Fic: To Turn Myself Around
Title: To Turn Myself Around
Author: Jax (Beth)
Disclaimer: Not mine and that's that.
Rating: PG-13 for potentially disturbing imagery.
Word Count: 1627
Fandom: Robin of Sherwood
Characters Marion of Leaford
Summary/Notes: Written for Yuletide 2009. Marion mourns in the wake of The Greatest Enemy, and through her dreams, her husband walks.
Marion moves through her grief slowly, as though walking through a marsh. Part of her was burned out and extinguished with the burning arrow launched in Robin’s memory, and it feels now that she is less of a person without him.
She stays in Sherwood with the other outlaws, although her father sends for her, sends a scared page boy hunting through the forest a few days after de Rainault returns to Nottingham and declares Loxley dead. She sends him back and stays where she is, taking comfort in the fact that she is not alone in her grief.
Slowly though, they drift apart and rifts form, and so that comfort fades.
She sees Robin everywhere; she follows him round a corner in Wickham only to find the space empty, she chases his shadow through the depths of Sherwood and in her dreams she walks with him through Nottingham, sometimes as they had done so many times before, sometimes though, with his body pierced with arrows and turning blue, though no one seems to notice.
She misses him, and nothing seems to soothe that pain.
By the time that the harvests are gathered in and the celebrations come round, she is alone in Sherwood. There are others still with her, but they are wary and subdued, and she knows that soon she will be truly alone.
* * *
It is on Samhain night, after the fires have died down and those who were lucky enough to see their loved ones have gone to their beds that she winds her way through the forest, treading a path she doesn’t know. At the path’s end, Herne meets her, deep in the forest, and in his all too human eyes, she sees a mirror of her own rage and sadness.
A fire burns behind him, and in that fire she sees an all too familiar face smiling back at her, and she blinks away the tears, but then the face is gone and only she and Herne remain.
“Is he at peace?” She asks eventually, after god and woman have stared at each other for several long minutes.
“He is free.” Is Herne’s reply, and it is almost enough for her. “And he is remembered.”
“Nothing’s forgotten,” she repeats Robin’s words and for a moment, his voice echoes round the forest clearing. “Will there be another?”
“In time, he will return, but for now, we all must live and must keep his memory alive, so that the people do not lose hope.”
She doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation, only the impression of admonishment, of feeling like a foolish girl again, and wakes the next morning, back in the camp. An argument is brewing between the others and she knows that her place cannot be in Sherwood anymore.
* * *
Marion of Leaford is the daughter of a crusader. She is brave, but not so brave as to be able to watch her father grovel before such vile men as de Rainault and the king, and having to do so almost makes her wish that she were not so brave, that she had stayed with Robin until the end.
Her father should never have had to sacrifice his pride for her, and even though he takes her back and negotiates her pardon, he is colder towards her after, always watching for a sign that she will go back.
She knows he wants her to forget all about it, even though he himself owed Robin for what he did, but she can never forget, and can never let it go. There are tentative talks of marriage and at every attempt she refuses; once before was she given away as a political bride, and once before was she married for love. There will be no third time, and she thinks of Kirklees, of easing the pain of loss by dedicating herself to God and going back, so far back, to what she wanted before she met Robin and before she knew what it was to be free.
That night she dreams of Robin and remembers his unapologetic disappointment that she was to be a nun. She remembers and she puts that idea away again, tries to live a decent life in a society that whispers about her, and with a burden of guilt that she can never assuage herself of.
* * *
The visit that she and her father pay to the Earl of Huntingdon is the first time that she goes anywhere that isn’t Nottingham or occasional rides into the country. It is the first time since her pardon that she has seen the Sherriff and it is the first time since Robin told her he loved her that last time that she has looked at a man and felt any kind of desire.
There is something familiar about the Earl’s son, something misplaced that feels as though she should know it, but then Owen of Clun takes an interest in her and she puts it aside, pays mind only to her manners and to restraining the urge to kick out and scream.
* * *
At Clun Castle, she finally lets herself feel, even if all she can do is cry at the man who has taken her against her will; it’s more than she’s felt in a long time. Here they don’t care that she is the widow of an outlaw, here they don’t care that she isn’t a proper lady. Here she is nothing more than a woman slumped by the throne of their lord.
There’s no doubt that there will be a rescue; the men here look forward to it, and she waits it out, trying to plan her own escape should she need it. It is only a matter of time until she returns to her life.
As she waits, she dreams. She dreams of Lilith and of Morgwyn of Ravenscar, of the men and women who tried to force her and Robin apart, and as she tosses and turns in her bed, her dreams turn to Robin, soothing her mind with a gentle hand and a quiet word.
“You have to be brave,” he tells her, and she tries to tell him that she’s trying, but it’s getting too hard to be. He shushes her though, “You have to be brave, and you have to move on with your life, keep on living.”
In her dream she leans against him and feels his arms around her, “I’m not sure I can.” She tells him, face against his chest.
He laughs, not cruelly, but how he always did, “Of course you can, because you’re so much braver than this, and I’ll always be there with you.” He kisses her, quickly and tenderly, and then he’s gone, and she’s left in the dark of her room in Clun castle, feeling as though she can get through this, she can get out of this on her own, and she finds herself finally with a plan.
Then Robert of Huntingdon rides to her rescue, bringing old faces and old memories back to her, reawakening old hopes and dreams, and then nothing is simple anymore.
* * *
She promised herself that there would be no other, but Herne’s new son is like his old one in just enough ways that she finds herself falling. He isn’t Robin; his ghost hovers over to one side and she imagines him watching her, and though it hurts to see it, she imagines him nodding his head and smiling as she looks at Robert and wonders.
She still turns down the offer to return to Sherwood though. He might be able to give up everything, but she knows what would happen if she went back; to her father, and eventually to her.
* * *
Safely back at Leaford Grange, with the astonished glares of the de Rainault brothers echoing in her memory, she settles into her bed and dreams of Sherwood.
On a bank by a stream, Robin sits with her, running a whetstone down the blade of Albion.
“He would do better if you were there to guide him.” He tells her and she knows who he is referring to.
“I can’t. And besides, he has the others.”
“True. But you were always a voice of reason.”
She ponders that. “So was Tuck, and he’s still there.”
“He’ll need Albion.”
She sighs, and looks at the sword in his hands. “I know. I wish…”
“I know. But you as good as said that you would accept him as Herne’s Son and a new leader, and things would be easier if he had the sword.” She goes to kiss him to quiet him, but he moves so her lips only catch his cheek. “I’ll be waiting, but you need to live in the now, and I’m not a part of that.” She looks at him, and he lays a hand on her cheek.
“He’ll never replace you.” She assures him, and he smiles.
“I know.”
She wakes from her dream with the feeling of safety that she always associated with him, and beneath her bed, she knows that Albion is waiting for its new master.
* * *
Even if she can’t go back, she has something to live for again, she has the courage again to defy her father and her betters, and she has the courage to let herself feel. Never fully; she assures herself and Robin’s ghost that she will hold something back, but she is the daughter of a crusader, and she is brave enough to carry on living, to carry on believing, and to carry on remembering.
Author: Jax (Beth)
Disclaimer: Not mine and that's that.
Rating: PG-13 for potentially disturbing imagery.
Word Count: 1627
Fandom: Robin of Sherwood
Characters Marion of Leaford
Summary/Notes: Written for Yuletide 2009. Marion mourns in the wake of The Greatest Enemy, and through her dreams, her husband walks.
Marion moves through her grief slowly, as though walking through a marsh. Part of her was burned out and extinguished with the burning arrow launched in Robin’s memory, and it feels now that she is less of a person without him.
She stays in Sherwood with the other outlaws, although her father sends for her, sends a scared page boy hunting through the forest a few days after de Rainault returns to Nottingham and declares Loxley dead. She sends him back and stays where she is, taking comfort in the fact that she is not alone in her grief.
Slowly though, they drift apart and rifts form, and so that comfort fades.
She sees Robin everywhere; she follows him round a corner in Wickham only to find the space empty, she chases his shadow through the depths of Sherwood and in her dreams she walks with him through Nottingham, sometimes as they had done so many times before, sometimes though, with his body pierced with arrows and turning blue, though no one seems to notice.
She misses him, and nothing seems to soothe that pain.
By the time that the harvests are gathered in and the celebrations come round, she is alone in Sherwood. There are others still with her, but they are wary and subdued, and she knows that soon she will be truly alone.
* * *
It is on Samhain night, after the fires have died down and those who were lucky enough to see their loved ones have gone to their beds that she winds her way through the forest, treading a path she doesn’t know. At the path’s end, Herne meets her, deep in the forest, and in his all too human eyes, she sees a mirror of her own rage and sadness.
A fire burns behind him, and in that fire she sees an all too familiar face smiling back at her, and she blinks away the tears, but then the face is gone and only she and Herne remain.
“Is he at peace?” She asks eventually, after god and woman have stared at each other for several long minutes.
“He is free.” Is Herne’s reply, and it is almost enough for her. “And he is remembered.”
“Nothing’s forgotten,” she repeats Robin’s words and for a moment, his voice echoes round the forest clearing. “Will there be another?”
“In time, he will return, but for now, we all must live and must keep his memory alive, so that the people do not lose hope.”
She doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation, only the impression of admonishment, of feeling like a foolish girl again, and wakes the next morning, back in the camp. An argument is brewing between the others and she knows that her place cannot be in Sherwood anymore.
* * *
Marion of Leaford is the daughter of a crusader. She is brave, but not so brave as to be able to watch her father grovel before such vile men as de Rainault and the king, and having to do so almost makes her wish that she were not so brave, that she had stayed with Robin until the end.
Her father should never have had to sacrifice his pride for her, and even though he takes her back and negotiates her pardon, he is colder towards her after, always watching for a sign that she will go back.
She knows he wants her to forget all about it, even though he himself owed Robin for what he did, but she can never forget, and can never let it go. There are tentative talks of marriage and at every attempt she refuses; once before was she given away as a political bride, and once before was she married for love. There will be no third time, and she thinks of Kirklees, of easing the pain of loss by dedicating herself to God and going back, so far back, to what she wanted before she met Robin and before she knew what it was to be free.
That night she dreams of Robin and remembers his unapologetic disappointment that she was to be a nun. She remembers and she puts that idea away again, tries to live a decent life in a society that whispers about her, and with a burden of guilt that she can never assuage herself of.
* * *
The visit that she and her father pay to the Earl of Huntingdon is the first time that she goes anywhere that isn’t Nottingham or occasional rides into the country. It is the first time since her pardon that she has seen the Sherriff and it is the first time since Robin told her he loved her that last time that she has looked at a man and felt any kind of desire.
There is something familiar about the Earl’s son, something misplaced that feels as though she should know it, but then Owen of Clun takes an interest in her and she puts it aside, pays mind only to her manners and to restraining the urge to kick out and scream.
* * *
At Clun Castle, she finally lets herself feel, even if all she can do is cry at the man who has taken her against her will; it’s more than she’s felt in a long time. Here they don’t care that she is the widow of an outlaw, here they don’t care that she isn’t a proper lady. Here she is nothing more than a woman slumped by the throne of their lord.
There’s no doubt that there will be a rescue; the men here look forward to it, and she waits it out, trying to plan her own escape should she need it. It is only a matter of time until she returns to her life.
As she waits, she dreams. She dreams of Lilith and of Morgwyn of Ravenscar, of the men and women who tried to force her and Robin apart, and as she tosses and turns in her bed, her dreams turn to Robin, soothing her mind with a gentle hand and a quiet word.
“You have to be brave,” he tells her, and she tries to tell him that she’s trying, but it’s getting too hard to be. He shushes her though, “You have to be brave, and you have to move on with your life, keep on living.”
In her dream she leans against him and feels his arms around her, “I’m not sure I can.” She tells him, face against his chest.
He laughs, not cruelly, but how he always did, “Of course you can, because you’re so much braver than this, and I’ll always be there with you.” He kisses her, quickly and tenderly, and then he’s gone, and she’s left in the dark of her room in Clun castle, feeling as though she can get through this, she can get out of this on her own, and she finds herself finally with a plan.
Then Robert of Huntingdon rides to her rescue, bringing old faces and old memories back to her, reawakening old hopes and dreams, and then nothing is simple anymore.
* * *
She promised herself that there would be no other, but Herne’s new son is like his old one in just enough ways that she finds herself falling. He isn’t Robin; his ghost hovers over to one side and she imagines him watching her, and though it hurts to see it, she imagines him nodding his head and smiling as she looks at Robert and wonders.
She still turns down the offer to return to Sherwood though. He might be able to give up everything, but she knows what would happen if she went back; to her father, and eventually to her.
* * *
Safely back at Leaford Grange, with the astonished glares of the de Rainault brothers echoing in her memory, she settles into her bed and dreams of Sherwood.
On a bank by a stream, Robin sits with her, running a whetstone down the blade of Albion.
“He would do better if you were there to guide him.” He tells her and she knows who he is referring to.
“I can’t. And besides, he has the others.”
“True. But you were always a voice of reason.”
She ponders that. “So was Tuck, and he’s still there.”
“He’ll need Albion.”
She sighs, and looks at the sword in his hands. “I know. I wish…”
“I know. But you as good as said that you would accept him as Herne’s Son and a new leader, and things would be easier if he had the sword.” She goes to kiss him to quiet him, but he moves so her lips only catch his cheek. “I’ll be waiting, but you need to live in the now, and I’m not a part of that.” She looks at him, and he lays a hand on her cheek.
“He’ll never replace you.” She assures him, and he smiles.
“I know.”
She wakes from her dream with the feeling of safety that she always associated with him, and beneath her bed, she knows that Albion is waiting for its new master.
* * *
Even if she can’t go back, she has something to live for again, she has the courage again to defy her father and her betters, and she has the courage to let herself feel. Never fully; she assures herself and Robin’s ghost that she will hold something back, but she is the daughter of a crusader, and she is brave enough to carry on living, to carry on believing, and to carry on remembering.