Chapter Text
Leaving before the sun rose was less a matter of dedication than the time of year, in this instance. The Winter Solstice in the Nottingham area meant only a few hours of low, weak sun, illuminating the snow-saturated landscape with a light that bred more nostalgia than warmth. And so Guy rode with some care through the darkness, the wool cloak wrapped around him still letting enough biting wind through to keep him well awake.
The stablehand was not anticipating any visitors today - why would she? - and so she looked quite flustered as she ran out to belatedly take the reins of his gelding, straw sticking out of her hair in such a tousled mess it was difficult to see where one stopped and the other began. Guy paid her no heed, heading towards the Sheriff's office with ground-eating strides. He had little illusion that prompt action would result in him being able to return to Locksley any earlier - the Sheriff doubtless had plenty to keep him there until late in the evening, or even the next day - but conditioning and natural inclination lead him to be punctual anyway.
The denizens of Locksley would probably enjoy the holiday much more for his absence. Guy had initially been highly wary of having the ex-outlaw Allan as his manservant, but it was just too easy to delegate more and more to him. He had a certain way with people, one that made him an excellent manager of Locksley - both the hall and the village. The people liked him, listened to him, followed his advice - and it was because he truly cared about them, keeping in mind all sorts of details of their personal lives and various needs, and tending to those whenever possible. He was also highly organized, and Guy tried not to think too often about how much of those organizational skills had been honed in the woods, learning how to foil Guy's own plans. His skills were useful for Locksley now. Thefts had dropped to almost zero, and attempts to slide a dagger or shoot an arrow into his own back had fallen drastically.
Even so, Guy would never, for the life of him, understand how Allan had been able to wrangle the situation to bring Marian to Locksley for Christmas Day. It had come down to some convoluted scenario with a pregnant servant-girl ready to birth at any moment, and Allan's need for Marian's womanly skills to tend to any drama that would come from that. Guy had left all of them back at the hall, in front of a cheerfully roaring fire with chestnuts and breakfast meats roasting, and a cauldron of wine mulling for later in the day. It would be a day of feasting and presents, and an evening of laughing and drinking, for the whole village. Nottingham, however, was cold and cheerless, a situation he was more and more able to see with each passing month. For good or ill, Guy had changed.
And the man who was waiting for him could see it. He was no fool. "Ah, Gisborne!" the Sheriff told him, grinning broadly, jewels on his replacement tooth glittering in the torchlight. "So good of you to finally make it! Or was it my messenger who lazed about and partook in some celebrations on the way to get you?"
"The fault is my own, milord," Guy replied, quickly. No need to have a servant take a beating. The messenger had arrived breathless from haste, and Guy had not hesitated to leave; the Sheriff was merely hoping to find fault for his own entertainment. "I tarried over-long before leaving." He took off his cloak and tossed it on a corner-table. The castle was almost as cold as it was outside, but the wind was merely a fluttering draft.
"Well, hurry along, then." Clearly put out by the loss of an excuse for physical brutality, the Sheriff rose from behind his desk, gesturing sharply to Guy as he left the room. He didn't look behind him, certain that Guy was following hard on his heels - and he was right. "I need your assistance. I have to get a bit of information from a few merchants the guards picked up last week," he noted as they walked. "Well... I don't really have to, honestly. But torture would be just the ticket."
"Milord," Guy said, uneasily. In the past, he would have agreed with the Sheriff, because the man was right. He was always right. He had been very clear on that point, and had done a great deal, when he first took the young but rapidly growing Guy under his wing, to demonstrate his generally correct stances and opinions. Guy had counted himself very lucky to have a mentor like Vaisey taking care of him, showing how to stand strong in the face of derision, to find success in hard work despite the poverty of his background.
Yet that little voice in the back of his head had never been fully quiet, that voice wondering if what he needed to do to advance, what the Sheriff had taught him, was morally problematic. Was evil. He attempted to quiet that little voice by wedding Marian - but it had proven to be so much less simple than that. Kneeling across from her at the altar had not made him a better man, and he had come to realize that bedding her on a hypothetical wedding night would not have, either. Instead, what had changed him was living with her, living with Allan, seeing how they moved through the world, seeing how they treated those less fortunate - holding out a hand, helping them up behind, rather than kicking them off of the ladder lest they weigh them down. This approach was appealing. Not because it would lead to any personal enrichment, merely because it felt right.
It was all very disconcerting.
"Milord," he continued, cautiously, as they walked. "It's Christmas."
"Yes," the Sheriff replied, thoughtfully. "It is, isn't it. Delightful coincidence - this will be a wonderful gift for me! It'll make my evening punch so much better. Thank you for the reminder, Gisborne! It'll give my torture that extra something." He grinned, walking with a bit more of a bounce in his step.
It would do no good to appeal to his charitable side, Guy knew. That side had only ever shown itself in his willingness to care for Guy, to bring him up when he was fatherless, unmoored, in need of exactly the guidance the Sheriff provided. It was that great act of charity that left Guy so torn, that made him balk when Marian or Allan wondered out loud why Guy was so loyal, why he could not help overthrow the Sheriff. They didn't understand. But Guy knew the man, and so he attempted a slightly different tactic. "If you leave them alone today, or perhaps even allow their families to visit them, it will raise you in the esteem of the merchants of Nottingham," he suggested. "They have cause for grievance against the outlaws for disrupting trade, and if you show some mercy on this day..."
The words caught in his throat as the Sheriff spun, his movements, as always, startlingly quick. The man reached up to grasp Guy's collar and yank him down to be eye-to-eye. "What is this bollocks, Gisborne! Are you trying to take my Christmas entertainment away from me!"
There was no good answer to that. Guy attempted it anyway. "I am merely looking out for your best interests long-term," he managed, through the constriction of the shirt-collar that the Sheriff held in his hand.
The Sheriff held him tightly and close for a moment, before shoving him away. "Bah!" he snarled. "Showing mercy. I don't like it one bit, Gisborne." He shook his head, then strode over to where Guy was straightening himself and tugging his shirt back into place. He shook an angry finger in Guy's face. "If anything bad comes of this, it'll be your job to put down the blighters. Them and their families. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, milord," Guy replied with some relief. He would have to consult with Marian and Allan. He had bought some time, and they would have useful thoughts on how to manage the situation, to make sure that any resistance or rebellion on their part would not be such as to trigger that response. He had come to rely on them, so much. Was this good? It worried him. Yet it felt so comfortable.
"Well, I'll just have to find some entertainment elsewhere," the Sheriff said with an aggrieved sigh. "While I take my falcon hunting, you," he stabbed at Guy with his finger again, "are going to organize these visits. And you will tell them how grateful they should be. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, milord." This would take all day, and then som. To identify the prisoners, to see to their injuries and get them some clothing, to find their families, to bring them in without terrifying them and making them think they, too, were being brought in as prisoners. To set up a visitation that wasn't heart-wrenchingly tragic.
Somehow.
He sighed and barked irate orders at the guards, setting himself to work.