Learning to Love the Contradictions
by Sandrine Shaw
In her pretty dresses, fancy satins and silks, it's hard to imagine Marian as anything but a gentle lady. Even now that he's pulled the Nightwatchman's mask from her face himself, has fought against her with fists and daggers and only barely won, Guy can't quite reconcile the idea of the masked, leather-clad vigilante with the woman at court who smiles at the Sheriff's vile jokes and curtsies even though it must eat her up inside.
"My lady." He offers her his arm and leads her through the guests attending tonight's banquet. Her fingers look fragile and gentle against the dark leather of his jacket, not at all like they could wield a deadly weapon. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him how deceptive appearances can be. "You seem in good spirits tonight."
Marian gives his arm a brief squeeze and her smile is full of a new kind of warmth. "After what happened yesterday, I didn't expect that I'd live to see tonight. I'm happy to be here, even if it means having to endure the Sheriff's presence." She lowers her voice to a whisper for the last part, but he still looks around, checking if anyone could overhear them.
"I think it's best if we don't talk about it again. Ever," Guy says grimly, but before he can stop himself, his hand reaches out to touch Marian's neck where a dark bruise is blooming. He remembers his fingers closing around the Nightwatchman's throat after he threw her down, remembers the fear in those wide blue eyes, and the shame and guilt hit him like a fist in the gut. "I'm sorry for hurting you." I didn't mean to, he wants to add, but that would be a lie, and it feels wrong to return to lies when they're trying honesty for perhaps the first time since they've known each other.
Marian cants her neck, leaning into his touch with a smile that's a touch mischievous and defiant at the same time. "I'm not as breakable as you think."
He knows she's right, even though he can't shake the memory of the ugly, ragged scar on her stomach, can't help wondering what would have happened if his dagger had hit a little higher, a little more to the left.
"You're not as invincible as you think," he counters.
There's a flash of anger in her eyes. Her smile cools noticeably, and he immediately misses the warmth like the first bite of frost following a glorious, glowing autumn day. "Why don't we see how fragile I really am?"
Before he has a chance to ask what she means, she takes him by the hand and pulls him out past Vaisey, who stops talking to some clueless noble he's trying to convince to finance his fight against Hood's outlaws long enough to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at Guy. He whistles after them, making a blush rise to Marian's cheeks at the implication, and Guy's free hand clenches into a fist.
"What are you doing?" he hisses after the doors have closed between them and the lecherous looks and lewd remarks of the Sheriff and his esteemed guests. "Where are you taking me?"
Instead of an answer, she keeps pulling him through the castle's narrow hallways, down the stairs, past rigid guards who don't bat an eye. Guy feels like he should stand his ground, shake off her grip and demand an explanation at once, but he's past fooling himself that he's not willing to follow wherever she leads.
At last she opens the door to the armory and lets go of him. Without her fingers clenched around his, his hand feels oddly empty, a phantom pain like he's missing a limb.
Marian grabs two swords and throws one at him. He barely manages to catch it before it falls clattering to the floor.
"Let's spar," she says, taking a ready stance, and the idea is so outrageous that Guy can't wrap his head around it.
"I will not raise another blade against you." The words are barely out of his mouth before Marian attacks, and he automatically brings up his sword to defend himself.
"I'm not a helpless damsel," Marian spits as metal clashes against metal.
Guy tries to take a step back and reason with her, but her next attack is swift and ruthless, and even though he still sees Marian with her soft touch and her fine dresses, his body reacts like he would in a fight, surging forward with his sword.
Marian laughs. "That's more like it."
Then, it's on. Swords clashing, the back-and-forth of fighting that's just as well choreographed as a dance, heavy breathing bringing to mind other, less violent activities. Perhaps he's distracted, or perhaps she's indeed skilled enough to best him – either way, he finds himself stumbling down, coming to rest on his back with the blunt tip of her practice sword against his throat.
Marian's smile is wide and blinding, her hair has come undone, and she looks wild and free. The silk of her dress is torn on the arms and there's a small cut on her side where, even though the blade was dull, a patch of red has colored the dress.
"I win," she says, and he makes himself relax, craning his head back and baring his throat to her sword.
"You always do." Truth is: He cannot win against Marian. Even if he did, he'd lose – they both would, so he prefers losing to her.
The sword falls away, leaving him free to move, but his body feels boneless. Marian kneels beside him, befouling her dress on the dirty floor.
When she reaches out, her hand brushing his brow is gentle once again. Guy is beginning to understand that they're all parts of the same woman: her tenderness, her anger, her wild, untamable spirit, her rebelliousness, her will to fight for what's right – that he cannot love just the parts of her that suit him.
"Is that such a bad thing? Losing to me?"
She looks like she's afraid to hear his answer. Perhaps because she knows him well, knows how much he loathes losing, that he's used to taking every victory no matter how much it costs him rather than admit a graceful defeat.
He tangles his hand in her unruly dark locks and pulls her down towards her, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. "Maybe it won't be."
End.