Title: The Gift.

Rating: U/PG nothing too bad here

Pairing: Guy/Marian

Summary: How in God's name can he find a Christmas gift for her that will surpass his last present?

Warnings: None at all.

Status of Fic: Completed one-shot

Author's Note: Penned last christmas and a little jumping of the gun posting it here at this time of years but...well, it's almost november. ;)

Disclaimer: I own neither Marian nor Sir Guy I'm afraid. Not even a smidgen of the Robin Hood franchise…but I like to borrow them

The Gift.

The morning is cold and grey, with the taint of a watery, silver-eyed sun on the horizon. It's faint few rays breaking through the freezing mist of the receding night and making the frost glitter like jewels and silver coins.

And still he has not slept, plagued by a problem to which he has found no answer, no matter how much time he has devoted to solving it over the past weeks. A problem that he has created for himself, though he does not regret it, really. He would much rather be in this position now than have the Lady Marian still be silent with him.

No, all he needs is to think straight and clear, and even though an entire night of standing in the dark and cold at his window waiting for inspiration to strike has so far yielded nothing, he remains there, staring out at the slowly waking village of Locksley, arms folded across his chest, fingertips tracing the stubble of his chin in thought.

Deep thought.

How in God's name can he find a Christmas gift for her that will surpass his last present? How can he outdo his last gesture? What in all the world could possibly better a horse and one so expensive and thorough bred as the one he gave her?

His breath rises in a warm mist before him, clouding his view for barely a moment before the chill wind scatters it and clears the air once more giving him the view of one of the local farmer's young sons out so early to tend to his father's animals. A tired looking bay mare and her under-fed, gangly little foal.

He sighs in almost-defeat, his hand moving from his jaw line to scrub at a tired eye.

He does not know yet what to give Marian in his ongoing attempt to win her heart…but he must think of something.

And soon.

"Guy?" her voice is surprised as she answers her door and finds him stood there before her, clad in his leather and fur-trimmed cloak to fight the winter cold. Her eyebrows leap up her forehead and her blue eyes shine half curiously and half suspiciously in the brightening light of day. She draws her own fur-lined mantle a little tighter about herself and steps out of the doorway to greet him, closing the door behind her. "I was just on my way out, to Nottingham actually. I thought that we agreed that I would see you there. At the Christmas feast. I didn't expect a visit from you so early."

He can't keep the slightly smug smile from breaking onto his lips and curling them gently at the corners. He can't help but feel his chest swell a little with pride that he has finally found the perfect gift for her, after weeks of deliberation. After many a sleepless night and a morning of total last minute panic.

"Lady Marian," he greets her with a slight bow of his head and his smile widens as he offers her his arm and she takes it, slipping her hand lightly about his forearm and falling into step beside him as they turn from Knighton Hall. "I hope that you will forgive my impatience. I merely wished to talk to you this morning. Before matters back in Nottingham can take over and dampen the day."

"So there have been problems with the outlaws? Even on today of all days?" she queries, feigning nonchalance and he knows she is fishing for information about Hood and his men.

Not even that, however, can diminish his good mood, for he knows that as soon as she lays her eyes upon his gift, all thoughts of Robin Hood, Outlaws, Nottingham and the Sheriff shall be long gone from her mind. All thoughts besides him shall escape her and he has longed for many a day and night to see her dazzling smile replaced upon her lips once more. The carefree and radiant smile that she gave him upon the last that he gave her a gift.

"There is no rest for the wicked they say, My Lady." he responds evenly to her prying questions and she chuckles lightly at his words.

"You must be very wicked then, Sir." she counters, and something, some emotion or thought that he cannot quiet decipher glints in the depths of her eyes and in the quirk of amusement on her lips.

Is she mocking him?

Perhaps, but that does not concern him. Not now at least.

They round the corner of the Hall to the stables, his two most trusted guards standing a little way off. Sworn to secrecy, they remain with their backs turned, offering their Lord the privacy he demands while he is visiting his intended, and they both know that if they breathe a single word of Sir Guy of Gisbourne's meetings and personal life to anyone, they shall be duly and horrifically punished for it. Fear keeps them straight and stoic, even when they hear the pair approaching, booted feet crunching upon the crisp ice and frosted ground.

"Really, Guy," Marian breathes as they near the stable door. "What could possibly be so important that it could not have waited until my arrival in Nottingham this afternoon? You are beginning to make me nervous. Nothing is wrong…Is it?" she turns her eyes up to his face uncertainly, taking in his smile and silence. Her grip on his arm slackens and she stops in her pace altogether, allowing him to pull ahead of her. "What is going on?"

"Forgive me," he responds finally, turning back to face her and reaching out, taking the edges of her cape in his gloved hands and tugging them together, fixing the cloak around her shoulders more securely. A flash of orange material beneath betrays that she is wearing that dress of hers that he favours her in the most, a bronze and leather belt slung loosely over shapely hips. If she would wear that dress every time he saw her, he does not think he will be able to wait until the King returns to wed her.

"I had no intention of alarming you." he continues, reining in his straying thoughts. "I only wished to give you your gift."

Again another unreadable emotion flashes through her sapphire gaze and her shoulders relax. Relief released in a billow of white breath in the cold air. And then curiosity retakes her. Marian quirks her head to one side, like a bird, fixing him with a slightly bewildered smile.

"My gift? But I thought we had agreed not to exchange gifts."

"Yes, your gift." he repeats with a chuckle and a slight shake of his head. "I've told you before, Marian. I can provide for you and I want to."

She shifts uncomfortably, gaze flitting to the ground at their feet, eyebrows drawing down into the beginnings of a frown as she begins to protest. To remind him that they are not married yet and such lavishing are not proper while other people scrimp and scrape their money together for a mere loaf of bread.

But Guy only turns his back on her and her protest, reaching out to the stable door, lifting the bar and swinging it in upon itself. The smell of hay and horses and warmth rushes out to meet them and Marian's shoulders seem to relax further still at the familiar smell, at the notion that her beloved animals were within and waiting for her to carry her where ever she so desires to visit.

"Guy," she begins yet again, voice low and warning now, marching towards him with a little more than impatience in her gait. "Really, I am beginning to think that-"

The words choke in her throat, a gasp escapes her lips as she slips into the stable door after him and she sees the present that he has intended for her curled amid the warm straw, head suddenly in the air at the disturbance. Wide nostrils flare, pink and velvety and quivering as he breathes in the scent of the two new arrivals. His dark eyes are bright and lashes long even though they look out from a narrow, almost starved face. He peers up at Marian, her hands pressed to her open mouth and Guy hides his own smile with a hand raised to his lips, the other pressing lightly at the stunned young woman's lower back, ushering her further inside and near to the chestnut foal suddenly struggling to ungainly feet.

"He's a half starved little thing," Guy murmurs in a deep rumble, reaching a gloved hand out for the young horse and chucking him under his chin, drawing a snort and tossed head from him. "His mother barely had enough milk to feed him and their owners cared little. He will need a great deal of nurturing before he is healthy…but he has spirit. I hope you do not mind that I have given you a present that requires so much work. You are the first person I thought of when I found him. The only person I trust to care for him properly."

"Mind?!" the incredulous word falls from Marian's lips in an almost sigh, a soft exhale of awe and excitement and disbelief that he could possibly think that way, all rolled into one. Her eyes are turned to his once more, but instead of suspicion or amusement or anger, they now shine with delight. An exhilaration that lights her face in girlish way that becomes her more than the brow-beaten sadness provoked by her father's continued illness, or the harsh façade that she adopts whilst confronting the Sheriff. Or the reserved, awkwardness that usually always tints her face when he is there with her.

Her lips curl with laughter suddenly and she shakes her head. Thrill, along with the cold weather, colours her cheeks pink and makes her glow, stood before him in the hazy stable.

"How could I ever mind? He's beautiful. How could someone not care for such a precious creature?" her hands seek out the foal's twitching muzzle, smooth gently up his nose and then down his neck, soothing and comforting him, setting him at ease. She whispers to him as if they are already friends and again Guy cannot help but feel his smile creep back onto his features.

"You know these peasants," he replies slowly. "They do not appreciate the beauty and strength of such a proud animal. To them they are merely tools. Hardly living at all." he pauses for a second, tilting his head as he watches her, her hands and their movements. Her gaze, searching, learning the foal's features. And then in a split second, a mere fluttering heartbeat in his chest, she has turned back to him, crossed the few paces back to him and taken hold of his forearms in her hands.

"Thank you." she tells him, for once staring him squarely and honestly in his eyes. "You really shouldn't have but, thank you." and in reciprocation of his gift, the gift that has succeeded in surpassing his previous one for her and winning her over a little more, she stands upon her toes, reaches up until her lips brush against his stubbled cheek. Gentle and warm. The first kiss that she has ever offered him and he accepts it willingly, with relish.

"Merry Christmas."