Round 8 Final Challenge
Title: The Darkest Hour
Author: alesh101
Word count: 1729
Characters: Guy, Meg, Isabella
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Tiger Aspect and BBC do.
A/N: written for hoodlandRound 8 final challenge.
The Darkest Hour
It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth.
A Pisgah-Sight Of Palestine And The Confines Thereof-Thomas Fuller, 1650
Meg
This couldn’t be happening. But it must be. The cold of the rough stones she sat upon seeping through the thin fabric of her dress told her it was real. The foul odor of this place and the condemned men weeping further confirmed this was no dream.
She listened to those others, some moaning, some sobbing softly, others cursing, their misery echoing through the dank dungeons. For a spiteful moment, she hated them. What did they have to fear? In all this mess, they gained a reprieve. For a day, at least. Didn’t they know that?
They would not be the spectacle tomorrow. She would. She and the man sitting silently next to her. They shared a cell this time. Isabella continued her nasty “lovebird” comments as she gave the order to put them together.
She stole a glance at Guy. Nothing showed on his face, no regret, no fear, and she wished she could be that brave. But she wasn’t. Every breath was a struggle against the terror that squeezed her chest. Tears threatened; she willed them not to fall. They stood in her eyes, blurring her vision.
Her throat ached from choking back sobs. Her head pounded, and she feared she might vomit any second. But Guy was not to know any of that. Her recklessness got them into this-well not Guy, he was already in it, but her behavior enraged Isabella further against him-she would not appear weak now.
Her resolve held until Guy kicked the rat. It flew past her and smacked against the iron bars of their cell. She jumped away, screaming, almost right into Guy’s lap. Then she disgraced herself by promptly bursting into tears. She buried her face in her hands so he would not see how weak she was, how frightened.
A moment later a hard arm crept around her shoulders. Slowly he pulled her to him, until her head was nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. For a second she resisted; he stank, of sweat and the grime of this horrible place. But the moment passed, and she accepted his comfort.
Her tears flowed freely now, punctuated by gasping sobs. After a long time, she finally regained control of herself. She thought she should move, draw away from him. Surely he didn't want a sniveling girl hanging all over him. But he didn't move, so neither did she.
Instead she snuggled deeper into his warmth. He said nothing, only held her gently and made comforting noises. Eventually the events of the day caught up with her and she dozed, safe for the moment.
Guy
As the night wore on, silence descended over the Nottingham dungeons. The guards nodded at their posts. Most of the other prisoners slept, escaping their misery in slumber. Not so those in the corner cell.
Regret kept Guy awake despite his exhaustion. He guessed fear denied Meg sleep. She hadn't spoken a word since Isabella's death sentence on them both. Guy could only suppose the situation he'd put her in was finally becoming clear in an unavoidable way, a way that refused to be deferred by the sound of her own voice.
A few hours ago, he would have given just about anything for the girl in the cell beside his to just shut up. Now he longed for her chatter. He wished she would talk about anything, about nothing. Guy couldn't tell which was worse, the Meg who rambled on nonstop, or this silent hopeless one.
Guilt over his part in her approaching fate gnawed at him. In his head he attempted numerous assurances, then rejected each in its turn as pathetic. Nothing he said would make this any better.
A small movement from Meg's direction caught his eye and he turned to look at her. Her fingers plucked absently at a loose thread of embroidery on the sleeve of her dress. Her gaze focused on the flickering torch set in a wall sconce directly opposite their cell. The flame reflected the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, but she made no sound.
Again remorse chewed at him with sharp rat's teeth. The comparison was apt, for just then a large sleek dungeon rat brushed past his toes. The guards had taken his boots, leaving him to cringe every time his bare feet touched the cold dirty floor of the dungeon.
They thought he would try to escape, of course. What prisoner knew these dungeons better than he? Taking his footwear was a preventive measure. He wouldn't get far with the rough stones of the castle floors tearing his feet to ribbons.
But Guy had never intended any such attempt, not before Meg returned to help him. He was caught, and thought himself as prepared as he could be to meet his end. Besides, he was tired. Not even anger sustained him any more. For a brief shining moment the girl imprisoned with him gave him hope that he might somehow escape the utter ruin of his existence. He should have known better. His luck was never that good.
He hated himself now for dragging her down with him, pulling her into the mess he'd made of his life. Once more he would be responsible for the death of a good woman. It wouldn't be by his hand, but that made him no less culpable.
He couldn't even be angry with Meg. She'd tried to help him, no matter how foolish a notion that might have been. She'd almost succeeded, and that made everything worse. He admired her bravery, and the heart that went into her actions, even as he damned that kind heart for championing his lost cause.
The rat came back to investigate his feet again. His foot struck it square when he kicked it, and he cursed as it hit the bars with a hard thump and a high animal squeak. Meg screamed and jumped a mile, almost landing directly on top of him.
Then she began to cry. As he watched, she buried her face in her hands, muffling the pitiable sounds of fear and despair. For a long moment he only stared at her. Her tears showed no signs of abating.
Sighing, Guy shifted closer to her. All he could do now was try to offer comfort the best he could. His arm went around her shoulders; he felt her trembling. For a moment she resisted, then pressed tight against his side, her face in his shoulder as she cried in earnest. He murmured soothing sounds, and eventually her sobbing tapered off.
He felt it when she fell asleep, her slight body relaxing against him. His arm tightened around her, as if in that gesture he could protect her from their fate. After awhile her warmth seeped into him and he leaned his head back against the cold stone and slept himself.
Isabella
Frustrated, Isabella tossed her quill aside. For over an hour she'd been attempting to draft a message to Prince John, telling him of her success in eliminating her brother. But the words would not come.
The image of her brother, awaiting death in the dungeons below her, continued to intrude. How had it come to this? How had this hate come to control her so easily? When she pronounced the death sentence on Guy and Meg Bennett, she'd felt she was doing the right thing. They needed to be punished for betraying her.
Now that she'd had the chance to calm down and think, doubt crept in. She rose from her table and began to pace. Could she really preside over the executions in the morning? Could she watch her brother, whom she so resembled and who was the only family she had left, lose his head? Could she watch it happen to a young girl like Meg? Could she really give that order?
Yes, Guy betrayed her years ago by marrying her that monster who called himself her husband. He'd abandoned her to a hellish life, one that nearly destroyed her many times. But hadn't she won in the end? She was still here, free of Thornton with Robin's help, and able to live her life on her own terms.
Part of her still believed that Guy had not known what he was doing. He was only eighteen at the time, and had no wiser hand to guide him. That she could lay at her father's feet. He was always gone to fight some war or other, never there when she needed him, or when Guy needed him for that matter. So how could Guy have learned to be a man when he had no one to learn from? Instead Guy had learned to be hard because he had to be when they trekked across France alone, and even harder once they'd reached their mother's family.
That was where his love for her died. Isabella knew some of the things Guy endured at the hands of their uncle, and that he took it to protect her. But she'd never thought he would come to view her as a burden, one that needed to be lifted from him by the first man willing to pay enough for her. That she should be punished for what their uncle did.
Still, when she found her brother again, all it would have taken was an apology. Just two words from her brother could have made up for all those years of hell. She could have forgiven him, tried to understand why he had done it, what drove him to sell her like an animal.
But he wouldn't give her that. Not even something so simple. Instead he'd berated her for not making more of the opportunity he gave her. His stiff-necked pride cut her off again, threw away any bond they could have attempted to reforge.
Her expression hardened. Guy had chosen his path. Whatever befell him now was not because of her. Meg was the same, deserving of her punishment for her betrayal.
Isabella sat down again and picked up her quill. This time when she began to write, the words came easily. When she finished and finally went to bed, sleep came with no effort, and she slept peacefully until the dawn.
Author: alesh101
Word count: 1729
Characters: Guy, Meg, Isabella
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Tiger Aspect and BBC do.
A/N: written for hoodlandRound 8 final challenge.
The Darkest Hour
It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth.
A Pisgah-Sight Of Palestine And The Confines Thereof-Thomas Fuller, 1650
Meg
This couldn’t be happening. But it must be. The cold of the rough stones she sat upon seeping through the thin fabric of her dress told her it was real. The foul odor of this place and the condemned men weeping further confirmed this was no dream.
She listened to those others, some moaning, some sobbing softly, others cursing, their misery echoing through the dank dungeons. For a spiteful moment, she hated them. What did they have to fear? In all this mess, they gained a reprieve. For a day, at least. Didn’t they know that?
They would not be the spectacle tomorrow. She would. She and the man sitting silently next to her. They shared a cell this time. Isabella continued her nasty “lovebird” comments as she gave the order to put them together.
She stole a glance at Guy. Nothing showed on his face, no regret, no fear, and she wished she could be that brave. But she wasn’t. Every breath was a struggle against the terror that squeezed her chest. Tears threatened; she willed them not to fall. They stood in her eyes, blurring her vision.
Her throat ached from choking back sobs. Her head pounded, and she feared she might vomit any second. But Guy was not to know any of that. Her recklessness got them into this-well not Guy, he was already in it, but her behavior enraged Isabella further against him-she would not appear weak now.
Her resolve held until Guy kicked the rat. It flew past her and smacked against the iron bars of their cell. She jumped away, screaming, almost right into Guy’s lap. Then she disgraced herself by promptly bursting into tears. She buried her face in her hands so he would not see how weak she was, how frightened.
A moment later a hard arm crept around her shoulders. Slowly he pulled her to him, until her head was nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. For a second she resisted; he stank, of sweat and the grime of this horrible place. But the moment passed, and she accepted his comfort.
Her tears flowed freely now, punctuated by gasping sobs. After a long time, she finally regained control of herself. She thought she should move, draw away from him. Surely he didn't want a sniveling girl hanging all over him. But he didn't move, so neither did she.
Instead she snuggled deeper into his warmth. He said nothing, only held her gently and made comforting noises. Eventually the events of the day caught up with her and she dozed, safe for the moment.
Guy
As the night wore on, silence descended over the Nottingham dungeons. The guards nodded at their posts. Most of the other prisoners slept, escaping their misery in slumber. Not so those in the corner cell.
Regret kept Guy awake despite his exhaustion. He guessed fear denied Meg sleep. She hadn't spoken a word since Isabella's death sentence on them both. Guy could only suppose the situation he'd put her in was finally becoming clear in an unavoidable way, a way that refused to be deferred by the sound of her own voice.
A few hours ago, he would have given just about anything for the girl in the cell beside his to just shut up. Now he longed for her chatter. He wished she would talk about anything, about nothing. Guy couldn't tell which was worse, the Meg who rambled on nonstop, or this silent hopeless one.
Guilt over his part in her approaching fate gnawed at him. In his head he attempted numerous assurances, then rejected each in its turn as pathetic. Nothing he said would make this any better.
A small movement from Meg's direction caught his eye and he turned to look at her. Her fingers plucked absently at a loose thread of embroidery on the sleeve of her dress. Her gaze focused on the flickering torch set in a wall sconce directly opposite their cell. The flame reflected the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, but she made no sound.
Again remorse chewed at him with sharp rat's teeth. The comparison was apt, for just then a large sleek dungeon rat brushed past his toes. The guards had taken his boots, leaving him to cringe every time his bare feet touched the cold dirty floor of the dungeon.
They thought he would try to escape, of course. What prisoner knew these dungeons better than he? Taking his footwear was a preventive measure. He wouldn't get far with the rough stones of the castle floors tearing his feet to ribbons.
But Guy had never intended any such attempt, not before Meg returned to help him. He was caught, and thought himself as prepared as he could be to meet his end. Besides, he was tired. Not even anger sustained him any more. For a brief shining moment the girl imprisoned with him gave him hope that he might somehow escape the utter ruin of his existence. He should have known better. His luck was never that good.
He hated himself now for dragging her down with him, pulling her into the mess he'd made of his life. Once more he would be responsible for the death of a good woman. It wouldn't be by his hand, but that made him no less culpable.
He couldn't even be angry with Meg. She'd tried to help him, no matter how foolish a notion that might have been. She'd almost succeeded, and that made everything worse. He admired her bravery, and the heart that went into her actions, even as he damned that kind heart for championing his lost cause.
The rat came back to investigate his feet again. His foot struck it square when he kicked it, and he cursed as it hit the bars with a hard thump and a high animal squeak. Meg screamed and jumped a mile, almost landing directly on top of him.
Then she began to cry. As he watched, she buried her face in her hands, muffling the pitiable sounds of fear and despair. For a long moment he only stared at her. Her tears showed no signs of abating.
Sighing, Guy shifted closer to her. All he could do now was try to offer comfort the best he could. His arm went around her shoulders; he felt her trembling. For a moment she resisted, then pressed tight against his side, her face in his shoulder as she cried in earnest. He murmured soothing sounds, and eventually her sobbing tapered off.
He felt it when she fell asleep, her slight body relaxing against him. His arm tightened around her, as if in that gesture he could protect her from their fate. After awhile her warmth seeped into him and he leaned his head back against the cold stone and slept himself.
Isabella
Frustrated, Isabella tossed her quill aside. For over an hour she'd been attempting to draft a message to Prince John, telling him of her success in eliminating her brother. But the words would not come.
The image of her brother, awaiting death in the dungeons below her, continued to intrude. How had it come to this? How had this hate come to control her so easily? When she pronounced the death sentence on Guy and Meg Bennett, she'd felt she was doing the right thing. They needed to be punished for betraying her.
Now that she'd had the chance to calm down and think, doubt crept in. She rose from her table and began to pace. Could she really preside over the executions in the morning? Could she watch her brother, whom she so resembled and who was the only family she had left, lose his head? Could she watch it happen to a young girl like Meg? Could she really give that order?
Yes, Guy betrayed her years ago by marrying her that monster who called himself her husband. He'd abandoned her to a hellish life, one that nearly destroyed her many times. But hadn't she won in the end? She was still here, free of Thornton with Robin's help, and able to live her life on her own terms.
Part of her still believed that Guy had not known what he was doing. He was only eighteen at the time, and had no wiser hand to guide him. That she could lay at her father's feet. He was always gone to fight some war or other, never there when she needed him, or when Guy needed him for that matter. So how could Guy have learned to be a man when he had no one to learn from? Instead Guy had learned to be hard because he had to be when they trekked across France alone, and even harder once they'd reached their mother's family.
That was where his love for her died. Isabella knew some of the things Guy endured at the hands of their uncle, and that he took it to protect her. But she'd never thought he would come to view her as a burden, one that needed to be lifted from him by the first man willing to pay enough for her. That she should be punished for what their uncle did.
Still, when she found her brother again, all it would have taken was an apology. Just two words from her brother could have made up for all those years of hell. She could have forgiven him, tried to understand why he had done it, what drove him to sell her like an animal.
But he wouldn't give her that. Not even something so simple. Instead he'd berated her for not making more of the opportunity he gave her. His stiff-necked pride cut her off again, threw away any bond they could have attempted to reforge.
Her expression hardened. Guy had chosen his path. Whatever befell him now was not because of her. Meg was the same, deserving of her punishment for her betrayal.
Isabella sat down again and picked up her quill. This time when she began to write, the words came easily. When she finished and finally went to bed, sleep came with no effort, and she slept peacefully until the dawn.