Title: Supply And Demand
Author: mythopathy
Rating: G
Summary: Guy gives Marian a bittersweet gift. Written for the GxM Secret Santa 2009 at Livejournal.
The most precious gift Guy ever gives Marian, he does by accident. On Christmas day he goes to her like he always goes to her offering her the most expensive present yet: a book encrusted in amethyst and onyx, the unintelligible to him title and details inlaid with leaves of gold, adorned with perfect micrographic illuminations in vivid colour and neat, curly letters, each stroke of ink a work of art. He wraps it in an old rag because he wants it to be a surprise, the fool; he wants to see the light in Marian's eyes and the delight in her grin when she discovers it.
He ignores the patient smile she greets him with. He knows it will be perfect, she will love it and she will love him also. It is at times like this that he cannot contain a smile, so rarely can he make her happy, she does not let him, if he could he would give her things everyday but they are not wed and he is glad at least for the excuse of the Lord's birth.
"You shouldn't have," she says. She disapproves but it's only temporary, he is sure, she has not seen it. And it's in her hands and he cannot contain his heartbeat he is so proud of his choice, he feels as tall as a bell tower.
.
"You were out riding after curfew again." She was. She carries the certainty that Guy won't betray her. Cajoling him takes so little effort. Sometimes Marian wonders whether he lets her off because she smiles at him or if she smiles at him because he lets her off.
"My horse needs the exercise and I need the freedom," To be with Robin. Or just be.
Something is in the air. She draws closer to Guy curious and the flickering flames playing with the sharp edges and planes of his face are not deceiving her. He is happy. History warns for cautiousness but the worriless smooth brow and fascinating warmth in his eyes are too rare to ignore.
"I have a gift for you." Of course. It's heavy, box shaped and covered in fabric. She's prepared to refuse it if she finds it's a jewellery case that is heavy because it's full. "You shouldn't have."
She turns away to hide her reaction from him. The orange blaze from the fire reveals patterns and a golden sheen to the fabric she unfolds and they are familiar.
This cloth she saw take shape and grow as deft fingers rough when touching her cheek flew over it, veined hands half concealed by fragrant white sleeves measuring, weaving, giving affection; what was that smell? Mother.
Her mother's rose water scent and perfect little white diamonds in silk thread lined to form squares within squares on cloth of gold. Marian remembers it was still strung on the loom after the funeral. Marian's wedding veil.
When she comes to it is from cold fingers stroking her face. The black of Guy's eyes is a hole left by an arrow on a heavy cloud it is so small. He is worried, and speaking.
"Why are you crying my love? Please, don't. Marian, please." He kneels before her but she doesn't remember sitting down. She must stand up, be strong. He will take advantage of this weakness he always does and dear Lord not now. Her legs don't care for displays of bravery and Marian results to truth telling.
"My mother made this for my wedding to Robin Hood." It works; he walks away. The object he places on the table she doesn't care for.
"It's important to you." Guy phrases it as a statement and Marian sees through to the hope she'll deny it.
"I thought it lost. We left so hurriedly from the castle when the new sheriff came. I have nothing left of home but this. Everything else was lost in the fire." One, two, three cruelties she listens to herself speak. "I feel as if all the dreams and hopes I held dear are as part of this veil as the tiniest stitch." Four.
"It's been a long time."
"It doesn't make a difference to me."
"You have to look elsewhere for new dreams to make you happy."
"Compromise? Why would I want to do that for?"
"To stay alive." It is not a threat. He's not meeting her eyes and Marian wonders when this stopped being about her.
She picks herself up her judgement returned to her. The hand she places on his shoulder for once is not manipulating.
"Sometimes the past keeps us whole—human."
How will a chest full of linen make you more human?" She is almost calmer for his familiar offensive stance. But—
"There is more?" He nods and a greedy desperation takes her over. "Where?" She clutches at the veil to restrain herself.
By the hand Guy drags her to the last floor of the keep into a storage room. It's cold and a chest buried under a pile of furs is barely visible in the torchlight. It's filled with gowns and chemises, a smell of dust and musty roses. She picks up a gown of blue wool that's on top not wanting to disturb the rest fearing something would break; old seams or her resolve.
"I never thought my mother's trousseau could still be here." She smiles even if the cold is pulling her skin.
"I hope it makes you happy."
She snorts. "It hasn't." Still she can't bear look away, stop touching.
"Then get rid of it. If the memories the chest holds are so painful. Let me take it away and you won't ever have to think of it again." So urgently pleading but so wrong.
"Alright." He does not expect this. Marian hardly ever accepts Guy's suggestions, she hardly ever agrees with his point of view. Neither does she agree now.
"What?"
She takes her time answering. She puts the dress back, the veil that she forgot lying on the floor she folds into a neat rectangle over the dress and then she closes the lid shut. The heavy furs rush to hide the wooden box once again. The half of Guy's face that is visible displays a deep surprise; another rare expression. "It was meant to make someone happy as her new life began." The world she finds is greater than a husband and sons and embroidered chemises can be.
"You are certain?" She nods. "But your mother's memory—I spoke hastily, you mustn't dishonour your mother's memory." Marian wonders if he thought she would marry him in that veil.
"Guy, I carry my mother and father's memory in me. Do you not?" He staggers backwards and she realises she's mistaken.
"Can you think of a good use for it then? A Locksley girl who is about to be wed?" She is gentle, treading carefully. His nod is reluctant, absent-minded. "Will you give the veil and the rest to her?"
"Yes." A faint one but still a yes. She takes his hand.
"Thank you Guy."
.
The delight in Marian's grin is there just as sweet as he thought and the torchlight makes a red halo of her hair. Her hand is warm her grasp tight, she does not remove it from his until they are returned to her chambers. He leaves, the door closes behind him and he is afraid. The demons she insists touching, the goodness she demands he is afraid he cannot handle. His legs are weak; he leans to the wall for support.