Chapter Thirty-Six

Change of plans (again), folks: This is not the second to last chapter. It grew too long and I had to split it in two. You don't mind, do you? I thought so ;-)

Now, in this part we revisit a very important event from Guy's past. I had to twist it around a bit so that Granny would fit in. I know that it didn't happen this way in canon. But it could have, if Granny had been a character on the show. Oh, and I guess I should warn you about a character death. It's only mentioned, it happened a long time ago. It's none of my beloved OC's, nor is it one that's really important for this story, so you can relax.

Finally Guy and Crispin reached the safe outskirts of Knighton when the sun was just starting to sink behind Sherwood Forest.

The village roads were quiet. Not one person could be seen outside. It seemed that, after the Sheriff's ordeal the day before, today everyone preferred the safety of their homes. Guy steered the horse past the place of their fight where several people had died. There were still traces of blood in the sand. He quickly looked away, but then his eyes fell onto an equally sore sight: the burned-down remains of Knighton Hall.

Guy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This village, it seemed, didn't hold many pleasant memories for him. He'd do well to leave it quickly again. He vowed to depart as soon as he'd have delivered Crispin safely on his parents' doorstep. But then he remembered two things at once.

First: Allan would be at Crispin's home, too. So he couldn't leave immediately.

And second: He had no idea which of the farmhouses was Crispin's home.

He was about to ask the boy where he lived when he suddenly heard a cry. The door of one house was thrown open in haste and out stumbled a man and woman Guy had seen in the village square. Crispin's parents, obviously.

The woman almost tripped in her hurry to get to them. "Crispin!" she cried and Guy could see tears streaming down her face. "My boy! Crispin!"

"Mother! Father!" Crispin shouted back and quickly jumped off the horse. Guy got a boot slammed into his stomach but he didn't feel any pain. Instead something like warmth filled him when he saw the relief spread over the parents' faces. They reached the boy and pulled him into their arms and Guy could feel the love they had for each other enfold like a blanket over and around them. It put a foreign feeling into his guts. How could he ever have thought Crispin to be his son? Seeing the boy with his parents now made the thought absolutely ridiculous.

Guy turned his head and his eyes fell onto the house. He saw several faces stare though the window back at them. Crispin's siblings, he presumed. And was one of those faces Allan's?

Guy slowly dismounted his horse but didn't approach any further. He didn't want to intrude and also, he knew that these people still saw him as their enemy. He'd always be the Sheriff's henchman to them, no matter what they'd witnessed the day before.

"Crispin, are you alright? Are you hurt?" Guy looked back at the boy and his parents when he heard the fear in the mother's voice. "Did he hurt you?"

Guy wasn't sure who the woman was referring to; the Sheriff or him.

"No, I'm fine," Crispin quickly reassured and was finally released from his parents' strong embrace. Guy frowned and took a step forward. "The Sheriff stabbed him in the leg," he informed them. "But the wound is not deep. He was lucky."

"Stabbed?" The mother's eyes were wide with outrage and, Guy noticed, as blue as Crispin's. "Oh, my poor boy. Show me."

"Mother…" Crispin tried to stop her fussing but the woman threw him a stern glare, hands at her hips. "Crispin Bartholomew Watts! Inside. Now. I will have a look!"

Guy watched her usher the boy away and frowned. Something about her seemed familiar but he couldn't put a finger on it. Before he had a chance to figure it out, Crispin's father turned to him. The man was as tall as him and equally broad-shouldered, and a pair of dark brown eyes studied him suspiciously.

"Gisborne." The man quickly corrected himself. "Sir Guy."

Guy watched the man take a few cautious steps towards him, slowly, carefully, as if unsure what to expect. He waited, equally wary, while he tried to remember the man's name. Crispin had told him, hadn't he? Watts, that's it.

He inclined his head but remained silent. Watts seemed to stare at him for a long time, searching for words or searching for something in Guy's face, he didn't know. Finally he spoke. "Thank you for saving him. We're grateful and we won't forget it. We're indebted to you."

"No. You're welcome," Guy muttered, gaze averted. His eyes fell once again onto a face in the window. It was a woman, he realized, but not Crispin's mother. The face seemed older, more withered and somehow familiar. It almost looked like… Guy paled. The ground shifted beneath his feet and he had to lean against his horse or else he would have stumbled. He felt as if a ghost from his past had suddenly come to life and was now staring back at him.

But it couldn't be, could it? She was dead!

"Who's that?" Guy realized that he sounded gruff and impatient but right now he didn't care. He had to know. Watts threw a confused glance back to the house, obviously unsure of whom he was talking about. Guy was about to point to the window but then a very familiar figure suddenly appeared in the doorway and drew his attention away.

"Giz!" Allan grinned from ear to ear and made his way over. "You're back!"

Guy noticed that Allan walked with only a small remaining limp. His wounds had to be almost healed then.

"Allan," Guy realized that he was smiling back. He hadn't known how accustomed he'd gotten to the man. But he couldn't deny that he was genuinely pleased to see him well again.

Allan had reached them now and, after only the smallest of hesitations, gave Guy a friendly clap on the back. He didn't think Guy would mind him taking this little liberty. And, sure enough, Guy didn't. In fact, he surprised Allan (and himself, too) by reaching out and pulling the younger man into a brief one-armed hug.

It ended just as quickly as it had snuck up on them, and it left Allan gob smacked. "What was that for?"

He stared into Guy's face and at once noticed something like sadness in the blue eyes. Then he remembered that Guy and Crispin had arrived without a sign of Marian anywhere, and it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

"Oh," Allan sighed. So Marian had chosen Robin then? It wasn't what he had expected, nor what he'd hoped for. All this time he had been, and still was, rooting for Guy to get the girl in the end.

"So, what happened?" Seeing Guy's pained face Allan quickly added: "I mean, to the Sheriff? Did you…?"

"He got away," Guy looked less pained and more angry now. "He must be halfway down to Portsmouth by now. Though," his eyes gleamed triumphantly, "he was wounded. The boy said he'd stabbed Vaisey in his guts."

"Crispin?" Watts suddenly turned to them again. "Crispin stabbed the Sheriff?"

Guy nodded. "He said when he tried to escape there was a struggle. Vaisey stabbed him but the boy bravely fought back."

If Watts heard the pride in Guy's voice, he didn't let on. Instead he eyed him up and down once again. Guy grew uncomfortable and quickly turned to Allan. "Your wounds?"

"All better," Allan shrugged. "Thanks to Margery's healing potion. Tastes like crap but… works wonders. Though I don't wanna know what's in it."

"You're better off not knowing," Watts stated with a smile. "Believe me."

"Oh, I do."

Guy watched the friendly exchange with a sinking feeling in his gut. It looked like Allan got on well with the man. He'd made a friend. Surely he wouldn't want to leave the comforts Watts and his family were offering, only to go with Guy, who had no idea where he should go now and what to do next.

Guy let out a sigh when he recognized the feeling as disappointment. He had hoped that Allan would keep him company. He had counted on it, to be honest.

Guy didn't know where he was headed, now that he'd broken with Vaisey and had lost everything (including Marian), but he knew that he'd counted on Allan to be heading the same way. Guy sighed again. "I should go. It's getting late."

Allan frowned. "Go where? Giz?"

Guy merely shrugged. He took hold of his horse's reins and put one foot into the stirrup.

"Wait." Watts approached him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Stay."

"No."

"Why not?" Allan suited up. "You've nowhere else to go, have you? Or have you figured out what you're gonna do with the rest of your life? You're one of us now, Giz, remember? An outlaw."

Guy gritted his teeth and looked away. "I don't need a peasant's pity."

"Good, because you won't get it." Watts' eyes gleamed dangerously. He took a deep breath. "What you'll get is a simple meal and a place to sleep for the night. You said yourself, it's getting late."

Guy eyed the man in silence.

"It's the least I can offer to show our gratitude for saving our son." Watts' mouth twisted into a sly smile. "Who, by the way, would be terribly disappointed if you left without saying goodbye first. And then he'd sulk for at least a week. I'll do anything to avoid that."

Against his will Guy smirked. "You're even willing to put up with me? Very brave."

"Some may call it brave, others stupid." Watts shrugged and offered Guy his hand. "Either way, Allan trusts you. My son trusts you. That's good enough for me."

Guy shook the offered hand and then went with Watts to the door. Allan followed, confusion on his face. "I'm not being funny, but this is creepy."

"Shut up, Allan," Guy threw over his shoulder and stepped onto the porch. There, Watts halted him. "Let me speak to my family first."

Guy narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling like the enemy again. Watts went inside and Guy turned away with a badly suppressed sigh. Apparently the family needed to be forewarned of him, as if he was a dangerous animal Watts had found in the woods and brought home.

This had been a bad idea. Guy was about to go back the way he'd come, back to his horse, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He looked into Allan's face.

Allan didn't say anything, he just looked at Guy and tried to convince him to give it a chance. Finally Guy sighed and nodded. Behind him the door opened and Watts bade him inside.

Guy stepped over the threshold and then stopped. The chatter ceased, the room grew quiet as a grave, and every head turned his way. Five people occupied a big table, and fear and suspicion stared back at him out of every face but one.

Crispin's eyes were the only kind ones in the room. He even smiled a bit.

Guy swallowed hard and concentrated on the boy while he fought the urge to turn around and run. He heard Allan enter and walk past him, but Guy kept his eyes firmly on Crispin. Then, slowly, he let his gaze wander over the rest of the family. Two more boys, one older and one younger than Crispin, sat on the right side of the table, Crispin wedged in between them. The left side was taken by the mother and a girl of perhaps sixteen. She seemed the most frightened of him and quickly averted her eyes before they could meet Guy's. The mother covered her hand with her own on the table and glared at him.

Guy looked away.

His eyes fell onto Allan but the younger man didn't return his gaze. Instead he seemed to be looking at something behind Guy. A rustle of clothes and the squeaking sound of wood from there had Guy spin around, at once on high alert and one hand reaching for his sword.

"There's no need for that, Guy." Granny stood, the rocking chair she'd just abandoned slowly swinging to and fro, and took a step closer to Guy. Her eyes were fixed on his hand gripping the sword handle, but then she slowly lifted her head and looked at him. "No one here wishes you harm now. Least of all I."

Guy stared at her, breath caught in his throat and eyes wide in shock. There it was, the ghost from his past that he'd seen through the window earlier. But it couldn't be, could it? Guy opened his mouth but no sound escaped. He shook his head and blinked several times, as if he didn't trust his eyes.

A small smile tugged at the old woman's lips and her eyes reflected nothing but kindness. It was a kindness he recognized. He'd once known it all too well, a lifetime ago. And it broke through his stupor and made his eyes water.

Granny's smile widened and she took a few steps his way. But then her age suddenly seemed to betray her and she swayed on her feet.

Before he knew it, Guy had jumped forward. He caught her with both hands grabbing her frail arms. He felt her sag against him for a second and instinctively strengthened his hold on her. "You need to sit down."

Watery eyes met his. "No, I'm fine."

"But…"

"I said I am fine." Her voice was as strong and unwavering as he remembered. So was the look from her eyes. Kind and patient, and yet strong and resolute. Guy felt something inside of him turn and rupture, like a dam or a lock had finally burst, and his chest opened wide and memories flooded his head and his heart, memories long forgotten and buried underneath all the pain and hatred, and he felt like he'd suffocate or drown, only in a good way, and his arms tightened around her and he pulled her close to his aching chest.

"Fanny," Guy choked out at last, his throat tight.

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, Fanny!"

Granny let out a delighted chuckle. "Careful there, Guy. As much as it pains me to remind you, but many years have passed since you last did this. I am an old woman now. My bones have gone frail and they break easily, even if the mind is still as strong as ever."

Guy carefully released her and held her at arm's length. His eyes roamed over her withered face and he still couldn't believe it was really her. "How is it possible? I thought you dead. I thought I'd killed you, too."

"You didn't kill me," Granny shook her head. "And you didn't kill them either."

He knew of course who she was talking about.

"Yes, I did," Guy closed his eyes in a futile attempt to shut out the memories that threatened to overwhelm him; memories of the night he'd set fire to his home and killed his parents.

"Now you listen to me, Guy of Gisborne!" Granny placed her hands on his face and made him open his eyes again. "You did not kill your parents. The fire was an accident. I was there. I saw. You only tried to stop Sir Malcolm. I saw it. He pushed you and the drapes caught fire by accident."

"Still," Guy whispered. "If I hadn't… They died in the fire that I lit. I killed them."

"No," Granny shook her head. "You did not, Guy. You don't know the whole truth. After you got out, I ran upstairs and found your mother in your father's arms, already dead."

Guy stared at her in shock. "What?"

"It was an accident. She had fallen and hit her head. Your father and Sir Malcolm had fought and she'd tried to stop them. It was an accident, Guy. You didn't kill them!"

Guy broke free of Granny's grip and turned away. His eyes fell onto Allan who was staring at him. The whole Watts family was staring, too, he realized.

It was all too much. Guy turned and ran out the door. He stumbled down the porch, eyes blurry with sudden tears, and fell to the ground on his knees. Something angry and desperate made its way up his throat and Guy couldn't reign it in. He threw his head back and let out an angry roar.

His cry reverberated through the whole village and left his throat raw.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him on the porch. "Giz."

"Leave me be, Allan!"

Guy didn't turn around. He didn't want to see Allan. He didn't want to talk to him. He wanted nothing but to be left in peace.

"Allan?" Granny had appeared in the doorway. "Help me down."

Allan turned and went to take Granny by her arm. Carefully, leaning partly on Allan and partly on her cane, the old woman made her way over to where Guy was still hunched on the ground. She let go of Allan and motioned for him to go back inside. Then she placed a hand onto Guy's shoulder.

Guy lifted his face and Granny was stunned by the amount of emotion his face displayed. She couldn't help but smile sadly. This now, this was the face of the boy she'd once known.

"There you are, at last. I've always hoped to see the boy you once were break through the man you've become."

"I'm not that boy anymore," Guy ground out.

"No?" Granny softly touched his cheek and Guy saw her finger come back wet. Was he crying? He hadn't realized. He stumbled to his feet and turned his back on her. He didn't want her to see him cry.

"Guy…"

"Where were you?" Guy suddenly swirled around again. His eyes blazed with sudden anger. "After the fire, when the Bailiff and the villagers cast me out? Where were you? Why didn't you…? I thought you must have died, too. Or else… why didn't you… where were you?"

Granny placed a hand onto his forearm. "I am sorry, Guy."

Guy scoffed. As if that could make it better.

"No, please, Guy." Granny squeezed his arm. "Hear me out. I mean it, I am terribly sorry. I would have tried to stop Longthorne, had I known…"

"Where were you?" Guy felt unable to say anything else.

"I will tell you everything that happened that night, I promise. Let us sit down," Granny motioned to the porch. Guy sighed and then helped her lower herself onto the step. He sat down next to her, aware of her eyes on him but avoiding them. He stared at his boots instead. "Tell me."

And Granny did.

She told him everything. She told him how she'd witnessed his fight with Sir Malcolm of Locksley, hidden from view behind the door to the servants' quarters. She'd seen him grab the torch, had seen Sir Malcolm push him, had seen the tapestry catch fire. She had heard Sir Malcolm run upstairs after Guy had pulled his little sister out to safety.

Granny told him about her futile attempts to stop the fire from spreading, about how she'd heard a loud thud from upstairs and how she'd run up, only to find his mother dead in his father's arms, Sir Malcolm nowhere in sight. She told him how she'd pleaded with his father to get out, how in his despair he'd refused, how he'd argued that he was a dead man anyway, a leper, how he'd ordered her to save herself.

Guy closed his eyes. Even in death, it seemed, his father had cared for everyone else, only not for his own children, or else he would have fought his way out, fought to get to them. He didn't voice his thoughts though, and let Granny continue instead.

Granny braced herself for the hard part she knew would come now. She told Guy how she'd made her way downstairs through the biting smoke and heat and how she'd suddenly found Sir Malcolm, badly burned and barely alive, and how she'd helped him outside just before the house had started to collapse around them.

Guy looked up at her, eyes ablaze with fury. "You did what? You helped Locksley? He survived?"

"Yes." Granny watched him closely, half-afraid of him lashing out in anger. "He survived the fire. But he died shortly after. His injuries were too severe."

"Good," Guy stated coldly. "Saves me the trouble of killing him myself."

Granny thought it best not to reply. Instead she simply placed her hand onto Guy's forearm again and gave it a squeeze. "After I had gotten Sir Malcolm out I tried to go back in. The cook was still inside, I knew, as well as several others. But the house collapsed."

"I know," Guy nodded. "I remember. That was right before Bailiff Longthorne took charge and cast me and Isabella out. And not one of the villagers stood up to him. Not one stopped him. They all… there was no one. Not even you."

"I was buried underneath the wreckage. The house had collapsed on me."

Guy looked at her in shock. "You…"

"I was found three days later when the men were cleaning away the debris. I was hurt but not too badly. A few broken bones, that's all." She sent him a sad smile. "It was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I heard what they'd done to you and your sister."

Guy looked down onto her small hand on his arm. He covered it with his own.

"As soon as I was able to walk again, I searched for you, Guy." Granny's voice was barely above a whisper. "I asked around, I looked everywhere, but no one would tell me anything. I couldn't find you. I was too late, you'd already gone."

Guy didn't know what to say and closed his eyes. All those years he'd carried the guilt for his parents' death with him, only to find out now that it had been an accident. He wasn't responsible. At least not as much as he'd thought.

And all those years he'd thought that no one had ever cared for him at all. All the loneliness he'd felt for so long, this feeling that he'd tried so desperately to bury underneath the hatred and resentment for those who had cast him out… he had been wrong about it. There had been someone who had cared. There had been someone who had looked for him, who had wanted to help him…

"Guy," Granny cut off his thoughts and he looked at her at last. "Please believe me, I am truly sorry. All those years I prayed for a chance to tell you the truth. To tell you that, had I been able to find you, I would have helped you in any way you'd have let me. I would have given you and your sister a home. I know saying it doesn't change what happened…"

"No, it doesn't," Guy agreed. "But… it helps. Knowing that you… that there was someone after all, someone who… " Guy swallowed hard. "It helps."

"I'd hoped it would."

Granny shifted and, after one long look at Guy's profile, leaned closer to rest her frail body against his side. Guy didn't pull away, she noticed with a relieved smile.

They continued to sit in silence, side by side, her grey hair a strong contrast to the dark-clad shoulder it was resting on, until eventually the coldness of the night seeped into their bones and forced them back into the house.

I hope you don't think Guy too OOC. I watched "Bad Blood" (epi 3x10) again to prepare for this and I think young Guy got to me (like he always does).