Summary: Guy has lost the things that matter most
Warnings: Mentions canon character death
Word Count: 809
Disclaimer: I own nothing, BBC and Tiger Aspect own all. No money is being made, no infringement intended.
Waiting in his cabin for the ship to cast off, Guy of Gisborne realized he'd left his sword behind. For a moment he couldn't remember why he'd done such a thing. That blade was almost a part of him.
He'd kept it close since his father gave it to him when he was ten, his first real Twelfth Night gift. There had been times in France when he might have sold it to have money for food, but he didn't. Why had he abandoned something so cherished? And why had he only now realized he had done so?
A frown pulled his brows together and the corners of his mouth down. Then his stomach dropped and his vision went blurry as the memory he'd kept out for days now lashed into him. Marian. The person most important to him impaled on his most prized possession. By him. He'd killed her with his precious sword.
He twisted his ankle in his mad dash for the ship's deck and from there the railing. He made it, but barely. Heaving himself half over the railing, Guy vomited the contents of his stomach into the placid waters of Acre's harbor.
Once the crisis had passed, Guy scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and spit into the water. He leaned heavily against the rail to steady himself, closing his eyes against sudden dizziness. As quickly he opened them again. Now that his traitorous memory had returned, all he could see behind his closed eyelids was Marian's face. Her beautiful face contorted in surprise and the beginnings of the pain he'd inflicted with his monstrous act.
A scream built in his throat, powerful and terrible, as terrible as the thing he'd done in that sandy courtyard. He dropped his head to his arm and bit down, muffling the scream to only a low groan. He might have kept doing that, if only to cover up the awful sound she made when he struck her down that now rang in his ears.
But his anguish was interrupted by titters and half-understood comments about mal de la mer from the men on deck who had stopped their work to gawk at the man draped over the railing. Straightening to his full height, his hand instinctively went to his hip-where his sword should have been. But of course it was gone, just as Marian was now gone.
For an instant his hand hovered over the empty scabbard. Without the sword he felt naked, exposed, as if every man staring in his direction could see the horrendous thing he'd done just by looking at his face. Maybe they could. Surely such a sin left a mark that others could see.
Guy stood there for a long moment, waiting for someone to point at him and mark him for what he was. When no one did, he left the deck, glaring at the deckhands as he stalked back to his cabin. He made one stop in the hold on his way for wine, as much as he could carry.
He spent the rest of the voyage obscenely drunk in his cabin. In a haze he pondered his fate once they reached England. What could possibly be made of his life now? All of his dreams had disintegrated to dust.
Prince John would certainly have something to say about his latest failure. He'd be lucky to escape with his life, such as it was without Marian. But he chose not to contemplate her closely or often. Instead he focused on other things. Like Hood.
Hood would come for him. Guy knew that as surely as he knew the sun would rise. Hood, whose fault it was that any of this had even happened. If he hadn't been on such a crusade for the poor in Nottingham, Marian would never have even noticed he'd returned. She would not have been dazzled by his charitable acts, his damned nobility in fighting for his people. Her heart would never have been snared by him, she would never have uttered those words in that courtyard, and Guy would never have done what he did.
Yes, it was all Hood's doing. He'd forced Guy to that terrible thing with his constant interference, his incessant virtuousness. And of course, Hood's anger would be just as righteous when he arrived back in Nottingham. Guy had no doubt Hood would reappear in Nottingham sooner than later. He would just have to be ready.
At the next port, Guy managed to sober himself enough to leave the ship and find a blacksmith. The sword he purchased was nothing compared to his old one, but he thought it would serve his purpose. Now he could meet Hood, and they could end this. He returned to the ship and proceeded to drink himself insensible again, sword at his side.