I currently have two ongoing stories (one of which is only on my AO3 account), so I really shouldn't have started this one. But Guy beckoned, and I'm too weak to resist him. As the summary said, this takes place during season 2, meaning Guy is still mooning over Marian, but the events will mostly just be alluded to, while the story follows its own arc. It will also contain graphic descriptions of sex (eventually), violence, and the unpleasantness of medieval life, at which time the rating will be bumped up to M.

As always, story images can be found on my profile. Scroll down to "Story Images."

Disclaimer: I only own Thomas and the OFC, who is as yet unnamed (to everyone but me *titters*).

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 1: Slave

Guy of Gisborne despised market day. Hoards of unwashed townsfolk bustling about, squeezing past each other, their malodorous scent hanging in the air long after they had gone. For the most part, people lowered their heads when they passed him, out of deference, he'd like to believe, but out of fear, he knew. Good. Let them fear him. They were less likely to cross him if they feared him.

Contrary to popular, public opinion, Guy did not enjoy tormenting them. He did what was required to remain in the Sheriff's favor. And that was more important than anything else, except perhaps Marian.

Marian. A stubborn woman, who was too invested in the fates of the poor. Sometimes he wondered if she only accepted his advances to further her own cause, but these suspicions fled from his thoughts whenever she smiled at him.

Guy heaved a weary sigh and turned the corner, startling a woman carrying a basket of eggs. He glowered at her. She clutched her child's hand and hurried away. The slave market loomed ahead, already crowded with buyers. He despised this place the most. If the townsfolk stank, then those pitiful men and women in shackles smelled of something truly hellish.

"Ah, Thomas. I see you managed to elude Hood this time," greeted Guy. His hard, blue gaze swept the man's stock. "These look better than the last batch."

"Brought 'em from the continent, I did," the slaver replied, flashing Guy a yellow grin. "Somma the women are even half decen'." Thomas picked up one of the ropes and tugged forward a redheaded girl. Though she was covered in dirt and dust, her face was pretty enough. The slaver cupped her chin, oblivious to the tears in her blue eyes, and winked. "She doesn' speak neither."

"Delightful," Guy said dryly. "Where's the Sheriff's money, Thomas?"

The slaver released the girl, who stumbled back, silent sobs wracking her thin frame.

"As ye know, I lost half my stock on accoun' a Robin Hood." Thomas spat a discolored glob of saliva when he said the outlaw's name. "I need more time, Guy."

"Sir Guy," the taller man hissed. He grabbed the collar of Thomas' shirt and brought his face close so that they were nose-to-nose. "You had better sell all these slaves at today's market, or else the Sheriff will be most displeased."

Fear flashed in the slaver's eyes, before he carefully removed Guy's hand from his shirt and stepped back.

"He'll get 'is due share," Thomas assured, with a scowl. "In the meantime, why dontcha pick a slave for yourself? On me."

"I have no use for a slave," Guy said. He turned and was about to leave, when a small woman sitting cross-legged on the ground caught his attention.

He walked over to her and crouched down to her level. Moss-green eyes stared back at him from behind a curtain of dark brown hair. Though she was as filthy as the others, she did not cower. On the contrary, she held his gaze defiantly. That surprised him.

Thomas rushed over and yanked on her rope, causing her to jerk forward. She would have fallen on her face had she not managed to balance herself on her knees. She pulled back, glaring at the slaver, and spat at his feet.

"You insolen' cur," he growled, readying his boot to kick her. But Guy intervened.

"Damage her and she won't sell well," he reminded.

The woman glanced at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Guy thought she looked like an angry, feral cat, preparing to maul her aggressor. And from the wariness with which Thomas watched her, Guy had a feeling he'd run afoul of her before.

"This one won' sell well anyways," drawled the slaver. "Too wild."

"Indeed," Guy mused aloud. "I'll take her."

The girl's brows rose in surprise. Thomas' expression mirrored hers, though it was a far uglier reflection.

"You'll wha'?"

Guy stood and took the rope from Thomas' hands, untying it from the post.

"I'll take her," he repeated patiently, as though speaking to an idiot. "You said I could have one on the house, did you not?" The slaver nodded mutely. "Good," said Guy, clapping Thomas' shoulder. "I will return tomorrow for the payment you owe."

He pulled the girl to her feet and led her away from the slave market. That matted, dark hair swayed about her shoulders as she walked, with a slight limp, he noted. Several townsfolk watched her curiously but averted their gazes if she looked at them. When they reached his horse, he climbed into the saddle and urged the beast into a walk. The woman followed, the rope slack enough that it did not hurt her wrists. He didn't have to glance behind him to know that she was glaring at him. He felt the heat of it on his back. But Guy supposed he would glare, too, if in her position.

Once they were rid of Nottingham, he stopped the horse and turned in the saddle to address the girl.

"Get on."

She looked at him passively, though not dumbly. Still, perhaps she hadn't understood him.

"You," he said, pointing to her, "here." Guy patted the saddle and gestured for her to come near enough so that he could hoist her up onto it.

"I am not simple," she snapped, startling him, not with her tone but with her words. The girl correctly read his expression and snorted derisively. "Yes, I speak your language."

Indeed, she did, though with a moderate and unfamiliar accent.

He recovered from his shock and regarded her impatiently. "Then, since you understand what I say, get on the damned horse."

"No." Her chin jutted forward, as she held his gaze.

"Now is not the time to cling to whatever pride you believe you still possess," he warned.

"I have lost my family, my freedom, my home, and my livelihood," she said bitterly. "All I have left is my dignity."

Guy considered stealing that from her, too, but when he saw the fire in her eyes, he changed his mind. She had spirit, that one. On the one hand, he respected her for it. On the other hand, it irritated him. But no matter; she would entertain him well enough. And when her temperament became tiresome, he would enjoy breaking it.

He shrugged. "As you wish." His horse began to walk again, at a faster pace this time. The girl's limp grew more pronounced, and she winced every few steps yet uttered no complaint. "But I hope you don't expect a reprieve when we arrive."

"Of course not," she retorted. "I am a slave now."

The words weren't spoken forlornly or piteously, but acerbically, as though they were something foul to be regurgitated. They made Guy even more curious as to who this girl had been prior to her capture. From the way she carried herself, head held high, despite her bedraggled state, one would think she had been of noble birth. If she were, then that could be rather problematic for both him and the Sheriff.

He considered questioning her but in the end, decided that he'd already behaved more leniently with her than was befitting a master to his slave. They continued on in silence after that, the only sounds the plodding of the horse's hooves and the girl's occasional stumbles.