FIC: "A Life Less Ordinary" (Chapter 7)
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
A/N: I have taken some liberties with history, here, but no more than the show does, so...
In this chapter: Marian seeks assistance from an old friend and Guy thinks he sees the Nightwatchman.
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6
Chapter 7: Someone to Count on
Marian stood in the vast hall, smiling slightly at the flamboyant tapestries that hung on the walls. She was flanked by Tuck and Carter, both of whom looked slightly disgusted by the colourful display that was giving her such pleasure. They stood so rigidly, so uncomfortably they reminded her of warriors she had seen in Norse fairytales; tall, stoic and blonde, as still in life as they had been on the page.
Although, having been travelling with them for many weeks, Marian could see she slight differences between them. Tuck’s hair was fairer, almost white compared to the straw colour of Carter’s, although his face was darker, tanned by age and the sun where Carter still had the paleness of relative youth. Their stance was a mirror image of the other, hands clasped in front of them, and while Carter had the rough coarse hands of a soldier, speckled with scars and blemishes, Tuck’s were smooth, with long, nimble fingers practiced for surgery. And of course, Tuck wore the black robes of a Hospitaller - Carter in the white of a Templar. But each of them wore identical expressions of discomfort at their surroundings.
Tuck especially looked around mistrustfully at the attendants who stood at each doorway, dressed in pale yellow robes and floppy hats.
“Are you sure about this, my Lady?” he asked in undertone, although his lips barely moved.
“Yes,” she replied, not taking care to lower her voice. “He was a great friend to us, once, in Nottingham.”
Tuck almost smiled. “You certainly seemed at have picked up your share of strays in the forest,” he added, sending a sidelong glance at Carter, whose mouth twitched in response, either with annoyance or amusement, Marian wasn’t sure.
“I am not the uninvited member of this party,” Carter murmured back.
While she was certain that Tuck and Carter respected one another, there seemed to be a kind of rivalry between them. Perhaps it was the natural tension between their orders, or the nature of their crusade. Cater fought for the King and peace, while Tuck had openly declared that he fought for God alone, and His cause, whatever he believed that to be. It was an attitude which had not endeared Tuck to Djaq, and Marian was sure that the feeling was mutual. More than once Marian felt she may have made a mistake allowing Tuck to accompany them, and if either Carter, Djaq or Will had asked her to revoke her acceptance to Tuck’s request, she would have done so. But none of them had, and any ambivalence within the group was minimal, and Tuck, for the most part, kept to himself. Marian wasn’t quite sure why, but she found his presence comforting when he sat with them by the fire, rarely speaking, just listening to all of them, as if he felt he needed to know their hearts and minds before he would attempt an inroad into their camaraderie. And she knew that they needed all of the help they could get, if they were going to rescue the King.
They continued to stand in silence until the far entrance to the hall was flung open and in strode a familiar face. He raised his arms, palms outward, then clasped them to his heart.
“Ah, my Lady Marian!” he cried out in English, his Germanic accent unmistakable. He hurried forward to embrace her, and placed two kisses to her cheeks. “What a wonderful surprise!”
“It is lovely to see you again, Count Frederick,” she replied warmly, unable to keep the grin off her face. “May I introduce my companions,” she gestured towards them. “This is Tuck, and Carter, Knights of King Richard’s Crusade.” She watched with amusement as her two guards took in the sight of the Count, from his pointed, high-heeled boots, to his bright blue tunic, right to the peacock feathers in his hat, and gave identical grimaces.
The Count, however either did not notice or did not care. He shook both their hands vigorously in turn. “Welcome to Bavaria, gentlemen. Any friend of Lady Marian’s is friend of mine,” he said before turning back to her with an impish smile. “And what brings you here, my Lady?” he asked, taking her hand and placing a kiss to her knuckles. “I sincerely hope it is to say that you have abandoned your Outlaw and come to marry me.”
She faltered slightly, but immediately covered it with a winning smile and withdrew her hand from his grasp, wagging her index finger at him playfully.
Carter, who had not met the Count before and obviously indignant at the apparent jibe at his friend, cut in frostily; “She is no longer Lady Marian, sir Count. She is the Countess of Huntington.”
The Count was undeterred by Carter’s harsh tone. “So you married your rogue, eh?” he pinched her cheek playfully and grinned. “Congratulations, my dear. Is this a honeymoon, then? Where is Robin?” He looked around her exaggeratedly and she saw Carter roll his eyes.
“I am afraid Robin is not here,” she put a stilling hand on the Count’s arm to stop his theatrics. “But we do require your assistance. Our king has been taken hostage, and we have reason to believe he is being kept in a castle not far from here, at least for the moment.”
Frederick immediately stopped his showing off and became more serious, his brow furrowing in thought. “My goodness, this is serious news. And you are intending to rescue him?”
“If possible,” she answered. “Will and Djaq are there now, gathering intelligence.”
“I will surely help you in any way I can,” Frederick answered solemnly. “You must all stay here - my servants will prepare rooms.” His face brightened and he smiled again, linking Marian’s arm in his and leading them towards the entrance to the hall. “But first you must tell me everything, and I will give you a tour of the grounds. A Count and a Countess, it is fitting, yes?” He laughed heartily.
Marian smiled as well, her heart lighter than it had been in months. She allowed the Count to lead her, Carter and Tuck following closely behind.
*************************************
Robin’s heart beat wildly as he ran swiftly through Sherwood forest. He heard the heavy footsteps of the castle guards behind him, and Gisborne’s behind them.
“Get the Nightwatchman!” he heard Gisborne shout hoarsely.
But Robin was too quick for them, and he knew Sherwood too well. He ran until he was out of their sight, then hid beneath the roots of one of Sherwood’s oaks. He waited there for perhaps an hour, until he was sure that they had given up and headed back to Nottingham.
Robin pulled himself to his feet, shaking out the cramp in his legs from being crouched near the ground for so long, and pulled off the Nightwatchman’s mask. The damn thing itched, but wore it nonetheless. Allan had mentioned in passing where he’d hidden the Nightwatchman’s costume and Robin had retrieved it, often making night runs to the villages. It made him feel closer to her - and
it comforted him to still hear the Nightwatchman’s name around the villages, even if it meant he rarely slept.
Instead Robin devoted his time to the poor, to his gang, and to his mourning. He had thought, before, that those had always been his three priorities - his people, his men, and Marian. But with the clarity of hindsight, he saw that his thoughts had been for the King, his cause, and for himself. He could not deny that he abandoned the poor, just as Richard had. He had been so consumed with the Sheriff’s plot that he had lost sight of the people he had sworn to protect. Little John had been right about that.
And he remembered his words to Allan when they’d been strung up in the desert - it’s not the King’s fault - and he had willed himself to believe it. To keep faith in Richard who had flattered and praised him, who had given him his love, respect and trust - everything he had never received from his cold, distant father.
But he’d seen Richard in a new light, the last time they had parted. Oh, he was still Robin’s sovereign lord, and he intended to continue to serve his king as required by his conscience, his birth, and his moral code. But he no longer saw Richard as God incarnate - His representative on Earth who he’d followed blindly to the Holy Land seeking glory. There was no glory in a King who did not trust his servants, he saw that now. Robin’s faith had been shattered, not only in Richard, but in himself.
For had he not also disparaged his men, ignored their advice, abandoned them when they had needed his help and support? He had not forgotten the looks on their faces, that night in the barn when Much had broken his heart - you still treat me like a servant, you don’t treat me like your friend. How those words had haunted him. Much had been right, Robin had realised with sickening clarity. He had been just like Richard - the high lord without a thought for the people who had supported and loved him. And Marian - she’d tried to tell him so many times, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. He hadn’t wanted to listen to any of them.
And so his life in Sherwood had become one of atonement. He sought the advice of John, Allan and Much on every decision, and had discovered, to his surprise, that they were more than up to the challenge. They had avoided Nottingham for the most part. Vaysey had been quiet and they’d been unable to discover his plans, if any. And the Sheriff’s men, in turn, had left them alone unless provoked - perhaps no longer thought them worth worrying about - four men in Sherwood, no spy in the castle.
He tried often to think of Marian and almost relished the pain her memories caused him, as if it was part of his penance. He remembered her sweet laugh, her cunning and bravery, and the way she would look at him in anger and it would be the most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen. And he remembered her lying in the sands of the Holy Land, where he had killed so many men. The sight of it was forever burned into his memory. There had not been so much blood - it had almost looked at if he had been sleeping. But the wound in her belly and her stillness had indicated otherwise.
He had left his cheer, his charm and his laughter in those harsh desert sands, and his promise to her to keep fighting sometimes the only thing which kept him going.
**************************
Guy seethed to himself as he ransacked Marian’s old room in the castle. If his guards had not also seen the Nightwatchman, if they had not sworn on the lives of their children that the villagers often spoke of the Nightwatchman’s recent activities, he would have believed it to be an apparition or a ghost.
But it had been real. He threw aside parchment still lying on desks, shattered ornaments and jewellery, upturned the mattress from the bed and ripped all of her clothes from the wardrobe. The Nightwatchman’s costume was not there. He’d already searched Allan’s old room, and it was nowhere to be found.
He roughly removed a drawer from the wooden writing desk and shook its contents onto the floor. Out fluttered parchment, ink, various trinket and a small piece of cloth. Guy stopped, reached to the floor and gently picked up the cloth, working its soft fabric between his fingers. It was the embroidery piece Marian had been working on her last day in the castle; it could have been a handkerchief or the making of a small scarf. He brought it to his face and inhaled her sweet scent, still clinging to the fabric.
But something caught his eye, and he examined the embroidery patterns at the edge of the trim. They were small symbols which would have been unnoticed to the normal eye, but clear enough on close examination. He recognised the circular symbol and wavy lines - it was the symbol which had once hung in the hall of Locksley Manor, the symbol he had seen carved into the imbecilic tags of Robin Hood’s men.
Even from the grave, she was taunting him. He clutched the cloth in his fist, remembering angrily how she’d brazenly been sewing it right in front of him - how she had poorly concealed the fact she already knew it was Hood’s birthday. Guy felt sick - she’d been making a gift for her lover even as he had stood there, trying to protect her. Hate burned in his heart, although he did not know if it was directed at Marian or fuelled his own self-loathing. Perhaps both.
Clenching his jaw, Guy took three paces across the room and flung the cloth into the fire. The same fire he had demanded always remained lit, as if she somehow she would reappear in the room one day. He leaned against the mantle and watched the cloth burn until nothing remained of it but ash.
Guy heard someone enter the room, but he did not take his eyes off the fire. It could only be Vaysey.
“But what is this?” he heard Vaysey say mockingly. “What has happened to the shrine?” Guy heard him picking through the debris he’d left on the floor kicking aside various items. He heard something shatter and crunch, as if it had been trodden on.
“It was all a lie,” Guy said, his voice rough, almost to himself. “Every look she ever gave me, they were really for him.” The words felt bitter on his tongue. Guy didn’t mention that he’d seen the Nightwatchman - he still couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it had only looked like her.
“Oh, Gisborne, Gisborne, Gisborne,” there was no pity in Vaysey’s voice, just the old mockery that made Guy wonder why he had not taken Marian up on her offer of marriage. He had thought, then, that he had wanted her with no strings attached - now he didn’t care how many strings her acquiescence had come with, if only she was still alive.
“Forget about that leper,” Vaysey continued. “I never understood what you saw in the preachy harpy, anyway. They’ll be plenty of distractions in London,” he added. “Ones that will no doubt be more willing and not quite so....moral,” he said, the word sounding acidic, as if he had almost choked on it.
Guy turned around, confused. “London, my Lord?”
“Yes,” Vaysey clapped him on the shoulder. “I want you to tell Prince John the good news about his dear brother Richard.”
“You have heard, then?”
“The King is in safe hands” Vaysey told him, grinning, the firelight glinting on his false tooth, now gold. “He should be on route now, and in a few days will be enjoying the hospitality of Duke Leopold in Austria.” He rubbed his hands together in obvious glee.
“And what if Hood discovers your plot?” Guy asked.
“He won’t” Vaysey replied confidently. “At least not until it’s too late. And then what a conundrum he will be in, stealing the funds that will be taxed to pay for poor Richard’s ransom. Why, that’s akin to treason.” Vaysey let out a low laugh.
“I don’t think that will stop him,” Guy countered.
“Of course it won’t, Gisborne,” Vaysey snapped in that tone which never failed to make Guy feel completely stupid. “But it will hurt his conscience. And besides,” he continued, “Hood is of no consequence now. Do you think I care about four measly men in the forest? A clue...” Vaysey shook his head.
Guy suddenly felt very tired. “Very well, my lord,” he said dully. “I shall leave at first light.”
“Gisborne,” Vaysey stopped him, reaching up to lay a hand on each of his shoulders, his tone noticeably, unusually softer. “You know the importance of this mission - I would not trust it to anyone else.” He gave Guy another pat on the shoulder and left the room without another word.
Guy breathed a sigh of relief. While before, he would have given anything for such praise, now the victory felt hollow. He’d once longed for advice, tutelage and trust from Vaysey, everything he’d never received from his own gruff, violent father, but now that faith sat uneasily on him.
But his thoughts turned to London, and brightened. He’d long awaited an audience with Prince John, the chance to make himself indispensible so that when John was King, Guy would surely reclaim his family’s land and honour. He would look back and think Marian a fool for turning against him - for rejecting the love, wealth and power he could bestow upon her. And, finally, his heart would be too full of pride to grieve her loss any more.
Guy squared his shoulders, feeling as if a large weight had been lifted from them. He stalked out of Marian’s room and did not look back. He passed a castle guard in the hallway, and stopped him purposefully.
“Make sure that junk in there is thrown away,” he ordered, indicating the carnage in Marian’s room. “And put out that fire.”