pulled out of her reverie by the neighing of a horse outside the manor. The sound was followed by the thump of boots on the ground, the clang of the stirrup and footsteps heading towards the door.
Guy had returned.
While duty nudged her to go and greet him, the lull of the flames and the uncertainty of her thoughts coaxed her to stay. She remained sitting.
*****
Before he had even properly entered, his eyes had already darted to the spot at the bottom of the staircase, his mind already conjuring up the image of his wife standing there with her half-smile and deep blue eyes. When nothing greeted him instead of the vivid mental picture of her, he swallowed the brief pang of hurt.
She would be upstairs...or engaged in a task which she couldn't immediately abandon. Maybe she didn't hear him arrive. He ran upstairs with these same sort of half-formed assurances colliding with his doubts, the same sort which he had summoned again and again in the early days of his marriage whenever he had found reality too harsh to accept.
From the open door of the kitchen, Thornton followed him with his stare before it settled on the two trenchers of warm food turning cold. He sighed.
When the master and his wife eventually came down to dinner, it would be warm again. It always was.
*****
The door of the bedchamber was slightly ajar and he pushed it open cautiously. She sat there before the fire, her back turned towards him, hair untied. A familiar urge bubbled up in him. An urge to run up to her and bury himself in her hair, her neck, the haloed circle of flickering light around her and drain all his distress, all his misery of the day away in her embrace.
But then he stopped himself.
There was a still serenity about the scene before him and he was suddenly not sure if he came nearer, it would be anything but an unwanted disruption. Pulling himself back as deeply as he could in the shadow of the door, he kept on looking, kept on waiting.
****
She knew he was there. Even though she barely had heard the creak of the stairs, she felt the weight of his gaze upon her, like always.
It vexed her that he should choose to remain hidden there in a shadowed place, unexposed. There was a strange feeling of cluelessness, of being without control whenever he took residence in a darkness she could not penetrate.
She took a deep breath and turned around.
"Guy?"
At first she was met by silence. Then there was a sound of fumbling, the scrape of boots, before the door was pushed open and he entered. To keep the awkwardness at bay, his face had adopted a neutral expression and he nonchalantly hung his coat over a chair. But then he turned, suddenly and quickly, and before she knew, he had enveloped her within his arms.
His breath expelled on a long sigh of her name.
She felt herself relaxing in his embrace, but then suddenly it was there as always-the small voice in her head which admonished her desire to yield to him, to his warmth, immediately. That little stabbing needle of guilt which pricked her whenever feelings beyond contentment, feelings which bordered precariously close to something she wasn't yet ready to submit to, came to her in his presence.
She tried to think of Robin and his fragmented dreams. Of the fact that this marriage had been a situational outcome not to her wishes.
But then his shoulders drooped and she felt how the tension of the day, clinging to his skin, slowly dissipated as his heart rhythmically thudded against her shoulder.
There was such weakness about him.
She slowly lifted her arms and wrapped them around his waist. He somehow felt thinner, less solid.
"How did your day at the castle go?"
It was probably something, she realised, that she shouldn't have asked, as a momentary strain returned to him. But it was said more out of habit than interest and because such quiet moments of intimacy always left her groping for the right words.
His voice came as a tired whisper beside her ear.
"Hardly...bearable."
She didn't require him to explain. She knew how he felt in the presence of anyone who had made him a victim of disloyalty. At this the image of the Sheriff flashed before her- the hollowness in his smile, the cold flicker in his eyes when he had drawn his face closer to hers, and, as a bitter wind wafting over a young harvest, told her how he had sent her husband away to pay for his incompetence. How he had done them both a favour.
The sensation of strong loathing reminded her of a question he had been evading for days.
"Have you thought of...of what you will do?"
"What do you mean?"
He tried to sound oblivious. He had never been good at hiding. She inhaled deeply and looked him in the eyes.
"Of what you will do now, now that you've-", she swallowed,"lost favour. From both quarters."
He drew himself apart and looked at her for a moment. The red heat of the flames reflected in his eyes.
"There's nothing to think of. The Sheriff is in a precarious position, it is only a matter of time before his power crumbles completely." He stared at the floor, not wanting to meet the disagreement in her eyes. "I'll take my chances then."
She disentangled herself abruptly from his arms. Her uncertainty of earlier combined with a repulsion of this weakness of his for which she had no sympathy, and swelled into anger. This was not vulnerability but something close to lethargy.
"Chances? Like those you have been successfully taking your whole life?"
He blinked at her, a stray wisp of dark hair falling before his eyes. At that moment, she saw how he considered himself; manacled by a lack of choice...a twist in fate. There was always something holding him back. There was always an excuse to avoid taking that crucial step which would bring him so close to the man she wanted him to be.
She wondered whether it was fright or the reluctance to change which hampered him.
"What would you want me to do then?" he asked. "Go out and do something reckless? Run off with you and start anew in some godforsaken place, with no money, no security or safety whatsoever?"
There was no denying of the sense in his words. But sense hardly mattered now, now when she saw how his insecurities kept on building cages around her hopes. The collected fury and annoyance of the past months inside her combined to form angry and bitter words.
"What I would want for you is to stop thinking everything will work out itself. To stop being so terrified of stepping out of the shadows of others for once. You talk of better chances, but you hardly ever avail yourselves of them; you talk of becoming a better man, a man who makes the right choices, but you never try hard enough!"
She stopped, and her hand trembled when she lifted it to smooth back her hair. She turned to look at him sitting on the edge of the bead, head in hands. She was not prepared for the weariness on his face when he finally looked up.
"Can we please talk about this at some other time?"
His voice was so low she hardly heard him.
When her own stomach rumbled and a flicker of guilt told her he would be even hungrier, she stiffly proposed going down for dinner.
They went down and ate a warm meal in silence.
***
Later that night, she made sure she was under the bedcovers well before he was. The dinner had dragged on under a cloud of unease which stifled the room and they had hardly spoken. As she wrapped the bedsheets tightly around herself, she was keenly aware of the sound of his slow movements behind her; the thud of boots, the clang of a goblet, the rustle of clothes. They all came and went with a rhythmic slow resonance which indicated that he had again become lost in that dark moorland of his thoughts.
She wanted him to pull out of it. To fly into a rage and give rightful reason for her to respond in the same, to let that bubble of annoyance she had been carrying for so long within her empty completely. She clenched and unclenched her hand, willing the silence to break.
At length the mattress shifted behind her. There was an urge to say something bitter but she quelled it. She would not be so easily dissuaded from her pretence of aloofness. She would not.
A few long moments passed like this and just when she thought she would finally drift off with the heavy silence still cast overhead, she heard the bed creak and he shifted closer. A moment later, his hand had found hers. He tentatively rubbed over it with his thumb. By now, after some five months of marriage, she knew he meant it as a gesture of apology.
She turned to face him. His eyes, wide and open, bore into hers.
It was nothing...I was exhausted and spoke without reason, she wanted to say, because now when she thought about her words of before, they seemed unnecessarily harsh. And with this state of contentment they had carefully wrought and gently woven their way to, avoiding pitfalls of betrayal and displays of jarring tempers and politics, they really seemed pointless as well.
But then it was there again; the thought of Robin, the slight discomfort-
"I meant what I said," she said.
To her surprise, a flash of what could have been acceptance darted across his face. He tightened his grip around her fingers.
"I know." He paused, and lowering his eyes continued, "and if I weren't so concerned about you, I might have done something to change it all long ago. Maybe I could do with some of your wilfulness." The wan smile he gave her was like a pale streak of sunlight on a misty day. She suddenly felt warm and less confused.
"I could not afford to have you borrow it from me though," she said, and the teasing made her content enough to settle on his shoulder, a place where sleeping had become an unexpected habit. Guy's arm looped around her waist. Its proximity to the Nightwatchman scar was no longer unsettling, now that this imprint of his dagger no longer flared as dangerously with the memories of betrayal as before, and now that they had restored much of the damage its revelation had caused.
Occasionally though, on the days when she allowed the cause and England to pull her to the forest, she still felt its presence, deep and throbbing, in her side.
***
In his dream, there were six of them.
They were large and hulking, their figures made formless by the surrounding darkness which half-swallowed them.
He wanted to run, but when they reached for his arms and his legs he felt his body slacken as if it willed him to play a submissive captive, like always in his dreams. Panic whirling in his chest, he twisted his head to see their black hands nearing Marian's face. This time, when he commanded his clenched fist to move, it did.
He awoke to see the dark silhouette of man staggering back.
After the first moments of confusion, the panic became a heavy rock in his throat. Even in the shallow moonlight, there was no mistaking the livery of Prince John's guard. Marian. He turned around to see her still fast asleep, and before he could direct the overwhelming instinct to protect her into an offensive with all his strength, he felt several pairs of hands shackle him and drag him off the bed. Even though they hadn't approached her yet he was frantic, his shouts of "Don't touch her!" accompanying him to the doorway as he was shoved along, arms and legs flailing and kicking without effect. It was then that she awoke.
She blinked a few times and instantly reached for the sword hanging beside his belt.
"Marian, no!" he shouted. A hand clamped his mouth and his last sight was of two guards restraining her before she could grab the weapon.
Her furious shouts followed him out into the night.
As he was dragged away to God knew where, the chill midnight air cold on his bare skin, he prayed and prayed that Prince John's idea of punishment did not involve retaliating through one's family.
***
The floorboards echoed with her anxious pacing. The sun was already a bleeding orange semicircle on the horizon and he hadn't returned yet. With every second, the conviction that he would was lessening, but it did not keep her from regularly glancing towards the entrance of the manor.
She had tried to follow the men as they dragged Guy off into the darkness, but the remaining guards had been forceful, though not violent. One of them had come forward and told her there was no need for her to go and complicate things while her husband had his audience with prince John. He had added then, more politely, that Guy would be likely to return soon. They had left with a warning that the manor would be guarded, and that any attempt at escape would only make matters worse.
She felt her ire rise and recollections of a month ago, of when the Sheriff had sent off Guy to the prince, swarmed her mind.
That night Guy hadn't come home, and she had been worried for he never stayed at the castle since their marriage. She had reasoned the fiasco with the Irish brothers must have kept him, and had thought little of it until another night had come without word or a message from him. She had then decided to find out for herself.
When she did, she nearly had fallen over from the combination of shock and anger.
Many hours had passed before she returned to the manor that night, Allan at her side. She did not sleep in the remaining ones before dawn. The knowledge of Guy being on his way to what probably was his death had spun again and again through her mind until she felt she could no longer bear the restlessness. If it hadn't been for Allan's common sense, she might have done something reckless.
The days which followed had been long. She wandered aimlessly through them, alternating between worrying and thinking, worrying and thinking. Before the idleness started, she had tried to make arrangements for visiting London, because as long as the news of a death did not come, she had hope. But with no one to accompany her and Vaisey's determination to keep her at home, she hadn't gone far. She had then even ventured to ask Robin for help. He had refused and told her plainly he did not understand why she worried so much for a husband who was not supposed to be her husband in the first place.
Her mind had pondered over this implication as well, because even though she knew she cared for Guy, she had not expected her anxiety to be this profound. But the more she thought, the more she realised that she could not look at things from the point of view of her previous life anymore. Guy was her husband, she was married to him. She had lived, slept, woken and eaten with him for weeks now and all these acts had unconsciously contributed to creating a closeness she wasn't sure she had fully grasped before now.
There were other things too, things she could no longer ignore. Even though she could not describe how she felt about their relationship, she could not deny that Guy tried to please her very often. The constant attention to what she liked and disliked, some occasional act which took her by surprise... it grated on her nerves at times, but more than often she felt flattered by his attention. The revelation of his past had also led her to look at him with greater understanding and sympathy, even though he remained in many ways an enigma to her.
But then life outside the manor would intrude, the reality of what he did for a living would sharply fall back in her awareness, and an argument would ensue.
The fact that he worked for a man like the Sheriff was a focal point for strain. It was where most of their disagreements stemmed from, and as long as she knew Guy intimidated people through violence and schemed against the rightful king during his daytime job, she could live under no illusions. She knew he felt no happiness or comfort in what he did, but as long as this conflict between his feelings and deeds would not change, she could not let herself be satisfied.
It was for this reason she had carried with her a spark of hope other than the one held for his survival. If Guy returned, his days as henchmen for the Sheriff would, she believed, be over.
A month had passed and he had finally returned. When he did, she had found it hard to believe the extent of her own relief.
She stared out now. Dawn had fully broken and the whole of Locksley was tinted bronze. Half an hour more, she told herself, and if by then Guy hadn't returned she would see to it that the obstinate guard at her door could be persuaded enough to lead her to Guy. But then fear took hold of her, and when she thought that the longer she waited, the greater the chances she would be led to a corpse instead of a living, breathing form, she decided she could wait no longer.
It was when she reached down to the entrance of the manor to accost the guard that she saw Guy's drooping form arrive on a horse in the distance. She immediately felt the warm rush of relief spread through her.
She ran out to meet him.
"Where have you been? What happened?" she asked, her voice anxious.
He stepped off his horse and silently handed the reins to the stable boy. He was wearing something which did definitely not belong to him; a tattered jerkin.
Since no reply was forthcoming, she urged him again.
"Guy?"
This time he looked up. He only met her gaze for a moment before letting his eyes dart around. He swallowed.
"It was nothing--Prince John only wanted to discuss something small with me."
He moved as if to brush past her, and she immediately grasped his wrist. If he thought he could flee to somewhere away from her scrutiny, he was wrong.
"Either the prince is an idiot who doesn't know one can wait till the morning for discussing small matters, or you are lying."
The remark made him go rigid, and she suddenly felt grateful that he hadn't been endowed with the art of evasion. For a moment it looked as if he were about to relent, but then she saw a familiar obstinance flicker in his eyes.
"Marian...this doesn't concern you. Say what you like, but there are things you'd be better not aware of."
And with that, he swept towards the manor, leaving her retort frozen on her lips. An uneasy combination of anger and dread swirled her thoughts towards the assumption that she was losing him again now that a new master had arrived for him to swear fealty to.
After a change of shirts he was already hurling towards the exit, and she silenced the urge to press him for answers on his restlessness as well as the question of whether he wouldn't eat before he left. By now excitement and curiosity had already scattered over her pique and when she remembered that through her persistence she could manoeuvre him towards giving the answers she required, she felt her confidence grow.
She almost didn't hear him say something to her.
"What?"
"You'll have to be at the castle within an hour. Prince John will be arriving soon and it wouldn't do to not welcome his arrival." He moved to the table to pick up an apple. "He'll take it as a sign of disrespect."
"And what if I don't want to welcome him?"
When he moved closer and gently took hold of her shoulders, she was unsettled by the panicked look on his face.
"Marian, I know what you feel about him, but you must know he is not a man to be trifled with. He's unpredictable and...dangerous. Even more than the Sheriff." She swallowed at the worry evident in his eyes. His grip on her arms tightened. "Do not give him cause to do something against you. If not for my sake, then for yours." His next word came out as something tremulous, almost fearful.
"Please."
She was only dimly aware of the sound of the door closing and the echoes of his steps diminishing as he left.
***
She wouldn't come. It had first been a vague suspicion, but now as second turned into minute and his blasted thoughts turned more and more acrid, it began to seem more than likely. She loved to defy orders, he knew that, and sometimes he even admired that quality in her. Now though... now he just hoped common sense would overcome her urge for rebellion.
He kicked at a tiny pebble on the stone floor. Maybe he should have told her. It had after all been him after the discovery of her
Nightwatchman scar who had proposed that they wouldn't give lies and deceit a chance again. But he hadn't lied, had he? He had merely concealed something from her, and even though it made him uncomfortable, he persistently tried to reason it was for the best.
He glanced at the gate again. He was reluctant to admit to himself that something deeper was troubling him, not just that Prince John had ordered him to murder a man he had served for years. Guy felt the task carried with it an enormous amount of uncertainty- he could succeed and he could fail, and even if the deed was done, what would it mean for him? The prince had after all promised him nothing, and even if he were granted power, he would have to confront Marian over what he had done. The thought of this made him more uncomfortable than anything else.
"So when's 'e coming, Giz?"
Guy stopped his fervent pacing at Allan's question and turned around. Allan was essentially no longer in his service as he himself was essentially no longer master-at-arms. Still, there were old bonds which tethered the former outlaw to his service in some ways, rather than the Sheriff's, and for that he was grateful.
"I don't know...anytime." He couldn't prevent the annoyance from creeping in his words. He was edgy, and he wished to be alone.
"Isn't Marian gonna-"
"Go get her, Allan." He should have thought of this before. "God knows what--"
He was stopped mid-sentence by the sound of clattering hooves. He whirled around.
"There won't be any need for that", Marian said as she swung her leg over the horse and deftly settled on the ground.
She gave him a warm smile, and all of a sudden the roaring fire of his inner turbulence was reduced to a low simmering. He wished he could freeze such moments for safekeeping.
But then there was a host of clattering hooves near the portcullis and, behind him, more than a dozen nobles flocked out of the castle doors to gather on the courtyard steps. The trumpets sounded and Prince John and his retinue swept in.
***
Marian was chafing at the chance to go out and meet Robin. Initially there had been only curiosity related to the prospect of meeting Prince John, curiosity about whether he did justice to the mental image she had of the leader of the Black Knights, and she had been surprised to find a man whose attitude bordered on the lackadaisical and the ridiculous.
But then the first matter of interest had arrived in the form of several dozen coffers, and judging by the heavy panting of guards who carried them in, she realised they had to be filled with something valuable. The reasons of the prince's visit were still unclear to her, but she knew it had to do with something more than berate the Sheriff for the horrible state of affairs the Black Knights found themselves in.
It was then, as she traipsed through the Great Hall, idly going over its decorations, that she remembered that Guy had had something important to hide about his visit to the rince. And that this could possibly be an answer to her questions, and she needed to know it immediately.
Exhilarated, she swiftly headed to the door and hurried to where she thought Guy would most likely be found.
***
Marian didn't find Guy where she had thought he would be. His chambers were empty and, suspiciously, so was the council room. A
fter some deliberation, she headed to the Sheriff's quarters. She walked carefully, hugging the shadows of the walls. Recollections of the days she used to do this more often pounded through her, and with it a searing thought of how much everything had changed, how much she had changed.
When she reached the end of the hall, she was startled by the creaking of a nearby door as it opened. To her horror, the Sheriff's head appeared followed by that of the prince. As her heart quivered with the risk of discovery, she swiftly moved away from the circle of flickering torchlight and ducked in a nearby alcove. She held her breath as her mind tripped and flicked over a dozen excuses, none of which sounded convincing enough. If Vaisey caught her here now, when the political temperature in Nottingham was so high, there was no telling what he would do.
To her relief, the sound of their boots and conversation started to fade as they went down the opposite hallway.
But then, just as questions over their clandestine meeting started to crawl in her mind, a hand clamped over her mouth. If it hadn't been for the firmness of its grip, her scream would have echoed through the hallways.
***
She spun around, fiercely.
"Guy!"
From where he stood she could hardly make out his expression; the torchlight highlighted very little of him. But she could already picture his face, tight-lipped and wrought with suspicion. A spark of flames briefly illuminated his eyes.
In the next instant, she felt his hands on her wrists.
"What are you doing here?" he said, his voice something between a grumble and a hiss.
It was not hard to assume what he was thinking. Her history of spying and night-time activities had afforded him the inclination to be suspicious, although such wasn't always the case. Certainly not always, she thought as she recalled the countless times she had gotten away with leaking information to the gang behind his back. She felt a sudden, sharp sting of guilt but it effaced just as quickly. For now she was guilty of nothing except for probably being too concerned about his whereabouts.
"I was looking for you," she said, injecting a note of reprimand in her response and disengaging her wrists from his too firm grasp.
And then it dawned upon her suddenly, the question of why she had found him hidden in a dark corridor and most likely observing the room where the prince and the Sheriff had been a few moments ago.
"What are you doing here?"
At her question he immediately tensed, limbs poised like those of a sentinel. He crossed his arms, almost defensively, and let his gaze skitter away from her face. He said something, but she could make out nothing of the incoherent mumble except for some vague suggestion that he had come here to meet the Sheriff.
She leaned in closer to him. Then covered his hand with hers.
"Guy, things might be better if you confide in me," she said softly. There was an ambiguity to the words, and she tried not to dwell on it. "After all, wasn't it you who proposed we should put an end to the secrets between us?" The jab she felt now was undoubtedly one of guilt. Hypocrite. Jab. Hypocrite.
His response to her touch was, like always, immediate and she felt a sudden triumph when his face mellowed as he contemplated her words. Growing determined, she placed her hand on his face and then gently, as if in a movement to swipe away his worry, caressed his cheek with her thumb.
It was so familiar, doing this. It was so effective, playing this game of manipulation, and even now she could keenly feel that sense of dexterity at handling situations like these running through her, like an encouraging force. She moved an inch closer. This whole way of coaxing answers out of him was very much like the past, but marriage had lend a new intimacy to it, a closeness she had been hesitant to use before. And if she admitted it to herself she often felt grateful for this, grateful that touching Guy didn't brand her with a sense of disloyalty to Robin anymore. And probably even more so that she no longer needed to condemn the enjoyment she derived from his touch. She liked touching him.
By now the expression in his eyes had softened and then she saw his lips part as if to answer. Her heart thudded louder in anticipation of what he was about to say. This is deception, she thought, this is deception. She almost shook her head to ward off the thought. She was doing this for the greater good. For England. To add to this oft-used balm for salving her conscience, she told herself that in truth, she was asking because she was concerned about Guy as well.
"I-", he started, and she felt anxious enough to try and pull the answer out of him. But then suddenly he inhaled sharply, removed her hand from his face and shook his head. He blinked and shook his head again, and she had never seen him look so disoriented.
He took a step back and, without meeting her eyes, swiftly made for the concealing shadows of the hallway, until he was swallowed by the darkness of the corridor.
She didn't call out to him. She was far too baffled to even think of doing so.
tbc
Rating: T for violence, angst
Characters/Pairings: all regular show characters, Prince John, Guy/Marian, Robin/Marian
Word Count: 20,299
A/N: This fic was written for the Gift Exchange Ficathon at the Robin Hood yuku board and is based on ladykate63's prompt with the following premise:
3x06 (Do You Love Me) with a twist.
On his way to Nottingham, Prince John has Guy brought to him and orders him to kill the Sheriff; when he arrives at the castle to find Vaisey alive, he secretly orders Vaisey to kill Guy. The twist: all this takes place in an AU in which Season 2 ended with Marian marrying Guy (supply the backstory of your choice) and the trip to the Holy Land never happened.
More details of the prompt are:
In this AU, the Black Knights are still disbanded (due to Richard learning about them from Robin's reports), Prince John is still angry at Vaisey for the botched operation, and Guy was still sent to London early in Season 3 as Vaisey's scapegoat. Isabella either doesn't exist or is with her husband in Shrewsbury (in other words, she doesn't appear in the story), Marian is still helping Robin and emotionally torn between Robin and Guy, and Will and Djaq are still with the gang (but Kate is not). Whether to include Tuck, and whether Allan is still with Guy or back with the gang, is up to the author. Whether Vaisey dies is also up to the author, but no other character deaths please. The fic should be reasonably Guy/Marian-friendly but with no Robin-bashing. Bonus point for including the Locksley church-burning, and for some progress toward a Robin/Guy reconciliation.
Again, a very big thank you to my betas novindalf and cleo_eurydike.
Part One
The flames twitched and glowed in the warm shelter of the hearth. She watched them, their oranges and yellows moving up and down, left and right, until she found herself lost in the movements of their enthralling dance.
She watched them until they merged into a blur and thoughts clouded her vision. They were nothing particular, her thoughts; they flitted about and reached all the places, all the moments her life had seen in the last few months. It wasn't anything new- she was often thinking now, and most of the time she did not even notice. But sometimes she was aware of it: when her spoon stayed for too long in her mouth at dinner; when her afternoon rides took her far beyond the premises of the land where she was supposed to stop; when Guy drifted off to sleep and she, despite being surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, kept awake till the last embers had died down.
She couldn't exactly recall when it started; when her thoughts started outweighing her actions and she became a more solemn, less idealistic woman. She often thought it must have begun during the weeks after the wedding- long, long weeks which washed over the short space of her life before and diminished everything about it.
***
The day she married him, there was no sun in the sky. She woke up to a listless world of pale blue-grey, aware of the frantic thump-thump of her heart. With the last remnants of a disordered dream still lingering in her mind, she stood up and set to the task of preparing herself for her wedding. It hadn't been long before several bustling maids had entered and continued the task.
She was to be a bride after all. His bride.
While they fussed and fidgeted with hair ornaments and rebellious fabric, she was aware of the same sensation which had pounded through her a year ago, on the day of what had supposed to be her marriage- that heavy feeling of the future pulling her down. This time, however, she knew that nothing would whisk her away from her fate, not even herself if the chance came to her. There was a limit to the number of times one could ruin a man on his wedding day.
She still remembered that other ceremony, the events of her previous visit to the altar. Except that now there was a hollow where her father's presence should have been and instead of the flowing breeze as her sole company, Allan walked beside her.
But the church was the same, and the same black and yellow festooned the yard. The crack in the big cobblestone on the steps still gaped at her. The faceless villagers were still flocked together on the benches. At the altar, it was still the same man who awaited her.
She approached him slowly, almost with trepidation, and when she knelt beside him, his head quickly turned her way. He averted his gaze just as swiftly. The moment had been enough for her to see wild uncertainty and a dash of hope filling his face. For an instant, the burden lessened.
The ceremony had started, and she found herself unable to focus, thoughts leaping in disarray from the mundane observation of the world around her, to the night to come, to Robin and the perplexed grief he had shown at their last meeting, to everything that had led her here to be. Here for a second time, when a month ago the thought of wearing a bridal veil was a vague and distant thing, part of an equally uncertain future.
The priest's words called her to attention. She recited through them, but half of her senses were drawn to the massive oak door behind. She wondered whether Robin or anyone of the gang would appear today.
Nearly shaking her head to ward off such thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on her own hands. But it was hard, and soon she found her thoughts straying to other places. What if she had done things differently? What if she had not let herself be carried away by the urgency of the situation? Everything had happened so swiftly- the Sheriff's suspicions, the threat of getting married off to some nobleman she did not know, and then finding the forest empty of the outlaws. Maybe she should have taken shelter somewhere else. Maybe she should have escaped before the threat became too close to a reality cornering her from all sides.
Guy had been a constant hovering presence then, proposing this and proposing that, but never mentioning the solution which had been constantly on both their minds- not after that failed forced wedding, not after the Nightwatchman. She had eventually stumbled in that direction herself. And even now as she recalled his uncertainty, his happiness- him nearly believing she was glad to be doing this- she could not help but wonder and question at what she had done. She had never believed herself to be as helpless to resort to this.
A warm hand took hers, and reality swarmed over her again. She did not look up. Her gaze remained on her hands until the ring circled her finger.
***
She was pulled out of her reverie by the neighing of a horse outside the manor. The sound was followed by the thump of boots on the ground, the clang of the stirrup and footsteps heading towards the door.
Guy had returned.
While duty nudged her to go and greet him, the lull of the flames and the uncertainty of her thoughts coaxed her to stay. She remained sitting.
*****
Before he had even properly entered, his eyes had already darted to the spot at the bottom of the staircase, his mind already conjuring up the image of his wife standing there with her half-smile and deep blue eyes. When nothing greeted him instead of the vivid mental picture of her, he swallowed the brief pang of hurt.
She would be upstairs...or engaged in a task which she couldn't immediately abandon. Maybe she didn't hear him arrive. He ran upstairs with these same sort of half-formed assurances colliding with his doubts, the same sort which he had summoned again and again in the early days of his marriage whenever he had found reality too harsh to accept.
From the open door of the kitchen, Thornton followed him with his stare before it settled on the two trenchers of warm food turning cold. He sighed.
When the master and his wife eventually came down to dinner, it would be warm again. It always was.
*****
The door of the bedchamber was slightly ajar and he pushed it open cautiously. She sat there before the fire, her back turned towards him, hair untied. A familiar urge bubbled up in him. An urge to run up to her and bury himself in her hair, her neck, the haloed circle of flickering light around her and drain all his distress, all his misery of the day away in her embrace.
But then he stopped himself.
There was a still serenity about the scene before him and he was suddenly not sure if he came nearer, it would be anything but an unwanted disruption. Pulling himself back as deeply as he could in the shadow of the door, he kept on looking, kept on waiting.
****
She knew he was there. Even though she barely had heard the creak of the stairs, she felt the weight of his gaze upon her, like always.
It vexed her that he should choose to remain hidden there in a shadowed place, unexposed. There was a strange feeling of cluelessness, of being without control whenever he took residence in a darkness she could not penetrate.
She took a deep breath and turned around.
"Guy?"
At first she was met by silence. Then there was a sound of fumbling, the scrape of boots, before the door was pushed open and he entered. To keep the awkwardness at bay, his face had adopted a neutral expression and he nonchalantly hung his coat over a chair. But then he turned, suddenly and quickly, and before she knew, he had enveloped her within his arms.
His breath expelled on a long sigh of her name.
She felt herself relaxing in his embrace, but then suddenly it was there as always-the small voice in her head which admonished her desire to yield to him, to his warmth, immediately. That little stabbing needle of guilt which pricked her whenever feelings beyond contentment, feelings which bordered precariously close to something she wasn't yet ready to submit to, came to her in his presence.
She tried to think of Robin and his fragmented dreams. Of the fact that this marriage had been a situational outcome not to her wishes.
But then his shoulders drooped and she felt how the tension of the day, clinging to his skin, slowly dissipated as his heart rhythmically thudded against her shoulder.
There was such weakness about him.
She slowly lifted her arms and wrapped them around his waist. He somehow felt thinner, less solid.
"How did your day at the castle go?"
It was probably something, she realised, that she shouldn't have asked, as a momentary strain returned to him. But it was said more out of habit than interest and because such quiet moments of intimacy always left her groping for the right words.
His voice came as a tired whisper beside her ear.
"Hardly...bearable."
She didn't require him to explain. She knew how he felt in the presence of anyone who had made him a victim of disloyalty. At this the image of the Sheriff flashed before her- the hollowness in his smile, the cold flicker in his eyes when he had drawn his face closer to hers, and, as a bitter wind wafting over a young harvest, told her how he had sent her husband away to pay for his incompetence. How he had done them both a favour.
The sensation of strong loathing reminded her of a question he had been evading for days.
"Have you thought of...of what you will do?"
"What do you mean?"
He tried to sound oblivious. He had never been good at hiding. She inhaled deeply and looked him in the eyes.
"Of what you will do now, now that you've-", she swallowed,"lost favour. From both quarters."
He drew himself apart and looked at her for a moment. The red heat of the flames reflected in his eyes.
"There's nothing to think of. The Sheriff is in a precarious position, it is only a matter of time before his power crumbles completely." He stared at the floor, not wanting to meet the disagreement in her eyes. "I'll take my chances then."
She disentangled herself abruptly from his arms. Her uncertainty of earlier combined with a repulsion of this weakness of his for which she had no sympathy, and swelled into anger. This was not vulnerability but something close to lethargy.
"Chances? Like those you have been successfully taking your whole life?"
He blinked at her, a stray wisp of dark hair falling before his eyes. At that moment, she saw how he considered himself; manacled by a lack of choice...a twist in fate. There was always something holding him back. There was always an excuse to avoid taking that crucial step which would bring him so close to the man she wanted him to be.
She wondered whether it was fright or the reluctance to change which hampered him.
"What would you want me to do then?" he asked. "Go out and do something reckless? Run off with you and start anew in some godforsaken place, with no money, no security or safety whatsoever?"
There was no denying of the sense in his words. But sense hardly mattered now, now when she saw how his insecurities kept on building cages around her hopes. The collected fury and annoyance of the past months inside her combined to form angry and bitter words.
"What I would want for you is to stop thinking everything will work out itself. To stop being so terrified of stepping out of the shadows of others for once. You talk of better chances, but you hardly ever avail yourselves of them; you talk of becoming a better man, a man who makes the right choices, but you never try hard enough!"
She stopped, and her hand trembled when she lifted it to smooth back her hair. She turned to look at him sitting on the edge of the bead, head in hands. She was not prepared for the weariness on his face when he finally looked up.
"Can we please talk about this at some other time?"
His voice was so low she hardly heard him.
When her own stomach rumbled and a flicker of guilt told her he would be even hungrier, she stiffly proposed going down for dinner.
They went down and ate a warm meal in silence.
***
Later that night, she made sure she was under the bedcovers well before he was. The dinner had dragged on under a cloud of unease which stifled the room and they had hardly spoken. As she wrapped the bedsheets tightly around herself, she was keenly aware of the sound of his slow movements behind her; the thud of boots, the clang of a goblet, the rustle of clothes. They all came and went with a rhythmic slow resonance which indicated that he had again become lost in that dark moorland of his thoughts.
She wanted him to pull out of it. To fly into a rage and give rightful reason for her to respond in the same, to let that bubble of annoyance she had been carrying for so long within her empty completely. She clenched and unclenched her hand, willing the silence to break.
At length the mattress shifted behind her. There was an urge to say something bitter but she quelled it. She would not be so easily dissuaded from her pretence of aloofness. She would not.
A few long moments passed like this and just when she thought she would finally drift off with the heavy silence still cast overhead, she heard the bed creak and he shifted closer. A moment later, his hand had found hers. He tentatively rubbed over it with his thumb. By now, after some five months of marriage, she knew he meant it as a gesture of apology.
She turned to face him. His eyes, wide and open, bore into hers.
It was nothing...I was exhausted and spoke without reason, she wanted to say, because now when she thought about her words of before, they seemed unnecessarily harsh. And with this state of contentment they had carefully wrought and gently woven their way to, avoiding pitfalls of betrayal and displays of jarring tempers and politics, they really seemed pointless as well.
But then it was there again; the thought of Robin, the slight discomfort-
"I meant what I said," she said.
To her surprise, a flash of what could have been acceptance darted across his face. He tightened his grip around her fingers.
"I know." He paused, and lowering his eyes continued, "and if I weren't so concerned about you, I might have done something to change it all long ago. Maybe I could do with some of your wilfulness." The wan smile he gave her was like a pale streak of sunlight on a misty day. She suddenly felt warm and less confused.
"I could not afford to have you borrow it from me though," she said, and the teasing made her content enough to settle on his shoulder, a place where sleeping had become an unexpected habit. Guy's arm looped around her waist. Its proximity to the Nightwatchman scar was no longer unsettling, now that this imprint of his dagger no longer flared as dangerously with the memories of betrayal as before, and now that they had restored much of the damage its revelation had caused.
Occasionally though, on the days when she allowed the cause and England to pull her to the forest, she still felt its presence, deep and throbbing, in her side.
***
In his dream, there were six of them.
They were large and hulking, their figures made formless by the surrounding darkness which half-swallowed them.
He wanted to run, but when they reached for his arms and his legs he felt his body slacken as if it willed him to play a submissive captive, like always in his dreams. Panic whirling in his chest, he twisted his head to see their black hands nearing Marian's face. This time, when he commanded his clenched fist to move, it did.
He awoke to see the dark silhouette of man staggering back.
After the first moments of confusion, the panic became a heavy rock in his throat. Even in the shallow moonlight, there was no mistaking the livery of Prince John's guard. Marian. He turned around to see her still fast asleep, and before he could direct the overwhelming instinct to protect her into an offensive with all his strength, he felt several pairs of hands shackle him and drag him off the bed. Even though they hadn't approached her yet he was frantic, his shouts of "Don't touch her!" accompanying him to the doorway as he was shoved along, arms and legs flailing and kicking without effect. It was then that she awoke.
She blinked a few times and instantly reached for the sword hanging beside his belt.
"Marian, no!" he shouted. A hand clamped his mouth and his last sight was of two guards restraining her before she could grab the weapon.
Her furious shouts followed him out into the night.
As he was dragged away to God knew where, the chill midnight air cold on his bare skin, he prayed and prayed that Prince John's idea of punishment did not involve retaliating through one's family.
***
The floorboards echoed with her anxious pacing. The sun was already a bleeding orange semicircle on the horizon and he hadn't returned yet. With every second, the conviction that he would was lessening, but it did not keep her from regularly glancing towards the entrance of the manor.
She had tried to follow the men as they dragged Guy off into the darkness, but the remaining guards had been forceful, though not violent. One of them had come forward and told her there was no need for her to go and complicate things while her husband had his audience with prince John. He had added then, more politely, that Guy would be likely to return soon. They had left with a warning that the manor would be guarded, and that any attempt at escape would only make matters worse.
She felt her ire rise and recollections of a month ago, of when the Sheriff had sent off Guy to the prince, swarmed her mind.
That night Guy hadn't come home, and she had been worried for he never stayed at the castle since their marriage. She had reasoned the fiasco with the Irish brothers must have kept him, and had thought little of it until another night had come without word or a message from him. She had then decided to find out for herself.
When she did, she nearly had fallen over from the combination of shock and anger.
Many hours had passed before she returned to the manor that night, Allan at her side. She did not sleep in the remaining ones before dawn. The knowledge of Guy being on his way to what probably was his death had spun again and again through her mind until she felt she could no longer bear the restlessness. If it hadn't been for Allan's common sense, she might have done something reckless.
The days which followed had been long. She wandered aimlessly through them, alternating between worrying and thinking, worrying and thinking. Before the idleness started, she had tried to make arrangements for visiting London, because as long as the news of a death did not come, she had hope. But with no one to accompany her and Vaisey's determination to keep her at home, she hadn't gone far. She had then even ventured to ask Robin for help. He had refused and told her plainly he did not understand why she worried so much for a husband who was not supposed to be her husband in the first place.
Her mind had pondered over this implication as well, because even though she knew she cared for Guy, she had not expected her anxiety to be this profound. But the more she thought, the more she realised that she could not look at things from the point of view of her previous life anymore. Guy was her husband, she was married to him. She had lived, slept, woken and eaten with him for weeks now and all these acts had unconsciously contributed to creating a closeness she wasn't sure she had fully grasped before now.
There were other things too, things she could no longer ignore. Even though she could not describe how she felt about their relationship, she could not deny that Guy tried to please her very often. The constant attention to what she liked and disliked, some occasional act which took her by surprise... it grated on her nerves at times, but more than often she felt flattered by his attention. The revelation of his past had also led her to look at him with greater understanding and sympathy, even though he remained in many ways an enigma to her.
But then life outside the manor would intrude, the reality of what he did for a living would sharply fall back in her awareness, and an argument would ensue.
The fact that he worked for a man like the Sheriff was a focal point for strain. It was where most of their disagreements stemmed from, and as long as she knew Guy intimidated people through violence and schemed against the rightful king during his daytime job, she could live under no illusions. She knew he felt no happiness or comfort in what he did, but as long as this conflict between his feelings and deeds would not change, she could not let herself be satisfied.
It was for this reason she had carried with her a spark of hope other than the one held for his survival. If Guy returned, his days as henchmen for the Sheriff would, she believed, be over.
A month had passed and he had finally returned. When he did, she had found it hard to believe the extent of her own relief.
She stared out now. Dawn had fully broken and the whole of Locksley was tinted bronze. Half an hour more, she told herself, and if by then Guy hadn't returned she would see to it that the obstinate guard at her door could be persuaded enough to lead her to Guy. But then fear took hold of her, and when she thought that the longer she waited, the greater the chances she would be led to a corpse instead of a living, breathing form, she decided she could wait no longer.
It was when she reached down to the entrance of the manor to accost the guard that she saw Guy's drooping form arrive on a horse in the distance. She immediately felt the warm rush of relief spread through her.
She ran out to meet him.
"Where have you been? What happened?" she asked, her voice anxious.
He stepped off his horse and silently handed the reins to the stable boy. He was wearing something which did definitely not belong to him; a tattered jerkin.
Since no reply was forthcoming, she urged him again.
"Guy?"
This time he looked up. He only met her gaze for a moment before letting his eyes dart around. He swallowed.
"It was nothing--Prince John only wanted to discuss something small with me."
He moved as if to brush past her, and she immediately grasped his wrist. If he thought he could flee to somewhere away from her scrutiny, he was wrong.
"Either the prince is an idiot who doesn't know one can wait till the morning for discussing small matters, or you are lying."
The remark made him go rigid, and she suddenly felt grateful that he hadn't been endowed with the art of evasion. For a moment it looked as if he were about to relent, but then she saw a familiar obstinance flicker in his eyes.
"Marian...this doesn't concern you. Say what you like, but there are things you'd be better not aware of."
And with that, he swept towards the manor, leaving her retort frozen on her lips. An uneasy combination of anger and dread swirled her thoughts towards the assumption that she was losing him again now that a new master had arrived for him to swear fealty to.
After a change of shirts he was already hurling towards the exit, and she silenced the urge to press him for answers on his restlessness as well as the question of whether he wouldn't eat before he left. By now excitement and curiosity had already scattered over her pique and when she remembered that through her persistence she could manoeuvre him towards giving the answers she required, she felt her confidence grow.
She almost didn't hear him say something to her.
"What?"
"You'll have to be at the castle within an hour. Prince John will be arriving soon and it wouldn't do to not welcome his arrival." He moved to the table to pick up an apple. "He'll take it as a sign of disrespect."
"And what if I don't want to welcome him?"
When he moved closer and gently took hold of her shoulders, she was unsettled by the panicked look on his face.
"Marian, I know what you feel about him, but you must know he is not a man to be trifled with. He's unpredictable and...dangerous. Even more than the Sheriff." She swallowed at the worry evident in his eyes. His grip on her arms tightened. "Do not give him cause to do something against you. If not for my sake, then for yours." His next word came out as something tremulous, almost fearful.
"Please."
She was only dimly aware of the sound of the door closing and the echoes of his steps diminishing as he left.
***
She wouldn't come. It had first been a vague suspicion, but now as second turned into minute and his blasted thoughts turned more and more acrid, it began to seem more than likely. She loved to defy orders, he knew that, and sometimes he even admired that quality in her. Now though... now he just hoped common sense would overcome her urge for rebellion.
He kicked at a tiny pebble on the stone floor. Maybe he should have told her. It had after all been him after the discovery of her
Nightwatchman scar who had proposed that they wouldn't give lies and deceit a chance again. But he hadn't lied, had he? He had merely concealed something from her, and even though it made him uncomfortable, he persistently tried to reason it was for the best.
He glanced at the gate again. He was reluctant to admit to himself that something deeper was troubling him, not just that Prince John had ordered him to murder a man he had served for years. Guy felt the task carried with it an enormous amount of uncertainty- he could succeed and he could fail, and even if the deed was done, what would it mean for him? The prince had after all promised him nothing, and even if he were granted power, he would have to confront Marian over what he had done. The thought of this made him more uncomfortable than anything else.
"So when's 'e coming, Giz?"
Guy stopped his fervent pacing at Allan's question and turned around. Allan was essentially no longer in his service as he himself was essentially no longer master-at-arms. Still, there were old bonds which tethered the former outlaw to his service in some ways, rather than the Sheriff's, and for that he was grateful.
"I don't know...anytime." He couldn't prevent the annoyance from creeping in his words. He was edgy, and he wished to be alone.
"Isn't Marian gonna-"
"Go get her, Allan." He should have thought of this before. "God knows what--"
He was stopped mid-sentence by the sound of clattering hooves. He whirled around.
"There won't be any need for that", Marian said as she swung her leg over the horse and deftly settled on the ground.
She gave him a warm smile, and all of a sudden the roaring fire of his inner turbulence was reduced to a low simmering. He wished he could freeze such moments for safekeeping.
But then there was a host of clattering hooves near the portcullis and, behind him, more than a dozen nobles flocked out of the castle doors to gather on the courtyard steps. The trumpets sounded and Prince John and his retinue swept in.
***
Marian was chafing at the chance to go out and meet Robin. Initially there had been only curiosity related to the prospect of meeting Prince John, curiosity about whether he did justice to the mental image she had of the leader of the Black Knights, and she had been surprised to find a man whose attitude bordered on the lackadaisical and the ridiculous.
But then the first matter of interest had arrived in the form of several dozen coffers, and judging by the heavy panting of guards who carried them in, she realised they had to be filled with something valuable. The reasons of the prince's visit were still unclear to her, but she knew it had to do with something more than berate the Sheriff for the horrible state of affairs the Black Knights found themselves in.
It was then, as she traipsed through the Great Hall, idly going over its decorations, that she remembered that Guy had had something important to hide about his visit to the rince. And that this could possibly be an answer to her questions, and she needed to know it immediately.
Exhilarated, she swiftly headed to the door and hurried to where she thought Guy would most likely be found.
***
Marian didn't find Guy where she had thought he would be. His chambers were empty and, suspiciously, so was the council room. A
fter some deliberation, she headed to the Sheriff's quarters. She walked carefully, hugging the shadows of the walls. Recollections of the days she used to do this more often pounded through her, and with it a searing thought of how much everything had changed, how much she had changed.
When she reached the end of the hall, she was startled by the creaking of a nearby door as it opened. To her horror, the Sheriff's head appeared followed by that of the prince. As her heart quivered with the risk of discovery, she swiftly moved away from the circle of flickering torchlight and ducked in a nearby alcove. She held her breath as her mind tripped and flicked over a dozen excuses, none of which sounded convincing enough. If Vaisey caught her here now, when the political temperature in Nottingham was so high, there was no telling what he would do.
To her relief, the sound of their boots and conversation started to fade as they went down the opposite hallway.
But then, just as questions over their clandestine meeting started to crawl in her mind, a hand clamped over her mouth. If it hadn't been for the firmness of its grip, her scream would have echoed through the hallways.
***
She spun around, fiercely.
"Guy!"
From where he stood she could hardly make out his expression; the torchlight highlighted very little of him. But she could already picture his face, tight-lipped and wrought with suspicion. A spark of flames briefly illuminated his eyes.
In the next instant, she felt his hands on her wrists.
"What are you doing here?" he said, his voice something between a grumble and a hiss.
It was not hard to assume what he was thinking. Her history of spying and night-time activities had afforded him the inclination to be suspicious, although such wasn't always the case. Certainly not always, she thought as she recalled the countless times she had gotten away with leaking information to the gang behind his back. She felt a sudden, sharp sting of guilt but it effaced just as quickly. For now she was guilty of nothing except for probably being too concerned about his whereabouts.
"I was looking for you," she said, injecting a note of reprimand in her response and disengaging her wrists from his too firm grasp.
And then it dawned upon her suddenly, the question of why she had found him hidden in a dark corridor and most likely observing the room where the prince and the Sheriff had been a few moments ago.
"What are you doing here?"
At her question he immediately tensed, limbs poised like those of a sentinel. He crossed his arms, almost defensively, and let his gaze skitter away from her face. He said something, but she could make out nothing of the incoherent mumble except for some vague suggestion that he had come here to meet the Sheriff.
She leaned in closer to him. Then covered his hand with hers.
"Guy, things might be better if you confide in me," she said softly. There was an ambiguity to the words, and she tried not to dwell on it. "After all, wasn't it you who proposed we should put an end to the secrets between us?" The jab she felt now was undoubtedly one of guilt. Hypocrite. Jab. Hypocrite.
His response to her touch was, like always, immediate and she felt a sudden triumph when his face mellowed as he contemplated her words. Growing determined, she placed her hand on his face and then gently, as if in a movement to swipe away his worry, caressed his cheek with her thumb.
It was so familiar, doing this. It was so effective, playing this game of manipulation, and even now she could keenly feel that sense of dexterity at handling situations like these running through her, like an encouraging force. She moved an inch closer. This whole way of coaxing answers out of him was very much like the past, but marriage had lend a new intimacy to it, a closeness she had been hesitant to use before. And if she admitted it to herself she often felt grateful for this, grateful that touching Guy didn't brand her with a sense of disloyalty to Robin anymore. And probably even more so that she no longer needed to condemn the enjoyment she derived from his touch. She liked touching him.
By now the expression in his eyes had softened and then she saw his lips part as if to answer. Her heart thudded louder in anticipation of what he was about to say. This is deception, she thought, this is deception. She almost shook her head to ward off the thought. She was doing this for the greater good. For England. To add to this oft-used balm for salving her conscience, she told herself that in truth, she was asking because she was concerned about Guy as well.
"I-", he started, and she felt anxious enough to try and pull the answer out of him. But then suddenly he inhaled sharply, removed her hand from his face and shook his head. He blinked and shook his head again, and she had never seen him look so disoriented.
He took a step back and, without meeting her eyes, swiftly made for the concealing shadows of the hallway, until he was swallowed by the darkness of the corridor.
She didn't call out to him. She was far too baffled to even think of doing so.
tbc