Short Fic: Getting On
Title: Getting On
Author: alesh101
Word Count: 1815
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Marian, Guy, mentions the sheriff, Sir Edward
Spoilers/Warnings: none
Summary: Marian is back in the castle and trying to get on with things, but she has unresolved business
Disclaimer: Tiger Aspect and BBC own Robin Hood, I only play.
ETA: word count was completey wrong, apparently
You're coming home with me.
Guy ushered Marian into her old chamber. Nothing about it had changed. Everything was still in its place, as if she had only gone for a stroll or something equally meaningless.
She turned to face Guy, who stood just inside the door.
“Thank you, Guy” she said quietly. She offered him a small smile of gratitude.
“I could not leave you there to die,” he said. He took a small step toward her, then caught himself. “You must be tired. I'll leave you to rest, and send a maid to you in a little while.”
Marian nodded. Woodsmoke clung to her clothes and hair. Her shoulders ached from her suspension in the tree. Guy was right. She was tired, and she didn't want to talk.
A sudden thought came to her. The last time she'd lived here, her father had been alive. She'd run away before knowing what had been done for him in her absence. She called out to Guy just as he was closing her chamber door.
He came back in, brows raised in a silent question.
“What happened to my father?” Please God, let him give me a good answer, she prayed. Don't let the sheriff have dishonored my father in his anger.
Guy looked away from her intense gaze for a moment and Marian's heart fell. She should have known the sheriff would do something awful with her father's body once she was gone. She cursed herself for leaving. She should have stayed, at least until she could see her father buried properly.
She was brought sharply back to the present when Guy cleared his throat.
“I-we... He was buried near Knighton. I thought he would prefer that.” He was looking at her now, tender concern in his eyes.
“Yes. He would.”
“I'll speak to the sheriff,” he offered. “I'll see if you can visit the grave, if you like.”
Marian nodded, but said nothing more. Guy's concern set her eyes to stinging, and now she only wished he would go away. If the tears fell in his presence, he would try to comfort her, and she had no idea what might happen then. He might try to kiss her again. Or she might accept his comfort, and that could be disastrous.
He waited for a moment, then left with a small sigh.
The flood came as soon as he closed the door behind him. One hand came up to cover her mouth, to stifle the sobs that wanted to escape. The other came up to her chest, over her heart to ease the pain there.
For several long moments she allowed herself the luxury of tears. They burned her eyes, and clogged her nose. Muffled groaning sounds came from behind the hand that covered her mouth.
Finally the storm passed, and Marian realized how very tired she was. The bed called to her, and so she went, lying down slowly. The strain of the last couple of weeks finally caught up with her, and she fell asleep with the stains of her grief on her face, her hand still pressed to her heart.
* * * *
It was another two days before Guy could secure the sheriff's permission for Marian to visit her father's grave. On the evening of the second day, Guy appeared at her door to tell her the sheriff had finally relented, and she would be allowed to go to Knighton the following day if she wished. On one hand she was glad she could go,on the other she dreaded it. She hadn't been anywhere near Knighton since Guy had burned the house in a fit of rage earlier this year.
She wasn't sure if she could stand seeing her father's grave and her destroyed home all at once, but resolved to do it anyway. She'd told Little John she wanted to get on with things. She was only now realizing that getting on was usually painful.
The morning of her “outing,” as the sheriff called it, dawned bright and sunny. Marian would almost have preferred a storm, something bleak and sad, to match her mood. All the same, she was glad to be out of the castle, even for a little while. The fresh air was clean in her nose, and the sun was warm on her face.
She rode slowly toward Knighton with Guy and their escort of four guards. The ride was a quiet one, with Marian setting the tone with her refusal to engage in conversation. After the first few lame attempts, Guy stopped trying to talk to her. The guards chatted quietly among themselves.
Guy had told her that her father's grave was not at Knighton specifically, but rather on a small hill above where the house had once stood. To his dubious credit, he hadn't been able to look her in the eye when he told her this.
Marian chose to let it go. It was done, there was nothing more she could do about her home having been destroyed. But they both remembered, and he deserved whatever shame came with the memory. She would feel no guilt over it.
They passed within sight of Knighton, and Marian found that was enough. She could see that the outbuildings had escaped the fire, but the house itself was a ruin. The roof had collapsed in on itself. Nothing was left but a pile of rubble with a few blackened timbers rising up out of it.
Marian turned her face away. She couldn't bear to look at what had once been a happy home. Guy rode a few paces ahead of her, and she glared at his back for a few moments before remembering that she had chosen to forget.
Looking past Guy, Marian saw the cross above them at the crest of the hill. She urged her horse into a quick canter, leaving her escort behind. When she reached the top, she reined in sharply.
She dismounted and approached the grave slowly. It still looked fresh, the dirt piled high and only a smattering of grass beginning to grow over the top. The cross at the head of it was stone, her father's name carefully chiseled into it. She reminded herself to thank Guy for this as well. It must have cost him a small fortune.
Marian knelt down next to the cross and let her fingers drift lightly over the indentations in the stone. They seemed so small, so inconsequential. The letters spelled out her father's name, but told nothing of the man.
The carved letters knew nothing of the man who had raised her after her mother died, the man who had gone against tradition and allowed her to learn how to fight. Only she knew the man who had seen her educated even better than some noblemen they knew. She alone knew the man who had swallowed his pride and his fear for her and supported her as the Nightwatchman.
“I'm so sorry, Father,” she whispered. “I'm sorry for not being the kind of daughter you deserved. I'm sorry for bringing you so much trouble with my headstrong ways.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “I'm so sorry for everything.”
She stayed that way for a long time, until a small noise to her left caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Guy standing there with flowers and a rock in his hands. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Was he trying to woo her even now? Here at the head of her father's grave? And what on earth was the rock for?
“To put on the grave,” he said quietly, handing her the bundle of wildflowers. He looked at her rather sheepishly. “These were all I could find.”
Marian's mouth snapped shut. Again he was being kind to her. She had a fleeting moment of guilt at her uncharitable thoughts toward him.
She took the flowers with a small nod. Carefully she arranged them at the foot of the cross. Guy handed her the rock, and she placed that over the stems of the flowers so they would not blow away in a breeze.
“Would you like to stay longer? I would not rush you.”
Marian shook her head. There was nothing else for her to say. Edward of Knighton couldn't hear her. Coming here had been more for herself, anyway. But she hoped that if he was watching her, he knew what was in her heart.
“No,” she said, rising. “The sheriff will expect us back.” She mounted her horse again, and turned back toward Nottingham, Guy and the others following in her wake.
Back at the castle, Guy once again saw her to her room. Again, he lingered just inside her doorway. He looked as though he had something to say, so she waited.
“Marian, about your dagger...”
Her heart jumped into her throat. She'd forgotten the blade found with the jailer's body when her father escaped. Fear knotted her stomach and she held her breath, waiting for Guy's next words to condemn her. She wouldn't put it past the sheriff to order her execution for the death of his jailer now that she was back under his thumb.
“I've told the sheriff that the jailer must have stolen it from you somehow. He ended up having it used on himself. Because the sheriff believes everyone incompetent, he chose to accept the story.”
Marian's relief came in a rush of exhaled breath. She opened her mouth to speak, but Guy forestalled her with a raised hand.
“I don't know how it got there. I don't want to know.” His eyes caught hers. “I know you didn't kill the jailer. But I will not be able to spin a tale like that to the sheriff again.” The words were a warning, which she fully understood and said so.
“I understand,” she said. “Thank you, Guy.” She laid a hand on his arm. “For everything you've done for me. And my father.”
“There is no need.” He brushed away her gratitude. “With your father gone, it falls to me to protect you.” He reached out to touch her cheek lightly. “I want to protect you, if you will let me.”
“Please consider it, Marian.” She said nothing, but offered a small smile.
Guy's hand dropped away. As he made to leave, he reminded her that the sheriff would expect her in the hall this evening for supper.
She nodded in an acknowledgment of the directive. He left then and closed the door behind him. Marian sighed deeply. An evening with the sheriff promised to be filled with petty innuendo and subtle digs about her and her father, and especially her relationship with Guy.
Marian went to the small wardrobe to choose a dress for supper. Tonight her battle with the sheriff would begin again, and she wanted to be ready.
Author: alesh101
Word Count: 1815
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Marian, Guy, mentions the sheriff, Sir Edward
Spoilers/Warnings: none
Summary: Marian is back in the castle and trying to get on with things, but she has unresolved business
Disclaimer: Tiger Aspect and BBC own Robin Hood, I only play.
ETA: word count was completey wrong, apparently
You're coming home with me.
Guy ushered Marian into her old chamber. Nothing about it had changed. Everything was still in its place, as if she had only gone for a stroll or something equally meaningless.
She turned to face Guy, who stood just inside the door.
“Thank you, Guy” she said quietly. She offered him a small smile of gratitude.
“I could not leave you there to die,” he said. He took a small step toward her, then caught himself. “You must be tired. I'll leave you to rest, and send a maid to you in a little while.”
Marian nodded. Woodsmoke clung to her clothes and hair. Her shoulders ached from her suspension in the tree. Guy was right. She was tired, and she didn't want to talk.
A sudden thought came to her. The last time she'd lived here, her father had been alive. She'd run away before knowing what had been done for him in her absence. She called out to Guy just as he was closing her chamber door.
He came back in, brows raised in a silent question.
“What happened to my father?” Please God, let him give me a good answer, she prayed. Don't let the sheriff have dishonored my father in his anger.
Guy looked away from her intense gaze for a moment and Marian's heart fell. She should have known the sheriff would do something awful with her father's body once she was gone. She cursed herself for leaving. She should have stayed, at least until she could see her father buried properly.
She was brought sharply back to the present when Guy cleared his throat.
“I-we... He was buried near Knighton. I thought he would prefer that.” He was looking at her now, tender concern in his eyes.
“Yes. He would.”
“I'll speak to the sheriff,” he offered. “I'll see if you can visit the grave, if you like.”
Marian nodded, but said nothing more. Guy's concern set her eyes to stinging, and now she only wished he would go away. If the tears fell in his presence, he would try to comfort her, and she had no idea what might happen then. He might try to kiss her again. Or she might accept his comfort, and that could be disastrous.
He waited for a moment, then left with a small sigh.
The flood came as soon as he closed the door behind him. One hand came up to cover her mouth, to stifle the sobs that wanted to escape. The other came up to her chest, over her heart to ease the pain there.
For several long moments she allowed herself the luxury of tears. They burned her eyes, and clogged her nose. Muffled groaning sounds came from behind the hand that covered her mouth.
Finally the storm passed, and Marian realized how very tired she was. The bed called to her, and so she went, lying down slowly. The strain of the last couple of weeks finally caught up with her, and she fell asleep with the stains of her grief on her face, her hand still pressed to her heart.
* * * *
It was another two days before Guy could secure the sheriff's permission for Marian to visit her father's grave. On the evening of the second day, Guy appeared at her door to tell her the sheriff had finally relented, and she would be allowed to go to Knighton the following day if she wished. On one hand she was glad she could go,on the other she dreaded it. She hadn't been anywhere near Knighton since Guy had burned the house in a fit of rage earlier this year.
She wasn't sure if she could stand seeing her father's grave and her destroyed home all at once, but resolved to do it anyway. She'd told Little John she wanted to get on with things. She was only now realizing that getting on was usually painful.
The morning of her “outing,” as the sheriff called it, dawned bright and sunny. Marian would almost have preferred a storm, something bleak and sad, to match her mood. All the same, she was glad to be out of the castle, even for a little while. The fresh air was clean in her nose, and the sun was warm on her face.
She rode slowly toward Knighton with Guy and their escort of four guards. The ride was a quiet one, with Marian setting the tone with her refusal to engage in conversation. After the first few lame attempts, Guy stopped trying to talk to her. The guards chatted quietly among themselves.
Guy had told her that her father's grave was not at Knighton specifically, but rather on a small hill above where the house had once stood. To his dubious credit, he hadn't been able to look her in the eye when he told her this.
Marian chose to let it go. It was done, there was nothing more she could do about her home having been destroyed. But they both remembered, and he deserved whatever shame came with the memory. She would feel no guilt over it.
They passed within sight of Knighton, and Marian found that was enough. She could see that the outbuildings had escaped the fire, but the house itself was a ruin. The roof had collapsed in on itself. Nothing was left but a pile of rubble with a few blackened timbers rising up out of it.
Marian turned her face away. She couldn't bear to look at what had once been a happy home. Guy rode a few paces ahead of her, and she glared at his back for a few moments before remembering that she had chosen to forget.
Looking past Guy, Marian saw the cross above them at the crest of the hill. She urged her horse into a quick canter, leaving her escort behind. When she reached the top, she reined in sharply.
She dismounted and approached the grave slowly. It still looked fresh, the dirt piled high and only a smattering of grass beginning to grow over the top. The cross at the head of it was stone, her father's name carefully chiseled into it. She reminded herself to thank Guy for this as well. It must have cost him a small fortune.
Marian knelt down next to the cross and let her fingers drift lightly over the indentations in the stone. They seemed so small, so inconsequential. The letters spelled out her father's name, but told nothing of the man.
The carved letters knew nothing of the man who had raised her after her mother died, the man who had gone against tradition and allowed her to learn how to fight. Only she knew the man who had seen her educated even better than some noblemen they knew. She alone knew the man who had swallowed his pride and his fear for her and supported her as the Nightwatchman.
“I'm so sorry, Father,” she whispered. “I'm sorry for not being the kind of daughter you deserved. I'm sorry for bringing you so much trouble with my headstrong ways.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “I'm so sorry for everything.”
She stayed that way for a long time, until a small noise to her left caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Guy standing there with flowers and a rock in his hands. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Was he trying to woo her even now? Here at the head of her father's grave? And what on earth was the rock for?
“To put on the grave,” he said quietly, handing her the bundle of wildflowers. He looked at her rather sheepishly. “These were all I could find.”
Marian's mouth snapped shut. Again he was being kind to her. She had a fleeting moment of guilt at her uncharitable thoughts toward him.
She took the flowers with a small nod. Carefully she arranged them at the foot of the cross. Guy handed her the rock, and she placed that over the stems of the flowers so they would not blow away in a breeze.
“Would you like to stay longer? I would not rush you.”
Marian shook her head. There was nothing else for her to say. Edward of Knighton couldn't hear her. Coming here had been more for herself, anyway. But she hoped that if he was watching her, he knew what was in her heart.
“No,” she said, rising. “The sheriff will expect us back.” She mounted her horse again, and turned back toward Nottingham, Guy and the others following in her wake.
Back at the castle, Guy once again saw her to her room. Again, he lingered just inside her doorway. He looked as though he had something to say, so she waited.
“Marian, about your dagger...”
Her heart jumped into her throat. She'd forgotten the blade found with the jailer's body when her father escaped. Fear knotted her stomach and she held her breath, waiting for Guy's next words to condemn her. She wouldn't put it past the sheriff to order her execution for the death of his jailer now that she was back under his thumb.
“I've told the sheriff that the jailer must have stolen it from you somehow. He ended up having it used on himself. Because the sheriff believes everyone incompetent, he chose to accept the story.”
Marian's relief came in a rush of exhaled breath. She opened her mouth to speak, but Guy forestalled her with a raised hand.
“I don't know how it got there. I don't want to know.” His eyes caught hers. “I know you didn't kill the jailer. But I will not be able to spin a tale like that to the sheriff again.” The words were a warning, which she fully understood and said so.
“I understand,” she said. “Thank you, Guy.” She laid a hand on his arm. “For everything you've done for me. And my father.”
“There is no need.” He brushed away her gratitude. “With your father gone, it falls to me to protect you.” He reached out to touch her cheek lightly. “I want to protect you, if you will let me.”
“Please consider it, Marian.” She said nothing, but offered a small smile.
Guy's hand dropped away. As he made to leave, he reminded her that the sheriff would expect her in the hall this evening for supper.
She nodded in an acknowledgment of the directive. He left then and closed the door behind him. Marian sighed deeply. An evening with the sheriff promised to be filled with petty innuendo and subtle digs about her and her father, and especially her relationship with Guy.
Marian went to the small wardrobe to choose a dress for supper. Tonight her battle with the sheriff would begin again, and she wanted to be ready.