(no subject)
After Robin leaves for the Holy Land, she has dreams.
She hates herself for it, naturally. She is not the type of woman who worships the ground other men walk on, not the type to lose herself senselessly in the tumultuous emotions of love. She has always prided herself on that fact. She doesn’t - she doesn’t need him, for God’s sake, he’s just a silly boy with silly ambitions and silly pride.
Nonetheless, she still wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat.
“Robin, no -” but he doesn’t listen, he never does.
“Robin, look out -” But he looks straight ahead, completely ignoring her.
“ROBIN, BEHIND YOU -” But the Saracen has run him straight through with a sword, blood spewing forth from his abdomen, his mouth, oh God, it’s everywhere, it’s everywhere -
When she finally wakes, tears drip from her eyes, soaking her nightgown. The thing that hurts the most is that there is no definite way of telling whether the dream is fact or fiction. He could, in all probability, be lying, half-conscious, in the middle of the desert, steadily bleeding to death. He could - he could - he could even already be -
Dead.
The thought hurts more than she can bear, and she fumbles for her rosary. If there is one time in her life that she will pray, this is it.
“Please,” she murmurs, clutching the beads tightly in her hands. “Please, bring him back to me.”
**
“You’re being very quiet,” Edward notes, looking intently at her.
“Am I?” She lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry. Is there some sort of protocol for the dead? Should I be - Should I be overjoyed? Depressed?”
“I thought you’d ask more questions, that’s all.” He lays a comforting hand on her shoulder and lets out a sigh. “This is very difficult for me as well. I never thought - I never thought I’d see you here, so young. I always thought you and Robin would finally marry and live to a ripe old age -”
“Me, too,” she murmurs, so quiet she can barely hear herself.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sadness in his eyes. “This is not the future I would have wanted for you.”
“Yes, well…” She forces a smile. “There’s not much we can do about that, can we?” She gestures out to the forest. They’re perched on a tree; it’s the same one Robin had helped her climb down after her disastrous first attempt. “Well, go on. Tell me. What’s it like, being dead? Do we just hang around, reliving our lives? Is there anything else to do?”
“This isn’t exactly it,” is the somewhat evasive reply. “There’s more, beyond all of this. The reason you haven’t moved on quite yet is because there’s still something left for you to see.”
“Is there, now?” She tilts her head, curious. “I don’t understand. I’ve… sort of seen all of this before.”
“Not this one,” Edward tells her. “Look around. Does this look like the Sherwood of years past?”
She glances curiously at the trees, the leaves, but they all look too similar. But then, there it is - a flash of the outlaws’ camp, traps nestled surreptitiously between the leaves. When she turns to question her father, he’s gone.
Footsteps tread quietly across the forest floor, and her heart leaps into her throat as she realizes who it is.
Robin.
And it’s not eighteen-year-old Robin, not fifteen, not thirteen. It’s Robin of the now, after the Holy Land, after her death. Tears well up in her eyes and there’s a roaring ache in her heart, far, far worse than anything she’d experienced the first time he’d left her.
He stops directly beneath her tree. She scurries down the bark, stepping down beside him. He kneels. She kneels beside him, eyes roaming his face hungrily.
He digs a shallow hole in the ground, and she can see the unmistakable grief in his face. She watches him, struggling to commit every detail of him to memory.
“I miss you so much,” she whispers. “I wish we could - that for once, for once, God would smile down on us and let us - let us be happy. We deserve it, we do. After everything that we’ve been through - after all that we have done, it’s the least that we could have!”
She tastes salt on her tongue, feels the trail of tears down her cheeks.
He takes the ring off his neck and kisses it desperately. She has never seen him this forlorn, this desolate and she despises herself for being the cause of it.
“I will never stop loving you,” he whispers fiercely. He blinks back tears as he places the ring into the ground. The purple stone glints beneath the sunlight before he covers it with dirt. He remains in place, unmoving. He loses his battle against the tears and they begin to trickle slowly down his face.
“And I will never stop loving you,” she murmurs, reaching out to catch his tears. It’s a futile attempt, of course, and her hands simply pass through his flesh. The sight of it makes her cry even harder. To be so close, and yet so far away, stings at her heart. “I’m so sorry, Robin, I’m so sorry,” she sobs, falling on her hands. She curls her hands into fists and pounds them against the floor. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, finding it difficult to breathe.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry -”
She lets out a gasping breath. “Oh, God, Robin, just look at me, please!” But he doesn’t. She pounds angrily at the trunk of the tree, sending a flurry of flower petals swirling down onto the ground. Some land between the strands of his hair and for a fleeting moment, she feels jealous.
She breathes heavily, clutching at her chest. He lets out a shaky sigh and starts to stand. This is it, then, the final goodbye. Years will pass before they see each other again. Her heart hurts, and she knows it doesn’t make sense, isn’t she dead, for crying out loud, and shouldn’t everything be perfect and painless?
He walks away, footsteps echoing in her head as she lies down on the damp ground. Tears drip down her cheeks helplessly. She doesn’t move to wipe them away.
**
When she next opens her eyes, she’s in an entirely different plane of existence. She’s never been here before, but it looks rather empty. Sad. There are benches on a raised platform, facing a series of metallic strips which seem to go on for miles.
“If you’re here, you’ve seen what you’ve needed to see.” Her father steps out from seemingly nowhere. “Or learned what it is you needed to learn.”
Her eyes feel sore and puffy. “Yes,” she says, quietly, “I suppose I have.”
He sighs and gestures around. “This is - it’s the middle ground. Beyond the world of the living, but not quite the after, either. It’s a place of waiting. Waiting and contemplation. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
A loud, shrill whistle pierces the silence, and Marian watches as a series of carriages, somehow connected together, ride along the metallic strips. Steam floats from a strange, cylindrical object attached to the top of the carriage. She turns to her father, a questioning look in her eyes.
“This is a train,” her father explains. “It’s… it’s the mode of transportation used around here. If you get on, it will take you to… the after.”
“And if I don’t?”
Edward glances at her, startled. She keeps her eyes focused on the train.
“If you don’t… you'll simply stay. Here." He sighs. "It's not fun. Not something you would particularly enjoy, seeing as you've always had a craving for adventure and excitement."
"Perhaps," she says, "I've had enough adventure and excitement for one lifetime."
She sits on the bench and stares at the vacant train. Funny. Even now, after death, with her beyond his reach and he beyond hers, he still has the power to affect her. The ache in her heart is undeniable proof of that.
One day, Robin of Locksley, you will pay, she thinks to herself, a half-smile upon her lips.
Edward watches her, and then lets out a sigh. “You’re not coming, are you?” The question is unnecessary; he already knows the answer.
She stands and takes his hands in hers. Stands on tiptoe and kisses him on the cheek. “Not just yet, Father.” She leads him to the train. The doors open automatically, and she leads him to a window seat. Then she calmly walks back out and watches as the doors slide shut. The train lets out one thunderous whistle before beginning to move. She watches it until it becomes little more than a speck in the fog, and then until it disappears completely.
She sits back down and makes herself comfortable, a wry smile on her lips. If she knows Robin - and quite clearly, she does - he’ll keep her waiting for quite a while.
“Foolish man,” she says to no one in particular. Then again, she’s rather foolish, too. Only a fool would wait this long for someone. But as she sits there, she thinks she can hear his voice, and it makes the waiting a little better…
“I love you… my wife.”
End Part I -- To be continued
.
Section 1: Here
Section 2: Here
She hates herself for it, naturally. She is not the type of woman who worships the ground other men walk on, not the type to lose herself senselessly in the tumultuous emotions of love. She has always prided herself on that fact. She doesn’t - she doesn’t need him, for God’s sake, he’s just a silly boy with silly ambitions and silly pride.
Nonetheless, she still wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat.
“Robin, no -” but he doesn’t listen, he never does.
“Robin, look out -” But he looks straight ahead, completely ignoring her.
“ROBIN, BEHIND YOU -” But the Saracen has run him straight through with a sword, blood spewing forth from his abdomen, his mouth, oh God, it’s everywhere, it’s everywhere -
When she finally wakes, tears drip from her eyes, soaking her nightgown. The thing that hurts the most is that there is no definite way of telling whether the dream is fact or fiction. He could, in all probability, be lying, half-conscious, in the middle of the desert, steadily bleeding to death. He could - he could - he could even already be -
Dead.
The thought hurts more than she can bear, and she fumbles for her rosary. If there is one time in her life that she will pray, this is it.
“Please,” she murmurs, clutching the beads tightly in her hands. “Please, bring him back to me.”
**
“You’re being very quiet,” Edward notes, looking intently at her.
“Am I?” She lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry. Is there some sort of protocol for the dead? Should I be - Should I be overjoyed? Depressed?”
“I thought you’d ask more questions, that’s all.” He lays a comforting hand on her shoulder and lets out a sigh. “This is very difficult for me as well. I never thought - I never thought I’d see you here, so young. I always thought you and Robin would finally marry and live to a ripe old age -”
“Me, too,” she murmurs, so quiet she can barely hear herself.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sadness in his eyes. “This is not the future I would have wanted for you.”
“Yes, well…” She forces a smile. “There’s not much we can do about that, can we?” She gestures out to the forest. They’re perched on a tree; it’s the same one Robin had helped her climb down after her disastrous first attempt. “Well, go on. Tell me. What’s it like, being dead? Do we just hang around, reliving our lives? Is there anything else to do?”
“This isn’t exactly it,” is the somewhat evasive reply. “There’s more, beyond all of this. The reason you haven’t moved on quite yet is because there’s still something left for you to see.”
“Is there, now?” She tilts her head, curious. “I don’t understand. I’ve… sort of seen all of this before.”
“Not this one,” Edward tells her. “Look around. Does this look like the Sherwood of years past?”
She glances curiously at the trees, the leaves, but they all look too similar. But then, there it is - a flash of the outlaws’ camp, traps nestled surreptitiously between the leaves. When she turns to question her father, he’s gone.
Footsteps tread quietly across the forest floor, and her heart leaps into her throat as she realizes who it is.
Robin.
And it’s not eighteen-year-old Robin, not fifteen, not thirteen. It’s Robin of the now, after the Holy Land, after her death. Tears well up in her eyes and there’s a roaring ache in her heart, far, far worse than anything she’d experienced the first time he’d left her.
He stops directly beneath her tree. She scurries down the bark, stepping down beside him. He kneels. She kneels beside him, eyes roaming his face hungrily.
He digs a shallow hole in the ground, and she can see the unmistakable grief in his face. She watches him, struggling to commit every detail of him to memory.
“I miss you so much,” she whispers. “I wish we could - that for once, for once, God would smile down on us and let us - let us be happy. We deserve it, we do. After everything that we’ve been through - after all that we have done, it’s the least that we could have!”
She tastes salt on her tongue, feels the trail of tears down her cheeks.
He takes the ring off his neck and kisses it desperately. She has never seen him this forlorn, this desolate and she despises herself for being the cause of it.
“I will never stop loving you,” he whispers fiercely. He blinks back tears as he places the ring into the ground. The purple stone glints beneath the sunlight before he covers it with dirt. He remains in place, unmoving. He loses his battle against the tears and they begin to trickle slowly down his face.
“And I will never stop loving you,” she murmurs, reaching out to catch his tears. It’s a futile attempt, of course, and her hands simply pass through his flesh. The sight of it makes her cry even harder. To be so close, and yet so far away, stings at her heart. “I’m so sorry, Robin, I’m so sorry,” she sobs, falling on her hands. She curls her hands into fists and pounds them against the floor. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, finding it difficult to breathe.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry -”
She lets out a gasping breath. “Oh, God, Robin, just look at me, please!” But he doesn’t. She pounds angrily at the trunk of the tree, sending a flurry of flower petals swirling down onto the ground. Some land between the strands of his hair and for a fleeting moment, she feels jealous.
She breathes heavily, clutching at her chest. He lets out a shaky sigh and starts to stand. This is it, then, the final goodbye. Years will pass before they see each other again. Her heart hurts, and she knows it doesn’t make sense, isn’t she dead, for crying out loud, and shouldn’t everything be perfect and painless?
He walks away, footsteps echoing in her head as she lies down on the damp ground. Tears drip down her cheeks helplessly. She doesn’t move to wipe them away.
**
When she next opens her eyes, she’s in an entirely different plane of existence. She’s never been here before, but it looks rather empty. Sad. There are benches on a raised platform, facing a series of metallic strips which seem to go on for miles.
“If you’re here, you’ve seen what you’ve needed to see.” Her father steps out from seemingly nowhere. “Or learned what it is you needed to learn.”
Her eyes feel sore and puffy. “Yes,” she says, quietly, “I suppose I have.”
He sighs and gestures around. “This is - it’s the middle ground. Beyond the world of the living, but not quite the after, either. It’s a place of waiting. Waiting and contemplation. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
A loud, shrill whistle pierces the silence, and Marian watches as a series of carriages, somehow connected together, ride along the metallic strips. Steam floats from a strange, cylindrical object attached to the top of the carriage. She turns to her father, a questioning look in her eyes.
“This is a train,” her father explains. “It’s… it’s the mode of transportation used around here. If you get on, it will take you to… the after.”
“And if I don’t?”
Edward glances at her, startled. She keeps her eyes focused on the train.
“If you don’t… you'll simply stay. Here." He sighs. "It's not fun. Not something you would particularly enjoy, seeing as you've always had a craving for adventure and excitement."
"Perhaps," she says, "I've had enough adventure and excitement for one lifetime."
She sits on the bench and stares at the vacant train. Funny. Even now, after death, with her beyond his reach and he beyond hers, he still has the power to affect her. The ache in her heart is undeniable proof of that.
One day, Robin of Locksley, you will pay, she thinks to herself, a half-smile upon her lips.
Edward watches her, and then lets out a sigh. “You’re not coming, are you?” The question is unnecessary; he already knows the answer.
She stands and takes his hands in hers. Stands on tiptoe and kisses him on the cheek. “Not just yet, Father.” She leads him to the train. The doors open automatically, and she leads him to a window seat. Then she calmly walks back out and watches as the doors slide shut. The train lets out one thunderous whistle before beginning to move. She watches it until it becomes little more than a speck in the fog, and then until it disappears completely.
She sits back down and makes herself comfortable, a wry smile on her lips. If she knows Robin - and quite clearly, she does - he’ll keep her waiting for quite a while.
“Foolish man,” she says to no one in particular. Then again, she’s rather foolish, too. Only a fool would wait this long for someone. But as she sits there, she thinks she can hear his voice, and it makes the waiting a little better…
“I love you… my wife.”
End Part I -- To be continued
.
Section 1: Here
Section 2: Here