I'm just going to stop apologizing and making excuses for my sporadic updates... (I'm sorry!) However, as such, I am doubly grateful to those who have stuck with me. Thank you, my lovelies.

fiamma71: I hope everything with you is okay! (You mentioned things were "challenging" in your last review.) Magnetism...wow, that's a great word to describe Guy and Ajsa's relationship. Drawing each other together, while simultaneously repelling them. Everything that you've commented on (the dualism and similarities between Guy and Ajsa, their ability to read each other, their tenuous relationship) comes to a head in this chapter, and I'm super curious to read what you think of it!

Sesshomaru's Babydoll: Psh, don't apologize. You're still around, and I'm glad for that! Remember the days when I used to update every week? Yeah, those were good times... Yes, this story has short chapters because it kinda sorta doesn't have a plot. Not one like Soul Healing did, at least, and that's part of the fun. (I struggle with plot.) BUT, this chapter is longer! :D

AmalieNico: Thank you! Your review made me so happy, because I have a hard time with descriptions. :)

Disclaimer: I wrote this the day after seeing The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, so it might get ya right in the feels. Also, it's Guy post-Holy Land...

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 8: Vulnerable

By the time the trio reached Nottingham, even the Sheriff's mood had soured. It had been a long, slow journey, full of reluctant conversations and tense silences. Adding to the travelers' discomfort was a massive storm that produced fierce flashes of lightning and culminated in a flooding of the roads. The driver was anxious to stop, lest the wagon become mired in mud, but Vaisey refused. For once, Guy and Ajsa were glad for the Sheriff's brute insistence. Though the wind beat the rain through the bars of the carriage, soaking the occupants, they were all three impatient to part company with each other.

Ajsa spent much of the trip stewing in frustration. She'd been so close to freedom, so close to reclaiming her previous life, that the disappointment ate away at her like acid. If she had made it onto that ship, she, too, would be going home. She would be rid of damp England and of her surly master. What was the phrase he always used in reference to her? More trouble than she's worth. Well, the sentiment was heartily returned.

Yet now, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she wondered if perhaps she had been mistaken about him. The angry, confident man had disappeared, leaving behind a hollow shell that looked as if it were about to collapse in on itself. What had caused such a deterioration, Ajsa did not know. He hadn't risen to Vaisey's provocation, despite the bald man's repeated attempts. In fact, he had not spoken more than a handful of words the entire journey, opting instead to stare at the passing scenery or to close his eyes. But from the rate of his breathing, Ajsa knew he did not sleep.

The wagon came to a halt in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle. Vaisey sprang out and began barking commands at his guards and servants. But Ajsa's attention was on Gisborne, who hadn't moved in over an hour.

"We've arrived, Sir Guy," she informed him warily.

He unfolded those long limbs and stepped out of the carriage. A groom brought him his stallion, and without so much as a backwards glance at her, he mounted and rode off. Ajsa was left standing in the center of the courtyard, fury coursing through her disheveled frame. Kicking the wheel of the wagon, she cursed violently in Hungarian. Some of the soldiers eyed her with amusement; others, with surprise, for they did not need to understand her words to understand their meaning.

'Oi, sweetheart!" called one of the guards. "I may not be no fancy knight like Sir Guy, but I sure won' leave ya behind."

Ajsa whirled on the man and glared at him.

"I am not a whore," she snapped.

"Aye, maybe not," he replied, smirking lasciviously. "But ya've got the mouth o' one."

Another soldier joined in, his gaze raking over her figure.

"Not the body, though," he commented critically. "Too skinny and small, if ya get my meanin'."

Ajsa did indeed get his meaning, and she was not amused. However, quite aware of her own vulnerability, she bit her tongue to keep from reacting. Taking a deep breath, she spun on her heel and walked away, the men's lecherous jeers accompanying her far past the gate of the castle.

#

Hours later, when Ajsa walked through the door of Locksley Manor, the house appeared to be devoid of people. The servants were gone, and Guy was nowhere to be seen. But a thud from above disproved her initial observation.

She ascended the stairs and peeked into the largest bedroom. Gisborne was sat on the floor, half-dressed, his head in his hands. The woman watched him for a few seconds, before cautiously entering. As she drew nearer, the scent of wine pervaded the air around him, seemingly clinging to his person. Glimpsing the burgundy-colored stain that extended from his chin to his bellybutton, Ajsa reckoned that the stench really was clinging to him.

"You spilled wine on yourself," she remarked.

Gisborne acknowledged neither her presence nor her words. Sighing, she dipped a cloth into the water basin and crouched in front of him.

"You must sit up straight if I am to wipe away that wine," she said tonelessly. Guy didn't move. Ajsa hesitantly touched his shoulder, but he shrugged away. "Very well. Continue to stink of wine, then."

She was about to stand, when a hand on her knee stayed her. Ajsa's breath faltered at the sight that greeted her. Eyes that had once been crystal blue were now red-rimmed and clouded with something frighteningly akin to grief. She did not know what shocked her more, the fact that Gisborne could feel sorrow or that he seemed to be reaching out to her.

"May I, uh..."

Ajsa gestured to his bare torso and received the barest of nods. She felt his gaze on her while she worked. It unnerved her, but she tried to ignore it. The pale skin mere centimeters away, however, was more difficult to ignore. His current haggard appearance aside, Guy was a handsome man with an incredibly powerful frame, even, apparently, when he had lost a significant amount of weight.

"Thank you," he murmured, once she had finished.

Resisting the urge to gape at him, Ajsa returned the cloth to the basin and stood awkwardly against the bedpost. In the many months that she'd been working for him, she could not recall a time when he had thanked anyone, let alone the foreign slave.

"You are surely laughing at me." His tone was bitter, his words tinged with only the slightest slur to betray his drunkenness.

"Why would I do that?" she inquired.

"Why? Because I dribbled wine all down my front." A humorless laugh escaped him, and he hung his head. "How satisfying it must be for you to see me so effaced, to see your cruel master wallowing in wine and self-pity."

Whatever anger she had felt towards him for leaving her in Nottingham faded. Walking towards him, she knelt in front of him again.

"It is not very satisfying," she said softly.

He scoffed and fixed her with look of scornful disbelief.

"Oh come now, Ajsa. You cannot tell me you're not pleased to see me stripped of my dignity."

"But I can," she replied gently, "Because it is the truth. I do not find pleasure in another's pain." Her voice turned acerbic for an instant, as resentment swelled in her chest. "Not even in your pain."

That mirthless laugh again.

"Ajsa, Ajsa, Ajsa," he chanted, shaking his head and smiling. "You are a Hungarian saint. I treat you abominably and abandon you at the castle, yet here you are, cleaning up my mess and showing me kindness."

Her eyes narrowed. The words were flattering; the inflection, less so.

"Mock me if you will," she retorted. "You can say nothing that will injure me."

"No?" he questioned, arching a curious brow. "And what if I remind you of how far from home you are? Or of how different the stars look above England than above Hungary? Or of how I dragged you back to a life of servitude right when you were about to escape it?"

Ajsa stood. "You are drunk," she said brusquely. Gripping his arm, she yanked it hard enough to pull him to his feet. "I suggest you sleep it off before the Sheriff requests your presence again."

To her surprise, Gisborne allowed himself to be led towards the bed, but instead of lying on it, he sat upon it, bringing Ajsa down with him.

"I cannot sleep," he said raggedly.

She tried to scoot away from him, but his arm around her waist kept her by his side.

"I can mix you a sleeping draught."

"No. No sleeping draughts," he spat. "I don't deserve peace. I deserve to be haunted by demonic visions."

Ajsa's demeanor softened, and she placed a hand on his thigh.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, echoing her question to him on the docks.

"Nothing," he whispered. "It is that I have happened to others."

Guy laid down, then, curling in on himself, as though trying to make himself as small and as insignificant as possible. Ajsa remained seated on the bed, unsure of what to do next. Her answer came soon enough, though, when Gisborne caught her gaze over his shoulder.

"Lie with me."

It was not a command. It was a plea.

For the first time since meeting him in the slave market, Ajsa's heart went out to Guy. Gone were his usual pride and the impatience with which he normally regarded her. They were replaced by a timid hopefulness that reminded Ajsa of a lost, little boy.

"Of course, my lord," she said and settled behind him.

"Don't call me that," he requested. "Just call me Guy."

"Very well...Guy."

The name sounded foreign and almost illicit on her tongue, but she repeated it again, because it seemed to calm him. They laid motionless for hours, Gisborne lost in his personal hell and Ajsa listening to his breathing.

She had nearly drifted off, when a quiet, deep voice floated into her sleepy haze.

"Thank you, Ajsa."