FIC: "A Life Less Ordinary (Chapter 9)
Title: A Life Less Ordinary
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy, Sheriff. Canon pairings.
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...
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I
Chapter Nine: Fall
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Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest
It was dawn; unwelcome light streamed in through the gaps in the tree canopy of Sherwood and slowly roused Robin from sleep. He was quite unwilling to wake, because with gaining consciousness, he lost Marian once again.
Robin never dreamed of her, for she did not belong in the dark. But sometimes, when the morning sun penetrated his slumber and he was surrounded by the beautiful red-gold of sunrise, she was there. In the few precious moments between sleep and awake, Marian was beside him, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders and a small smile on her face that was adoration and mockery in equal measure. Robin reached out to her but, as always, she disappeared just before their fingertips touched. And as always, Robin opened his eyes, blinked twice once and tried to banish the image from his mind.
He rose from his bunk and took a seat just outside the camp to take in the fresh morning air before Much appeared, as he did every day.
“Morning,” Much greeted him, and Robin noticed that he appeared somewhat nervous.
“Mornin’” Robin replied without feeling.
“Breakfast?”
Robin shook his head. That was Much’s cue in their morning ritual to leave, but instead he hesitated.
“What is it, Much?” Robin asked after a few moments of uneasy silence.
“Nothing,” Much said a little too quickly. He seemed flustered. “I just wanted to say…well.” He took a deep breath. “Happy Birthday, Mas-” Much visibly caught himself, and cleared his throat. “Robin.”
His birthday. Robin didn’t keep track of dates, but if Much said it was his birthday, then it must be so. It was no wonder his friend had been somewhat anxious, clearly he had been debating whether to not to mention it case Robin was reminded of his last birthday celebration.
Had it really been a whole year since they had been caught by those mercenaries in Nettlestone? Only one day less than that since they had begun the journey to the Holy Land, and all of the horror that found them there? One year since they had been stuck in that barn overnight, Robin thinking he had only hours to live, hearing Much tell him what an awful friend he had been, seeing the truth of it in Will, Djaq and John’s faces as they had been unable to meet his dismissive gaze.
It had been the third worst day of his life.
Surely it had not been so long ago. But Robin could not deny that summer was indeed over. He saw it in the leaves of Sherwood which had begun to turn brown and brittle and fall to the ground with increasing speed. He felt it in the crisp morning air that awoke him from his dreams and forced him to face the day. He heard it in the birdsong which grew less frequent and would soon turn to the silence of winter. He realised with clarity that it was October, and autumn was well and truly upon them.
“Robin?” Much looked concerned by his lack of response and was clearly regretting saying anything. Robin, once again, felt guilty that his friends still felt the need to tip-toe around him, as if anything they said may set him off.
He forced a smile. “Thank you, Much.”
Much clearly did not expect anything better, and satisfied enough, he went about his morning routine of fixing breakfast. He, Allan and John settled down around the campfire and chatted quietly as they ate, but Robin made no move to join them.
It dawned on him that as of that morning, he was twenty eight years old. A good enough age for an outlaw, he supposed, although still young for someone of his birth and health. But Robin felt like an old man. Eight and twenty, and his wife was dead, he had no heir, no lands, his King had disappointed him and his only friends in the world were afraid to speak to him, lest they upset his delicate sensibilities.
It was no way to live. Robin had been so consumed by his grief and sorrow that he had lost track of the time that had passed, of the rest of his life which was passing him by. Summer had come and gone, and he had not even noticed. He had thought he had been focussing his attention on his cause, but they had not made a large haul for longer than he cared to remember.
He was suddenly reminded of his father, who to Robin had always seemed ancient. Much had once told him that he remembered a Robert of Locksley who had been bright and full of life, who used to pat Much on the head and give him sweets, even though he was only the miller’s son. Such a man was a stranger to Robin - he had only ever known a dour, grey-haired old Earl who had spent hours sitting by the fire pretending his son did not exist. Most of Robin’s childhood exploits had been desperate plays for his father’s attention, but it seemed the more he misbehaved, the more Lord Robert ignored him.
It had been a selfish grief, because it had meant that Robin had never been able to be part of it; to miss the mother he had never known by being allowed to share in her memory with the person who had loved her the most.
And yet he had made all of the same mistakes and become the man who, as a child, he swore he never would be. Lord Robert was cold and distant and loved his people from afar - Robin had been determined to be full of mirth and laughter and be one of his people. But instead Robin had withdrawn and allowed his sadness to suck the joy from his men’s hearts and the meaning from their cause.
Marian would be ashamed of him, he realised with sickening clarity.
Rising, Robin moved towards his men by the fire, resolving not to let any more time pass him by. The difference between him and his father would be that he would change his fate and not allow himself to waste away consumed by sorrow.
“Right, lads,” he addressed them, with something of his former style. He helped himself to the porridge which was left in the cooking pot, his levity clearly bemusing Allan, John and Much. “The Sheriff has been quiet for a while and we still don’t know why,” he continued with a determination he had not felt for what seemed like an age.
“So it’s time we took the fight back to them,” he grinned. “Let’s plan a raid.”
***********
Road to Calais, France
It was late afternoon as Marian led their small band on the road which would lead them back to England. They had not stopped riding all day, but no one had suggested that they stop - even just to rest the horses Tuck had acquired for them. Marian keenly felt the ache in her side where Guy’s sword had pierced her, as it always did after the long hours of travelling. It was one thing to accept that the injury would always trouble her, but quite another to face that it may be a significant weakness.
But she refused to accept that, and so she led her horse at the front of their pack, Tuck less than a length behind her as if her bodyguard, Will and Djaq riding side by side a few lengths behind him, and Carter bringing up the rear, cautious of the road behind them.
They had kept to the main roads to avoid bandits, although Carter and Tuck still wore their Crusader robes which she hoped instilled fear in any would-be attackers, and all of them carried visible swords. Marian also wore a Saracen bow she had acquired in Acre, the bow itself pressed against her back and the string digging into her breastbone. She much preferred the English longbow she had carried as the Nightwatchman, and looked forward to obtaining another one. Or perhaps her old bow was still safe where Allan had hidden her costume, wherever than had been. He’d refused to tell her in case she’d been tempted to seek it out. She missed the feel of it in her hands - the recurve bows were smaller and perhaps better suited to her physique, but she’d spent years practicing with the longbow, building her strength in order to draw it properly and shoot better than any man, save Robin of course. Using a more compact bow felt like a backwards step.
Marian saw Will appear in her peripheral vision, drawing her out of her musings. Within a few moments he had drawn his horse level with hers.
“We’ll be in England in a few days,” he said without preamble, as was his way. “And in Nottingham a few days after that.”
She smiled thinly and kept her eyes on the road ahead. “I know.” The thought both thrilled and scared her.
“Djaq and I were thinking that perhaps we should let the others know that we are coming,” Will pressed on. “We still have Lardner, and can send a message.”
Marian bit her lip and pondered for a moment. She had been worried about how Robin may react if she simply showed up in Sherwood, alive. It would perhaps help is he was pre-warned.
“I know you didn’t want to send a message from the Holy Land,” Will continued, obviously taking her silence as disagreement. “But we’re almost home, it wouldn’t be worth it to Robin to come charging off to find us. He’ll wait.”
“This is assuming that they’re still alive at all,” Marian said softly. In truth, they didn’t know what had happened in the past year - whether they’d even made it back to England. Given Robin’s propensity for trouble and the danger of their outlaw status, they could have been captured or killed any number of times. They could naturally suspect that the Sheriff was still alive, since who else would have been behind the King’s capture? Or it could have been Guy, she supposed. Yet another complication.
“They’re alive,” Will reassured her, ever the optimist. “I’m sure of it.”
“Very well then,” she turned to Will, finally a genuine smile on her face. “You don’t need my permission to send your pigeon.”
Will ducked his head and seemed almost embarrassed. “I know,” he replied. “But I still wanted to…check.”
The fact that he had inflated Marian’s pride slightly. She had become extremely close to Will and Djaq, in a way she never had when they’d been part of Robin’s gang. Marian had found a kindred spirit in Djaq, someone who understood the particular challenges faced by being a women trying to step outside the roles the world expected them to fill. But it was more than that - she found it easy to talk to Djaq about anything; for she was extremely intelligent, well-read and insightful. The long days of Marian’s recovery passed more quickly due to their long conversations and she found that whilst their views differed on a number of topics, they could always find a common ground, or at the very least, get the other to understand their position and reasoning.
It was not that Marian didn’t also enjoy talking to Will, but it was stimulating to discuss and debate with Djaq - much as she had once done with Robin, who had always been more than willing to engage in conversation about societal issues. Of course with Robin the discussions had often turned to arguments, which was perhaps why Marian enjoyed Djaq’s firm and passionate but always respectful and courteous manner, even if they disagreed.
Her friendship with Will was different, but no less deep. Will made her smile, made her heart feel full when he spoke of the old days when they were still children. When her father was still the Sheriff, when she and Robin were young and in love and thought that carefree existence would last forever, when Will himself was little more than a child but had been shy and thoughtful, and watched everything and everyone. It helped them both to speak of Dan and Luke Scarlett, of Robert of Locksley - of her own father. To remember long summers and May Day celebrations and fairs, when the only trouble in the world was when Robin would get them all into mischief. She cared deeply about Will, because he was honest and good and valued loyalty. Because he now treated her as if she was the leader of their small band of travellers, and deferred to her decisions.
In fact, quite unexpectedly, they all did. Even Carter looked to her for guidance and approval. She suspected it was because she had spoken directly to the King and heard his orders, and she had no doubt such deference would change once they returned to Sherwood and once again under Robin’s leadership. Tuck remained enigmatic, but seemed genuine enough in his devotion to her, following what he had no doubt considered the path God had laid before him.
Marian shook herself back to reality, and realised that Will had moved away, back to Djaq’s side following her approval of his plan. They spoke quietly to one another, no doubt discussing the message they were going to send. Looking up, Marian realised that the afternoon was fading, and that they would have to make camp soon. She could at least then blame the darkening sky and perhaps, the rest would alleviate the pain in her side.
********
Djaq stared at the empty parchment in her hands, and the quill which was poised to write, but as yet had failed to do so.
Will sat next to her around the campfire, deep in thought. “How about: Marian alive, will be home within week?”
“That sounds too confusing,” Carter spoke up from his place across the fire. “I can’t imagine how Robin would react to that.”
Will seemed a bit put out. “What do you suggest, then?”
“Should we mention Marian at all?” Carter replied. “Robin may think it is a trick.”
“He will recognise my handwriting,” Djaq told him firmly. Robin would know that the note came from her.
“What if your pigeon is intercepted?” Tuck asked, the first time he had spoken to any of them all day. “It would not be advantageous for your enemy to know that she is alive.”
Djaq gave him a hard look. “Even if she is…intercepted…I do not think it would be damning intelligence,” she told him. “Surely they will find out she is alive sooner or later, once we return.”
Carter scoffed. “Maybe not,” he said with some levity. “Robin probably won’t let her leave the camp.”
Will gave a very small laugh beside her, and Djaq looked at him questioningly. He shrugged in return. “You know what he’s like,” he said to her.
Djaq certainly did, and remembered how protective Robin had been on her the first time Marian had been in the camp. But that was when her identity had been a secret - now that it was compromised, there was surely no need to keep her hidden.
“I cannot imagine the Lady Marian allowing herself to be kept from her cause, even by her husband,” Tuck added.
Rather than appreciating his support, Djaq was irritated. “You give your opinion very freely, Tuck, considering you have known Marian for all of a few weeks.” She found Tuck extremely unsettling. He seemed to be a religious fanatic, and Djaq had seen so many of them in her time of slavery. She didn’t like to be reminded of those days and as a consequence she found Tuck to be an unwelcome imposition. She sometimes found him watching her when she was performing her morning prayers, and such rudeness aside, his study of her was intimidating. She didn’t know if he was trying to learn from her, or was seeking a way to convert her. Either way, it irritated her no end.
Tuck, however, did not seem offended by her sharp words. “I only mean that the Lady Marian has far greater work to do and I foresee that she cannot be contained within an outlaw’s camp.”
“Greater work?” Djaq questioned him. Belief was one thing, but Tuck acted as if he was a sage or prophet.
“She is a warrior of God,” Tuck replied simply.
“You seem very certain of that,” Djaq said shortly. She had seen too many so-called warriors of God, and Tuck, his pale face illuminated in the firelight, seemed just as dangerous as any of them.
“Why should I not be?” Tuck asked, grinning.
Djaq gave him a hard look. “I do not think so highly of myself that I would presume to know the will of Allah,” she told him. “And anyone who does think that way of their god seeks not to be a servant but a master.”
“You are wise, mistress Djaq,” Tuck seemed pleased rather than offended by her insinuation. “It would indeed be a fool who seeks to dictate the Lord’s will. I am a follower only, but I do have faith in the signs He has left for us.”
“Signs.” Djaq gave Will a sceptical look, and he shrugged in response. He had often said that he was no scholar. He had his opinions, but only spoke them when he felt they were needed, and only those he felt the most passionate about. The poor. Friendship. Loyalty. Djaq knew that theology didn’t give him much trouble.
“You are sceptical,” Tuck continued, the same enigmatic smile on his face. “But consider this: the Lady Marian was fatally wounded once, and made a miraculous recovery,” he argued. “And then appeared to die once more, only to be brought back again. What else would you call that if not a miracle?”
“A coincidence,” Marian cut in before Djaq could reply, appearing by the campfire, bow slung over her shoulder and clearly none too impressed that they were discussing her. She took a seat and whilst Will and Carter had the decency to look abashed, even though they had not been involved in the conversation, Tuck seemed unconcerned and Djaq refused to look away.
“Marian…” Djaq began to explain, but stopped herself when she realised Marian clearly did not wish to discuss it.
“Marian, we’re writing the note to Robin,” Will spoke up beside her. “What do you think we should say?”
But Marian simply stared into the fire, poking the logs with a stick which caused them to crackle. “I don’t know, Will,” she answered softly. “I just don’t know.”
************************************
Marian waited until Will, Djaq and Carter had gone to sleep and only she and Tuck were left seated around the dying fire.
“I would appreciate it Tuck,” she said, careful to keep her tone light, “if you would not talk about me when I am not there.”
He regarded her for several moments before answering. “Would you like me to talk about you now that you are here?”
Her brow creased and she gave him an exasperated look. “No.”
“I only ask because you seem burdened,” he continued heedless to her disapproval. “I am a priest, my lady,” he reminded her. “If you wish to make confession.”
“No, thank you.” They sat in silence for several minutes, until Marian could not help herself. “I just do not understand you, Tuck,” she told him.
“How so, my lady?”
“You speak of me as if I were a soldier, when your own religious order would brand me a heretic, or at the very least, a lowly woman unworthy of such importance.”
“I have told you before, I answer only to God,” he said. “And if God has put his faith in you, who am I to question it? After all, was it not the women who were the most faithful following the death of our Lord - were they not the first to believe in His resurrection?”
Marian was silent for several moments, and studied his face to see if there was any hint of mockery. But there was none - only passion and belief. Marian knew all too well that such faith could be immensely useful, or incredibly dangerous. She sincerely hoped it was the former, and she had not made a terrible mistake by allowing him to accompany them back to Sherwood. “You are a strange man, Tuck.”
“I know that my...religious fervour makes you uneasy, my Lady,” Tuck continued, bowing his head slightly. “But do you not believe that you are an instrument of God, as are we all?
“No.”
He smiled. “But do you not act according to His will?”
“I act according to my conscience...”
“It is the same thing.”
Marian suddenly felt very tired. “Then God is just another man who is making decisions for me. Am I never to be allowed to make them myself?”
Tuck regarded her for a moment before replying. “If you were - do you know what those decisions would be?”
“No,” Marian replied honestly. “But at least they would be my own.”
“I see such sadness in you, my Lady,” Tuck told her softly. “You have been through so much for one so young. But it is adversity and struggle that makes us who we truly are, and who God intended us to be. You have a great strength within you,” he added with admiration. “The world tells you that such strength is unnatural and unwomanly - but it is because of that strength that you are here now, alive, not despite it. You could be a leader of men, a beacon which inspires others in their despair.”
“You place great expectations on me,” she told him carefully, flattered by his praise, but fearful of it as well. “I do not know if I can live up to them,” she admitted. “In the past I have worked in secret, helped others the best I could whilst keeping my identity unknown.” She shook her head slowly and stared into the fire. “I never wanted to be a leader, or a symbol or a hero. That’s Robin’s area.”
Tuck regarded her for several long moments, and she could feel him seeking to penetrate her very soul, to look past the barriers she had built and replied upon for so many years.
“One may stare into the light, until one becomes the light,” he recited.
Marian sighed and looked away. “You speak in proverbs and riddles, Tuck,” she told him. “I do not like it.”
“It is easy to work alone, when it is only your own life you are risking,” he continued, ignoring her irritated words. “It is much harder to lead, to make the decisions over the lives of others - that is why you do not want it.”
Marian did not say anything, for it was the truth. And yet she had felt a slight exhilaration, even pride, at the leadership role she seemed to have taken on. But she did not wish to share such thoughts with anyone, let alone Tuck, even with the confidentiality of the confessional. Sometimes, Marian thought she could not even share the secrets of her heart with God.
Tuck rose, and gave her a small bow before retreating to the darkness to say his lengthy prayers before sleep. Marian remained by the fire, staring into the flames in contemplation, her fingers resting on the handle of the Saracen sword which was always at her side. Wondering.
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A/N: “One may stare into the light, until one becomes the light” is from Kingdom of Heaven
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy, Sheriff. Canon pairings.
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...
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I
Chapter Nine: Fall
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Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest
It was dawn; unwelcome light streamed in through the gaps in the tree canopy of Sherwood and slowly roused Robin from sleep. He was quite unwilling to wake, because with gaining consciousness, he lost Marian once again.
Robin never dreamed of her, for she did not belong in the dark. But sometimes, when the morning sun penetrated his slumber and he was surrounded by the beautiful red-gold of sunrise, she was there. In the few precious moments between sleep and awake, Marian was beside him, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders and a small smile on her face that was adoration and mockery in equal measure. Robin reached out to her but, as always, she disappeared just before their fingertips touched. And as always, Robin opened his eyes, blinked twice once and tried to banish the image from his mind.
He rose from his bunk and took a seat just outside the camp to take in the fresh morning air before Much appeared, as he did every day.
“Morning,” Much greeted him, and Robin noticed that he appeared somewhat nervous.
“Mornin’” Robin replied without feeling.
“Breakfast?”
Robin shook his head. That was Much’s cue in their morning ritual to leave, but instead he hesitated.
“What is it, Much?” Robin asked after a few moments of uneasy silence.
“Nothing,” Much said a little too quickly. He seemed flustered. “I just wanted to say…well.” He took a deep breath. “Happy Birthday, Mas-” Much visibly caught himself, and cleared his throat. “Robin.”
His birthday. Robin didn’t keep track of dates, but if Much said it was his birthday, then it must be so. It was no wonder his friend had been somewhat anxious, clearly he had been debating whether to not to mention it case Robin was reminded of his last birthday celebration.
Had it really been a whole year since they had been caught by those mercenaries in Nettlestone? Only one day less than that since they had begun the journey to the Holy Land, and all of the horror that found them there? One year since they had been stuck in that barn overnight, Robin thinking he had only hours to live, hearing Much tell him what an awful friend he had been, seeing the truth of it in Will, Djaq and John’s faces as they had been unable to meet his dismissive gaze.
It had been the third worst day of his life.
Surely it had not been so long ago. But Robin could not deny that summer was indeed over. He saw it in the leaves of Sherwood which had begun to turn brown and brittle and fall to the ground with increasing speed. He felt it in the crisp morning air that awoke him from his dreams and forced him to face the day. He heard it in the birdsong which grew less frequent and would soon turn to the silence of winter. He realised with clarity that it was October, and autumn was well and truly upon them.
“Robin?” Much looked concerned by his lack of response and was clearly regretting saying anything. Robin, once again, felt guilty that his friends still felt the need to tip-toe around him, as if anything they said may set him off.
He forced a smile. “Thank you, Much.”
Much clearly did not expect anything better, and satisfied enough, he went about his morning routine of fixing breakfast. He, Allan and John settled down around the campfire and chatted quietly as they ate, but Robin made no move to join them.
It dawned on him that as of that morning, he was twenty eight years old. A good enough age for an outlaw, he supposed, although still young for someone of his birth and health. But Robin felt like an old man. Eight and twenty, and his wife was dead, he had no heir, no lands, his King had disappointed him and his only friends in the world were afraid to speak to him, lest they upset his delicate sensibilities.
It was no way to live. Robin had been so consumed by his grief and sorrow that he had lost track of the time that had passed, of the rest of his life which was passing him by. Summer had come and gone, and he had not even noticed. He had thought he had been focussing his attention on his cause, but they had not made a large haul for longer than he cared to remember.
He was suddenly reminded of his father, who to Robin had always seemed ancient. Much had once told him that he remembered a Robert of Locksley who had been bright and full of life, who used to pat Much on the head and give him sweets, even though he was only the miller’s son. Such a man was a stranger to Robin - he had only ever known a dour, grey-haired old Earl who had spent hours sitting by the fire pretending his son did not exist. Most of Robin’s childhood exploits had been desperate plays for his father’s attention, but it seemed the more he misbehaved, the more Lord Robert ignored him.
It had been a selfish grief, because it had meant that Robin had never been able to be part of it; to miss the mother he had never known by being allowed to share in her memory with the person who had loved her the most.
And yet he had made all of the same mistakes and become the man who, as a child, he swore he never would be. Lord Robert was cold and distant and loved his people from afar - Robin had been determined to be full of mirth and laughter and be one of his people. But instead Robin had withdrawn and allowed his sadness to suck the joy from his men’s hearts and the meaning from their cause.
Marian would be ashamed of him, he realised with sickening clarity.
Rising, Robin moved towards his men by the fire, resolving not to let any more time pass him by. The difference between him and his father would be that he would change his fate and not allow himself to waste away consumed by sorrow.
“Right, lads,” he addressed them, with something of his former style. He helped himself to the porridge which was left in the cooking pot, his levity clearly bemusing Allan, John and Much. “The Sheriff has been quiet for a while and we still don’t know why,” he continued with a determination he had not felt for what seemed like an age.
“So it’s time we took the fight back to them,” he grinned. “Let’s plan a raid.”
***********
Road to Calais, France
It was late afternoon as Marian led their small band on the road which would lead them back to England. They had not stopped riding all day, but no one had suggested that they stop - even just to rest the horses Tuck had acquired for them. Marian keenly felt the ache in her side where Guy’s sword had pierced her, as it always did after the long hours of travelling. It was one thing to accept that the injury would always trouble her, but quite another to face that it may be a significant weakness.
But she refused to accept that, and so she led her horse at the front of their pack, Tuck less than a length behind her as if her bodyguard, Will and Djaq riding side by side a few lengths behind him, and Carter bringing up the rear, cautious of the road behind them.
They had kept to the main roads to avoid bandits, although Carter and Tuck still wore their Crusader robes which she hoped instilled fear in any would-be attackers, and all of them carried visible swords. Marian also wore a Saracen bow she had acquired in Acre, the bow itself pressed against her back and the string digging into her breastbone. She much preferred the English longbow she had carried as the Nightwatchman, and looked forward to obtaining another one. Or perhaps her old bow was still safe where Allan had hidden her costume, wherever than had been. He’d refused to tell her in case she’d been tempted to seek it out. She missed the feel of it in her hands - the recurve bows were smaller and perhaps better suited to her physique, but she’d spent years practicing with the longbow, building her strength in order to draw it properly and shoot better than any man, save Robin of course. Using a more compact bow felt like a backwards step.
Marian saw Will appear in her peripheral vision, drawing her out of her musings. Within a few moments he had drawn his horse level with hers.
“We’ll be in England in a few days,” he said without preamble, as was his way. “And in Nottingham a few days after that.”
She smiled thinly and kept her eyes on the road ahead. “I know.” The thought both thrilled and scared her.
“Djaq and I were thinking that perhaps we should let the others know that we are coming,” Will pressed on. “We still have Lardner, and can send a message.”
Marian bit her lip and pondered for a moment. She had been worried about how Robin may react if she simply showed up in Sherwood, alive. It would perhaps help is he was pre-warned.
“I know you didn’t want to send a message from the Holy Land,” Will continued, obviously taking her silence as disagreement. “But we’re almost home, it wouldn’t be worth it to Robin to come charging off to find us. He’ll wait.”
“This is assuming that they’re still alive at all,” Marian said softly. In truth, they didn’t know what had happened in the past year - whether they’d even made it back to England. Given Robin’s propensity for trouble and the danger of their outlaw status, they could have been captured or killed any number of times. They could naturally suspect that the Sheriff was still alive, since who else would have been behind the King’s capture? Or it could have been Guy, she supposed. Yet another complication.
“They’re alive,” Will reassured her, ever the optimist. “I’m sure of it.”
“Very well then,” she turned to Will, finally a genuine smile on her face. “You don’t need my permission to send your pigeon.”
Will ducked his head and seemed almost embarrassed. “I know,” he replied. “But I still wanted to…check.”
The fact that he had inflated Marian’s pride slightly. She had become extremely close to Will and Djaq, in a way she never had when they’d been part of Robin’s gang. Marian had found a kindred spirit in Djaq, someone who understood the particular challenges faced by being a women trying to step outside the roles the world expected them to fill. But it was more than that - she found it easy to talk to Djaq about anything; for she was extremely intelligent, well-read and insightful. The long days of Marian’s recovery passed more quickly due to their long conversations and she found that whilst their views differed on a number of topics, they could always find a common ground, or at the very least, get the other to understand their position and reasoning.
It was not that Marian didn’t also enjoy talking to Will, but it was stimulating to discuss and debate with Djaq - much as she had once done with Robin, who had always been more than willing to engage in conversation about societal issues. Of course with Robin the discussions had often turned to arguments, which was perhaps why Marian enjoyed Djaq’s firm and passionate but always respectful and courteous manner, even if they disagreed.
Her friendship with Will was different, but no less deep. Will made her smile, made her heart feel full when he spoke of the old days when they were still children. When her father was still the Sheriff, when she and Robin were young and in love and thought that carefree existence would last forever, when Will himself was little more than a child but had been shy and thoughtful, and watched everything and everyone. It helped them both to speak of Dan and Luke Scarlett, of Robert of Locksley - of her own father. To remember long summers and May Day celebrations and fairs, when the only trouble in the world was when Robin would get them all into mischief. She cared deeply about Will, because he was honest and good and valued loyalty. Because he now treated her as if she was the leader of their small band of travellers, and deferred to her decisions.
In fact, quite unexpectedly, they all did. Even Carter looked to her for guidance and approval. She suspected it was because she had spoken directly to the King and heard his orders, and she had no doubt such deference would change once they returned to Sherwood and once again under Robin’s leadership. Tuck remained enigmatic, but seemed genuine enough in his devotion to her, following what he had no doubt considered the path God had laid before him.
Marian shook herself back to reality, and realised that Will had moved away, back to Djaq’s side following her approval of his plan. They spoke quietly to one another, no doubt discussing the message they were going to send. Looking up, Marian realised that the afternoon was fading, and that they would have to make camp soon. She could at least then blame the darkening sky and perhaps, the rest would alleviate the pain in her side.
********
Djaq stared at the empty parchment in her hands, and the quill which was poised to write, but as yet had failed to do so.
Will sat next to her around the campfire, deep in thought. “How about: Marian alive, will be home within week?”
“That sounds too confusing,” Carter spoke up from his place across the fire. “I can’t imagine how Robin would react to that.”
Will seemed a bit put out. “What do you suggest, then?”
“Should we mention Marian at all?” Carter replied. “Robin may think it is a trick.”
“He will recognise my handwriting,” Djaq told him firmly. Robin would know that the note came from her.
“What if your pigeon is intercepted?” Tuck asked, the first time he had spoken to any of them all day. “It would not be advantageous for your enemy to know that she is alive.”
Djaq gave him a hard look. “Even if she is…intercepted…I do not think it would be damning intelligence,” she told him. “Surely they will find out she is alive sooner or later, once we return.”
Carter scoffed. “Maybe not,” he said with some levity. “Robin probably won’t let her leave the camp.”
Will gave a very small laugh beside her, and Djaq looked at him questioningly. He shrugged in return. “You know what he’s like,” he said to her.
Djaq certainly did, and remembered how protective Robin had been on her the first time Marian had been in the camp. But that was when her identity had been a secret - now that it was compromised, there was surely no need to keep her hidden.
“I cannot imagine the Lady Marian allowing herself to be kept from her cause, even by her husband,” Tuck added.
Rather than appreciating his support, Djaq was irritated. “You give your opinion very freely, Tuck, considering you have known Marian for all of a few weeks.” She found Tuck extremely unsettling. He seemed to be a religious fanatic, and Djaq had seen so many of them in her time of slavery. She didn’t like to be reminded of those days and as a consequence she found Tuck to be an unwelcome imposition. She sometimes found him watching her when she was performing her morning prayers, and such rudeness aside, his study of her was intimidating. She didn’t know if he was trying to learn from her, or was seeking a way to convert her. Either way, it irritated her no end.
Tuck, however, did not seem offended by her sharp words. “I only mean that the Lady Marian has far greater work to do and I foresee that she cannot be contained within an outlaw’s camp.”
“Greater work?” Djaq questioned him. Belief was one thing, but Tuck acted as if he was a sage or prophet.
“She is a warrior of God,” Tuck replied simply.
“You seem very certain of that,” Djaq said shortly. She had seen too many so-called warriors of God, and Tuck, his pale face illuminated in the firelight, seemed just as dangerous as any of them.
“Why should I not be?” Tuck asked, grinning.
Djaq gave him a hard look. “I do not think so highly of myself that I would presume to know the will of Allah,” she told him. “And anyone who does think that way of their god seeks not to be a servant but a master.”
“You are wise, mistress Djaq,” Tuck seemed pleased rather than offended by her insinuation. “It would indeed be a fool who seeks to dictate the Lord’s will. I am a follower only, but I do have faith in the signs He has left for us.”
“Signs.” Djaq gave Will a sceptical look, and he shrugged in response. He had often said that he was no scholar. He had his opinions, but only spoke them when he felt they were needed, and only those he felt the most passionate about. The poor. Friendship. Loyalty. Djaq knew that theology didn’t give him much trouble.
“You are sceptical,” Tuck continued, the same enigmatic smile on his face. “But consider this: the Lady Marian was fatally wounded once, and made a miraculous recovery,” he argued. “And then appeared to die once more, only to be brought back again. What else would you call that if not a miracle?”
“A coincidence,” Marian cut in before Djaq could reply, appearing by the campfire, bow slung over her shoulder and clearly none too impressed that they were discussing her. She took a seat and whilst Will and Carter had the decency to look abashed, even though they had not been involved in the conversation, Tuck seemed unconcerned and Djaq refused to look away.
“Marian…” Djaq began to explain, but stopped herself when she realised Marian clearly did not wish to discuss it.
“Marian, we’re writing the note to Robin,” Will spoke up beside her. “What do you think we should say?”
But Marian simply stared into the fire, poking the logs with a stick which caused them to crackle. “I don’t know, Will,” she answered softly. “I just don’t know.”
************************************
Marian waited until Will, Djaq and Carter had gone to sleep and only she and Tuck were left seated around the dying fire.
“I would appreciate it Tuck,” she said, careful to keep her tone light, “if you would not talk about me when I am not there.”
He regarded her for several moments before answering. “Would you like me to talk about you now that you are here?”
Her brow creased and she gave him an exasperated look. “No.”
“I only ask because you seem burdened,” he continued heedless to her disapproval. “I am a priest, my lady,” he reminded her. “If you wish to make confession.”
“No, thank you.” They sat in silence for several minutes, until Marian could not help herself. “I just do not understand you, Tuck,” she told him.
“How so, my lady?”
“You speak of me as if I were a soldier, when your own religious order would brand me a heretic, or at the very least, a lowly woman unworthy of such importance.”
“I have told you before, I answer only to God,” he said. “And if God has put his faith in you, who am I to question it? After all, was it not the women who were the most faithful following the death of our Lord - were they not the first to believe in His resurrection?”
Marian was silent for several moments, and studied his face to see if there was any hint of mockery. But there was none - only passion and belief. Marian knew all too well that such faith could be immensely useful, or incredibly dangerous. She sincerely hoped it was the former, and she had not made a terrible mistake by allowing him to accompany them back to Sherwood. “You are a strange man, Tuck.”
“I know that my...religious fervour makes you uneasy, my Lady,” Tuck continued, bowing his head slightly. “But do you not believe that you are an instrument of God, as are we all?
“No.”
He smiled. “But do you not act according to His will?”
“I act according to my conscience...”
“It is the same thing.”
Marian suddenly felt very tired. “Then God is just another man who is making decisions for me. Am I never to be allowed to make them myself?”
Tuck regarded her for a moment before replying. “If you were - do you know what those decisions would be?”
“No,” Marian replied honestly. “But at least they would be my own.”
“I see such sadness in you, my Lady,” Tuck told her softly. “You have been through so much for one so young. But it is adversity and struggle that makes us who we truly are, and who God intended us to be. You have a great strength within you,” he added with admiration. “The world tells you that such strength is unnatural and unwomanly - but it is because of that strength that you are here now, alive, not despite it. You could be a leader of men, a beacon which inspires others in their despair.”
“You place great expectations on me,” she told him carefully, flattered by his praise, but fearful of it as well. “I do not know if I can live up to them,” she admitted. “In the past I have worked in secret, helped others the best I could whilst keeping my identity unknown.” She shook her head slowly and stared into the fire. “I never wanted to be a leader, or a symbol or a hero. That’s Robin’s area.”
Tuck regarded her for several long moments, and she could feel him seeking to penetrate her very soul, to look past the barriers she had built and replied upon for so many years.
“One may stare into the light, until one becomes the light,” he recited.
Marian sighed and looked away. “You speak in proverbs and riddles, Tuck,” she told him. “I do not like it.”
“It is easy to work alone, when it is only your own life you are risking,” he continued, ignoring her irritated words. “It is much harder to lead, to make the decisions over the lives of others - that is why you do not want it.”
Marian did not say anything, for it was the truth. And yet she had felt a slight exhilaration, even pride, at the leadership role she seemed to have taken on. But she did not wish to share such thoughts with anyone, let alone Tuck, even with the confidentiality of the confessional. Sometimes, Marian thought she could not even share the secrets of her heart with God.
Tuck rose, and gave her a small bow before retreating to the darkness to say his lengthy prayers before sleep. Marian remained by the fire, staring into the flames in contemplation, her fingers resting on the handle of the Saracen sword which was always at her side. Wondering.
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A/N: “One may stare into the light, until one becomes the light” is from Kingdom of Heaven