A "what if" story with an alternate scenario for 2 x 13 and everything after that, as well as a somewhat alternate version of history (see note at the end). Contains violence and semi-explicit sex. NOTE: In this scenario, Robin and the entire gang are dead. My heartfelt apologies to fans of all the characters I've killed off -- I feel quite bad about it myself and promise never to do it again!
The characters, of course, are not mine; they belong to the BBC/Tiger Aspect. Many thanks to the creators of Robin Hood, the actors who brought it to life, the fans who make this fandom a great place to be, and last but absolutely not least, my wonderful beta tangofiction, for her help and support and for getting me into this show.
The Sheriff of Nottingham waits silently atop the castle steps, his head bowed as the King walks slowly toward him, his attendants in tow. When the King stops in front of him, he kneels and kisses the royal ring, then rises rigidly to his feet. ( Collapse )
On the ship, she stood on the deck and gazed at the shore they were leaving behind, with Guy standing next to her, ready to restrain her if she tried to jump overboard. It was only when Acre vanished into the blue distance that Marian began to cry again. She tensed when he put his hands on her shoulders to take her downstairs, and he thought she would lash out; instead her shoulders slackened, and she followed meekly as he took her below deck to her cabin. “Lie down and rest,” he told her. She was so docile that it seemed as if she’d offer no resistance if he were he to lie next to her and possess her. It made him ill. The peasants told stories of witches, devil’s minions, who could steal a man’s or a woman’s spirit so that the body was alive but had no more soul than a puppet. Marian now seemed to be in such a state, only her spirit had not been stolen but murdered, and if he had not wielded the weapon himself he had most surely assisted in the deed.
In the next fortnight Marian made several trips about which Guy was careful to avoid inquiring; two such absences kept her away overnight, with the servants told she was visiting a convent. On one of those occasions, a wagon taking a tax collection to King John, who was building up his troops in response to rumors of brewing rebellion in Brittany, just happened to be robbed in a brazen manner recalling Hood’s exploits, and Guy’s unpleasant suspicions about the Nightwatchman’s new lease on life grew stronger.
In the morning, Guy awoke to daylight seeping through the drapes on the windows and the gauzy bed-curtains he had drawn the night before. He could not remember the last time he had felt such contentment. He turned to look at Marian. She lay on her side with her back to him, so that all he could see was the dark hair and the white of her shoulder, dull and grayish in the dim light. He suddenly wondered if what had happened the night before had been only a truce, to be followed by a new distance between them. No, this was real, had to be real; she was truly his wife from this day forward, the woman who would share not just his bed but his life.
It is past midnight when Guy of Gisborne returns to Locksley Manor and goes upstairs to his wife’s bedchamber. In the hazy orange-tinted light of a single candle, Marian is bundled under the blanket in the middle of the bed, her face hidden, her hair scattered over the pillows. As he starts to undress, she moves and sighs and turns to him; her eyes blink open foggily and she mutters, “‘Tis late. I thought you were spending the night at the castle.”