[fic] : robin hood (bbc) - white magic, part two
Title: White Magic, Part II [ Part I]
Rating: PG
Word count: 1295 words
Characters: Guy/Marian
Summary: Post 2x13, AU. Guy has travelled to the Holy Land to bring Marian back from the dead. Somewhat inspired by dollsome, except that her idea put a more hilarious spin on the thing. I believe there may have been a magical goat. Thanks so much to hulamoth for being beta-tastic! :)
Disclaimer: Robin Hood is copyright to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
---
Marian still hadn’t spoken to him.
All he'd thought of, all that had pushed him onwards during the weeks at sea and riding across land, was her. Seeing her eyes open, seeing her smile at him. He would restore her. She would understand. She would be grateful. She would forgive him.
It seemed rather foolish, now. Very foolish. When had she ever behaved as he expected? Or wanted? Guy recalled the time he'd shown her his wealth, piled in his father's dark brown chest. He'd expected her to look a little impressed. But she'd only looked thoughtful, and more than a little uneasy.
After he had brought her back, they had both had to lie down. Marian, he placed on a thin sleeping mat. He threw himself down on the floor beside her, too hot and dry to move for a time. It felt like any water left in his body before now stained his dark shirt as sweat. It seemed an age later when he dragged himself up from the floor and towards the metal jug of water, his head spinning with the effort. Marian first. Kept in the darkest part of the room, the cool of the night hadn’t left the water yet. He gave some to Marian, carefully tilting up the lip of the metal cup fraction by fraction. Her face was cool beneath his hands, cool like the deep sand of the grave.
She slept a great deal that first week. Guy slept a great deal less, watching her through the night between snatches of sleep. She was even weaker than he had thought, and he feared that she was slipping away. It was as if by watching her, by staying awake, he could guard against death returning. Her speeches after being revived seemed to have drained her to the point where she had only the strength to eat, drink and sleep. Her face had begun to look less drawn. Younger. More like Marian. He had avoided looking at her too much at first. It reminded him of what he had done. What it might mean. But surely, surely, in restoring her, in caring for her, he was redeeming himself? Doubts hung in his mind, whispering to him in the half-light of dusk and dawn, when her cheeks and eyes became dark hollows. There were horrid moments when it did not seem as if Marian lay there at all.
“Why did you bring me back?” came Marian’s voice. Guy started, awoken from a shallow doze. It was late morning, a few hours after breakfast.
“I…because it was wrong,” he said, cursing himself and his lack of words. Marian only looked at him, her eyes half-closed. Her head rested on one arm that lay flat beneath her long hair, almost touching the wall at the head of the bed.
“I love you,” he said. Marian closed her eyes. “No -” he rushed to add, “I love you. I knew the moment I - in that moment that I lost you, I knew.”
”That,” said Marian, “is pig-swill.”
“It is not,” said Guy, stung.
“You killed me because you love me?”
“You - you had just said - and I had - after everything, after all I had done - had tried - had tried to be…” he stopped, horribly aware of how weak, how empty his words sounded. By all the fires of hell, why could he not explain himself to her? There was a long pause. Eyes closed, Marian seemed to have gone to sleep again.
“We are back where we were before,” she said, quietly. “Perhaps it is better that…” her voice trailed away. Guy leant forward.
“Better that what?” he said, leaning forward. “What is in your mind, Marian?” There was no answer. He moved to her side, close enough to hear her slow and even breathing. She had fallen asleep, that was all. He could wake her for dinner later. Lying down on his own thin sleeping mat, his mind wandered back to when he had arrived here.
He had been afraid, at first, that someone in Port Acre would recognize him. That someone would remember the fight that had happened in the middle of their town. Fortunately the Saracens here had become subdued after having battles and crusaders rage through their town, and most avoided him as earnestly as he did them. To those who did ask, he called himself Stephen, taking the name and story of the Knight Hospitaller that he had spoken with on the sea voyage. Stephen had joined them from a Holy Land port two weeks before Acre. His voice had been hollow with homesickness as he described his wife and the child that had been born while he was away.
“Soon,” Stephen would say, with strangely steady certainty, “soon, I will go back. God has placed me here for now.” Guy hadn’t told Stephen exactly what was bringing him to Acre. He had spoken vaguely of joining the King’s forces, journeying first through places where his friends had fallen. A kind of pilgrimage, he had said. On the last morning, they had been standing together on deck. The sails whipped and cracked, but the wind that had touched Guy was oddly warm, faintly so. Warmer than he expected. Warmer than the sea winds of the past months.
Stephen had been speaking of his wife Joan as they watched the sea beat and foam against the side of the boat. She loved the water, he said. Loved the freezing rush of the river near their house. She’d stand in it, he said, and dare him to do the same.
“The cold would take my breath away,” he had said. “She’d laugh, and stretch her arms out,” he showed Guy, tilting his head back as if breathing in the sunlight, “and say, ‘Stand in it, Stephen. Stay in it. It’ll warm…’” He looked across at Guy. “Do you never wish you had a wife?”
“Yes,” Guy had said, honestly, and felt sadness clutch at his chest. Stephen had looked curious, but did not press. Guy had volunteered only rare pieces of information on the way over, preferring to listen to Stephen’s stories than share his own. Especially to a Knight Hospitaller. He suspected Stephen would not approve of the type of miracles that came in glass bottles. Miracles? Sorcery, his brain had hissed.
“Perhaps you will find one in the Holy Land,” Stephen had said, turning his face back toward shore.
“Yes,” said Guy.
Marian shifted on the bed. The sound pulled him from his reverie, and he brought her dinner, flat bread and roughly sliced meat and water on a wooden plate. Yesterday she had let him help her sit up to eat, but now he felt her resist. Only weakly, but she was resisting all the same.
“Guy…”
“Stay, then,” he said, puzzled. She had seemed stronger today. Quieter, but stronger.
“Stay there, and I’ll - ” he ripped off a piece of the bread and lifted it to her mouth. Eyes fixed on his, she tightened her mouth closed.
“Please, Marian,” he said. She shook her head. “Marian,” he paused over her name, “if you do not eat, you will - I will lose you again.” Her expression didn’t change, stubbornness fixed in her eyes.
"If you don't eat,” he heard his voice growing bitter, “you won't be alive when Robin comes to rescue you.” Damn Hood, damn him. For being Lord of Locksley, for having Marian’s heart, for being by design and desire a better man than he had ever managed to be. Robin would follow him out here. And Marian would run to be with him, flee Guy for Robin just as she had before.
A quiet voice came from behind him. “Robin is coming?”
---
Part Three
Rating: PG
Word count: 1295 words
Characters: Guy/Marian
Summary: Post 2x13, AU. Guy has travelled to the Holy Land to bring Marian back from the dead. Somewhat inspired by dollsome, except that her idea put a more hilarious spin on the thing. I believe there may have been a magical goat. Thanks so much to hulamoth for being beta-tastic! :)
Disclaimer: Robin Hood is copyright to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
---
Marian still hadn’t spoken to him.
All he'd thought of, all that had pushed him onwards during the weeks at sea and riding across land, was her. Seeing her eyes open, seeing her smile at him. He would restore her. She would understand. She would be grateful. She would forgive him.
It seemed rather foolish, now. Very foolish. When had she ever behaved as he expected? Or wanted? Guy recalled the time he'd shown her his wealth, piled in his father's dark brown chest. He'd expected her to look a little impressed. But she'd only looked thoughtful, and more than a little uneasy.
After he had brought her back, they had both had to lie down. Marian, he placed on a thin sleeping mat. He threw himself down on the floor beside her, too hot and dry to move for a time. It felt like any water left in his body before now stained his dark shirt as sweat. It seemed an age later when he dragged himself up from the floor and towards the metal jug of water, his head spinning with the effort. Marian first. Kept in the darkest part of the room, the cool of the night hadn’t left the water yet. He gave some to Marian, carefully tilting up the lip of the metal cup fraction by fraction. Her face was cool beneath his hands, cool like the deep sand of the grave.
She slept a great deal that first week. Guy slept a great deal less, watching her through the night between snatches of sleep. She was even weaker than he had thought, and he feared that she was slipping away. It was as if by watching her, by staying awake, he could guard against death returning. Her speeches after being revived seemed to have drained her to the point where she had only the strength to eat, drink and sleep. Her face had begun to look less drawn. Younger. More like Marian. He had avoided looking at her too much at first. It reminded him of what he had done. What it might mean. But surely, surely, in restoring her, in caring for her, he was redeeming himself? Doubts hung in his mind, whispering to him in the half-light of dusk and dawn, when her cheeks and eyes became dark hollows. There were horrid moments when it did not seem as if Marian lay there at all.
“Why did you bring me back?” came Marian’s voice. Guy started, awoken from a shallow doze. It was late morning, a few hours after breakfast.
“I…because it was wrong,” he said, cursing himself and his lack of words. Marian only looked at him, her eyes half-closed. Her head rested on one arm that lay flat beneath her long hair, almost touching the wall at the head of the bed.
“I love you,” he said. Marian closed her eyes. “No -” he rushed to add, “I love you. I knew the moment I - in that moment that I lost you, I knew.”
”That,” said Marian, “is pig-swill.”
“It is not,” said Guy, stung.
“You killed me because you love me?”
“You - you had just said - and I had - after everything, after all I had done - had tried - had tried to be…” he stopped, horribly aware of how weak, how empty his words sounded. By all the fires of hell, why could he not explain himself to her? There was a long pause. Eyes closed, Marian seemed to have gone to sleep again.
“We are back where we were before,” she said, quietly. “Perhaps it is better that…” her voice trailed away. Guy leant forward.
“Better that what?” he said, leaning forward. “What is in your mind, Marian?” There was no answer. He moved to her side, close enough to hear her slow and even breathing. She had fallen asleep, that was all. He could wake her for dinner later. Lying down on his own thin sleeping mat, his mind wandered back to when he had arrived here.
He had been afraid, at first, that someone in Port Acre would recognize him. That someone would remember the fight that had happened in the middle of their town. Fortunately the Saracens here had become subdued after having battles and crusaders rage through their town, and most avoided him as earnestly as he did them. To those who did ask, he called himself Stephen, taking the name and story of the Knight Hospitaller that he had spoken with on the sea voyage. Stephen had joined them from a Holy Land port two weeks before Acre. His voice had been hollow with homesickness as he described his wife and the child that had been born while he was away.
“Soon,” Stephen would say, with strangely steady certainty, “soon, I will go back. God has placed me here for now.” Guy hadn’t told Stephen exactly what was bringing him to Acre. He had spoken vaguely of joining the King’s forces, journeying first through places where his friends had fallen. A kind of pilgrimage, he had said. On the last morning, they had been standing together on deck. The sails whipped and cracked, but the wind that had touched Guy was oddly warm, faintly so. Warmer than he expected. Warmer than the sea winds of the past months.
Stephen had been speaking of his wife Joan as they watched the sea beat and foam against the side of the boat. She loved the water, he said. Loved the freezing rush of the river near their house. She’d stand in it, he said, and dare him to do the same.
“The cold would take my breath away,” he had said. “She’d laugh, and stretch her arms out,” he showed Guy, tilting his head back as if breathing in the sunlight, “and say, ‘Stand in it, Stephen. Stay in it. It’ll warm…’” He looked across at Guy. “Do you never wish you had a wife?”
“Yes,” Guy had said, honestly, and felt sadness clutch at his chest. Stephen had looked curious, but did not press. Guy had volunteered only rare pieces of information on the way over, preferring to listen to Stephen’s stories than share his own. Especially to a Knight Hospitaller. He suspected Stephen would not approve of the type of miracles that came in glass bottles. Miracles? Sorcery, his brain had hissed.
“Perhaps you will find one in the Holy Land,” Stephen had said, turning his face back toward shore.
“Yes,” said Guy.
Marian shifted on the bed. The sound pulled him from his reverie, and he brought her dinner, flat bread and roughly sliced meat and water on a wooden plate. Yesterday she had let him help her sit up to eat, but now he felt her resist. Only weakly, but she was resisting all the same.
“Guy…”
“Stay, then,” he said, puzzled. She had seemed stronger today. Quieter, but stronger.
“Stay there, and I’ll - ” he ripped off a piece of the bread and lifted it to her mouth. Eyes fixed on his, she tightened her mouth closed.
“Please, Marian,” he said. She shook her head. “Marian,” he paused over her name, “if you do not eat, you will - I will lose you again.” Her expression didn’t change, stubbornness fixed in her eyes.
"If you don't eat,” he heard his voice growing bitter, “you won't be alive when Robin comes to rescue you.” Damn Hood, damn him. For being Lord of Locksley, for having Marian’s heart, for being by design and desire a better man than he had ever managed to be. Robin would follow him out here. And Marian would run to be with him, flee Guy for Robin just as she had before.
A quiet voice came from behind him. “Robin is coming?”
---
Part Three