I'm a die-hard G/M shipper, but occasionally I, like Guy, must face reality. Things did not go well between him and Marian. This is a look into his thoughts and memories - his imagined successes and his ultimate failures.

Set in S3.

Written for the RH Intercomm challenge on Livejournal.

There was no doubt she was beautiful. And she was cold. Proud. But like the finest sapphire, like the Mediterranean, she shimmered at every depth and drew him close, closer, until he was drowning in her every word and movement.

Her skin was white and soft, softer than anything he'd ever felt. Too pure to touch – but holiness had never stopped him before. He had once put a finger to the pulse just under her chin. She had shivered. He had felt a rush of something heavenly, as if his finger was skimming the surface of life itself, as if the power to create and live and flourish was right there, hidden only by pale flesh, protected within the column of her neck.

She was addictive. She stole strength from his body, but the very thought of her made him feel as if the world was dust at his feet, and he tread carelessly, eyes always looking up at the stars among which she dwelled, still cold, ever just outside his reach, and all the more desirable for her distance.

Her skirts were sometimes red, and when they twisted and danced around her ankles, he was ensnared, tangled in their folds. He had buried a hand once in one of her dresses, to imagine that it was buried in the silk of her hair. The pain of want had almost undone him.

Without realizing it, he'd started to build a life around her. He'd started to construct a castle, the sole purpose of which was to guard her at its center, to hold her forever in security and stand as eternal witness to the enduring power of a woman when loved by a man.

Stone upon stone, he built.

"I brought you a gift."

Her face tilted down, not in shyness – never that – but to conceal displeasure that was manifest enough in her voice.

"Sir Guy, please. You do not have to -"

"I want to. It is my right."

A careful breath. She angered him, and he thirsted to anger her. When she was afraid, he felt some balance returned to him. Fairness.

He held out a jeweled box until she took it. Long, beautiful fingers worked the latch. He forced himself to breathe.

Head still lowered, she examined his offering and said nothing. He had gone still.

"Wear it," he whispered, a dare, a demand, a plea.

The sunlight glowed across her cheek. A muscle in her jaw ticked.

"Thank you, I will," she at last said, still proud, still displeased.

He felt something loosen inside, and he was ashamed and thrilled to realize he hadn't been breathing after all. He exhaled. She met his eyes. Twin heavens, winter oceans, and he gazed into them, lifted and lost.

Sometimes he looked at the stars and wondered what heaven was like. He didn't think he would ever get to find out – his crimes were too many, his repentance too hesitant. But it wasn't all despair. He didn't need heaven, not when he had her hand in his, not when he had her smile, her faith, her goodness. She didn't bestow any of it willingly, but sometimes, only sometimes, he caught himself doing a selfless thing, and she would, every once in a while, look upon him as if he was someone she'd never met. Sometimes she would look at him as if he was a man she was proud to know.

She would save him. He knew it. Where priest and pope had failed, Marian could not help but succeed.

He held out his arm, and there was no pause before she took it, no reluctance in being at his side. It might have just become habit. But it was more than enough to please him.

"Are you happy here?"

She did not immediately respond.

He tried to see her face, but she was looking away. He licked his lips.

"I ask because..."

"Because you are sorry for what you've done?"

She was always quick when airing grievances. He did not quite think he deserved this one.

"Not entirely."

He could tell that she had not expected that response. Silence fell between them.

She always wanted shame and humility from him, wanted him to beg at her feet for forgiveness for all his wrongs, but he could not always give her what she wanted. He gave so much, he sometimes took a private pleasure in denying her.

And she could never have his dignity. She could bridle his soul and heart, but she would never tame him into complete submission. There were some places she went where even he would not follow.

But it was only fair. She never followed him. And it was only right, because he would not love her if she obeyed him in everything, and he would not deserve her love in return if he gave up his sufficiency.

He brushed a finger against her cheek.

"But I do wish to make you happy."

Stone upon stone, he continued to build. Inch by inch, she allowed herself to be encased in his adoration. She used it against him, he knew. She was clever. She was, above all, stubborn. But he had started to deserve her small graces, and she had started to give them more freely. With every touch of skin upon bare skin, with every caught breath and every flush, he felt his power over her beginning to equal her power over him. He had kindnesses reserved only for her, and one day he would be rewarded. One day, she would take the stones from his hands and build the walls around herself of her own free will, to be under his care, under his name. To be his.

One day, she would do this.

"I wish you would not tell me such things."

"Marian, I love you. I will not hide from it. I will not."

"Please, you cannot-"

"I can. I do. Even if you will not have me now...you must know I would do anything for you."

White, delicate skin, and blue eyes. The start of a smile on perfect lips.

"I thank you, Sir Guy."

"Please. Let there be no more distance between us."

She turned her head, but did not leave. His eyes traced the curve of her neck, fastened on the point where the blood pounded visibly, a wellspring of life and beauty and every happiness he could ever imagine. He lifted a finger and let it brush the skin just above her bodice. She twitched away, and blushed fiercely.

"Guy-"

Guy-

He woke with a start, heart pounding, breath shallow, and he was once again covered in sweat, covered in memories of her blood and her smiles, her empty promises and the shadows of real ones, her blood on his fingers and dirt in his mouth -

"Marian!"

A nightly spasm of head and heart and tongue.

"Marian..."

His castle was no more. It had always been a figment of his imagination, a fortress made of sand, and the waves had washed it away.

By his own hands, he had washed it away.