Summary: "Kill the Sherriff. Save the king. And I will give you what you want." Guy stared into her tense face a long moment, black brows narrowed together, his eyes gleaming. "Prove it," he said.

Set during 2x13, which came as something of a surprise, given that my head-canon for this show generally stops after 2x11 (it was the perfect ending, okay?) Intended as a twoshot, though the temptation of turning it into a full-blown fic is becoming alarmingly strong...


RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

PART I –- GUY

'O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
A
rt more engaged!'

Those memories of Acre stole upon him startlingly clear and vivid; the dry, scorching heat, the metal-stained blood trodden into the sands by thousands of rough-shod feet. An arcing line of cerulean sky, the desert a burning strip of gold glimpsed in bright flashes through the cloaked assassin's mask wreathed around his pale features. Haughty Christian knights, weary pilgrims and fierce, black-eyed Saracens, all pledging their swords in the name of God. A cruel, harsh land without pity or mercy, where men died with blood on their hands and prayers faltering on their lips. It had haunted his dreams long after he had returned to Nottingham.

He had never expected to set foot on this cursed landscape again. Not since –

Flashes of a wolf's head tattoo, the musky darkness of a clouded tent, cries and a struggle, the thought we failed, and the frantic desperation of escape -

"Gisborne!" Vaisey's sharp voice cut through the images burning in his mind. "Are you listening?"

Guy looked up reluctantly. Shadows danced across the face of the Sherriff who was waving his goblet about with a deceptive airiness, the light flashing off the polished metal edge and picking out the maniacal gleam in those hazel irises.

"Yes," Guy returned sullenly, the resentful impatience betraying itself in his voice. He was chafing under this confinement, forced to remain hidden away, when back in England, he had had an entire estate to call his own and the vast walls of Nottingham castle to assert his power. But they had come to the Holy Land like fugitives in the night, and remained closed away like this for hours; locked in secret meetings in closeted rooms under torchlight, the table littered with Arabic scripts, the scent of dust and blood and sacred incense hanging in low swathes. The heavy heat stole upon him, made him feel dulled, lethargic. He could feel the perspiration trickling down between his shoulder blades, his skin unbearably hot beneath the restrictive confines of the leather tunic. Guy sighed, stretching his long body that had begun to ache under this enforced inactivity, and tried to focus on the matter at hand.

"We're about to kill the King, Gisborne. Try and show a little enthusiasm."

"I am… delighted, my lord."

The Sherriff turned away, drumming his fingers against the table in distraction. "Yes, yes… now, about that other matter, our Lady Leper friend, Marian –"

"What about her?" demanded Guy, a shade too quickly. He felt his formerly apathetic body stiffen, suddenly awake and alert in every nerve. Even now, her very name had the power to undo him. He despised himself for the weakness (the humanity) he had once convinced himself he was immune from. His feelings had led to nothing but betrayal and disappointment, and he would not be made a fool of again. Especially not for her. He had learned his lesson and would not be burned again. He would remember what he had been taught. Humanity is weakness. Humanity is weakness.

Vaisey's shrewd, cunning gaze missed nothing; a knowing smile curled around the edges of his thin mouth. "She's becoming a nuisance, Gisborne. Deal with her. Or I will."

"Marian is no threat to us," Guy muttered.

"Good. Because if Missy's prying little schemes put so much as a dent in my assassination plan…" Vaisey's hand gripped his jaw painfully, forcing Guy to unwillingly meet his gaze. His bloodshot eyes were wild, skittish, too full of energy. "On your head be it." Wine-scented breath fell heavy on his cheek, but Guy was not fooled. Vaisey was cruel enough and cunning enough to feign inebriation to lower his lieutenant's guard, and Guy was determined not to betray himself where Marian was concerned. Right now, his enforced indifference was perhaps the only thing standing between her and instant death. So he merely allowed himself an ugly grimace and said with what he hoped would pass for sadistic exultance, "She will be brought to heel, my lord. I'll make it my personal responsibility."

The Sherriff smiled unpleasantly, a false sweetness lingering on the surface of those grating tones. "I think you're finally learning, Gisborne. On your merry way, then."

Guy did not hesitate, thankful for the momentary reprieve. Vaisey's moods had been more tolerable of late, less prone to the blackening rages that often left Guy smarting under bruises that the leather armour could not fully conceal. Perhaps the Sherriff sensed that victory was close, that all they had worked for was finally in sight. The power, the position, the security – it all lay within the grasp of his hand. He was close now, so close to achieving everything he had desired these long years. He was not about to allow any distractions to his path to power. Not anymore. His fate was now tied entirely to Vaisey's; he lived or died with him. No one else mattered.

No one -

She's becoming a nuisance, Gisborne. Deal with her. Or I will.

Guy shuddered at the memory of Vaisey's words crawling across his flesh, those insidious tones taken in like the bitter-tasting draught of a long-familiar poison. The hated face leaning close to his, the all-too familiar madness gleaming in his eyes. But the Sherriff was not mad; Guy knew this, just as he knew that power was the only thing worth pursuing, that loyalty had to be bought, and the only language men understood was fear. He had learned these lessons the hard way, dragging himself through an existence of petty cruelties and brutal treacheries, denied a life of wealth and status that should have been his by birthright. Instead, he had had to pave a way for himself with his sword, the marks of Vaisey's fists a reminder of every failure and a fuel to the burning flame of resentment and ambition that warmed him through the comfortless nights. Power was his sole province now.

The silence of the dim passageway closed in around him as his long-limbed figure moved with grim purpose towards her chamber. Guy wondered with a momentary flash of anger how many times Marian must have done this – crept along secret passageways by torchlight, spying on him even as he grew more to trust her, passing on information to his sworn enemy. Even Hood's death could not lessen the pain of knowing she had been in league with him this entire time, had perhaps even –

No. I will not believe it.

Allan's words rose, unbidden, to his mind. Even if they were… he's finished now.

Hood might be dead, but it was not at his hand. That moment of reckoning had been denied him; he had not known that last, final triumph of looking into his enemy's defeated eyes before striking the blow that would end him forever. Instead, Hood and his ragged band of traitors had been surrounded, cut down, or most likely burned to death inside that barn. Their fate was an unenviable one; Guy knew what it was to burn. He recalled even now the searing flash of white-hot agony when Vaisey had lacerated the incriminating tattoo from his skin. They kept such brands in hell, and the murky depths of Nottingham castle was as close as a man could get in this lifetime. The thought of the flames scorching the mockery from his old adversary's face, the crowing laughter turned to screams of agony filled him with a savage pleasure.

The close walls had faded to a dull grey hue in the gathering gloom, the atmosphere dry with the scent of the desert. Though less stifling than the meeting chambers, it was still too hot. Parching. Yet the heat didn't touch him. He was always cold. Left only with vivid recollections and dreams of what might have been. In that howling darkness, Guy saw again a white-veiled figure, eyes of deepest blue raised up to his (I have done wrong. But you will wash away my sins…)

He thought of her betrayal again, and for a moment, the world turned crimson.

He had known there had been something. Her evasive behavior, her excursions into the forest… and then there was Allan. Allan had known, too. There was another betrayal, and Guy was incensed to realize just how much that desertion hurt. Allan may have been irritating, arrogant, sly-tongued, and too sure of himself by far, but he had been an ally, if only for a little while. And there had been a strange kind of solace in some companionship other than Vaisey's or the subservient guards that mindlessly followed his curt orders. But Allan had turned down that chance of power, had run, crawling away with his tail between his legs back to a dead hero and the prospect of a hanging. Well, good riddance to him. Vaisey had been right all along. There was no one else he could rely on. The emptiness of the Sherriff's cold reasoning didn't scare him because it was already inside him. His words had merely reinforced what Guy had known his entire life.

Outside her chamber, Guy tried to collect himself before pushing open the heavy, rusted door, bracing himself for the sight of her. The heat was even more intense here, despite the coolness of the desert night. The close, dusty air curled the dark hair damply around the back of his neck, dried the back of his throat. A solitary candle stood on the table; its lone flame wavered, wax sputtering in the warm draught that drifted through the open door. The moonlight streamed in through the narrow aperture, haloing her where she sat, clothed in ethereal white like a condemned martyr, troubled and silent. For a moment, Guy remained in the doorway watching her. And she was… sad. He had not seen such vulnerability on her face since the immediate aftermath of Sir Edward's death. Didn't know she had it in her. He realized with a pang that he missed her high-spirited passion. I gave you a horse once and made you smile. But that was another time, another country, another life. It would take more than a gift to repair everything that had been destroyed between them. There was no going back.

For years she had avoided him, never spending more time in his company than duty and courtesy demanded, but they had come too far for that now, hopelessly entwined in a web of betrayal, deception, danger and longing. Yet now… there was a coldness and a distance between them that had not been present even in the early days of their acquaintance when she had disdainfully considered him nothing more than Vaisey's henchman. He could sense how fully she despised him and seethed over the fact. What right had she – after the betrayals, the lies – to condemn him? His hand tightened its grip on the plate he held. Rage was boiling in his blood, startling him with its intensity. Was he really so angered, so full of hate?

Marian stood up on his entering, the translucent folds of her white gown whispering around her legs at the movement. Her pale skin had tanned under the scorching heat of the desert sun, her dark hair crowned with streaks of burnished gold. Blue eyes blazed in vivid contrast as she faced him with an expression of defiant resolution. Yet he saw the tension in her set shoulders, the wariness in her gaze like a hunted animal poised to flee from his pursuing steps and endlessly craving touches. But she would never run, not even to save her own life. No matter how many times he thought he finally had her in his power, she managed to elude him. Seemingly unconscious of her title and status, yet she wielded it effortlessly as weapon, and he always felt it as a barrier between them, a cruel reproach to himself. More than anything, he wanted such power, would bleed for such power, and had committed his life to pursuing it with a single-minded ferocity. And Marian had possessed it from birth, wore those graces so naturally that even now, when imprisoned and on the brink of death, he could not master her. It infuriated and enticed him. Draped in white and stripped of her costly garments, her wealth and her freedom, she should have lost her pride, but she faced him as willful and stubborn as ever. Still playing coy, and still dangerous. Even now, enchained, bare and vulnerable, she could utterly destroy him.

He slammed the dish ungently against the table, the action sending up a faint cloud of the infernal dust that always permeated this place.

"Eat," he said curtly.

She didn't even look at the proffered dish. "I'm not hungry."

He exhaled with annoyance. "I said eat."

"I said I'm not hungry."

Guy had determined not to be provoked by her but then, he had never been able to be rational where she was concerned. Already he felt his blood rising at the weary indifference in her tone. Leather fingers kneaded the tense lines of his brow. "Why must you still insist on this willfulness? Are you trying to get yourself killed, Marian?"

She raised her head, blue eyes narrowed with sullen defiance. "I thought you didn't care."

The words stung like a lash. Even now, she was mocking him. The raw laughter caught in his throat. Care? He had always cared, God help him, and for what? He could never forgive her betrayal, a hurt as intense as the sensation of several inches of cold steel sliding into his flesh, the pain flowing red through his veins. His heart had turned black when she betrayed him, and never would he allow himself to fall prey to sentiment again. Not even when he ached for love and light and acceptance. Not even though without her, he was hollow and aching. Guy hardened his heart, summoning every bitter and resentful emotion he had felt towards her. If he could not have love, he must settle for hatred in its stead. There was no place in his heart for remorse. She had forced him to this cruelty.

"Do what you like," he said harshly. "It's nothing to me."

He allowed himself to feel a moment of vicious satisfaction when her face fell.

"Guy, wait -"

He drew out the moment for as long as possible, before turning to face her with an air of cold indifference. But his hands were shaking damnably, the pulse beating hard in his throat. A trembling flicker of hope rising within him that he desperately tried to suppress –

"What?"

"Do things really have to be this way between us?"

His gloved fingers clenched. Somewhere, he suspected grimly, Vaisey was laughing right now. "You have brought this upon yourself, Marian."

"We were friends, Guy," she said, and he thought he could discern genuine regret in her voice. She sounded desperately sincere… No. It is a lie. Everything she has told you has been a lie. She had learnt the art of deception well, hiding behind her father and the mask of the Night Watchman all the while maintaining an aspect of perfect innocence as she plunged the knife in deeper...

Guy made no attempt to conceal the disgusted scowl that marred his features. "Really? Was it friendship you felt when you were working against me all this time? Was it friendship you felt when you were consorting with Hood, while I -"

"You lied to me too, Guy."

"No." Fury turned the edges of his vision glowing red. He was seething with the same depths of anger he had felt in that evil moment when he had unmasked her as the Night Watchman. So close to losing control. He let his frustrated voice unleash all his hatred into the close, suffocating air. "Never about what I felt. You knew what I was –"

"And you knew what I was. You knew that I could never let the people of Nottingham suffer and starve – which is what will happen so long as the Sherriff is allowed to rule unchecked!"

Of course, he reflected bitterly, her compassion again. Her compassion for everyone except him. He was in no mood to indulge her sentimentality towards people he neither knew nor cared about. What about his suffering? Did the knowledge of what she had put him through mean nothing to her? He shook his head in irritated dismissal as she continued insistently, "You have the power to stop him, if you wanted to -"

"And why would I do that?"

She turned swiftly, her figure lithe beneath the white gown. Her legs, beneath the loose, gauzy trousers, were slim and bare, her slippered feet touching the dusty ground lightly as she moved towards him with a firm, graceful ease in spite of the restrictive chains that bound her. It struck him once again as remarkable that he had not unmasked her identity as the Night Watchman earlier. It had been there before him the whole time. If he had not been such a fool, so willfully blind -

"Because you despise him. And more than that, I know you want to do what is right."

He didn't know what he wanted anymore. The breath was caught painfully between his lungs and his throat. The implication behind her seemingly noble words was awful, unthinkable -

"You're asking me to kill the Sherriff." It was not a question. He could not suppress a shudder that ran right through the very core of his being. The very words were tantamount to treason, a horror, an aberration.

"Guy –"

"No…" he said, "No…"

Guy felt himself stumble back unsteadily, a gloved hand mindlessly grasping for the wall, for some hold to his sanity. He could not listen to this…

Lepers, Gisborne… All those times she was smiling at you, but really she was laughing at you… Grow up, Gisborne… You sit at the right hand of the father. You will share in the fruits of our labour…

Vaisey… Vaisey who had promised him everything, who had made his life a living hell, but all with the guarantee that it would be worth it in the end… Vaisey who had taken him in as a father would, and abused him with harsh words and violent blows. Who had bullied and bruised and cursed him, yet had given him all of Locksley and the title of Master at Arms. His sole means to gaining status and standing. And he would have it. He would kill a king for it. He was set on the one thing in the whole world that could complete him, that could take away this furious sense of rage and powerlessness, that could make every vile, despicable act he had ever done worth it, have meant something… and now Marian, with her entreating eyes and frustrating principles, wanted to take that all away from him? She wanted him to take that from himself?

He stared at her, uncomprehending. How could she act as she did… think and believe what she did…? She did not understand what it was to have nothing and no one; no position or status, to have to buy loyalty and kill to gain every small measure of power. But Vaisey knew. Vaisey understood. And even after every humiliating defeat, every thwarted plan and failed enterprise, Vaisey still kept him at his side, offering him everything even when he did not deserve it.

I owe him everything. I despise him. I love him, and I hate him, and I need him.

Guy dragged a breath, brief and raw with terror, the thought, I could never do this, pounding through his heat-bewildered mind. The hours of confinement, the close pressure of the room, the searing awareness of her maddening presence and her terrible words were too much for him to take. How had they ended up here? How had she brought him to this point? She really did think him nothing more than a murderer. But Vaisey was more than a man. He was untouchable. Guy could no more kill him than he could destroy his own ambition. Both were hopelessly intertwined; it was impossible to have one without the other. He needed power, so Vaisey must live. It was a simple truth, and one he had built the entire foundation of his existence on. To suggest anything else... She was mad. Mad to think that for one second he would even consider this -

The sweet, acrid smell of incense clouded the air before him and her white figure was the one thing of clarity he could discern through the haze. She was speaking again, though it took him a moment to understand the words.

"Listen to me. I will vouch for you to the king. And you will be rewarded."

Guy allowed himself a bitter smile, the thin line breaking the cold mask of his face. "The king will not reward me."

"And you think the Sherriff will? I have seen the way he treats you, Guy - he cares for no one but himself."

"No," he said grimly. "The Sherriff has been loyal to me, in his way." With a flash of malevolence, he could not resist adding, "He never betrayed me."

He heard the clanking of metal as she threw out her chained hands in frustration. "Why do you always make allowances for him? He is using you – he does not care if you live or die! I know the king will hear you fairly - at the very least he will grant you a pardon."

"I'm not looking for absolution, Marian." No one could cleanse him of his sins. Not King Richard. Not God. Not her, anymore. He had done terrible things. Unforgiveable. There was blood on his hands and cruelty in his heart, and he had gone too far down this path to turn aside now. He was close now, so close to achieving everything he had hungered for these long years. The taunts and blows he had endured, all for this one final act that would set him out of Vaisey's reach forever, give him wealth and power beyond imagining. A god amongst men.

He would be damned if he was going to risk renouncing that again. If he lost that, then he had nothing. The thought turned him cold all over.

"Then…" Marian's voice faltered. "What are you looking for?"

"Power," he said.

He could not meet that pained, betrayed look, the devastating expression in her eyes. Not anger, worse than anger. Disappointment. Her wounded gaze burned his soul. "I thought you had a heart once, Guy."

The blood was beating in his ears, feeding the rage that pulsed thickly through his veins. After everything - how could she? How dare she? "What do you know of my heart?" he returned, low and furious. "The things I endured, for you, while you were betraying me all this time -"

He saw it in her face at last - fear. But still she defied him, constantly pushing him to edge of his sanity. There was a hint of hysteria in her voice as she exclaimed vehemently, "I didn't want to betray you! If there had been any other way -"

"Tell me something. Why the pretense? Why the show of friendship? Why did you not just hate me and have done with it?"

She shook her head, dark hair falling over her shoulders at the frantic movement. "I never hated you, Guy -"

"Then why did you torment me by making me fall in love with you?" he cried.

His words echoed off the walls in the small, concave space, making her flinch. In the stifling heat, the hair clung to her neck in smooth dark tendrils. For a moment, Guy stared at the curve of her throat, achingly tender and vulnerable. How many nights had he imagined pressing his lips against that soft flesh, entwining his hands in the waves of her scented hair as she welcomed his touch… His gloved hands clenched. Never, never, never. It had been nothing but a fool's dream born of loneliness and lies.

Guy turned away, a leathern fist pressed against the tense lines of his mouth. He released a shuddering sigh, trying with an immense effort to master himself. His heavy, smoldering eyes met her wide troubled ones. "I was in love with you, Marian," he muttered hoarsely. He closed his eyes, cursing himself for his despicable weakness. "I'm still in love with you."

Her form was emblazoned behind the lids of his very eyes. She had made him weak and pitiful when once he had been independent and strong. Ruthless. But all his hopes concerning her were lost. Yet still she invaded even the darkest, murkiest depths of his mind, refusing to be banished from his thoughts. He had wanted to win her naturally, but the only way he could ever have her now was through force. And that he was not prepared to do. Not if there was still some hope – however small – of her coming to him willingly. He would hate to destroy that unconscious grace she possessed by employing coarse brutality as a means of possessing her. The very thought revolted him.

Guy wanted to shake her, bruise her, punish her for everything she had ever done to him. He wanted to press her close to his heart, cherish her, tell her that nothing would ever hurt her again. In the course of a year, she had destroyed his existence utterly. She had shattered his cherished illusions, crushed his hopes and turned his world upside down. There was nothing for him to do but love her. All of her. He had seen her fight, seen her cry, seen her love. Passion, passion, passion. Always following her heart, never renouncing her independent spirit. Everything she did fuelled his desire for her. Even with the chains around her wrists, she would not admit defeat. He realized he didn't want her meek and pliant, but as she was now, proud and unflinching and always defying him. The bravest woman he had ever known.

Beautiful. Compassionate. Indomitable.

I may not be worthy of you. But I will have you.

Guy drew a ragged breath. She smelt of linen and home and sweet summer rain. It made him ache. He recalled sunlight and a chapel and her figure veiled in white. The memories of a lifetime ago. A path not taken, a redemption never granted. His love for her, always blazing desire with devastating anguish when he was reminded of her purity, her conviction and goodness against his own black sins. Once, he had thought she could make him anew. Beautiful, clean. Whole. But nothing was left except hatred and fear and malice, twisted ambition and thwarted desires. All his hopes withered to ash. He looked entreatingly at her, eyes dried by the burning heat.

"I have to know," he demanded roughly, "Was there ever a chance between us? Or was it all a lie?"

"Guy -"

No more evasions, no more distractions. He had to know. He had to. "Was there ever a moment - a second - when you might have -" His voice shuddered and broke. He could not go on. Every muscle in his body tensed, his entire fate waiting on her next words.

Marian was staring down at her bound hands, loose hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her voice was low, halting, with none of the calm control he normally heard whenever she spoke to him. "When you came back to the castle, and were prepared to defend Nottingham against Prince John's army… I used to think you cared for nothing, for no one beyond yourself. But you came back. And it made me see a side to you… a better side."

Perhaps it was just another lie. Guy found he didn't care anymore. Her words were soothing balm to his wounded pride and crippling self-loathing, telling him what he both dreaded and desperately wanted to hear, gradually breaking through the defenses he had so forcefully tried to maintain around her these past weeks…

"And I know that side of you still exists in there, somewhere. Guy, please –"

She laid her slender hands on his arm. Guy's blood jumped at the touch. He remembered the first time he had felt the tentative touch of those white, slender fingers in a rain-drizzled courtyard, when she had urged him to protect Lambert (another betrayer, another false friend). But she was here, truly here, no longer merely ignoring or despising him. It was closer than they had been in weeks, months even, and he was painfully conscious of the warmth of her skin even through the barrier of leather between them, the smell of her cotton shift fresh and sweet beneath the tinge of incense. The candlelight caught the threads of gold in her dark hair. The soft curve of her cheek, the tender fullness of her lips a breath away from his own. He could feel the slight tremor that passed through her, quickly suppressed, as she tried to maintain her former aloofness. The low, smoldering embers within him burst into flames. God, even after everything, he still wanted her. Wanted to awaken that fire in her, feel her burn for him. Cry out for him. If given the chance, he could stir passion in her that would be so much sweeter, so much more delectable than her first taste of love. He had imagined with painful intensity the feel of her in his arms, her softness molding into his hardness, bringing her hips down on him… oh, he had burned in those long hours of stifling darkness. Having her so close yet so unreachable. He throbbed and thirsted for her. This fire burned deep within him and she alone could quench it.

"You don't know what you ask of me," he muttered gruffly. "You are asking me to betray a man I have sworn loyalty to, who has protected me and rewarded me in ways you cannot imagine; you're asking me to-"

Her blue eyes opened, wide and luminous, an urgency and passion in her voice he wondered whether was only due to self-preservation, or –

"I am asking you - for once - to do the right thing. This is your chance - your last chance."

Guy felt himself strangely defenceless in the face of her strength, her firm conviction in herself, her morals and her rights. Almost against his will, he began to imagine an existence without Vaisey, his captor and protector. Breaking out of the cage that had shackled him for uncounted years and being free of him forever, never again having to be humiliated and mastered. The thought of a king's pardon and reward, owning lands and an estate in his own right that was not stained with innocent blood, returning to a place he could call home, with Marian's smile and arms to greet him…

"I know you don't want to do this. Please, Guy. Save the king. Save England." Her eyes were enormous. He saw the unspoken plea in those shining depths. Save me.

Even now, doubt, and the conviction of his own unworthiness made him hesitate. How could he believe that this was anything more than manipulation on her part? She was no longer the person he had once thought her. His love should have ended the moment he discovered who she truly was. But still he wanted her. Not for whatever dim, hazy reasons he had first been drawn to her as a suitor seeking her hand – her noble status or beauty or spirit or compassion – but because she was Marian. Flawed and fearless and complicated beyond understanding. And he wasn't willing to give her up. Not now. Not ever. Guy closed his eyes against the throbbing in his temples, agonized in conflict.

He could gain the world and lose his soul. Kill a king and win everything. Or kill the Sherriff and win… what? He would be merely trading one master for another. Richard's cage might be more gilded, but it would still be a prison. And under the king, how long would it take him to gain even a fraction of the authority that he held while Vaisey remained alive and well? Every day had been a bitter struggle in his clawing ascent to power, and he was not about to relinquish it. One more death and it would be finished. But whose? Could the subject kill the king? Could the son kill the father?

Either way, before this night was over, someone was going to die.

He wanted to shout and struggle against this ultimatum she was forcing upon him. How could she ask this of him, demand that he make such a choice? He stood, torn, sweat trickling down his brow, his throat burning, searingly aware of her warm hand curled around his shoulder… he shuddered with longing. No, never, never again. Please never again

Guy turned on her aggressively, as savage and snarling as a dog let loose, fighting down the frustrated urge to shake her into silence, to stop her saying these terrible things. "Why do you do this, Marian? Why do you always make me have to choose?"

"It's not about choosing – it's about doing what is right, being the man I know you are."

She was trembling with passion and conviction, her face upturned, her jaw resolute. Almost unbearably beautiful in the moonlight that poured in through the high window. Guy's mind flashed back to the moment he had burst into Nottingham castle, blazing with love and death and glory, prepared to die at her side, for the first time in his life a hero in the hearts and minds of the people. The memory of her face, shining with gratitude, lit a fire in his chest. It had been the most glorious moment of his doomed, empty existence; the closest thing to love he had ever seen in her eyes. She had seen something in him that no one else had. And if there was even the faintest chance of her glimpsing that once more, of being that man again –

A king's pardon, the faint chance of a reward. A hollow price for renouncing everything he had worked for these long years. It was not enough. Softly now, his voice low and intent, he asked grimly, "What could I gain from helping the king that I could not get from the Sherriff?"

Celestial blue eyes met his.

"Me," she said.


The second (and most likely, final) part to be coming soon. In the meantime, show Guy some love by reviewing.