[Robin Hood] The Alchemy of Love: Chapter One (2/11)
Title: The Alchemy of Love
Rating: R. There will be violence, mention of domestic abuse, and explicit sexual content in later chapters.
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 2420(/~40,000)
Summary: During her last Nightwatchman gig before her marriage, Marian is caught while helping a woman in need through the forest. Grateful for her aid, Isabella convinces her brother to spare Marian and a friendship is born. Though each have their own goals, Guy, Robin, Isabella and Marian are forced to work together to heal old wounds, learn to trust, and ultimately save Nottingham.
Author's Note: Inspired by An Ever-Fixed Mark and based on the social structure of Ursula K. LeGuin's Planet of O, where society is divided into two halves, or moieties, and marriages are comprised of two men and two women. LeGuin uses the word sedoretu to refer to a union between four people; within the sedoretu there are four marriages, two heterosexual and two homosexual. In the interest of being period- and linguistically appropriate, I've chosen to use the Old French word alyaunce (alliance, betrothal, union) instead. It's pronounced pretty much how it looks. You can find more information on the sedoretu here.
According to the rules of this society, a relationship between Malcolm and Ghislaine would have been taboo, so in this story I've dispatched with the backstory from 3x11. Guy and Isabella had a similarly tragic childhood, but they did not grow up in Nottingham.
This was written for rhbigbang. It is mostly complete and I hope to have it up in its entirety by the new year. Many thanks to ladykate63 for her excellent beta work!
CHAPTER ONE
ROBIN
Punching Guy of Gisborne in the face was much more satisfying than Robin had thought that it would be. His hand ached from the shock of knuckles against bone, but getting to hear that hissing intake of breath, to feel Gisborne's jaw give way under his hand and see him flail for balance was no comparison to the many, many times he had imagined doing it. He almost didn't mind getting punched in the face in return.
After all, it gave him an excuse to swing again in. And Robin had a lot more to put into his blows than simple wish-fulfillment. The other man had taken his home, his people, had helped push him out of power and turn Nottingham into something unrecognizable. He was trying to take Marian. He had already tried to take Richard.
In the gully below him, his covered in debris from the forest floor and his face dark with bruises, Gisborne staggered to his feet yet again. This was going to take a while, but Robin found he didn't much mind. In fact, he would prefer if it did.
MARIAN
“Do things like this happen often?”
Marian tore her gaze away from forest; Robin and Guy were no longer in sight and she knew it to be a vain hope that either would return any time soon. She turned towards the woman at her side. Ismena of Blyth wore a mix of anger, worry, and thoughtfulness on her handsome face. Marian couldn't blame her anger, for Ismena had lost a necklace of gold and emeralds that was likely a family heirloom to Robin's “donation box,” but she couldn't quite bring herself to feel bad about it either. “Robin Hood has shaken things up a bit lately,” Marian said, and perhaps it was wicked of her to do so. But it was clear to see that Guy had not invited Ismena and William to their engagement party simply out of politeness, rather because they were both wealthy, their families held strategic seats in the north of the shire, and because William was Morning and Ismena was Evening.
Marian was more pleased to see the thinning of Ismena's lips into a discreet frown than she would ever have admitted. “It was dangerous for him to go alone.”
“I think it was romantic,” William interjected, approaching them from the hall and slipping his hand under Ismena's arm.
“Then why didn't you go after my necklace?”
“I don't know what I'd be dealing with,” William replied smoothly. “But apparently Gisborne trusts his own strength.”
“It was foolish,” Ismena said, turning back towards the manor house. Marian followed her gaze. Scattered partygoers were slowly reappearing, no doubt only to collect their horses and leave. Ismena seemed to be formulating the same idea, and said as much. “We should go if we want to reach Blyth by sundown. Lady Marian, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Her words seemed genuine and, truth be told, Marian could find nothing objectionable about the woman. But that did not mean she wanted to marry her. She took Ismena's proffered hands and kissed her on each cheek, politely, perfunctorily, then quickly drew away. Kissing Sir William was not so awkward, for being Morning, like her, he was more like a cousin or brother than anything.
“If Sir Guy returns, please give him our thanks and tell him I'll see him at the council meeting next week,” William said. Marian felt a frisson of anger at his nonchalance toward a man that he might marry. But she smiled and nodded, and promised she would.
Marian had to make a few more awkward goodbyes, but it was not long before she and her father and their servants were on their way back to Knighton. It was a relief to be away from Locksley and the party and its formalities, to be able to forget her engagement; yet a new worry had taken its place. What if Guy killed Robin? Or Robin killed Guy? Something had changed between the two men-she had never seen that look on Robin's face before-and she feared the outcome.
So wrapped up was she in her worries that she did not hear what her father said at first. She blinked at him and he repeated it. “What did you think of Sir William and Lady Ismena?”
Marian sighed. “It is nothing I need to worry about now. I told Sir Guy that I didn't want to marry until the king returns. We don't have any idea when that will be.”
She did not like the suggestion of disapproval in her father's glance. “The De Buslis have been in Nottinghamshire as long as we have, and they own twice as much. Lady Ismena is well-educated and accomplished. I think she would be a good companion for you.”
“I know, Father.”
“Marian,” he said, and his voice was very gentle, “An engagement cannot be indefinite. I want you to be have some choice in the matter while there's still time. I want you to be happy.”
“I know,” she replied, chastened. Better to choose before Guy did it for her. But how could she do so when she hadn't yet reconciled herself to marrying Guy, perhaps even marrying at all? How could she start planning for a life she did not want to lead?
ISABELLA
Isabella couldn't even remember what started it, but it was certain to have been something small, for that's how it always was. The initial “fault” was followed by three tense days of alternating silence and petty barbs, interjected by Mahaut's attempts to persuade her to give in and Geoffrey's pointed eye-rolling. Geoffrey had long ago learned not to interfere, and mostly tolerated the spats between Isabella and her Morning husband because of his feelings for Mahaut, who had never really stopped thinking of her as something of a pet project, and Edward who . . . was Edward.
And because it was Edward, on the fourth day it all erupted into a screaming match complete with thrown tableware, a bloodied lip on Isabella's part and, when she tried to retaliate, several hours locked into the small closet in the wine cellar that held the most expensive wines. Only Edward and Geoffrey held keys to it. In the absolute darkness Isabella had no idea how much time passed but she spent it alternating between tears and rage; even, once or twice, contemplating pulling the taps out of all the casks of wine, no matter the damage to her dress or the consequences.
But as time passed in the cold, dark, cramped space, her passionate feelings of anger and righteous indignation began to give way to melancholy, emptiness. It was a pattern she was familiar with now, but that never made it any better. For a while it would be easier to obey Edward, but eventually one of them would push too far, Isabella would refuse to back down, and the cycle would begin all over again.
When Edward let her out that evening, she could not meet his eyes. He lifted up her chin with a finger and subjected her to his stern blue gaze. “I wish you would not make me do this,” he said, a remorseful look on his face. Isabella knew it was for all of the wrong reasons, but the only thing she could manage to say was, “I'm sorry.” She wasn't really sure what she meant by it, but Edward took it well, and his expression softened. “Go upstairs and apologize. You made Mahaut very upset.”
Isabella nodded numbly and began to walk back through the cellar as Edward stayed behind to lock the door.
She found Geoffrey upstairs, reading through the account books by the fire. It was as if she were watching herself from a distance as she stood before him contritely and heard herself say, “I am sorry for the trouble I caused today.”
He raised his eyebrows over the account book.
“And this week,” she amended.
Geoffrey nodded. “You ought to be, after all that. I would have beat you until you couldn't walk for a week, but Edward's always had a soft spot for you. I wish you would learn to treat him the way he deserves to be treated.”
Isabella stood dumbly. She did not have the energy to respond to that, to be angry about everything in his words that was wrong or unfair.
Eventually Geoffrey's attention returned to his ledger and Isabella slipped away silently. Mahaut was in their bedroom, her maid brushing out her hair. “Bella! You were gone so long this time. I saved you dinner.”
Isabella saw a dish of food on her dressing table, but she was not hungry. She was not anything but tired. She lay down, not bothering to undress. She heard Mahaut dismiss the maid, then felt the bed shift as she sat down.
“How are you, dearest?”
Isabella did not respond. After a moment, Mahaut began to stroke her hair. Her deft fingers began working out the hair pins that had not come out in the tumult earlier, and Isabella let her do as she pleased, though she only wished to be left alone. Once, she had found Mahaut's ministrations comforting, but now she only resented them, for she knew what was to follow.
“I wish you would not do this to yourself,” Mahaut said after a few moments. “It always makes you so sad. And you must know it's terribly upsetting to hear all that yelling. You should think of the children, Bella.”
Isabella buried her face deeper into the crook of her elbow. They had two living children, both Morning, both young, and she knew that Mahaut was right about them, at least. She wished she could be like Mahaut sometimes-obedient, content, seemingly unaware of her fetters. It would be so much easier to be good like Edward wanted if she didn't know there were other ways to be, if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes among her parents.
Isabella let out a deep sigh. In response, Mahaut swept her hair, now unbound, to the side and softly kissed down the back of her neck to the curve of her shoulder. Isabella did not want intimacy now, but she knew Mahaut thought it would comfort her-and that she would take it personally if she were refused. Isabella rolled over and looked up at her wife. Mahaut's dark hair shaded her face from the candle light, but Isabella knew what her expression would be: creased with concern, but not concern for her, for someone Mahaut had constructed. Isabella reached up and touched her cheek, wondering how they could have been married so long and yet be so disconnected. Misinterpreting her touch, Mahaut smiled and leaned forward to kiss her.
GUY
By the day of the council meeting, a week after the spectacularly failed engagement party, the burning had mostly faded away from Guy's arm. The skin where his tattoo had been was still an angry pink and sensitive to the touch, each brush of fabric a painful jolt that reminded him of Hood. Guy had spent the week in a funk, as unhappy with Vaizey as the Sheriff was with him, irritated at Marian's continued coolness-she hadn't even smiled when he'd returned her ring-and worried that Sir William and Lady Ismena would now abandon all thought of a marriage.
There had been some consolation in learning that Marian had spoken for him when Hood had held him in the forest, that she had nearly burst into tears in the Great Hall. He wished she'd show that much feeling when he was around.
But the one thing that he was genuinely happy about was having seen Hood completely lose his head. He always acted so superior, with his cocky self-assurance and irritating smirks. He also had that ability to incredibly, inexplicable come out on top, despite Guy's careful planning and greater resources. Hood was disadvantaged, but never completely undone until now. Guy was pleased that he had finally been able to turn the tables and get under Hood's skin. The fact that he had the man's lands and former betrothed were mere happy coincidence, but now Guy finally knew his weakness.
His mood bolstered by these thoughts, Guy took the stairs down to the floor of the Great Hall easily. Upon seeing William de Busli among those already there, a bit of his newly-found confidence evaporated. de Busli caught his eye and excused himself from the others, coming to meet Guy at the foot of the stairs. His look was appraising, but pleasant, unlike the Sheriff's uncomfortable measuring gaze. “Glad to see you're looking well,” de Busli said with an easy smile, making Guy glad that his bruises had mostly faded. “Did you manage to get the ring back?”
“I did.”
de Busli seemed more pleased by this than Guy would have expected. “I told Ismena you would.”
This unexpected confidence set some of Guy's worry to rest. “I am sorry I could not get her necklace as well.”
de Busli waved a hand in dismissal. “I can buy her another.”
“She was not too upset by the disturbance, I hope?” Guy's question was a careful testing of the waters. It seemed as if Sir William was not particularly bothered by Hood's incursion, but the delicate sensibilities of a lady could be another matter.
“She'll be fine,” William replied nonchalantly. “I think she will like you if you get the chance to speak in calmer circumstances. You should come to Tickhill,” he said suddenly, his voice warming. “Next week. My fathers have just gotten some falcons they want to try out-we'll make a party of it.”
Guy was deeply gratified to be invited to the de Buslis' castle in the northern part of the shire. It boded very well indeed for his hopes of union. “I would be happy to attend,” he replied, his voice husky with pleasure.
“And please, invite Lady Marian as well.”
“With pleasure,” he said, just before the Sheriff burst into the hall above them. He bowed his head politely and went to take his spot at Vaizey's side. He did not think of Hood at all for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Two
Rating: R. There will be violence, mention of domestic abuse, and explicit sexual content in later chapters.
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 2420(/~40,000)
Summary: During her last Nightwatchman gig before her marriage, Marian is caught while helping a woman in need through the forest. Grateful for her aid, Isabella convinces her brother to spare Marian and a friendship is born. Though each have their own goals, Guy, Robin, Isabella and Marian are forced to work together to heal old wounds, learn to trust, and ultimately save Nottingham.
Author's Note: Inspired by An Ever-Fixed Mark and based on the social structure of Ursula K. LeGuin's Planet of O, where society is divided into two halves, or moieties, and marriages are comprised of two men and two women. LeGuin uses the word sedoretu to refer to a union between four people; within the sedoretu there are four marriages, two heterosexual and two homosexual. In the interest of being period- and linguistically appropriate, I've chosen to use the Old French word alyaunce (alliance, betrothal, union) instead. It's pronounced pretty much how it looks. You can find more information on the sedoretu here.
According to the rules of this society, a relationship between Malcolm and Ghislaine would have been taboo, so in this story I've dispatched with the backstory from 3x11. Guy and Isabella had a similarly tragic childhood, but they did not grow up in Nottingham.
This was written for rhbigbang. It is mostly complete and I hope to have it up in its entirety by the new year. Many thanks to ladykate63 for her excellent beta work!
CHAPTER ONE
ROBIN
Punching Guy of Gisborne in the face was much more satisfying than Robin had thought that it would be. His hand ached from the shock of knuckles against bone, but getting to hear that hissing intake of breath, to feel Gisborne's jaw give way under his hand and see him flail for balance was no comparison to the many, many times he had imagined doing it. He almost didn't mind getting punched in the face in return.
After all, it gave him an excuse to swing again in. And Robin had a lot more to put into his blows than simple wish-fulfillment. The other man had taken his home, his people, had helped push him out of power and turn Nottingham into something unrecognizable. He was trying to take Marian. He had already tried to take Richard.
In the gully below him, his covered in debris from the forest floor and his face dark with bruises, Gisborne staggered to his feet yet again. This was going to take a while, but Robin found he didn't much mind. In fact, he would prefer if it did.
MARIAN
“Do things like this happen often?”
Marian tore her gaze away from forest; Robin and Guy were no longer in sight and she knew it to be a vain hope that either would return any time soon. She turned towards the woman at her side. Ismena of Blyth wore a mix of anger, worry, and thoughtfulness on her handsome face. Marian couldn't blame her anger, for Ismena had lost a necklace of gold and emeralds that was likely a family heirloom to Robin's “donation box,” but she couldn't quite bring herself to feel bad about it either. “Robin Hood has shaken things up a bit lately,” Marian said, and perhaps it was wicked of her to do so. But it was clear to see that Guy had not invited Ismena and William to their engagement party simply out of politeness, rather because they were both wealthy, their families held strategic seats in the north of the shire, and because William was Morning and Ismena was Evening.
Marian was more pleased to see the thinning of Ismena's lips into a discreet frown than she would ever have admitted. “It was dangerous for him to go alone.”
“I think it was romantic,” William interjected, approaching them from the hall and slipping his hand under Ismena's arm.
“Then why didn't you go after my necklace?”
“I don't know what I'd be dealing with,” William replied smoothly. “But apparently Gisborne trusts his own strength.”
“It was foolish,” Ismena said, turning back towards the manor house. Marian followed her gaze. Scattered partygoers were slowly reappearing, no doubt only to collect their horses and leave. Ismena seemed to be formulating the same idea, and said as much. “We should go if we want to reach Blyth by sundown. Lady Marian, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Her words seemed genuine and, truth be told, Marian could find nothing objectionable about the woman. But that did not mean she wanted to marry her. She took Ismena's proffered hands and kissed her on each cheek, politely, perfunctorily, then quickly drew away. Kissing Sir William was not so awkward, for being Morning, like her, he was more like a cousin or brother than anything.
“If Sir Guy returns, please give him our thanks and tell him I'll see him at the council meeting next week,” William said. Marian felt a frisson of anger at his nonchalance toward a man that he might marry. But she smiled and nodded, and promised she would.
Marian had to make a few more awkward goodbyes, but it was not long before she and her father and their servants were on their way back to Knighton. It was a relief to be away from Locksley and the party and its formalities, to be able to forget her engagement; yet a new worry had taken its place. What if Guy killed Robin? Or Robin killed Guy? Something had changed between the two men-she had never seen that look on Robin's face before-and she feared the outcome.
So wrapped up was she in her worries that she did not hear what her father said at first. She blinked at him and he repeated it. “What did you think of Sir William and Lady Ismena?”
Marian sighed. “It is nothing I need to worry about now. I told Sir Guy that I didn't want to marry until the king returns. We don't have any idea when that will be.”
She did not like the suggestion of disapproval in her father's glance. “The De Buslis have been in Nottinghamshire as long as we have, and they own twice as much. Lady Ismena is well-educated and accomplished. I think she would be a good companion for you.”
“I know, Father.”
“Marian,” he said, and his voice was very gentle, “An engagement cannot be indefinite. I want you to be have some choice in the matter while there's still time. I want you to be happy.”
“I know,” she replied, chastened. Better to choose before Guy did it for her. But how could she do so when she hadn't yet reconciled herself to marrying Guy, perhaps even marrying at all? How could she start planning for a life she did not want to lead?
ISABELLA
Isabella couldn't even remember what started it, but it was certain to have been something small, for that's how it always was. The initial “fault” was followed by three tense days of alternating silence and petty barbs, interjected by Mahaut's attempts to persuade her to give in and Geoffrey's pointed eye-rolling. Geoffrey had long ago learned not to interfere, and mostly tolerated the spats between Isabella and her Morning husband because of his feelings for Mahaut, who had never really stopped thinking of her as something of a pet project, and Edward who . . . was Edward.
And because it was Edward, on the fourth day it all erupted into a screaming match complete with thrown tableware, a bloodied lip on Isabella's part and, when she tried to retaliate, several hours locked into the small closet in the wine cellar that held the most expensive wines. Only Edward and Geoffrey held keys to it. In the absolute darkness Isabella had no idea how much time passed but she spent it alternating between tears and rage; even, once or twice, contemplating pulling the taps out of all the casks of wine, no matter the damage to her dress or the consequences.
But as time passed in the cold, dark, cramped space, her passionate feelings of anger and righteous indignation began to give way to melancholy, emptiness. It was a pattern she was familiar with now, but that never made it any better. For a while it would be easier to obey Edward, but eventually one of them would push too far, Isabella would refuse to back down, and the cycle would begin all over again.
When Edward let her out that evening, she could not meet his eyes. He lifted up her chin with a finger and subjected her to his stern blue gaze. “I wish you would not make me do this,” he said, a remorseful look on his face. Isabella knew it was for all of the wrong reasons, but the only thing she could manage to say was, “I'm sorry.” She wasn't really sure what she meant by it, but Edward took it well, and his expression softened. “Go upstairs and apologize. You made Mahaut very upset.”
Isabella nodded numbly and began to walk back through the cellar as Edward stayed behind to lock the door.
She found Geoffrey upstairs, reading through the account books by the fire. It was as if she were watching herself from a distance as she stood before him contritely and heard herself say, “I am sorry for the trouble I caused today.”
He raised his eyebrows over the account book.
“And this week,” she amended.
Geoffrey nodded. “You ought to be, after all that. I would have beat you until you couldn't walk for a week, but Edward's always had a soft spot for you. I wish you would learn to treat him the way he deserves to be treated.”
Isabella stood dumbly. She did not have the energy to respond to that, to be angry about everything in his words that was wrong or unfair.
Eventually Geoffrey's attention returned to his ledger and Isabella slipped away silently. Mahaut was in their bedroom, her maid brushing out her hair. “Bella! You were gone so long this time. I saved you dinner.”
Isabella saw a dish of food on her dressing table, but she was not hungry. She was not anything but tired. She lay down, not bothering to undress. She heard Mahaut dismiss the maid, then felt the bed shift as she sat down.
“How are you, dearest?”
Isabella did not respond. After a moment, Mahaut began to stroke her hair. Her deft fingers began working out the hair pins that had not come out in the tumult earlier, and Isabella let her do as she pleased, though she only wished to be left alone. Once, she had found Mahaut's ministrations comforting, but now she only resented them, for she knew what was to follow.
“I wish you would not do this to yourself,” Mahaut said after a few moments. “It always makes you so sad. And you must know it's terribly upsetting to hear all that yelling. You should think of the children, Bella.”
Isabella buried her face deeper into the crook of her elbow. They had two living children, both Morning, both young, and she knew that Mahaut was right about them, at least. She wished she could be like Mahaut sometimes-obedient, content, seemingly unaware of her fetters. It would be so much easier to be good like Edward wanted if she didn't know there were other ways to be, if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes among her parents.
Isabella let out a deep sigh. In response, Mahaut swept her hair, now unbound, to the side and softly kissed down the back of her neck to the curve of her shoulder. Isabella did not want intimacy now, but she knew Mahaut thought it would comfort her-and that she would take it personally if she were refused. Isabella rolled over and looked up at her wife. Mahaut's dark hair shaded her face from the candle light, but Isabella knew what her expression would be: creased with concern, but not concern for her, for someone Mahaut had constructed. Isabella reached up and touched her cheek, wondering how they could have been married so long and yet be so disconnected. Misinterpreting her touch, Mahaut smiled and leaned forward to kiss her.
GUY
By the day of the council meeting, a week after the spectacularly failed engagement party, the burning had mostly faded away from Guy's arm. The skin where his tattoo had been was still an angry pink and sensitive to the touch, each brush of fabric a painful jolt that reminded him of Hood. Guy had spent the week in a funk, as unhappy with Vaizey as the Sheriff was with him, irritated at Marian's continued coolness-she hadn't even smiled when he'd returned her ring-and worried that Sir William and Lady Ismena would now abandon all thought of a marriage.
There had been some consolation in learning that Marian had spoken for him when Hood had held him in the forest, that she had nearly burst into tears in the Great Hall. He wished she'd show that much feeling when he was around.
But the one thing that he was genuinely happy about was having seen Hood completely lose his head. He always acted so superior, with his cocky self-assurance and irritating smirks. He also had that ability to incredibly, inexplicable come out on top, despite Guy's careful planning and greater resources. Hood was disadvantaged, but never completely undone until now. Guy was pleased that he had finally been able to turn the tables and get under Hood's skin. The fact that he had the man's lands and former betrothed were mere happy coincidence, but now Guy finally knew his weakness.
His mood bolstered by these thoughts, Guy took the stairs down to the floor of the Great Hall easily. Upon seeing William de Busli among those already there, a bit of his newly-found confidence evaporated. de Busli caught his eye and excused himself from the others, coming to meet Guy at the foot of the stairs. His look was appraising, but pleasant, unlike the Sheriff's uncomfortable measuring gaze. “Glad to see you're looking well,” de Busli said with an easy smile, making Guy glad that his bruises had mostly faded. “Did you manage to get the ring back?”
“I did.”
de Busli seemed more pleased by this than Guy would have expected. “I told Ismena you would.”
This unexpected confidence set some of Guy's worry to rest. “I am sorry I could not get her necklace as well.”
de Busli waved a hand in dismissal. “I can buy her another.”
“She was not too upset by the disturbance, I hope?” Guy's question was a careful testing of the waters. It seemed as if Sir William was not particularly bothered by Hood's incursion, but the delicate sensibilities of a lady could be another matter.
“She'll be fine,” William replied nonchalantly. “I think she will like you if you get the chance to speak in calmer circumstances. You should come to Tickhill,” he said suddenly, his voice warming. “Next week. My fathers have just gotten some falcons they want to try out-we'll make a party of it.”
Guy was deeply gratified to be invited to the de Buslis' castle in the northern part of the shire. It boded very well indeed for his hopes of union. “I would be happy to attend,” he replied, his voice husky with pleasure.
“And please, invite Lady Marian as well.”
“With pleasure,” he said, just before the Sheriff burst into the hall above them. He bowed his head politely and went to take his spot at Vaizey's side. He did not think of Hood at all for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Two