Fic: What to Believe 1/1
Title: What to believe
Pairing: Marian, Guy/Marian, Robin/Marian
Rating: PG
Summary: If you really wanted to make me love you, she almost says. If you wanted that, you would help me. A small part of her still yearns for Guy's softer side, the side that made her feel torn when she thought of Robin. The side that made her feel disloyal.
Note: Set between 2x12 'A Good Day to Die' and 2x13 'We Are Robin Hood.' I’m assuming they did indeed travel for weeks, despite their near overnight appearance in the Holy Land.
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After the first week, she stops speaking.
What’s the point in keeping up pretences? She is their prisoner. They are going to the Holy Land to kill the King.
Robin is dead.
Something within her doubts this, a lingering hope that he escaped, thwarted the Sheriff’s plans the way he always seems to manage. Perhaps Allan made it in time, perhaps they’re on their way to the Holy Land. But in her current situation she can’t afford that sort of optimism; she must adapt, plan, bide her time. She has lost the advantage of surprise. The chains fastened around her wrists are a rather archaic end to that charade.
The Sheriff’s end game where she is concerned still mystifies her, sends dismay twining through her heart when she’s left alone in the dark to consider it, the stench of livestock or ale from establishments outside creeping through the slats of wood. He hasn’t killed her. He’s hardly merciful, and her prior status is meaningless now, if it ever actually meant anything. No, there’s something calculating behind it, disqualifying the idea that it is nothing but a mere enjoyment of her suffering or the opportunity to drag along a witness to his triumph. She still serves some sort of purpose. Perhaps it is to maintain Guy’s loyalty. His attachment to her is ambiguous and untrustworthy at this point, but the Sheriff can’t afford to jeopardise the presence of his closest servant by guessing.
It’s something she can use to her advantage, but the exhaustion of unconfirmed grief, their travels and the knowledge that her world has irrevocably shifted in the wake of her own desperate actions results in her vow of silence, temporary as it may be.
She will wait.
They travel endlessly, trading one carriage for another when they finally land on foreign soil. Guy’s proximity discomforts her. He remains by her side, fingering her chains with regret but not removing them, placing himself in charge of her meals and her capture as if he is protecting her and not crushing her like one of his possessions. It reminds her just how wrong she has been. For his part he only spares her brief sidelong glances as they ride along everyday, resigning himself to her silence with brooding severity and indifference. The Sheriff sneers and chuckles and begins the day with the inciting question, “Still sulking, hmm?” As if she’s a toy to him on their lengthy travels, something to prod and tease like one might with a cat and a piece of string.
Tonight, she abandons her cot to sit on the floor, knees drawn to her chest. Within reaching distance is a small stool and nothing else; the room smells of straw and emptiness, the stableboy’s old quarters. Moonlight peers in through the window and dances over the floor. She eyes the shapes with disinterest, practicing some form of meditation, not thinking of anything. It is the only comfort she has, to sit as still as a rock and think of nothing in these moments, not of Robin, not her father. Not of Guy, and the way she allowed herself to care for him, believe he might be worth saving after all.
Silence is better. It carries no hidden motives, not when she is alone.
The door creaks as it opens - there is no knocking here, she has lost that masquerading courtesy - and Guy steps inside, boots shuffling over the dusty floor. A frown crosses his face at the sight of her on the floor, considering it one of her petty rebellions, no doubt. He has a pile of fabric in his hands, soft and light against the harsh leather of his jacket. The rigid outfit is his own stubborn show of status, even in this growing heat.
They are dresses, she realises. For her. It’s an absurd sight, really, after everything she has endured. It causes an uncomfortable memory to surface and she looks away, pretending to be unbothered by his presence.
“You still refuse to speak, Marian?” he asks, letting the door fall closed behind him. “You don’t think that’s a little childish?”
She scoffs, saying nothing. How to acknowledge that the games between them have always been childish, when they have led to this. He places the dresses on the edge of the cot, as if waiting for her - her what? - her gratitude, perhaps. “These are for you. I thought you might like a change of clothing, as we near warmer temperatures.”
“You expect me to thank you?” she mutters after a moment, surprised her voice is not gritty and coarse from lack of use.
He stares at her. There is a coldness there she has never felt before, spite and viciousness, but it still conceals a wandering sense of hope and she has to marvel at his obsession. She will use it against him. She has to, he has given her no other choice. Things can never continue the way they were, as if they were pursuing friendship.
What a concept.
A bitter touch of honesty still creeps through her voice, because she has never felt so stupid. He said her charitable inclinations were misguided - he will never realise the extent to which that is true.
If only she could reach him. If only she could stop hoping that were possible.
If only her escape did not hinge on that very prospect.
“I expect nothing from you,” Guy answers flatly. He shifts his jaw, staring at her like he does not know her, like he never did.
“Perhaps I should start thinking the same of you,” she says under her breath.
He stops mid-turn, steely gaze fixing down on her once more. “Do not pretend you didn’t bring this on yourself, Marian, when you went after the Sheriff. I attempted to help you.”
“I am not sorry,” she snaps, drawing herself to her feet. Her motions are clumsy due to the shackles but she steps forward anyway, straightening jerkily. “Why should I be humbled by your attempts to save me when now you treat me like a slave? When you are here to kill the King?”
“I do this for your own protection.”
Marian snorts at the familiar line. “You do this for your own convenience. If you really wanted to…” If you really wanted to make me love you, she almost says. If you wanted that, you would help me. She looks down, away. She feels disgusted by his nearness, by the thought, but a small part of her still yearns for his softer side, the side she was certain felt something for her that was not entirely self-motivated. Pure. The side that made her feel torn, when she thought of Robin. The side that made her feel disloyal.
It does not exist anymore. Perhaps it never did. It was skewed by her manipulations and her own naiveté.
“I did what I thought was right,” she says finally, lifting her chin to meet his stare. “You cannot tell me you have ever had the same conviction.”
Guy is silent. His scowl has not deepened or lessened; she cannot read his thoughts. His intensity frightens her sometimes, but now she wishes for it, just to know. It’s possible he’s thinking of Robin, wondering if she’s making inner comparisons. Robin has that conviction. Robin lives for that conviction.
For a moment they stare at one another. That familiar warmth flares between them, the one she welcomes to her advantage but shies from any real connotations. It makes her wonder if she is getting through.
“I do what needs to be done,” he responds quietly.
He jerks his head down at the dresses, and the spell is broken. However incendiary and dangerous that spell might have been.
“Wear them. If you would prefer discomfort, fine.”
The betrayal and anger curls in her stomach once again, and she purses her lips, slumping on the cot as he wrenches open the door, shutting it swiftly behind him.
The dresses bunch as she twists them slowly through her fingers, like the torment and frustration balling up inside.
She will try again. It’s her only chance, even if she has to lie, and the knowledge is inescapable. Their relationship has been nothing but lies. She is his obsession, and he is her darkness.
And now she needs him to be a good man.
She’s not sure if he will be.
/end