Lady Elizabeth, despite her initial beliefs, recovered from Sir Guy's death.
Time did heal all wounds, even if some people did not want for them to be healed. Even if she cried, despite the fact he had told her not to, even if she thought of him every day and night, every moment of her life, even if she saw him in her dreams-she got used to all that soon. Too soon.
She had always been dramatic-it did make sense that her life story and her love story both turned out so dark, passionate and grievous. She had always daydreamed about not living an ordinary life, she had always wanted something special. The irony of the fact she had gotten it was rather maddening.
Though it was hard to believe that at first, it could have been worse. They could have suffered a simillar fate sooner. They could never have met. And she could have been left without him, and without anything to remind her of him-which certainly had not been the case.
She had his letter, aye, which she kept safe at all times(not close, because she was afraid she'd tear it by accident), and she had a living, breathing, small version of him-their son.
Naturally, she had named him Guy. The night after his birth had, contrary to her beliefs, been the first night since his father's death when she had been unable to cry. Oh, no, not without the desire to cry. That desire had been with her, stronger than even, building up in her chest, blocking her breathing and threatening to explode. But the tears refused to come.
Half-way through her pregnancy, Matilda had come to visit. Elizabeth had sent her away, not even deigning to come down and see her. The reason to that was fear-fear that she would not be able to control herself and that she would strangle the woman. Matilda was to blame for Guy's death. Matilda, who had not listened to her lady's instructions. Elizabeth had Denise inform her former governess that she never wished to lay eyes upon her again.
She did not know why had she not wanted Matilda's death at that moment; God knew she had oft wished upon it earlier. Maybe she had feared that another murder would send her deep into madness, and have her lose her mind completely. Which she could not have allowed.
Little Guy was five when she married again. He was a member of French nobility, about her age, who never knew her under another name than Ghislaine, the widow Gisborne. His name was Justin, and he was handsome, but harsh in personality. Elizabeth had not listened to Guy's request-she had married the man that reminded her of him. And while Justin was rarely gentle to her; more rarely than Guy had been; she considered him the right father for her son. One who would manage to have little Guy become a ruthless man, who would return to his birthright and restore it, fulfilling his true father's dreams.
Elizabeth had never gotten rid of the guilt-the terrible guilt because had it no been for her, Guy would have succeeded in life, and he would have gotten what he had wanted. However, she knew that, had she been offered another start, she would have selfishly chosen to be with him again, because she was thankful to what little time she had had with him. That selfishness-and the guilt she felt due to its existance-was slowly eating her on the inside.
The relationship between her and Justin was very simillar to and reminescent of the one she had had with Guy. She let herself believe that she and Guy would have been like that, had they managed to marry. Whether it helped or made things worse, she never was able to tell.
Her first child with Justin came a year and a half after their marriage. A son, named Antoine. Three years afterwards, came his sister, Madeleine. By that time, Guy was already over nine years old-and not to her liking, at all.
Elizabeth's constant attempts to make him strong, endurable and cold had created the opposite effect. Justin had tried to aid her, but none of it had been succesful. Guy was a plump child, prone to cowardice, overly emotional, and with all the traits Elizabeth had always despised in a man. She did not know where she had gone wrong-both of her other children, as they grew, became just the way she had wanted them to. Never had she stopped feeling disappointment for the fact that her child with the man she had loved was completely unfit for the tasks that awaited him in life.
When he was eighteen, Elizabeth told him the truth of his heritage-the whole truth. She had never been so disappointed, terrified and appalled as when he began whimpering, refusing to go and do anything about the whole matter.
Enraged, she ordered him over the sea, to England, telling him it was his destiny, his future-for pride, vengeance, family honor. She had even given him a dozen strong, armed men to accompany him, but none of them had managed to save his life.
He had never even reached England-he fell into the sea and drowned in the waves of the channel.
She had, upon hearing this, nearly gone to England on her own. But then she realized she had no one to retrieve the Gisborne lands for-the last of the Gisbornes had been her son, a failure…and there was only Isabella.
The twelve men had had their purpose, though. Once her son died, they were instructed to go on to England, and to some of his bidding. She could not have just given all up-vengeance was, after all, still hers.
The leader of the men wrote her a letter, in which he informed her of the status in England. Prince, or rather King John, was long dead. Isabella lived as the Lady of Gisborne, her husband Thornton dead. Vaisey was dead, too, and Davina, her Davina, had been widowed once and married twice. Her second husband was none other than Allan A' Dale-Sheriff of Nottingham. The first had been, as she and Vaisey had planned a long time ago, one of Prince…King John's illegitimate sons.
Robin Hood was dead, along with Ines-they had been killed in a fire in Sherwood- and their son Roger was in the employ of Lady Isabella. They had changed his name to Richard, but he had switched back to Roger for some, unknown reason. Maybe in order to please Isabella.
'Lady Davina is a beauty, my lady.' The leader wrote, 'Her hair is unruly and as if made of pure gold, but her face and her eyes are yours. She is a rich and a well-placed woman.'
At least not all of Lady Elizabeth's children were to be a disappointment-Antoine and Madeleine did not count, since their mother was Lady Ghislaine, and they knew of no other.
Lady Isabella was murdered gruesomely by Elizabeth's mercenaries, and the lands ended up in the hands of Hood's son. Had she given it better thought, maybe Elizabeth would have seen how Isabella would have at least been a Gisborne-but anger had blinded her. So, a Locksley ruled both Locksley and Gisborne, united under one name.
She never saw English soil again in her life. She lived long enough to see her son marry a daughter of a Count, and her daughter a Duke, long enough to forever bemoan the choices she had made, the treatment of her son, her many failures. Her mother had never visited her again, but her father and brother had, sending her money and coming to see her children. She forever wondered what Davina had been told of her by Vaisey, and she had enough time to write a will, in which she explained the truth to Justin.
Lady Elizabeth died in the fifty-fifth year of her life, of severe pneumonia. She had begun losing her mind, not remembering bits of her life and fainting(she especially hated fainting) for no reason even earlier. During her last hours, she called out for Guy, she called out for her son, she begged for forgiveness. Then, with a sudden, sharp intake of breath, she was gone.
Justin read her will, made her funeral arrangemens, and then burned the paper, turning the dark past of his wife into ashes together with her.
On her tombstone in Paris, at her final request, it was engraved:
Ghislaine, Comtesse du Trienne
(Lady Elizabeth Horvat, Vaisey and Gisborne)
Pride, Vengance, Family Honor
Well, that is officially the ending! :D
I hope you enjoyed following this story, and I hope I'll write something new for you to have fun with soon, whether a sequel or a whole new tale.