Title: Muninn (1.5/2)
Author: Rusty Armour
Fandom: Robin of Sherwood
Characters: Sir Guy of Gisburne, Marion of Leaford
Category: General, drama, post-eppy
Word Count: 998
Summary: Gisburne runs into some interesting obstacles when he tries to arrest Marion at Halstead Priory.
Spoilers: Definite spoilers for “The Time of the Wolf” and “The Cross of St. Ciricus”.
Notes: This story is a birthday present for raven714, which is fitting because I was originally inspired by this piece of fanart that raven714 created:
I thought I’d better cheat a little and post Part 1.5 as I’ve made poor raven714 (and my other kind readers) wait at least a month and a half without some kind of cliffhanger resolution. I honestly hadn’t meant for it to take this long, but the end of April until about mid-May is a busy time for me on the social calendar because of different family occasions, etc. I also found myself looking at an apartment at the end of May and then dealing with the paperwork that a rental application entails – not to mention giving my notice and scrambling to clean my place before my super came to inspect it. Anywaaaaaaaay, I’m going to try to post the conclusion to this story before I move at the end of July. I have written beyond what has been posted, but I don’t want to rush the ending. I’m really hoping to get it right. Of course, what I’ve written won’t be right after The Knights of the Apocalypse is released, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. *g*
This takes place a couple of weeks after “The Time of the Wolf”.
Disclaimer: This story is based on Richard Carpenter's series Robin of Sherwood. The characters are the property of Richard Carpenter, Robin May, Anthony Horowitz and the RoS production team.
Guy was still in the garden when he woke, but the shed was nowhere to be seen. He was sitting propped up against the priory’s outer wall, and the closest building appeared to be the infirmary. Had his men carried him out here? Why bring him this far and not all the way to the infirmary? Could Marion have dragged him out here? Even if she had possessed the strength, Guy didn’t think she could have pulled him this far from the shed. Still pondering these questions, Guy rose shakily to his feet – then nearly fell again when he noticed what he was wearing. It was the same filthy white robe he had worn when he had disguised himself as a leper in order to sneak into Croxden Abbey and steal the Cross of Saint Ciricus. But that wasn’t what nearly brought him to his knees. As Guy began to strip away some of the layers of his leper’s rags, he caught a glimpse of his forearm. What should have been smooth, healthy skin was a patchwork of lesions and bumps.
Guy heard the raven caw and looked up at the wall above him to see it perched on the top. It cawed again and this time its cry was answered. Guy’s head swivelled to the trees in the orchard and saw that, instead of leaves, the branches were filled with ravens. Guy reached out blindly for the wall, as if suddenly needing its support, and began moving slowly away, his eyes never leaving the orchard of ravens. He had only made it a few feet when the raven on the wall swooped down and landed on his back. Arms flailing wildly, Guy struck out at the raven before taking off towards the infirmary.
The faster Guy ran, the further away he seemed to be from the building. And, all the while, he could hear the caws from the orchard and the whirr of wings, though he didn’t dare look back to see if the raven was still pursuing him or, worse still, gripping his white robe with its talons and riding on his back. When Guy finally made it to the infirmary, he somehow wasn’t surprised to encounter the woman who was blocking the door, which should have been surprising in itself considering that the woman was his dead mother.
Margaret of Gisburne looked much as she had the last time he had seen her. She had that same air of self-righteousness about her and she regarded him with those same disappointed eyes. Guy wondered, much as he had that day, what gave her the right to look at him that way after all the lies she had told.
“You’re the lie,” Margaret said, as if reading his thoughts. She had raised her chin defiantly and her arms were spread out against the wooden door as if she intended to keep out an entire army. “Everything about you is a lie, even your name. You’re my terrible secret, my unspeakable sin.”
Guy stared back at her, unable to speak.
First there was sorrow and then fury collided with the sharp pain of betrayal. The emotions tore through Guy with such force that they seemed to take everything with them. Guy was left feeling numb, empty. But it was always that way. It had been that way with his mothr ever since Edmond had bestowed that one gift to him, that one truth, and it had destroyed everything.
“I’m what you made me,” Guy finally said, nearly echoing the exact words he had spoken that day at Croxden Abbey.
Margaret gazed back at him with a cold, hardened expression that Guy had never witnessed from her when she had been alive. “Yes, you are what I made you, but I’m dead now, so my great sin should die with me.”
Guy flinched, though it was due to the sound of metal striking earth rather than his mother’s words. He didn’t want to see it, but he found himself turning, found himself watching as Edmond of Gisburne, hunched over his shovel, began digging the grave. Guy looked up into the trees, knowing he’d find the ravens there even before he was alerted by their harsh, raucous cries. His eyes were still fixed on the trees when the ravens dove to pick away at his body.
Was she calling him? It wasn’t his name. His mother had told him that. Or had it been Edmond? He managed to crack open his eyes, surprised he still had any when he wasn’t able to move his arms and fight off the ravens.
“You have a fever. That’s why the nightmare seems real.”
Gisburne ignored the voice because he had seen the nuns who had seized his arms and were pressing his shoulders down on the mattress. He struggled against them, trying to break free.
“Please, Sir Guy,” the one sister said. “We’re trying to help you.”
“Let him go. I think the delirium has passed, so he shouldn’t hurt himself.”
Gisburne’s eyes flew to the woman in surprise. He recognized that voice, but it didn’t make any sense. Why would she be helping him? Gisburne was so focused on Marion that he didn’t even notice when the nuns released him and moved away from the bed. Then, before he could protest, Marion was lifting his head from the pillow and pressing a cup to his lips.
“You’d better drink it,” Marion said. “It will help bring the fever down.”
Gisburne knew he shouldn’t drink anything Marion of Leaford gave him, but he was desperately thirsty and too tired and ill to care what she or anyone else thought. After he’d drained the cup, he wondered vaguely if Marion had poisoned him because his eyelids had grown heavy and he was having trouble holding up his head, even with Marion’s assistance. He had no memory of Marion removing the cup from his hand or lowering his head back down on the pillow.