A/n: Lol, I'm so late to this fandom, but I didn't end up watching Robin Hood until a few months ago. I never really intended to post this fic, mostly because I wrote it on a whim and for myself, but hopefully somebody will enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Trigger warning for some torture 'cause I'm a crazy writer that likes to whump on my favorite characters (fairly mild compared to what I usually get up to, though). This is not a bashing fic, I like both Guy and Marian.

There are only two chapters. Takes place somewhere in the latter half of season two.

The Secret Prisoner

The plan was set, the hour chosen. The location was picked very carefully so as to not arouse suspicion. It was somewhere both she and he could be seen and no one would think anything of it. The plan would ensure no one was the wiser - not the sheriff, not his men, not even Robin. He couldn't know; she knew he wouldn't approve, and for more than one reason.

When the time came, it had been all-too easy. Complications had been expected, or for him to at least put up a fight, but in the end he was caught completely unawares. It had been night, and he was likely tired from his day, but she didn't think about that. She was happy that he'd gone down easily. She could rub it in his face later.

She couldn't wait to see his face, to see the surprised look in his eye, to see it slowly morph into anger at her betrayal. Humph. 'Betrayal'. How could she betray him when she'd never been loyal in the first place? She had never cared for him and she never could. Never. She would rub that in his face, too.

The new hour had been chosen as well. The hour when she would walk into that small, abandoned room and reveal herself. She would wear her Nightwatchman clothes. And why not? It would surely dig the dagger deeper, make it more painful all at once, if he knew.

As she stood before the door, the tapestry that typically hid it drawn aside, she placed the final piece of her ensemble upon her face. The Nightwatchman. He would think, at first, that it all made sense - to some degree, anyway. The Watchman was an enemy of the sheriff, after all, so he would think it made sense. At the thought of what would come next, she smiled behind her mask.

The door, slowly, creaked open.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

There was only a single torch lit in the corner of the dusty room, so Marian lit another. She didn't want to miss anything, to miss a single twitch or tweak, for everything in his face and body to be seen with ease. He'd pay, and she wanted to see him pay. This plan wouldn't be for nothing. He'd pay.

She stared at him for some time, wondering how she should wake him. Some part of her wondered why he hadn't woken yet, but the tincture she'd given him using his meal was strong. He'd stumbled and mumbled his way to this room as she led him, but he had seemed fine, mostly. Perhaps it had been too strong...

But no, he was breathing. She could see his chest rise and fall, as well as the way the slit of his open mouth moved nearly imperceptibly with each breath, as if with cold. Well, perhaps he was cold. It was winter still, and this long-forgotten part of the castle was not warmed by any fires, and likely hadn't been for some time. If he was cold, though, she didn't care.

She observed him further. Although she had always thought him handsome, it wasn't until now, with his face devoid of sneers or his typical harshness, that she truly found him pleasing to look upon. What a strange thought to have, she mused, but she couldn't help it. She didn't care to help it. Why should she? She had no set course here, except, for once, to do whatever she wanted. There would be no restrictions on her actions any longer. The game had been played for far too long and she'd had enough. So, if she wanted to think him beautiful in this flickering light, that it might be fun to kiss him when he couldn't do anything about it, then she would. There was nobody to stop her, nobody to tell her what to think, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt free. There was no Robin, no father, no sheriff, and, most of all, there was no Gisborne to tell her what to do. She would do what she pleased with him, and there was nobody to stop her.

A low groan escaped, very slowly, from the man on the floor. Startled from her reverie, Marian was suddenly very tempted to hurt him for interrupting her thoughts. She could, she realized, of course she could. She could crack some ribs and maybe he'd scream, and nobody would ever hear him.

For whatever reason, though, she didn't.

Only moments later, after a few more groans, his long, dark lashes fluttered, his eyes slowly opening.

Leaning down and watching him closely, Marian said, "Wake up, sleepy head. Or should I say: Sir Guy." She made no attempt to disguise her voice, but she knew she would sound muffled, which might hide her voice anyway. It didn't matter; she had no intention of hiding.

Shutting his eyes against the light, Gisborne attempted to touch his head, but was stopped by the rope linking his wrists to his ankles. Feeling this, his eyes immediately went wide as he looked around and at himself. "What is the meaning of this?" he hissed angrily.

But of course he would.

Marian laughed breathily and stood up straight, hands on her hips. She also made no attempt to hide her figure, knowing he would notice she was a woman - or at least once his shock wore off.

"I said-!" He stopped and hissed, again attempting to grab his head, but being unable he settled for a wince.

She'd forgotten that he would have a terrible headache, and it was unlikely to go away any time soon, either. She chuckled at that.

Glaring up at her, Gisborne squinted as he struggled to sit up against the wall. His eyes again went wide. "You...? Since when do you kidnap people?" He was clearly trying to hide his mounting nervousness and he breathed harshly through his nose. Marian wondered what interesting thoughts were running through his raven-haired head.

"Since today," she joked. This game had only just begun and she was already enjoying herself.

She chuckled again when his eyes went even wider. "You're a woman," he stuttered as he stared.

"How nice of you to notice." She smiled behind her mask. When would he figure her out..?

He looked her up and down next, as if scrutinizing her appearance, as if, somehow, doubting, and it suddenly sent a burst of rage through Marian. Without thinking, she cracked him straight in the face with her elbow, the obvious crunch of his nose sending him to his side on the floor. He cried out, in both surprise and pain, and she wondered if she imagined a small prick of a tear starting at his eye.

"What was that for?!" Guy shouted as he bared his teeth. He finally brought up his legs so he could touch his face, however, so apparently he no longer cared how ridiculous he would look in that position. That was amusing, if only because it had taken him so little to abandon his dignity for a bit of comfort. He cradled his face, then looked at the blood on his hands that poured from his nose. Marian found it disappointing that he didn't seem very worried at that, but then, a man like him had likely suffered such injuries before. If she wanted a different reaction, clearly she'd have to try harder.

When Marian leaned down toward him, she was extremely gratified that he flinched back, as if expecting another strike. Still, there was the fiercest look in his eye, as if he was vowing to kill her - at least in his mind. Everything about that gaze had seemed so harsh and intimidating to her in the past, but now he was like a caged beast; still dangerous, if only he could escape captivity. Alas, it wouldn't be so. She had planned this too carefully, and for too long.

"Well?" he said, still glaring at her. "What's your purpose, or do you not-" She struck him across the face again, this time with a backhand. He grimaced and fell back again, silenced, but he continued to glare at her.

Looking at her glove, Marian noticed blood. It was strange to see blood. The thought hadn't occurred to her that she should expect that. She was here to hurt him, after all. It was only unfortunate that he had no family that she could take from him, the same way he had taken her family from her - no matter that he wasn't directly responsible. But more than that, he had hurt her so much over the years. Perhaps not all at once, and perhaps not even intentionally, but that made it all the worse. It was like draining blood from somebody, somebody you proclaim to love, slowly and carefully, and all the while thinking you were helping them when all you were doing was killing them. He had done it all for himself, even if he lied to himself that it was also for her. She hated him, had always hated him, but he was so blinded by his own ambition and desire that he refused to see every glare she saved for him, every terrible thought that played so obviously on her face.

He was blind, yes, so perhaps she should blind him now?

Stepping over to the table behind her, she grabbed a long piece of white cloth.

"What are you doing?" asked he, and the slight strain in his voice was not lost on her. He'd either only now noticed her table of instruments, or he'd hoped it was only for decoration. Amusing. Yet she wasn't all that amused right now.

Stepping toward him, she lifted the cloth and said, "A gift for you, Sir Guy. A blindfold for a blind man."

"What-" he began, but she was already tying the cloth around his head and his efforts to wrench his head away were in vain. She tied it securely, not caring if it was too tight.

"Do not worry," said Marian as she removed her hood and mask, "you'll see soon enough."

Suddenly Guy was breathing harshly, breaths shakily going in and out. "No..." he murmured quietly. At first she thought he was afraid, but as that didn't seem likely - at least not so soon - she realized he had probably recognized her voice.

He shook his head, and again said a little louder, "No." He seemed adamant, as if he needed only convince himself of the truth - or rather, the lie.

"You know who I am," Marian stated.

Again, he shook his head.

"Yes, you do," she said. "Tell me."

Yet again he shook his head, and looked to be trying to hide, or to get away somehow. "No," he growled through his teeth.

Suddenly frustrated, Marian shouted, "Tell me who I am!" She kicked him across his stomach, then did it several more times.

"No!" he screamed as he curled up at her assault.

"You're despicable!" she screamed back, then spat on him. "You're everything that's wrong with this world- you and your master!"

She kicked him again and was satisfied at the, albeit small, whimper that escaped him when she kicked the same spot a second time. Wanting to hear the sound again, she kicked the spot a third time, somewhere along his ribs, and was satisfied to hear him shout in pain this time.

"Why are you doing this?!" Guy wheezed out when she'd stopped, but the question only made her angrier. This time she targeted his legs, kicking even harder there, knowing she wouldn't have to hold back as much without any vital organs to hit. Again, Guy shouted, "Why-?!" but was cut off when Marian continued her assault, but this time, without stopping.

It was only after she was very, very tired did she stop. She nearly collapsed backward, but instead stood awkwardly, determined not to fall down or otherwise let him know what was happening.

Guy was curled up in a ball, still trying to shield himself should she continue. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. She wanted to spit on him again, but he deserved far worse. Considering for a moment that she would continue, instead she said, very quietly, coldly, enunciating every word: "Ask why again, Sir Guy of Gisborne, and next time I will not stop until you are dead."

With that said, Marian picked up her mask, put it on her face, then walked out the door and locked it behind. As she walked away, she had to use every ounce of strength she had not to fall.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

It was a dream and she knew it, but with everything in her she could do nothing about it.

Before her stood Robin of Locksley, a cheeky grin on his face. In her mind's eye, he always sported that grin - one part mischief, one part amusement, and completely and utterly him. He was her friend, and possibly, someday, somehow, her husband.

Behind her stood Guy of Gisborne, a hand ever so lightly ghosting across her left shoulder. She shuddered at that hand, even as it barely touched her.

Robin continued to smile at her as if he didn't notice. She tried to tell him, to tell him to get that hand off, but he only stood there, smiling. Next, she tried to turn, to tell Guy to stop touching her, but she couldn't turn, and he didn't stop. Then another hand was on her other shoulder, but this one belonged to Robin. She looked up at him, to smile in return, but he was no longer smiling. There was something horrifying about that, but she didn't know why. He did nothing else, he only stood there, not smiling.

Marian started screaming at Robin, but he was gone. When she went to scream at Gisborne - for what reason she wasn't sure - he too had gone. She looked around, but no one was there, only the empty places where they'd stood stretching on like endless night.

Gasping awake and bolting up, Marian all but choked on the sound she made. For a moment, she looked around the room, as if she could spot Robin, or Guy, but nobody was there. Sighing in relief, she sat for a few moments, trying to catch her breath.

When she was ready to get up, she cast off the dream immediately. Today was the day - today she would make him acknowledge her, to see her and to see what she would do to him. He had taken so much from her so she would take everything from him. Then, when she was finished, if she was perhaps feeling merciful, she might take his life as well, which was more a mercy than he deserved.

But not just yet...

The way down to the disused parts of the castle were long, but not because it was far. Old war machines littered the floors of several rooms on the way to her destination, and she picked through them neatly, not wanting to suffer a splinter. How funny that would be, to get a splinter when her captive would likely be suffering so much soon he'd beg for a mere splinter.

She entered the last room and closed the door behind, then replaced the torch on the wall. When she turned around she was somewhat startled to find that Gisborne had not moved at all since the night before. He lay curled up, still blindfolded, dried blood covering the entirety of his lower face and down his neck, his hands and legs still bound exactly as before. On closer inspection, there was one difference: his wrists were reddened and raw. So. He had tried to escape. Although by the look of him he hadn't tried very hard, not to mention that ropes weren't as easy to escape from as people thought.

When the door had closed, he'd twitched a little, but otherwise he remained still.

"You came back," he said, and Marian had no idea what to do with the surprise in his voice. Why would he think she wouldn't return?

Ah, of course. "Did you think I would allow you to die so easily, Sir Guy?"

He said nothing as he swallowed, and Marian again wondered what thoughts ran through his head.

Slowly, she walked around him, seeing him from every angle. Although he remained still, it was obvious he was following her every move, like a deer that had just seen a predator but could not get away. A predator... was that what she was? And what a delicious irony that Guy of Gisborne could ever be compared to prey. He'd killed so many, after all, like they were but meat for the slaughter and he the butcher that threw them away.

After the silence had stretched on for some time, Gisborne asked, very quietly, "Do you hate me so?"

Like the night before, Marian's anger was stoked suddenly, but for whatever reason, she was not spurred to attack. Instead, she walked to her table of instruments, if only to have something to do. She said, "The fact that you ask me that is evidence enough you think nothing of the crimes you have committed."

"Committed against who? You?" he asked, a little louder. There was just a hint of his usual spirit in his words, and it was suddenly enough to push her over the edge of anger.

"Be quiet!" she shouted as she kicked him, but she paid no heed to where. He yelped in pain and hid his body behind arms and legs as he lay on his side, and now she wondered why she'd tied him that way. A chair would have been better, more convenient. Of course, she much preferred him on the ground, where he deserved to be, down in the dust like the snake he was.

Annoyed at his questions, Marian quickly grabbed another cloth and rushed to him to silence him with a gag. Like the blindfold, he gave an effort to struggle, but he was weaker now than yesterday and she had little trouble forcing it in his mouth and around his head. He said something in protest but it was muffled, and she found great satisfaction in his inability to ask any more of his stupid questions. This was her time, not his, and she had no reason to answer him or do anything he wanted.

Elated suddenly, she slapped him lightly on the cheek, but he flinched as if she'd hit him much harder. She laughed at this, and made a point to grin wider. It was so wonderful, so freeing to not feel the need to hide any longer, to express whatever emotion she wished, when she wished. Life in the castle had become unbearable, and without her father around any more...

A shadow suddenly came over her, anger again rekindled. Her father. It had been her own thought, but it was Gisborne that was ultimately responsible for these thoughts in the first place. Every sorrow and hurt that she now carried linked back to him, always back to him, and now more than ever she wanted to make him pay.

She stared intently at her table of instruments, trying to decide which to start with. Despite that she had carefully and thoughtfully picked each and every one, they were suddenly too complicated, too unwieldy for her single-minded purpose; simple now seemed most effective. These metal bits of tools would no doubt work beautifully at another time, but she found herself less willing to try them all of a sudden.

Looking at Gisborne, she walked to him and watched him; eyes roving up and down. He was still curled up on his side, and although it was slight, he was shivering. He had, of course, spent the whole night here, and even with it being daytime it was still very cold. Deciding on a course of action, Marian grabbed a pair of shears from the table. She lowered herself to her knees beside him, then, quite purposefully, held the metal edge of the tool against his throat. He inhaled sharply and leaned his head back, probably thinking it a dagger.

Smiling at his reaction, Marian said, "As I said, Sir Guy, you will not die so easily." She moved the shears down and began cutting at his clothing, going straight down his chest from the throat. She could just as easily have undid his clothing without cutting into them, but she was afraid it would seem far too...sensual, and less intimidating. He made a few small noises of confusion in response. Unfortunately, once she got closer to his belt, she began having some difficulty given his position on his side - his arms were in the way. Feeling frustrated, she considered what to do for a few moments, but did not care to think on it too much. She growled and pushed him so he was lying flat. To her surprise, Guy whimpered as he was forced on his back. Although a very brief and knee-jerk pang of sympathy shot through Marian, she quickly stamped it out and reminded herself who he was. He deserved none of her sympathy, and all of her contempt. Perhaps later she would find out what injury she had aggravated, but for now she simply finished cutting open his shirt.

She stared at him for a moment, but very quickly regretted what she'd just done. Not only did she find herself extremely irritated at her own thoughts of how nicely toned his chest was, but there was no way this didn't seem...sexual, in some manner. But perhaps it was only her? His chest, despite her initial thoughts, was also littered with dark bruises, and the way his lungs expanded and contracted quickly was most likely a sign of apprehension, not arousal. She suddenly felt stupid for even considering that he might think that.

Yet...

Why was she even caring? She had vowed to herself before this all began that she wouldn't care about what he thought, or even about her own reservations with how she treated him. If she wanted to ogle him - which was likely what he had done many times to her - then she would do so, and without shame. No thought should be hidden here, she would not stop herself as she had always done her entire life, as was expected of a proper lady. No. No more.

Making up her mind, Marian leaned close to him and said in a lilting voice, "What a lovely sight you are, Sir Guy." Even as she said it, she felt strange. But she'd already said it and she refused to feel bad about it.

As expected, Guy's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. She didn't like that for some reason. Although it still felt awkward, she was determined to make him feel as uncomfortable as she was. Taking a finger, she, very lightly, moved it down his chest. She watched his face for any reaction - even if she didn't know what reaction he should be having to this.

She said, "Whatever's the matter? Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

A small, somewhat confused growl escaped his throat, but it was muffled and she couldn't figure out what he meant by it. Was he angry? Still confused? Did he like this, hate this- what? At her mounting frustration, she ripped the cloth gag out of his mouth. Guy started and gasped, just as surprised as she.

"Well?" Marian hissed, uncertain why she'd just done that.

After taking a moment to simply breathe, Guy stuttered, "Well what? What do you want me to say?"

She bared her teeth at him. "Do you like it or not?"

"What? What is wrong with you-"

She slapped him hard across the face and he shouted in surprise. "Does that answer your question?"

"No, it doesn't!" Guy yelled as he attempted to again shield himself, but given his position on his back, he couldn't. Before he could move to his side again, Marian quickly jumped to straddle him so he couldn't.

Not holding anything back, she again struck him across the face, this time with a backhand.

"Ah!" he shouted, and when she hit him again, he said, "Stop!" Of course she did no such thing. She hit him again, this time hard enough to draw blood. His cheek was cut, probably from the metal studs on her glove.

"Oh," purred Marian condescendingly, "does that hurt, Sir Guy?"

"Yes! Now stop!"

"I don't take orders from you," she said, smirking. She backhanded him again, and smiled at his struggle to free his arms so he could shield himself. It was an amusing sight and Marian continued to hit him - sometimes lightly, sometimes not - for some time afterward.

She wasn't sure how much time had past when she stopped. Guy was breathing heavily and, disappointingly, had stopped trying to bring up his arms to shield himself; it wasn't as much fun. Face red from her many strikes, he also had several small cuts that bled profusely. That was fine, faces always bled more than one would think normal. His once-white blindfold was no longer very white.

Leaning down so her arms flanked his head, Marian whispered, "Now wasn't that fun, Sir Guy?"

He coughed out a feeble: "No."

Amused at his answer, Marian smiled and bit her lip. What, oh what could she do next? Without care for his injuries, she plopped her forearms onto his chest to rest there. He stifled a noise of pain; she chuckled. It was obvious he was having trouble breathing, so she, very casually, poked around his chest with a finger. "Does that hurt?" she asked occasionally. He turned his head away and was grinding his teeth, probably in preparation for-

At a certain spot, he made a noise of pain and flinched.

"So it does hurt," Marian mocked as she eyed the spot along the left side of his ribcage. Very lightly, she ghosted a finger over the area. Guy's breaths went in and out shakily as she did so. "Does it hurt here?" she asked softly, in almost a whisper.

"Don't..." said Guy through his teeth, head still turned.

"No?" Marian teased. "Then what would you prefer I do? Kiss you?"

He was inhaling and exhaling harshly through his nose, and his head turned just a hair toward her, but he didn't answer.

"Well, Sir Guy? Would you prefer a kiss or not?"

"You...you are giving me a choice?" he asked, voice pitching higher, his head turning a little more toward her.

"Yes, I am."

Although he seemed reluctant, he turned to face her more fully, his throat bobbing when he swallowed. He then nodded, if clumsily.

Marian had no idea why she was doing this, but now that she was set on this course, it seemed like a good idea. Very lightly, she leaned down and kissed his lips - barely a peck. Even so, Guy seemed quite anxious, as if he didn't believe she wouldn't still hurt him. He lay rigidly, and although his breath was more steady, he didn't seem to be letting his guard down. Not that he could have put his guard up in the first place.

Marian smiled at him. "Was that more to your liking, then?"

"I..." he began, swallowed heavily, "Yes."

How amusing this was! How confused he must be, not knowing what to expect: a strike or a kiss. Marian had thought mere pain would be enough, that she would simply torture him physically, but she'd forgotten that Gisborne truly did care for her, that manipulating his emotions would be easy and a far worse torture than whatever she could do to his body.

"Stop this, my lady," he said, voice thick with emotion suddenly. "Stop this before-"

"Before what?" hissed Marian. "And are you trying to order me again, Sir Guy?" She slipped her hand to his chest again, her fingers hovering and ready to hurt if he said something she didn't like.

He was clearly getting the message. "N-no, not at all. But if the sheriff found you, he would-"

"I don't think you understand. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him, I don't care about you, I don't care about any of it. This is where I draw the line. You're detestable and horrid and evil, and-and I hate you. I took you and now you're mine." Annoyed suddenly, at him, at herself, at the sheriff or somebody - she didn't care to think - she growled and grabbed Guy by the back of the head and rammed her mouth into his. Startled, he tried to protest, but his words were muffled as she continued to kiss him. He did not kiss her back.

She pulled back for a moment and he gasped, "My lady, this is not-"

Again she roughly kissed him, not caring to hear what he had to say. She also didn't care to acknowledge that she had no idea what she was doing right now. It was true that she hated him, but she also wanted him. She had always wanted him, but she didn't dare admit it to herself. She loved Robin, loved him so much, but he was never around. And when he was around, it was always to ask for some favor, or to hear about whatever new scheme she had learned from the sheriff; he was never there for her. But Guy...he was always there. Standing around with that incessant icy glare, with black leather, condescending smirks, and such a dark mien that it was as if a storm cloud perpetually followed him. She could never want a relationship with him, but she could want him, and those feelings wouldn't stay contained any longer.

When she finally released him, he breathed heavily and tried to pull away, but he said nothing, surprisingly.

Staring at him, Marian was suddenly annoyed with his face. In fact, everything about him annoyed her: his raven hair, his stubbled jaw, his ridiculously tall stature, the way he stood and glared at passers-by, as if he could tell them how he felt with nothing but his piercing gaze, that they were beneath him.

Without thought, Marian covered his mouth with one hand, then pinched his nose with the other. He had to suffer, and her immediate irritation with him was his face, so she attacked it. If she had thought his struggling to get away from her assault before was fierce, she had clearly been wrong. Suddenly deprived of air, he bucked severely and tried to toss and turn, legs kicking, to get her off any way he could; prey caught in a trap. Any other time perhaps he would have succeeded, but he was weak from his injuries and lack of nourishment.

When he almost stopped his struggles, she let him go. He gasped for air and coughed, but when he looked ready to say something, she again covered his mouth and nose. He tried to shake his head and struggled again to throw her off, but he gave up much quicker this time, falling still and likely praying she would free him again before he suffocated. Of course, she did. He coughed desperately and gasped for air. For whatever reason, Marian couldn't find as much pleasure in this as she had with her other assaults. She couldn't figure out why, especially as this was the first time he seemed truly...afraid.

"Marian, please!" Guy suddenly burst out, and all at once she was gripped by the realization that this was the first time he had said her name. When she did not continue her assault, he said again, "Please..."

She was shocked. She shouldn't be shocked. He was only using her name to try to disorient her because he was desperate and frightened now, his primal urge at the simple need for air overriding his pride.

All at once she couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take staring at his face, at the way a few stray tears leaked from under his blindfold, or the way he looked ready to beg again any moment should she keep going. She couldn't take it so she stood up, walked to the door, then left.

A/n: Marian is not a happy camper. Neither is Guy. There's just one chapter after this one. I'll try to post it soon!