Ok, A Fanfic, for the viewing angst of anyone who happens to run across it.

BBC-RobinHood Guy+Marian, implied Robin/Marian(ERR PUKE)

WARNINGWARNINGWARNING!!! Serious Spoilers for Season 2, Scenario came out of the press release of EP.2.11.

I couldn't come up with a title.
Rating: probably PG.
Yeah, ok, RH doesn't belong to me, even though I could make a show that was so much better, it belongs to the BBC, TA, et al, I'm making no money off this, I just make myself miserable by watching the bloody show and trying to keep my boy alive.
Thought I'd warn you, it's a tad grim.

He closed the gate behind him and walked to the bench, not even looking at her. He might have been sleepwalking, or she might not even have existed, for all the notice he paid her. She backed away, towards the bars, but it was unnecessary, and she knew it. This man would not harm her now. He sat down as if all the will had gone out of him, almost collapsing on the narrow wooden bench. His hand came up, covering his eyes a moment, pinching at the bridge of his nose as if testing a headache. Then he looked up at her.
His eyes, oh Bleeding Jesus, his eyes! Never in her life had she seen anything so frightening as what stared out at her from his face. Two dark, hollow orbs, dead, utterly dead, without soul. There was no triumph, no betrayal, no anger, no fear, no pain, no sympathy, nothing left of the love she had so effectively killed.
For the first time, she actually had to face what had been done to this man. What she had done to him.
No, her reason cried out, it was his choice; he has done this to himself. It didn’t have to be this way.
He just stared at her, silent, an unbearably long time.
“Speak, Damn you!” She screamed at him, unable to bear his dead eyes a moment longer.
He did not flinch, and then she saw what else was in his eyes.
Tears. Tears like the flayed hopes of a man torn apart.
As she watched, one fell, slipping down his cheek.
His voice was low and harsh, torn from the depths of him, from a place no person had ever seen.
“I wished that, for just one moment, I might have known what it was to be loved in this life.”
He stood with a sudden movement that made her jump. In her unbalance, he grabbed her hands, and pulled her to him, their arms between their bodies. He forced something into her hands, holding her palms closed around it. The vicious steely curve of his dagger extended from between her hands to press against his chest.
“Wherever I go, he will send men to find me, to kill me, it would be a kindness for you to end it now. You have already ended any life I might have had. Remember that, tomorrow, when you are with your lover in the woods. And remember this, when he deserts you for his king…” he leant down, the blade pressing hard into the leather of his cote, and kissed her. In his kiss was all that had drained from his eyes, all the rage, all the savagery, all the lost dreams, all the need, all the hurt and despair, all the passion as deep as the Styx, all the love forsaken. He burned her up in his kiss, incinerating the last vestiges of her childhood, devouring her innocence and idealism like a wolf. His release was as sudden as his taking, and she could not breath, her body trembled with an emotion she had never known and could not name, that was as glorious as it was frightening, and all that seemed to exist in the world was him.
“Until doomsday,” he whispered. “I will love you until doomsday.”
He released her hands, opening the gate even as she reached for him blindly, desperately, the bars between them. He wrenched it from her hand, shutting it with a clang that resounded through the hollow space of the prison. He strode away as she clung to the bars of her cell, staring after him, unable to speak in this mind numbing confusion, having no words that could make him turn back.
Only when the shadows had long consumed his form and she was left unbearably alone, did she open her hand to realise that his dagger was not all he had hidden there.