Words of Comfort
Title: Words of Comfort
Author: ctquill
Word Count: 504
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Allan, Marian
Genre: angst
Spoilers: For S2
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tiger Aspect and the BBC.
Notes: After Marian's return to the castle, she is still grieving for her father and Allan finds her at an emotional moment. For Intercomm.
Allan found her in the dungeons. Staring at the cell in which her father had spent the last weeks of his life. He wondered if she had returned to the castle in part to be closer to Edward's ghost.
“Guy's looking for you.”
“In a minute,” she said, brushing a hand across her face and trying to hide the gesture from him.
“Do you want me to -” he indicated the door.
“No,” she said quickly. She turned back to the cell. “No. Stay. Please.”
It was the most weakness this woman could allow herself. Allan leaned against the damp wall and let the silence gather. Best that he hung around anyway. If the jailer came in he might get a bit funny about her being there.
If one really good thing had come from him switching sides, it was the authority he now had in the castle - the place he'd been made to feel the most helpless.
It started to get unpleasant after a while. Moisture was working its way through his clothes. The dungeons didn't smell very good at the best of times and he usually tried not to linger there. It wasn't a good place to start thinking.
“Marian, I think someone's coming. We should probably leave. Come back another time, yeah?”
She delayed a second longer, then followed him up the stairs into the fresh air. They crossed the courtyard together. She stared up at the gallows.
“Do you think about him when you stand here?”
“Who?” he said, as if he didn't know.
“Your brother.”
Allan shrugged. “He was a thief. A stupid one. That's just the way it is. That's just life.”
“Death.” She took a shuddering breath. “Tell me it gets better. Tell me it isn't just a platitude. Tell
me that in time the edges will dull and stop cutting me.”
Allan was good with words, but only insincere ones. Awkwardly, he said, “Didn't you lose your mother? Hasn't that got better?”
“It's a different kind of grief. I don't remember her. She didn't die believing I despised her.”
That day wasn't something Allan thought about. That was a choice. But now he remembered the overwhelming rage and loss and helplessness, all of which had quickly succumbed to a bitter grey knowledge that something irrevocable had happened and yet the world would trundle on without even noticing. His brother wasn't important enough. He and his pain weren't important enough.
Bloody Tom.
He remembered a small, strong hand on his arm. Earnest dark eyes and a soothing voice.
“He lives on inside you, though. That's how it works.”
Marian looked surprised. But she smiled, the warm, natural smile that she so rarely allowed herself in the castle and said softly, “Thank you, Allan.”
He stayed in the courtyard after she had gone to meet Guy, with the echoes of her undeserved gratitude.
Even his words of comfort were stolen goods.