FIC: A Life Less Ordinary (Chapter 5)
Title: A Life Less Ordinary
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy, Sheriff.
Setting: Post-season 2
Spoilers: 2.13
Summary: They’d saved the King, but had they saved England? An alternate season 3 fic.
Disclaimer: The title comes from the Danny Boyle film, the rest belongs to the BBC.
In this chapter: Robin pays a visit to Guy, and Marian meets someone unexpected as she prepares to return to England.
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4
Chapter 5: Nip and Tuck
The hour was late as Guy of Gisborne strode back towards Locksley Manor. He’d been out walking, as had become his daily custom after fulfilling his duties in Nottingham. The frequent walks were not to enjoy the clean night air, or the beauty of the forest that bordered Locksley at twilight - no - a large part of him did not want to return to the Manor. To the home where she had almost been mistress. He would have burned the house to the ground; to spite himself for wanting it, to spite her for never agreeing to live in it, to spite Hood by taking it away from him.
But he’d burned Knighton, too. The familiarity was all to oppressing. And if he was honest with himself, Locksley was the closest thing he had to a home, his own family lands having been long lost and his inability to find any other substitute all too clear.
So he walked, allowing his horse to find its own way back to the stables, as he always did. He wished to find peace with himself out in the woods, but it refused to come to him. There was beauty all around him, but he could not enjoy it, and the weather refused to suit his sombre mood. He would have preferred if it had been raining, if the sky was unnaturally dark and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance to drown out the incessant beating of his own living heart.
Hadn’t he heard hers beat wildly as she had stared him down in the sands of Acre? Hadn’t he heard it slow as the steel of his blade pushed horrifyingly quickly through her flesh? But Guy had never heard it stop beating. Hood had been given that honour, if you could call it that. Guy had run.
So he returned to the Manor as he always did, without peace and without freedom from his thoughts, hoping at least Thornton had a meal prepared for him. Not that he ate, really, but rather just to know that someone was there.
But as soon as Guy entered the Manor, he knew something was wrong. Usually the servants flittered about, trying to remain unseen but never really being able to. And almost immediately, Guy noticed the presence that altered the room - his room - so dramatically.
Hood was seated in the chair by the fire, his back to Guy as he stared into the flickering flames. He didn’t turn around on Guy’s approach, although he could tell he was aware of his presence by the way his shoulders tensed slightly.
A stab of anger went through Guy. Although the outlaw had proven he could gain entry into Locksley Manor undetected, somehow he sensed that this time he had been let in freely. And fed, by the looks of the empty plate and flagon on the table. For a moment Guy let his hand hover by his sword, but then decided against it. He would let Hood do whatever he had come to do. He wouldn’t resist.
“I want you to imagine something, Gisborne,” Hood spoke, almost startling him. He’d expected the outlaw to round on him immediately, sword raised. But he didn’t. Hood didn’t even turn around to face him as he spoke.
“Imagine you’re nineteen years old, and you’re in love,” Hood continued, his voice low, but clear across the otherwise empty room. “But you decide that there are more important things than love - like duty, and honour - like fighting for your King, for your country and your faith.” Hood pauses, only for a moment. “But she doesn’t understand, because she always thinks with her head. Weighing up the potential outcomes, the consequences, and plays it safe. Logical. The correct way, most likely. So she coolly, calmly tells you to fight in your war, if that’s what you want. She wants a life.”
A part of Guy listened to what his mortal enemy had to say, if only that his hungry heart longed to hear of Marian, no matter the pain it caused him. Although he noticed that Hood hadn’t spoken her name. The other part thought it strange that Hood would be telling him such intimate memories.
“You wait for her to come say goodbye the day you leave for the Holy Land.” Hood continued heedless of Guy’s confusion. “Your entire village comes to see you off. Your manservant is at your side, ready to die for you if you asked. And you have asked, really. Because although you never tell him, you know you aren’t strong enough to do it without him.” Hood’s voice sounded very far away, and Guy wondered if he even still realised he was speaking to another human being, or if his words were for himself.
“Your father is there, and tells you that your mother would have been proud of you. But she isn’t there, because you killed her just by being born, and he never recovered from it,” his voice became brittle and Guy saw his hand clench where it rested on the arm of the chair. “There has always been an empty spot in his heart that you couldn’t fill,” Hood goes on. “Sometimes you wonder if he’s thankful you’re going, so that he won’t be reminded of her every time he looks at you. He gives you new leather riding gloves, pats you on the back, and tells you to bring him home some glory.” Hood laughs, a strange, hollow sound, so unlike the taunting cries that had once been aimed in Guy’s direction.
“But she doesn’t come.” His tone became leaden. “You dream of her amidst the death of the Holy Land and she, not the cross, becomes your signal. Even though you know she would have hated that. After five years of fighting, she keeps you alive, and you return to her.”
“But she’s different. She’s changed. There is a hardness to her, a determination. She’s not the girl you left behind, and to your surprise, you still love the woman who has taken her place. More, even, because she has become your equal, your counterpart. She balances out your faults and you balance out hers. And together, you’re stronger.” His voice almost broke, and Guy wondered whether he would begin to sob. He hadn’t been able to - his eyes dry and heart empty, unable or perhaps unwilling to fully grieve. Because that would mean she really was gone.
“And then the one time she doesn’t think - the one time she simply acts, not caring about the consequences, some - idiot - kills her.” Hood stopped, and Guy prepared himself for death - or whatever punishment Hood had planned. Perhaps he would be able to exact his own revenge on the man in the process - for being the one Marian loved, for being able to speak of her to readily - for being the reason Marian had turned against him.
But Hood rose out of the chair like an old man and sighed, bowing his head. Guy saw the Saracen sword that hung lowly from his hips, but the outlaw made no move for it. Without looking at Guy, he slowly walked from the room and out the front door.
Guy wanted to follow him, demand that Hood try and kill him, to declare punish me - because he could not do it to himself. He stumbled forward slightly, leaning against the chair Hood had just vacated, clenching the wood with his fists. Rage shot through him, and he brutally hurled the chair away and into the fire, where the flames popped and cracked around the sturdy timber, turning it black. He stared unblinking into the blaze, waiting for the light and heat to prickle against his eyes.
But still the tears refused to come.
******
No one knew Locksley Manor better than Thornton - no one had spent more time in every nook and cranny, or had more practice at remaining unseen. The old steward had watched the scene between his old master and his current one, and was deeply troubled.
“Master Robin!” he called softly, appearing behind the last surviving Locksley as he walked down the steps of the Manor.
The young man turned, and Thornton was immediately affected by the age in Robin’s face. He was thin and sallow, and his eyes were black.
“Thornton.” Robin nodded, and took a half-step towards him, his arms hesitantly raising, as if unsure whether he should embrace the man. With a sad smile, Thornton realised it was a mirror of when Robin had first returned from the Holy Land. The servant was always aware of his station, but had been so pleased to see the prodigal son return home he had been quite overwhelmed. And as Robin had done then, this time Thornton took the lead and drew the young outlaw into a fond embrace.
Thornton patted Robin lightly on the back as they parted. “Master, I was so sorry to hear about the Lady Marian,” he said gently.
For a moment a glimpse of despair crossed Robin’s face, but he shook it off almost immediately. “Thank you, Thornton,” he replied. “I...” He seemed to change his mind and clamped his mouth shut. There were a few moments of silence, before Robin spoke again. “Please don’t call me Master,” he said, even more softly. “I am Robin to everyone, now.” He half-smiled, and Thornton almost thought he looked proud. Why he should be, at abandoning his title and status, Thornton did not know or care to understand. But as always, he obliged his Master’s wishes.
“Very well...Robin.” The name sounded foreign on his tongue. “I...also have to thank you,” he continued cautiously. “For not killing Master Guy.”
Robin looked at him strangely, as if unable to understand why Thornton would be thanking him for such an act. “That’s what I came here for.”
“I know.” Thornton had decided not to interfere, whatever happened between his two Masters, but he had been relieved when Robin had chosen not to strike Gisborne down. The steward had, in fact, grown rather fond of his new Master, or at least understood that his pain was just as deep as Robin’s was, although Guy had so support system, no friends to see him through. No one who loved him. He felt sorry for him, and as badly as Gisborne had treated the people of Locksley in the past, he did not want to see harm come to the man. He’d even been a fair and perhaps even kind Master since returning from the Holy Land.
“Your mother always believed in the power of compassion,” Thornton added tentatively. “As did Lady Marian.”
Robin nodded, looking rather stricken. “And yet both of them died because of me,” he added forlornly.
Thornton wanted to shake the young man out of his depressive stupor, wanted to try to make him understand that not everything that happened was due to his own action, nor through his own fault. But, as always, propriety won out.
“Please take care, Master.” The honorific simply slipped out - old habits were hard to break, after all. “Robin,” he began again. “I know the situation seems bleak, but there is always hope. You must believe that.”
Robin gave him a small, unconvincing smile, and then left. Thornton watched him disappear into the trees and said a small prayer for the Lord to watch over the young man in his hour of need. And he prayed for Guy’s soul also, that he may find peace from his demons. That they would both find hope.
**********
Marian did not feel at home in the King’s camp. Although Richard himself had made it clear that she was under his protection, it did not stop the leers, or the whispered comments among the soldiers. And the entire circumstance of war, she did not like. It was one thing to arm herself to defend her life and the freedoms of others, it was quite another to be in a place with so much death, and the attitude towards it rather flippant.
It was so different to the peace of Amineh’s home, which she had called her own for months now. The sandstone walls had kept her safe, and now she was leaving. And she could not deny that she was anxious about returning to England - and to Sherwood. She had no idea what had happened while she had been away. Robin, Much, Allan and Little John could be captured or even dead for all she knew. And even if they were not, she dreaded the moment when she saw her husband again - which was another matter. She had known that she would marry Robin, but it had always seemed like such a distant notion - like the return of Richard, or the end of the Sheriff. Instead, it had all happened so quickly. In truth, Marian was unsure if she felt comfortable with it. The way the King had addressed her - the Countess of Huntingdon - it, too, made her feel uneasy. The surety of her feelings, which had seemed to clear and strong when she’d thrown them in Guy’s face , were now distant and uncertain. And Guy...
“Excuse me, Lady, may I sit here?”
Marin looked up to see who had interrupted her thoughts. She saw a tall, fair man wearing the black robes and white cross of a Hospitaller Knight. His accent was undoubtedly English, but she found the low, melodic tones hard to place. She looked away again, towards the embers of the fire that were glowing dully in the dawn light.
“If you wish to,” she answered, unsure of his intentions. So far no one had dared speak to her, apart from Carter, who apparently had taken it upon himself to be her protector, and dogged her steps. However, Marian realised as she glanced surreptitiously behind her, he was nowhere to be found.
“Forgive me,” the Knight said as he gave a bow before taking a seat a respectful distance away. “You are the Countess of Huntingdon?”
Marian looked at him sharply, at his keen blue eyes which told her he already knew the answer. She chose to say nothing.
“You are the wife of Robin of Locksley?” the Knight pressed further, although his tone was so respectful she felt as if she was being rude by not answering promptly.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Then it is a great honour to meet you.” The Knight raised his fingertips to his forehead and then brought them down in a sweeping motion mimicking a bow.
“You knew my...you knew Robin?” she corrected herself.
“Only by reputation, I’m afraid,” the Knight smiled. “Everyone knew the young bold Captain of the King’s Personal Guard. Although most of us had to be content to watch from afar.”
“I know what you mean,” Marian answered, smiling despite herself.
“Do you believe in God, my Lady?” The Hospitaller asked unexpectedly, looking at her with a shrewd gaze.
“Of course.” The response was automatic.
“No, I mean, truly believe,” he pressed. “To know that He placed you here for a purpose, and to know, just know, when you see your path, to trust Him enough to take it?”
Marian didn’t have an answer for him. She couldn’t say she’d ever factored God into her decisions at all.
“My apologies,” the Knight bowed his head. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
It took more than a mad monk to frighten Marian of Knighton. “No need to apologise,” she answered evenly. “I was simply thinking.”
“It is a question that does require great thought,” he agreed. “Perhaps you may let me know the answer when you have decided.”
Marian glanced at him warily. “You are sure our acquaintance will last that long?”
The Knight smiled. “I am sure of my own path. Perhaps not the direction, but I can see the markers.” He paused. “You are returning with the King to England.”
Marian nodded.
“Please let me escort your party,” he continued. “If you would allow me the honour.” He stood, and bowed again. “My Lady, I know you are cautious. Carter will vouch for me, if you wish to seek reassurance.” He turned to leave, and then spun back around, a half-smile on his face. “Apologies are once again necessary,” he bowed his head. “My name is Tuck.”
Without quite knowing why, Marian rose and inclined her head slightly towards him in acknowledgement. She had no idea who he was, but her gut instinct told her not to discount him entirely.
She held his gaze firmly, so he would know she was not to be trifled with.
“I am Marian.”
...
As good as I think David Harewood is going to be,this is my ideal Tuck, and who I've pictured for the purposes of this fic.
