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Fic: Scars

OK, I wrote this last night, while somewhere above the Atlantic ocean, in the dark, trying not to disturb the sleeping stranger next to me. Clearly, the best way to write! I actually started off writing a Doctor Who fic, but then Marian invaded my brain and wouldn't leave until I wrote this instead. Hope it came out OK! (And makes sense, as I never quite know how to walk that fine line between abstract and just plain nonsensical...).

Comments/criticism are greatly appreciated!

Title: Scars
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Guy/Marian, Robin/Marian
Spoilers: 2x11, some ideas from the trailer for 2x12.

Summary: Her relationship with Guy left scars that even Robin could not see.


Robin kissed her scar on their first night, and Marian froze in his arms.

“I almost lost you,” he said.

“I was lucky.” He ran his fingers along the white lines and puckered skin, and she shivered.

“I was the lucky one,” he said, and he moved to kiss her stomach again. She shifted, holding his face and guiding him upwards to her lips instead, but her scar still trembled from a phantom touch. Soft lips worshipped every imperfection, rough stubble tickling her skin as hands ran disbelieving down her sides.

Forgive me,” said a voice, a low hum of passion and regret. The memory rushed through Marian like a thunderclap, before reality settled into her chest. She sighed and pulled her husband closer, trying to remember that she was about to live happily ever after.


Robin was named the Sheriff of Nottingham on a sunny day in June, and Marian smiled despite the heaviness of her lips. Her muscles felt weary, as though they were too old to stand such joviality, and Robin pulled her away during the celebration, inquiring after her health. He was so caring, so earnest, that she could not bring herself to lie.

“I have many memories of this place,” she said, “and not all of them are good.”

He nodded as though he understood, and made soothing promises that she could not quite believe. “You’ll never be trapped here again,” he said.

She took her leave soon afterwards and wandered the hallways, searching for a sign, some clue of her life before. She ended up in a courtyard, empty now save for the birds. There was still a sense of dread in this place, the walls ringing with the panic of an inescapable fate, and she stepped carefully over to the point where a wooden platform once stood.

In a perfect world, footsteps would have approached, bringing maybe Alan or Djaq, someone who might really understand. She would not need to explain her feelings, and they would offer words of insight, comfort. The ice that clenched in her stomach would melt away, and she would never visit this place again.

As it was, she settled down alone on the stone floor and ran every maybe through her head. Her bones pulsed with angered shouts and the gleam of a sword, and she could not help knowing, terrifyingly, indisputably, that she would not be there to ponder such things if it was not for hopeless love.


Show me,” he said, and her breath caught at the tremor in his voice. She pulled her shirt aside, and suddenly she was falling, the ground below her feet dissolving into darkness. For a moment, she thought that he was falling too, and they were tumbling down to damnation as one.

He looked away. "Prepare the prisoner,” he said, and his voice was cold.

“I cared for you! I still care for you!” she cried later, desperation burning in her eyes. The one time she spoke the truth to him, and he would not believe her.


“Did you ever kiss him?” Robin asked, and Marian tried to act surprised by the question.

“You know I did, once,” she said, in her most diplomatic voice.

“I know,” Robin said, staring into the fire. “Apart from that.”

Marian felt the trace of another man’s lips against her own, her heartbeat humming with the shadow of desire. She could still feel that spark of reason, niggling away in a forgotten corner of her mind, warning her to be careful, and then the ghost of fingers, unexpected against her scar, chasing it away.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then saw the reflection of the firelight in Robin’s eyes. “No, Robin,” she said, her voice soft. “Never.”


Her dreams were turbulent, full of blood boiling in the foreign sun. Memories of forbidden nights, secrets she should never have spilled, danced with the stench of battle, until she could barely tell one from the other. Skin brushed against skin, sending fire chasing through her veins, and then she turned to see the Sheriff fall in the whirl of a sword. Five men leapt upon his killer in a moment, and possibilities ended in a tangle of shouts and splattered blood.

Marian awoke, her heart still pounding to the beat of the drums. She slipped out from under the bedclothes into the darkness and crept her way to the window. It was a clear night, and Marian’s breath rose before her in a mist, reminding her that she, at least, was still alive.

She pressed her hands against the windowsill and leant forwards, as though hoping to be swept up and out into the night.

As she watched the moon, her scars ached.


Jan. 5th, 2008 11:46 pm (UTC)
Oh ouch. So achingly beautiful to read, very haunting.