Couldn't help it.
Warning for the fluff quotient.
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Epilogue
Knighton Manor, a few days before Christmas 1194
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"You awake?"
When she does not get an immediate answer, she turns to look at her second husband. It is in fact quite likely that he has drifted off to sleep, considering that they were awake most of the night, but to her surprise, she sees him apparently transfixed by the bed canopy, or at any rate deeply distracted.
"Guy?"
He finally turns to look at her.
"What's the matter?" she prompts.
He gives her an all-too-innocent stare that nonetheless fails to deceive her. Archer is clearly a bad influence on his elder brother, but she has not spent years lying for nothing; she can spot a shifty look from a mile away.
"Don't tell me it's nothing, Guy," she warns. "We may have only been married for two weeks, but I've now known you for three years." She would have insisted on having the wedding sooner still so as to get Guy to officially move into Knighton Hall at the earliest opportunity, but even with a minimum of hasty preparations, it ended up being St Nicholas' Day, three weeks after their dramatic meeting in the forest. "What is it?"
"I was thinking of attending some… entertainment… near Tickhill a week after Christmas, and I was just mulling over the details…"
"They've announced a tournament there." He may not know it, but she has already memorised the six designated locations that King Richard proclaimed as the licensed tournament grounds in England, just to be better able to discern the purpose of any future trips Guy may decide to embark on; and Tickhill is one of those.
He gives up quite easily this time. "Yes. And of course I'd be happy if you'd accompany me there. Assuming you'd want to."
Assuming you'd want to, indeed. "I'm your wife, Guy. Of course I want to. If you think I'm letting you run loose to fight in another lady's name –"
He cuts her short. "You know I'd never do that."
She knows, but her memory of the York feast is still quite fresh in her mind. Even if Guy does not care about other women, she would not want the likes of Philippa de Beaumont to fawn over him in her absence. Especially considering the likelihood of him winning this thing.
"Anyway, I'm going with you. Could I ask you to promise me something though?" She knows it is a long shot, but she has to try.
"What?" He has learned to be cautious already; a week ago he would have just answered anything and had to deal with the consequences.
"That you'll call it a day after this one?"
He flips his head emphatically back and forth on the pillow. "No way."
She knew it. She grabs her own pillow and smacks him across the face; the next instant though, he has snatched it from her hand and is holding it up beyond her reach, and she has to prop herself up on one elbow to continue the conversation, if it be so called.
"So you'll be willing to let me worry myself sick to satisfy your vanity," she tries in her most reproachful tone.
"Chérie, I swear you have nothing to worry about," he drawls, dropping the pillow on the far side of the mattress.
"I'm not doubting your skill." She knows that I'm not as bad as you may think was a major understatement, and knows by now that it does not only apply to jousting. "I just hate to think that anything might happen to you by some stupid accident."
"Marian, you're overthinking things." He sounds stern, but immediately undermines it by reaching for her hand and kissing her fingertips. "It'll be fine. Besides," he looks sideways at her, "I still owe you three hundred marks and I need a way to get that money."
This is news to her. "Three hundred marks for what?"
"The house."
She gives him a blank stare.
"You had to borrow five hundred from the treasury to rebuild it," he explains. "The cup I got in York was worth about two. That leaves three that I need to pay you back."
She does not know whether to laugh or be angry, and sort of goes for both, struggling to stifle her chuckles while keeping a severe face.
"The house is yours, Guy," she says finally, once she is more composed. "It was my dowry, as you know. Which part of that do you fail to recall?"
She has been forgetting that she has married the most obstinate creature alive, and is promptly reminded of it.
"I recall the part where I burned it down."
She huffs. "Well, then you'll be paying yourself back for it…" she starts, and wonders if she can pull his own pillow from under his head to hit him with it, but presently she gets a better idea.
She props herself up on both elbows and tilts her head toward him. "Very well, we can agree that you shall be in my debt for three hundred marks, on one condition." He turns to look up at her, intrigued. "You can't pay it back out of tournament winnings. That would be too easy, and not punish you enough. Instead, though I consider every moment we spend together to be priceless, I shall forgive you a fraction of your debt for each time you bed me. Let's say each time is worth 10 marks…"
She cannot immediately grasp why he looks vaguely disappointed until he speaks in a rather plaintive tone.
"What, thirty times in total?"
The enormity of her error hits her then.
"No, no, no, no, wait!" She grabs his wrist. "One mark… No!" She sits up. "One penny, and then when we're up to three hundred marks' worth, then your debt will be paid…" She eyes him sideways with a cunning grin. "Of course there's also the accumulated interest to consider, but we'll get to that later. What do you say, do we have a deal?"
He pulls her back to him for an answer.
"I'm a cheap whore, ma chére." He makes it sound delightful. "I'll do anything for a penny," he purrs in her ear. "But only for you."
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fin
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NB 300 marks translates into 48000 pennies… and then there's the accumulated interest :P
As a parting comment, I'd like to leave you with a handful of 'fic recs', those I've loved best, and still remember ever so fondly from this wonderful fandom, and occasionally re-read. The first two were probably the greatest in-fandom influence on my Robin Hood plots; back in early 2009, they helped salve the disappointment from the season 2 finale and pulled me into reading fanfics before I tried my hand at writing them.
I am not posting links; I am thoroughly sick of FFnet's link censorship by now. If you search by the author handle and story title, they'll pop up.
From the Desert to the Tower by wintercealde on AO3
Fallout by Bookishy on FFnet (it is a WIP but fortunately it is quite long as it is, and cuts off at a fortunate plot juncture and on an emotional high)
And I cannot leave out the deliciously funny Weekend at Vasey's by AOxElfrieda on FFNet
…and if you happen to be at all partial to slash, there are two I cannot praise highly enough, Everything is a Choice and its sequel Endgame by Jadey36 on AO3
There are countless other good ones, but most of those are stranded in the murky wasteland of Livejournal
And now I am finally done (what did I know, my once-shortest RH fic has become my now-longest one!)
Or, in the words of the immortal Leonard Cohen (one of his variations on Bird on the Wire, which would be a perfect theme song to this fic),
It's over, it's finished, it's completed, and has, it has been paid for
I hope this was fun to read. Thank you to Shezan who prompted it back in 2010, and thank you to everyone who has read and commented here; it brightens up my day to know that people enjoy it 3
Ciao e grazie…or, as Guy would say, au revoir et merci beaucoup :)
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