Visions of a love that couldn't be
Summary: Four ways it could have ended. One way it did. Five pictures of Guy and Marian's relationship, the love that couldn't be. Five x 200 words. S2 spoilers.
Disclaimer: Nah, not mine.
Note: Whilst writing the seventh chappie of THAB, I found this on my laptop so I thought I'd share it with you. It's just a little writing exercise I set myself after S2 finished.
Guy and Marian are the best couple in the world but I've (kicking and screaming) accepted that they were never going to work. Of course, in my perfect world...
But anyway. These are other ways that the relationship could've ended.
1
He tosses and turns in the narrow, unfamiliar bed, unable to sleep whilst thoughts of her, cold and alone in the stables, dominate his mind. Every time he tries to sleep, she's there, her eyes pleading with him. Set me free. Let me go.
He moves through the inky night until he hears the sleepy stamping and snorting of restless horses. She's curled up as much as her restraints will allow, murmuring in her slumber. She wakes with a start as he nears her, her eyes wide and scared. Her fear rips him apart. Is this what I have become? A monster?
They don't speak as he unties her and moves along the ranks of horses, selecting a chestnut mare. Long legs, strong flanks, a quick getaway.
She knows what he's doing without having to ask as she accepts his arms around her to help her onto the bareback steed. Her eyes are no longer pleading. Thank you.
When she looks back over her shoulder before disappearing into the blackness, it is the last time he will see her. He knows it. Even if he survives this dangerous game, he'll never find her again. He sighs heavily. I love you.
2
He wipes the blood from his blade, feeling nothing, feeling numb. He has done what she asked of him, and he has received the prize that he has desired for so long. But at what cost?
The Sheriff is dead, stabbed at the hand of his own trusted henchman. Nottingham will burn. His home. He will have nothing. He has always had nothing. He has always been reliant on the Sheriff, just as the Sheriff has been reliant on him. Mutual dependence ensuring mutual loyalty. Until now.
He has her, but he knows he doesn't truly have her. She has used herself as bait to get him to perform the darkest deed she wants done. She has no blood on her hands. I will bear the scars.
He can see it in her face when he tells her that it is done, it is over. Dejection, despair. No escape now, she's his, although she doesn't want to be. You conniving, using, lying little bitch.
He wants her so badly he positively aches for her, but he doesn't want this unresponsive, bitter creature. She isn't his. Get out.
His anger with her dissipates as he watches her leave. I love you.
3
Love has won over loyalty. Anticipation of the prize has won over consideration of the price. The sound of snickering blades fills the house. To lose concentration would be lethal, but so many thoughts mean he is not the most focussed of combatants. She will be mine.
The pain is acute and searing, like acid. Worse. His howl is reduced to a guttural groan as the blade is drawn out, stained and dripping from its point. He falls to his knees, his mind on the life that ebbs thickly from his wound. He doesn't notice as he is thrown bodily into the cellar where she has been silently listening to all that passes above her. Rot with your treacherous lover.
Her fingers feather over his face, her eyes guilty and sorrowful. His hand moves instinctively to brush away the tears that well and threaten to fall, and he smears her cheek with red. She whispers to herself more than to him. You are dying. Because of me.
She becomes blurred in his eyes as she tries to help him to no avail. He can taste the blood in his mouth as he speaks for the final time. I love you.
4
He can't believe what he's hearing as she stands there, laughing in his face at the affection that he always held so genuinely for her. She's never returned it. All those times she smiled at him. All those times he helped her have been for nought. She's not his, she never was and she never will be: she loves his adversary. Hood, always the spectre over his shoulder and now engulfing him completely. How could you?
He throws his sword away from him in case he does something he regrets. That would never do. Then she would never be his. This can't be true.
What is he fighting for, if not her heart? Hasn't he always shown her how much he loved her? Perhaps not. Perhaps he was too forceful in his ministrations. What did he do wrong? The past mistakes, the past regrets, flood his mind. Why? Why not me? What have I done?
She's still backing up towards the fallen monarch, although he isn't following her. Her words grate through him, slicing him in half. You mean nothing to me.
He doesn't hear Vaizey's chastising and threats. All he can do is look at her. I love you.
5
He feels the tears prick his eyelids as she goes limp in his arms. Her terrible words are replaced by a cry of pain, and the smile that accompanied them is now distorted in agony as a result of his momentary rage, his momentary jealousy. What have I done?
He's calm again now as he lays her on the sand and backs off. He can't think. He doesn't know what to think. Something tells him that he must fetch back his sword from where it still stands, grim and true. It was his father's and he would've given it to his son. The son he'd hoped he'd have with her. But that's a dream never to come to pass. Not now he has pulled its wings away. What have I done?
He feels dead. By killing her he has killed something inside himself. Her loss is a hole inside him. He tries to tell himself that she means nothing to him. She's a traitor. But no matter how many times he recites the words to himself, they never ring true. He sees her in his head. She's laughing. She's crying. She's dying. He lets the tears fall. I love you.
What did you think? :)