TW: Non/con touching
AN: If you like, please leave a comment- I tend to lose interest if I don't think I have an audience to keep on their toes. And I am getting back into writing so it means a lot.
Guy led her to the bedchamber, and he gazed upon her as though lost for words. He reached out his hand, and when she didn't return it he stuttered.
He waved his arm about the room. "Marian, this is all- all yours."
"Yes," she said, her voice quiet. "You have shown me before." He had led her through her and discussed his lineage as though it would impress here, and it was here that she first saw the chest of silver. Her eyes fell on the chest, the chest that the only a few nights before she had emptied in an act of final rebellion. She had thought at the time it would bring her peace. It didn't.
He took a single step- hesitated- then took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart. It was beating, and heavily, which seemed to her in her dazed state such a strange thing. His scent was unfamiliar- there was leather and horse, which she knew, but something else as well, something…of a man. She held her breath to keep her wound, still fresh in her lower abdomen, from pulsing. She could stall for time; there might be- hope against hope- deliverance. But he could not discover it tonight.
"I have longed for this night," he said, his voice rich with the longing that so often disarmed her. If only it was some other girl, in a body less broken, or those words had come from….but she wouldn't think of him now.
She stood fast. If there ever was a time for courage, true courage, it was now. Her dear father could not protect her, though he was safe, God be thanked. Gisborne's men had staged a sort of kidnapping, and though she felt outrage on her father's behalf, she was relieved. As for Robin- in his eyes she had betrayed him. Marian didn't know if Guy would thinking of Robin when he led her to the marriage bed as he had promised- judging from his gaze his thoughts were elsewhere- but she knew Robin was thinking of her, and the thought was a punch in the gut.
Guy released her, and looked her full in the eyes. A hint of their darkness returned as he tugged at the laces of her gown. "Marian, I want to see you."
"Perhaps you will not like what you see," she said, not out of modesty, but out of the knowledge of how little he knew.
Guy unfastened the top of her dress. Her body went limp, and she turned her head. Guy whistled through his teeth. He marched across the room and back, and she noticed how different his boots sounded on the wood flooring when she had always heard them, usually in with some anxiety, across the castle's stone floor. Her clutched her shoulders. "Marian, have you ever felt anything for me?"
She thought of all his cruelties, and yet mercy…she could not deny him mercy. Anything was such a vague word. She lifted her head, and held back her tears. She had cried so much as a girl, when Robin had first left. Then she had taught herself not to weep, but her feeling ran deep, and her eyes had a tendency to grow damp. And she had felt for him, Sir Guy, Sheriff's minion as he was- something. "He has qualities," he had told Robin, though she had only said so to defend herself from the crushing pressure from all sides. Did she wish to redeem him? Did he stir her, as he had boasted to Robin that night? Oh yes, he was sensual, but viper-like, untrustworthy. And yet such desperate, unalloyed longing dripped from his every pore- did that mean a good man underneath, or simply a wasted soul with nothing left to lose?
"I-I did, I do." It was much like her wedding vow that morning, unsteady yet true. He pressed to lips to hers, and she forced herself to return the kiss, but so slightly that he pulled away disappointed.
Her gown was now loose around her shoulders. Guy peeled off his jacket, a man's form. Oh, he was handsome, too much so, and her cheeks flamed. She had always liked looking at him, as much as it disturbed her it when he looked at her, and it shamed her. As though wishing to relieve her, he slipped a nightshirt over his head. She watched him struggle with his boots. No doubt he had dismissed Thornton, or whichever manservant usually helped him. She nearly pitied him, but worse was the waiting with her breasts nearly bared.
Marian pulled up her dress, knelt down, and pulled at the boots. She was helping him to bed her, but it would happen regardless. Looking up briefly, she caught a light in his eyes. No, she couldn't let that stand. "You've been humiliated enough in your time," she said calmly as she dared, thinking of Robin's triumphs. He growled, but she pulled off the other and stood back. He peeled off his trousers and stood before her, looking almost strange in the pale linen shift. His black hair seemed if possible blacker by contrast, but she feared him less, though the exposure of his limbs and chest though the cloth unnerved her. She looked down at his feet- simply a man's feet, no more, no less. But the figure came toward her and she started.
"Now I will help you," Guy said, pulling at her dress. It fell to the ground in a golden heap and she was left in a flimsy chemise that barely reached her knees. Her face flamed, and he must have thought it was some virtuous instinct, but it was the realization of her wound. That he must not, could not see it.
"I wish to wait," she pleaded. "Not tonight."
He stepped toward her, took her chin in her hand, and touched her lip. "No, Marian," He laughed low. "No more games." He leaned in to kiss her, but seemed to think better of it and pulled away.
What would he do to her if her found out? The stitches were in- she was barely past danger of infection. She stared at his hands, so large and broad. Could he strangle her? Would he?
" Very well." The tears clouded her eyes again as her mind raced in desperation. "But you must make me some allowance."
"I will be gentle, Marian. I will be good to you."
"Yes," she said, her voice breaking. "But I am afraid to be fully, fully- undressed. Let me keep this shift on, at least until we have grown accustomed-"
His face grew dark, but he nodded. "You are afraid, Marian. I would go to hell and back to see your body now but I- I will prove myself by keeping my urges in check. But remember, you are mine now."
I am nobody's, she thought as Guy placed her arm under her back and lifted her into the bed. He rearranged her hair so it flowed over the pillow and gazed at her there for a moment, with a tenderness so foreign to him, a tenderness she never asked for, and rejected from the depths of her heart.
The firelight fell over them, and Guy seemed to her little more than a mass of shadows. There was a curve on his lips, and she could tell he was smiling, but too often she had seen that smile turn sour. He stroked her leg with his fingertips, seeming to wonder at it. He took her calf in his palm and she felt a shudder- of fear or pleasure, she couldn't say.
"Your skin-" he started, gazing into to her eyes, but he must not have liked what he saw there, for his expression fell flat.
He then crawled over her, his hands next to her shoulders, his legs parted over her thighs, hovering above her. Her breathing hastened, but would not close her eyes, as it seemed to do so would be giving in. She could feel the stiffness in every muscle in her face. The moment would come. She finally lost her nerve and turned her head, letting her eyelids fall as she clutched the bedclothes. She waited- for the pressure, the pain- but nothing happened. When she looked up, Guy was at her side.
"Marian," his voice was hoarse and slow. She could barely make out a tremor in his hands, from restraint perhaps. "I can't just-I can't just take you. I have to make this easier for you." He lifted his hand to a strand of hair near her ear, and yes, the tremor was real.
She swallowed. "Then leave me be," she pleaded, in the gentle voice she had used to plead before, for the countless hungry and voiceless.
But as it had always been, it had no effect on him. "I can not do that. You know I can not."
She looked upward at the canopy. "The Sheriff will mock you, I suppose if you fail in your duty."
He lunged toward her. She kept her throat tight to stifle a scream. But he simply took her face gently in his hands, and his black hair brushed her forehead. "Don't speak of him, Marian, not tonight of all times. It's only the two of us."
"Don't speak of him," she said, her courage rising, "When he has always been there! When you held the threat of him over me to-" He pushed himself off of the bed. She dropped her head- she had lifted it slightly, causing strain to her wound. She prayed to the Christian gods, and whatever spirits the wise woman of the forest summoned, that it would. not. bleed. The moon fell over him, and she watched the silhouette of his shoulders, rising and falling. How could a henchman be built like a knight of the troubadours?
She knew she could not persuade him. Too often she had tried, and it had ended in raw disappointment. He slipped from the window to her side. Her heart pounded as he lifted his hand to her cheek, and caressed her jawline. His fingers trailed down her body. He dared to touch the edge of her breast, but no further, and his hand slipped down her ribs and hips to her thighs.
He rested his forehead against her cheek and pushed his other arm beneath her so he was clutching her waist. "Marian, trust me, this will ease the pain."
She took a breath, steeling herself. She thought of Lambert, tortured- in part due to the man by her side. She had always imagined she would tortured at some point, but not in such a strange way.
"Shh," he said, kissing her cheek. Since she had repulsed him- or at least barley responded- he hesitated to kiss her lips now. His fingers trailed up between her legs and a hand wedged between her thighs. She uttered a cry. "Please, my love, relax. I don't want to hurt you. "
His fingers parted her to her depths, and stroked her in a gentle circular motion. She felt a pressure against her thigh and realized it was him, growing against her. She was still breathing deep and felt herself grow weary as though she had had too much wine. The fingers increased in speed. It felt as though her body was responding, though in her mind, she had gone elsewhere, across the land, far from Locksley, even England. She was seeing flowers, and even the abandoned hovel she used to play in as a child. As a child with- Robin. But it was a young Robin, simultaneously a child and an ancient memory, and it didn't haunt her.
A single finger pushed into her. This is Guy. How strange. She thought. The knight with the perpetual scowl had his fingers around her waist, he was breathing on her neck, and now two fingers were inside of her exploring, and she uttered a small moan. She felt him start, from hope perhaps, and a third finger slipped inside. A stroke or two and then..
He was out of her, up on his knees, with an expression of utter bewilderment on his face.
"You are not a maid," he said, almost gasping. She was prostrate under him, and quickly, no violently awoke from her reverie.
Her body was shaken, but she held her voice firm, if quiet. "I never said that I was."
It had been two years after Robin had left, after she had finally let him go, when she had given herself to a soldier- a kind soldier -in her father's retinue. She was seventeen, lonely and also angry, very angry. She had had no wish to tie herself to a man, seeing how it so often ended in sorrow, and yet she had the same longings as other girls. It was more curiosity than love, and though a thousand voices would have told her she was a fallen woman, she never could or would believe it.
"It. Was. Understood," he said, his voice sinking deep, to that dark pitch she dreaded.
"Are you untouched then?" she snapped, shocked by her own audacity.
He ignored her and his hands turned to fists. Oh God, No. But her real fear was that the scar would be uncovered.
"Was it Hood?" He growled and she could sense a note of terror in his voice.
"No," she whispered. "Not him. Long after he left." She turned her head to the side. She had lied to him before, but this was the truth, and his body seemed to calm.
They sat in silence for a minute, two. "It is not too soon to repudiate me." She said.
His breath was rough, and she was fully aware of the mass of his body. "Repudiate you, Marian?"
"Yes, I am not a virgin," she said, gathering her courage and sitting up to face him. "Let my father know, let the town know, let me suffer for cheating you." She was glad her face was clouded in darkness, or he would have seen it glow. There may be punishments for her, terrible punishments unless the sheriff took some glee in his henchman's plight and turned the farce on him. It was not unlikely- though the sheriff had been cruel to her, he seemed to take greater joy in taunting Guy. Her father would stand by her, but he would have to bear slights in old age- his daughter, the Lady Marian, a whore. As for her- she would be nothing as she had longed to be, free, she could run into the woods, finally an outlaw and-
Guy laughed, low. He leaned in and kissed her, this time on the lips, though chastely. "Oh, no Marian. You have greatly underestimated my feelings for you."
Thornton had told her, in a hush, in a whisper, what Guy had said before the wedding. That her pure heart would wash him clean. She had not thanked the manservant for such a revelation, but now...She lurched backwards.
"As you see," she said, her voice struggling. "I am not pure, I am not-"
"No, you are not pure." His silhouette looked upwards, and he spoke quickly. "What else has been a sham? Perhaps you take some pride in my lineage? In my position and growing wealth?"
She thought of her role of the Nightwatchman, when she had stolen his own silver from this very house. The wound he had inflicted, still fresh, burned at her side all the harder and she stifled the urge to groan.
He turned to her. "You are different than I imagined." He ran his hand through her hair. "And that intrigues me."
He had this wrong, far too wrong. "Guy, it was only a lover…"
He laughed low. "It was corruption and and corruption is a seed that lives in you. It only needs the right conditions to sprout. But you are still but a girl, and I have promised to protect you. Your secret is safe." He wrapped his arms around her suddenly, burying his head against her neck. She felt his thick hair over her cheek, and his unfamiliar scent. It dawned on her that he took comfort in the fact she was not a maid, that she was, in the eyes of all if they knew, impure. As though all her other deeds meant nothing, and Gisborne's foul acts were balanced by her youthful indiscretion.
All she had to do was lead him to fire, to lift up her shift and reveal the wound, his wound, a wound so fresh it still wept, and all this misguided kinship would turn to rage. Her lips were on her neck, and she gasped. No, not yet. That wrath would come another day.
Looong Note on the text (you don't have to read): This is another 'forced marriage' fic between Maid Marian and Gisborne, a very common theme I know, but I wanted to be more realistic than idealized. There great deal of fear in her dealings with him, which I think is often misinterpreted as sexual tension, though that tension certainly exists. This is an uncomfortable fic, and I wanted it to be so. I love Marian with Guy and Marian with Robin for different reasons- hell, I just love Marian and find her a great role model of courage, kindness, moral integrity, and gentleness with a backbone. I think Guy fans often dismiss her actions towards Guy as cruel and manipulative- which they are- but it's a role she's forced into, and one that he asks for by not leaving the Sheriff. I feel uncomfortable writing him into a role that I would find unforgivable (forcing himself on the woman he loves) though I think it's in character. (However, I do not believe he would have ever killed her, and I simply don't buy that part of the story) I think I am making him a man of his time but with Marian...not so much.
The creators of the show said that she would not be called Maid Marian, because whether she was a virgin 'maid' or not was irrelevant. Of course, during the time period is was highly relevant, but I often thought this statement was highly telling, both about the BBC's outlook for their Robin Hood and the character of Marian herself. The BBC Marian has always been very modern, especially when it comes to her personal independence (and clothing choices!), and I wanted to keep that. If I were writing a more historical character I would try to stay true to the mores of the time, but it's very fun to write a character who would think more like a modern woman who is aware of the dangers of the era she is in, but has a strong view of her own rights. Another thing that really struck me about Marian was her kindness and courtesy to a man who was forcing her to marry him (he had never been to a wedding, and she gave him directions). I wondered how this might translate to the wedding night (though I doubt she'd be so generous as to give him directions, and I doubt he needs them!) I think, in spite of her courtesy, she has an excess of mercy, which I wanted to explore in this fic. Also, the show glossed over her mortally dangerous wound and I wanted to make sure it was an important factor. Imagine being married against your will to a man who has wounded you while you betrayed him by robbing him within days of said marriage, nearly dying from the wound, and then having to sleep with him without him finding out. Quite the predicament!