FIC: "A Life Less Ordinary" Chapter 14.1 (Robin Hood)
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
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13
Chapter 14: Boys in the Hood
Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest
Marian groaned as she rolled over in her bunk, roused unwillingly from sleep by a great pounding in her head. She opened her eyes tentatively, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the forest canopy and into the camp was blinding and she quickly closed them again. Her mouth was dry, and she desperately needed some water, but did not feel as if she had the strength to rise.
She thought back to the previous night and found that her memories were muddled - she remembered their celebratory feast, but struggled to remember exactly how many goblets of wine she had consumed. Marian had never been drunk before, always afraid that she would say or do something she would regret, or which would reveal her true allegiances. Even with the outlaws, she had always been careful. She disliked the lightheaded feeling alcohol could induce, as if she was divorced from her mind and body in a way which made her uncomfortable. The previous night had been the exception, and if this was the aftermath, Marian thought to herself, she had been right to steer clear from it in the past and intended to do so in the future.
She lay in the bunk for several minutes, trying to find the will to get up. Robin was not there beside her, and she heard voices from the other side of the camp - the others were already awake, and she cringed inwardly about sleeping late.
“I think what Robin’s saying is that we need to send the Sheriff a message,” he heard someone - perhaps Will - say.
“We could send something with Larder,” a voice she identified as Much’s suggested, to indications of amusement or frustration from the others.
“Not a literal message, Much,” a female voice which could only be Djaq spoke up. “Something symbolic.”
“I know that,” Much spluttered. “I know - I just thought that Vaisey thinks he killed Lardner, right? So sending him a message with him has to make him concerned.”
She heard Allan’s distinctive laugh. “Right, and what’s the message; ‘ello Sheriff, I’m back from the dead and gonna peck your eyes out?’ Come on.”
“I do not think the Sheriff would recognise him in any case,” Djaq pointed out. “A bird is just another bird to him.”
“Well I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas,” Much replied, voice raising in volume.
“Keep it down, will you,” she heard Robin say softly. “Marian is still asleep.”
Marian sighed and willed herself to open her eyes. She slowly pulled herself up and out of the bunk and made her way over to where the outlaws were seated around the fire. All except for Tuck, who was set back from the group and leaning against a tree, and Allan, who was half-lying on the ground, propped up by his elbows and looking tired and a bit sickly. Marian imagined she looked much the same and smoothed her hair down self-consciously.
Their attention turned her way and a few of them exchanged sheepish expressions. Robin smiled and held out his hand and she approached, and she allowed him to guide her to take a place by his side around the fire.
“Sorry, Marian,” Much spoke up from Robin’s other side. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You looked like you needed the rest,” Robin said to her quietly, squeezing her hand gently. “You should rest.”
In truth Marian felt a little embarrassed that she had slept through their discussion up until that point. “I have rested enough,” she told him quietly, thinking about her convalescence in Acre. “I want to know what we’re planning.”
Robin smiled and nodded. “We had a raid on Nottingham Castle planned for tomorrow,” he began. “Standard, really - sneak in, steal some money and make a quick escape. But,” he added, “now we have more men I was suggesting something on a bigger scale to really make trouble for the Sherriff.”
“We were just trying to think of what,” Much added a little unhappily.
“And yours was a good idea, Much,” Robin told him. “It was - but we don’t only need to send a message to the Sheriff,” he continued, “but to the people as well. The Sheriff is going to make the announcement about the King’s capture any day now, and when that happens the people need to have faith that we’re going to be there to help them, because their lives are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”
Marian nodded. “Alright, so we need something showy - something obvious….that’s really your area of expertise, Robin,” she teased him lightly.
He laughed. “I suppose I should be offended, but I’m not,” he said with good humour and a grin on his face. “And as a matter of fact, an idea has come to me…”
He proceeded to outline his idea, and in fact the thoughts seemed so well reasoned and considered that Marian surmised they had been formulated prior to the discussion, and that needing assistance to come up with a plan had been a mere pretence to allow his gang to come up with their own, and only supply his if none could be achieved. She was again struck by his change in nature, as she had been the previous day, but as she had then, chose not to think about its possible cause.
Robin’s plan was met with enthusiasm, and the discussion turned to each person’s role in the offence, Djaq and Will both slipped back easily into the planning, and Carter, ever the good solider, was happy with whatever task assigned to him. Only Tuck declined to take part, a declaration which was met with confusion and scepticism from the others.
“The Hospitallers are soldiers as any others on the Crusade,” Robin observed, brow furrowed.
“Indeed,” Tuck agreed, bowing his head slightly in deference. “I am not opposed to violence, if necessary,” he added. “But I feel perhaps I can serve your cause better another way.”
“Do enlighten us, then,” Djaq spoke up, displeasure clearly written across her face.
“I was my intention to service the populace of the county,” Tuck continued temperately. “You have provided the people of Nottinghamshire with food and shelter, enough to feed their bodies, but not perhaps their souls. I suspect that they are lacking….spiritual nourishment.”
Robin shrugged and did not seem concerned. “If that is what you wish,” he said, “but I need to know that we can rely on you, should the need arise.”
“Of course,” Tuck answered. “My sword is at your service as well as my cross.”
Marian saw Djaq look away, her mouth in a firm line, and Allan roll his eyes.
“So what is my role tomorrow?” she addressed Robin, changing the subject.
“Marian…” he looked at her entreatingly, and she did not like the tone of his voice.
“What?” she asked curtly.
“I was thinking,” he began evenly, “that it might not be a good idea for the Sheriff or Gisborne to know that you’re alive.”
“Oh.” Marian was silent for a few more moments, trying to evaluate his full meaning. “I’m not staying behind,” she told him firmly, trying to ignore the rest of the gang listening intently.
Robin grimaced. “You’re the reason that Shar’mat failed,” he tried again. “I just think it is too dangerous…”
“It is dangerous for any one of us,” she pointed out, her temper flaring and her face flushing with embarrassment at the presence of the rest of the gang. “The Sheriff hates us all, and would gladly see any one of us dead.” Robin looked like he was going to argue further, so Marian cut him off. “I’ll go as the Nightwatchman if my identity is the concern.” She looked at Allan. “You remember where the costume is hidden?”
“Uhh,” Allan looked uncomfortable at having been drawn into the discussion. He shot Robin an uncertain glance and she noticed Robin shake his head almost imperceptivity in reply. “I don’t think I altogether exactly….quite remember…”
“Fine,” she cut his uncharacteristic stammering off shortly. “Any hood will do to conceal my face.” She turned back to Robin. “Satisfied?”
He clearly was not, but nodded his head slowly. “Alright.”
*************
Robin awoke early, but did not immediately rise from his bunk as he was wont to do in recent weeks. Instead, he allowed himself a few minutes to relish Marian’s presence beside him. He shifted close to her, his arm tightening slightly around her waist where it had rested as they’d slept. It was almost as if he needed to keep physical contact with her, even at night, lest she slip away from him again.
Marian shifted slightly in her sleep, and Robin smiled, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder between her neck and the edge of her tunic. He never thought to be able to do that again, expect in his dreams.
When Allan had returned with Lardner and the message of Marian’s survival, Robin hadn’t the heart to believe it. He’d prowled around the woods for days after, unwilling to leave Sherwood on the chance that it was true, and they would miss the returning party. And then he had seen her - heavily tanned and a bit fatigued, no doubt from the journey, but unmistakeably his wife.
Robin closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, wishing, not for the first time, that he could run away with her - find a small cottage where they could live, and raise children and grow old together - where he could spend every morning like they were now, where they could enjoy the solitude and there was no reason to rise until he had made love to her thoroughly. But he knew that was but a foolish dream - the camp was not private, and there were preparations to be made, battles to be fought, and people to save. And if he was completely honest with himself, there was also the thrill of adventure which such a quiet, idealised quiet life could perhaps never satisfy.
But, he considered, as long as Marian was by his side - alive - he could handle anything.
Robin lightly kissed her shoulder again before rolling over and out of their bunk, ready to start the day. It was close to dawn, and they needed to make an early start if they wanted to make it to Nottingham in time for their assault to be covered by the gloom of the early morning. It was perhaps the coldest day they’d had so far, but that was to be expected - it was after all the end of October, Robin reminded himself.
He prodded the others awake, and took the initiative to fix the morning breakfast himself, although technically it was Allan’s turn according to the roster Much had devised. But Robin was eager to further prove to Marian how much he had changed - that he had taken into account much of the criticism she had levied against him in the past regarding his treatment of his men.
However Marian didn’t seem to notice as he doled out the porridge to his gang. She was awake and upright, but still seated in their bunk, legs hanging over the side but obviously uncomfortable. He didn’t fail to notice one hand pressed, palm down, against her side, where her injury had been. Robin spooned some porridge into a bowl and crossed the camp, taking a seat by her side. Marian took the bowl and gave him a bright, but unconvincing, smile.
“Are you alright?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Marian smiled again and shrugged, and seemed ready to answer in the affirmative, but something in his expression must have stopped her. She looked down. “I am a little…stiff this morning,” she replied quietly so only he could hear. “I think it is the cold weather,” she continued. “I knew that…it could give me trouble sometimes.” She met his gaze again, determined. “But I am fine.”
He did not say anything, for fear it would be the wrong thing, and they would fall into the same arguments as last time she’d lived in the camp. She’d been grieving then, angry with the world and he knew how that affected someone’s judgement - he’d seen enough soldiers slaughtered because of it. And Robin had been conscious of her role as spy in the castle and had not wanted to lose that source of intelligence, should it be needed. That avenue was closed to them now, but even so, he did not want to risk what would happen if the Sheriff - or Gisbourne - knew she was alive. Not until they’d had time to prepare, or find a way they could use it to their advantage.
Robin told himself that Marian was as capable as any of his men, and he would gladly put his life in her hands and trust her to equip herself in battle, but that did not decrease the anxiety he felt knowing that every time they went to Nottingham they courted discovery or death.
“I am not staying behind,” Marin told him firmly when he did not speak further. “Don’t even suggest it.”
“Marian…” he began taking her hand. “I wouldn’t.” He paused momentarily, marshalling his arguments. “You’ve always said that I should treat you as any other member of the gang - like any other soldier.”
Marian nodded. “Yes, and would you order any of them to stay for a mild discomfort?”
“No,” Robin admitted. “But I would ask them to use their own judgement as to whether any infliction - even a mild discomfort - may compromise their ability to serve. Sometimes it is better to rest and recover, in order to be capable of fighting another day - particularly when there is no desperate need for more men on the mission.”
Marian did not look convinced, glancing around at the others who were preparing for the day’s mission, seemingly ignoring the two of them talking. She removed her hand from his and reached for her sword which hung at the end of their bunk, but audibly winced as she moved. She pressed her palm to her side again, looked at her sword and then back at him with a grim expression.
“Don’t think this is going to be a regular occurrence,” she told him firmly. “It is just for today.”
He nodded, relived. “Thank you.”
*************
Nottingham Town
It was bitterly cold in Nottingham, and Much cupped his hands together and blew into them to try and keep himself warm. The sun had risen, but it was still low in the sky and was not yet strong enough to dispel the mist that clung to the town. It was a perfect morning to sneak into Nottingham Castle, but they had stopped in the lower town first.
“I wish he’d hurry up,” Much grumbled, and stamped his feet to ward off the frost. “What is he doing in there?” Robin had gone into the seamstresses’ house to pick up the items they needed for the plan, but was certainly taking his time.
“You know how he is,” Allan, leaning against the wall next to him, shrugged. “Probably asking after her mother’s cousin’s best friend or somethin”
Much grumbled to himself for a few more moments, but stood to attention when Robin emerged from the house with lengths of green fabric in his arms. Much took one roll of fabric from him, and Allan took the other one.
“Alright then,” Allan gave them a wink. “Good luck gents.” Then he headed off towards the castle to join Will who was presumably already in position. The plan was to assault the castle in groups - that way it would be easier to sneak in than all of them together. Once inside, Much and Robin would search the Sheriff’s quarters and safe, Allan and Will the upper levels, and John, Carter and Djaq would attack the strongroom.
Much shifted the heavy material to his side and under one arm so he could match Robin’s pace as they headed towards the castle gates. He cleared his throat nervously and said; “So, Marian…”
Robin gave him a look. “What about her.”
Much shrugged. “Never expected her to stay behind.”
“She told you why,” Robin told him, and quickened his pace. “Her injury is acting up. She’ll come next time.”
Much was sceptical. “Will she?” In his opinion, Marian hadn’t appeared very happy at all about being left behind and he wondered what Robin had said to persuade her.
Robin stopped abruptly and turned to Much, giving a sigh of frustration. “Is this really the time to discuss this?” he asked. “We need to focus.” Then he resumed his pace. “Yes,” he said after a few moments. “She will.”
*************
Knighton
Marian had been anxious to return to her home village ever since she’d stepped foot on English soil, so when Tuck had suggested she accompany him to the villagers whilst the others were in Nottingham, she’d suggested they visit Knighton first.
Robin had told her that when he’d first returned from the Holy Land to Locksley, it had been one of the happiest moments of his life. He’d described it as like a drink of cool water after a long trek in the desert. But on sighting her own village, Marian felt no such relief, instead there was a pang of sadness. But of course Locksley village was still full of life, whereas she quickly discovered that the Knighton before her was worlds away from the one she’d left.
With no manor house and no Lord to maintain order and provide security, the village had all but emptied. It pained her to see the abandoned homes and gardens of the people she had once known so well, and wondered what had become of them. Knighton was small in comparison to Locksley or Nottingham town, but it had been her home, and its people had been her charge. She was no longer Marian of Knighton, for Knighton was gone - as dead as her father was.
Marian walked to the edge of town where Knighton Hall had once been. A mere two years had almost erased the estate from existence, and the only indication of the home was parts of the original foundation, now overgrown by grass, weeds and a few wildflowers which had not yet died off for the season. It was life renewing itself, she knew, but it was also a part of herself that had irrevocably slipped away, and her heart ached from the loss of it.
All avenues were closed to her - she could not return to the castle or to Knighton, she had no family elsewhere. Marian had pledged her life to the outlaw’s cause, and accepted that the forest would be her home for perhaps many years to come, but the bitter finality of knowing she had nowhere else to go was somewhat disheartening.
Tuck appeared at her side. “You must miss your father.”
Tears fell on her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe them away. Her father had taught her to ride a horse on these grounds, and she could almost still hear his encouraging words, his pride in how quickly she had learnt, his half-hearted calls for her to come inside when she rode past sundown.
“Very much,” she answered, unable to express anything further in words. “Do you have a family, Tuck?” she asked after a few moments of silence.
“I did,” he told her. “A long time ago.”
She did not probe him further, because some things were better left unsaid, and a grief shared was always more comfortable with fewer words. They stood there for some while, neither looking on one another or speaking, but listening to the Autumn wind that ran across the meadow in silent solidarity.
*******
Great Hall, Nottingham Castle
Vaisey sat in his desk in the Great Hall, drafting the formal announcement of the King’s capture with glee. It was near perfect - even if he did say so himself - the right mixture of pathos and guilt over poor Richard’s situation that the easily-led populace would be lining up to do their patriotic duty and hand over their coins for his ransom. Not that Richard would see a penny of it, of course. Vaisey laughed to himself at the irony that the money meant to be allocated to the ransom fund to secure Richard’s release was instead going to fill the coffers of the very people responsible for his capture.
His moment of levity was broken by the doors of the Great Hall being flung open, and Vaisey looked up to see Sir Jasper enter. Jasper strode down the steps with purpose and crossed the empty hall to take a seat opposite Vaisey without waiting for an invitation.
“Sir Jasper.” Vaisey forced a toothy smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“My Lord Sheriff,” Jasper nodded. He crossed one leg over the other and then removed his gloves. “I am here to inform you that Prince John has made the announcement in London regarding his brother’s capture in Austria. I presume you are also prepared to do so here.”
“Of course,” Vaisey answered, gesturing to the parchment before him with his quill.
“The Prince also wants your assurance that the announcement will not result in reprisals from outlaws,” Jasper continued. “I do believe he is concerned about the incitement of insurrection.”
“He need have no concern about that,” Vaisey said through gritted teeth, livid that he needed to answer to a trumped-up popinjay like Jasper. “The Hood problem has been contained.”
“Yes, so your man has been telling Prince John in London I hear,” Jasper continued nonchalantly, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. “I understand the Prince is quite impressed by him.”
Vaisey wasn’t concerned by Jasper’s insinuation - he had complete control over Guy. Since killing that twit-willow Marian, Guy had been more malleable than ever, and Vaisey had no concerns about his loyalty. He had nothing else to live for other than what Vaisey could give him.
“I’m sure Gisborne is enjoying London hospitality,” Vaiser said with a sardonic smile.
“I’m sure he is, but no doubt you require him to be present for the announcement?” Japser asked. “He is certainly no scholar, but I imagine his presence may….dissuade any adverse reaction from the populace.”
“There will be no reaction,” Vaisey responded tersely, fed up with Jasper. The man was nothing more than an glorified clerk, in Vaisey’s opinion. “Only compliance.”
But Jasper only seemed amused. “Well then,” he said. “I look forward to your speech.”
Onto 14.2
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
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13
Chapter 14: Boys in the Hood
Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest
Marian groaned as she rolled over in her bunk, roused unwillingly from sleep by a great pounding in her head. She opened her eyes tentatively, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the forest canopy and into the camp was blinding and she quickly closed them again. Her mouth was dry, and she desperately needed some water, but did not feel as if she had the strength to rise.
She thought back to the previous night and found that her memories were muddled - she remembered their celebratory feast, but struggled to remember exactly how many goblets of wine she had consumed. Marian had never been drunk before, always afraid that she would say or do something she would regret, or which would reveal her true allegiances. Even with the outlaws, she had always been careful. She disliked the lightheaded feeling alcohol could induce, as if she was divorced from her mind and body in a way which made her uncomfortable. The previous night had been the exception, and if this was the aftermath, Marian thought to herself, she had been right to steer clear from it in the past and intended to do so in the future.
She lay in the bunk for several minutes, trying to find the will to get up. Robin was not there beside her, and she heard voices from the other side of the camp - the others were already awake, and she cringed inwardly about sleeping late.
“I think what Robin’s saying is that we need to send the Sheriff a message,” he heard someone - perhaps Will - say.
“We could send something with Larder,” a voice she identified as Much’s suggested, to indications of amusement or frustration from the others.
“Not a literal message, Much,” a female voice which could only be Djaq spoke up. “Something symbolic.”
“I know that,” Much spluttered. “I know - I just thought that Vaisey thinks he killed Lardner, right? So sending him a message with him has to make him concerned.”
She heard Allan’s distinctive laugh. “Right, and what’s the message; ‘ello Sheriff, I’m back from the dead and gonna peck your eyes out?’ Come on.”
“I do not think the Sheriff would recognise him in any case,” Djaq pointed out. “A bird is just another bird to him.”
“Well I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas,” Much replied, voice raising in volume.
“Keep it down, will you,” she heard Robin say softly. “Marian is still asleep.”
Marian sighed and willed herself to open her eyes. She slowly pulled herself up and out of the bunk and made her way over to where the outlaws were seated around the fire. All except for Tuck, who was set back from the group and leaning against a tree, and Allan, who was half-lying on the ground, propped up by his elbows and looking tired and a bit sickly. Marian imagined she looked much the same and smoothed her hair down self-consciously.
Their attention turned her way and a few of them exchanged sheepish expressions. Robin smiled and held out his hand and she approached, and she allowed him to guide her to take a place by his side around the fire.
“Sorry, Marian,” Much spoke up from Robin’s other side. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You looked like you needed the rest,” Robin said to her quietly, squeezing her hand gently. “You should rest.”
In truth Marian felt a little embarrassed that she had slept through their discussion up until that point. “I have rested enough,” she told him quietly, thinking about her convalescence in Acre. “I want to know what we’re planning.”
Robin smiled and nodded. “We had a raid on Nottingham Castle planned for tomorrow,” he began. “Standard, really - sneak in, steal some money and make a quick escape. But,” he added, “now we have more men I was suggesting something on a bigger scale to really make trouble for the Sherriff.”
“We were just trying to think of what,” Much added a little unhappily.
“And yours was a good idea, Much,” Robin told him. “It was - but we don’t only need to send a message to the Sheriff,” he continued, “but to the people as well. The Sheriff is going to make the announcement about the King’s capture any day now, and when that happens the people need to have faith that we’re going to be there to help them, because their lives are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”
Marian nodded. “Alright, so we need something showy - something obvious….that’s really your area of expertise, Robin,” she teased him lightly.
He laughed. “I suppose I should be offended, but I’m not,” he said with good humour and a grin on his face. “And as a matter of fact, an idea has come to me…”
He proceeded to outline his idea, and in fact the thoughts seemed so well reasoned and considered that Marian surmised they had been formulated prior to the discussion, and that needing assistance to come up with a plan had been a mere pretence to allow his gang to come up with their own, and only supply his if none could be achieved. She was again struck by his change in nature, as she had been the previous day, but as she had then, chose not to think about its possible cause.
Robin’s plan was met with enthusiasm, and the discussion turned to each person’s role in the offence, Djaq and Will both slipped back easily into the planning, and Carter, ever the good solider, was happy with whatever task assigned to him. Only Tuck declined to take part, a declaration which was met with confusion and scepticism from the others.
“The Hospitallers are soldiers as any others on the Crusade,” Robin observed, brow furrowed.
“Indeed,” Tuck agreed, bowing his head slightly in deference. “I am not opposed to violence, if necessary,” he added. “But I feel perhaps I can serve your cause better another way.”
“Do enlighten us, then,” Djaq spoke up, displeasure clearly written across her face.
“I was my intention to service the populace of the county,” Tuck continued temperately. “You have provided the people of Nottinghamshire with food and shelter, enough to feed their bodies, but not perhaps their souls. I suspect that they are lacking….spiritual nourishment.”
Robin shrugged and did not seem concerned. “If that is what you wish,” he said, “but I need to know that we can rely on you, should the need arise.”
“Of course,” Tuck answered. “My sword is at your service as well as my cross.”
Marian saw Djaq look away, her mouth in a firm line, and Allan roll his eyes.
“So what is my role tomorrow?” she addressed Robin, changing the subject.
“Marian…” he looked at her entreatingly, and she did not like the tone of his voice.
“What?” she asked curtly.
“I was thinking,” he began evenly, “that it might not be a good idea for the Sheriff or Gisborne to know that you’re alive.”
“Oh.” Marian was silent for a few more moments, trying to evaluate his full meaning. “I’m not staying behind,” she told him firmly, trying to ignore the rest of the gang listening intently.
Robin grimaced. “You’re the reason that Shar’mat failed,” he tried again. “I just think it is too dangerous…”
“It is dangerous for any one of us,” she pointed out, her temper flaring and her face flushing with embarrassment at the presence of the rest of the gang. “The Sheriff hates us all, and would gladly see any one of us dead.” Robin looked like he was going to argue further, so Marian cut him off. “I’ll go as the Nightwatchman if my identity is the concern.” She looked at Allan. “You remember where the costume is hidden?”
“Uhh,” Allan looked uncomfortable at having been drawn into the discussion. He shot Robin an uncertain glance and she noticed Robin shake his head almost imperceptivity in reply. “I don’t think I altogether exactly….quite remember…”
“Fine,” she cut his uncharacteristic stammering off shortly. “Any hood will do to conceal my face.” She turned back to Robin. “Satisfied?”
He clearly was not, but nodded his head slowly. “Alright.”
*************
Robin awoke early, but did not immediately rise from his bunk as he was wont to do in recent weeks. Instead, he allowed himself a few minutes to relish Marian’s presence beside him. He shifted close to her, his arm tightening slightly around her waist where it had rested as they’d slept. It was almost as if he needed to keep physical contact with her, even at night, lest she slip away from him again.
Marian shifted slightly in her sleep, and Robin smiled, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder between her neck and the edge of her tunic. He never thought to be able to do that again, expect in his dreams.
When Allan had returned with Lardner and the message of Marian’s survival, Robin hadn’t the heart to believe it. He’d prowled around the woods for days after, unwilling to leave Sherwood on the chance that it was true, and they would miss the returning party. And then he had seen her - heavily tanned and a bit fatigued, no doubt from the journey, but unmistakeably his wife.
Robin closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, wishing, not for the first time, that he could run away with her - find a small cottage where they could live, and raise children and grow old together - where he could spend every morning like they were now, where they could enjoy the solitude and there was no reason to rise until he had made love to her thoroughly. But he knew that was but a foolish dream - the camp was not private, and there were preparations to be made, battles to be fought, and people to save. And if he was completely honest with himself, there was also the thrill of adventure which such a quiet, idealised quiet life could perhaps never satisfy.
But, he considered, as long as Marian was by his side - alive - he could handle anything.
Robin lightly kissed her shoulder again before rolling over and out of their bunk, ready to start the day. It was close to dawn, and they needed to make an early start if they wanted to make it to Nottingham in time for their assault to be covered by the gloom of the early morning. It was perhaps the coldest day they’d had so far, but that was to be expected - it was after all the end of October, Robin reminded himself.
He prodded the others awake, and took the initiative to fix the morning breakfast himself, although technically it was Allan’s turn according to the roster Much had devised. But Robin was eager to further prove to Marian how much he had changed - that he had taken into account much of the criticism she had levied against him in the past regarding his treatment of his men.
However Marian didn’t seem to notice as he doled out the porridge to his gang. She was awake and upright, but still seated in their bunk, legs hanging over the side but obviously uncomfortable. He didn’t fail to notice one hand pressed, palm down, against her side, where her injury had been. Robin spooned some porridge into a bowl and crossed the camp, taking a seat by her side. Marian took the bowl and gave him a bright, but unconvincing, smile.
“Are you alright?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Marian smiled again and shrugged, and seemed ready to answer in the affirmative, but something in his expression must have stopped her. She looked down. “I am a little…stiff this morning,” she replied quietly so only he could hear. “I think it is the cold weather,” she continued. “I knew that…it could give me trouble sometimes.” She met his gaze again, determined. “But I am fine.”
He did not say anything, for fear it would be the wrong thing, and they would fall into the same arguments as last time she’d lived in the camp. She’d been grieving then, angry with the world and he knew how that affected someone’s judgement - he’d seen enough soldiers slaughtered because of it. And Robin had been conscious of her role as spy in the castle and had not wanted to lose that source of intelligence, should it be needed. That avenue was closed to them now, but even so, he did not want to risk what would happen if the Sheriff - or Gisbourne - knew she was alive. Not until they’d had time to prepare, or find a way they could use it to their advantage.
Robin told himself that Marian was as capable as any of his men, and he would gladly put his life in her hands and trust her to equip herself in battle, but that did not decrease the anxiety he felt knowing that every time they went to Nottingham they courted discovery or death.
“I am not staying behind,” Marin told him firmly when he did not speak further. “Don’t even suggest it.”
“Marian…” he began taking her hand. “I wouldn’t.” He paused momentarily, marshalling his arguments. “You’ve always said that I should treat you as any other member of the gang - like any other soldier.”
Marian nodded. “Yes, and would you order any of them to stay for a mild discomfort?”
“No,” Robin admitted. “But I would ask them to use their own judgement as to whether any infliction - even a mild discomfort - may compromise their ability to serve. Sometimes it is better to rest and recover, in order to be capable of fighting another day - particularly when there is no desperate need for more men on the mission.”
Marian did not look convinced, glancing around at the others who were preparing for the day’s mission, seemingly ignoring the two of them talking. She removed her hand from his and reached for her sword which hung at the end of their bunk, but audibly winced as she moved. She pressed her palm to her side again, looked at her sword and then back at him with a grim expression.
“Don’t think this is going to be a regular occurrence,” she told him firmly. “It is just for today.”
He nodded, relived. “Thank you.”
*************
Nottingham Town
It was bitterly cold in Nottingham, and Much cupped his hands together and blew into them to try and keep himself warm. The sun had risen, but it was still low in the sky and was not yet strong enough to dispel the mist that clung to the town. It was a perfect morning to sneak into Nottingham Castle, but they had stopped in the lower town first.
“I wish he’d hurry up,” Much grumbled, and stamped his feet to ward off the frost. “What is he doing in there?” Robin had gone into the seamstresses’ house to pick up the items they needed for the plan, but was certainly taking his time.
“You know how he is,” Allan, leaning against the wall next to him, shrugged. “Probably asking after her mother’s cousin’s best friend or somethin”
Much grumbled to himself for a few more moments, but stood to attention when Robin emerged from the house with lengths of green fabric in his arms. Much took one roll of fabric from him, and Allan took the other one.
“Alright then,” Allan gave them a wink. “Good luck gents.” Then he headed off towards the castle to join Will who was presumably already in position. The plan was to assault the castle in groups - that way it would be easier to sneak in than all of them together. Once inside, Much and Robin would search the Sheriff’s quarters and safe, Allan and Will the upper levels, and John, Carter and Djaq would attack the strongroom.
Much shifted the heavy material to his side and under one arm so he could match Robin’s pace as they headed towards the castle gates. He cleared his throat nervously and said; “So, Marian…”
Robin gave him a look. “What about her.”
Much shrugged. “Never expected her to stay behind.”
“She told you why,” Robin told him, and quickened his pace. “Her injury is acting up. She’ll come next time.”
Much was sceptical. “Will she?” In his opinion, Marian hadn’t appeared very happy at all about being left behind and he wondered what Robin had said to persuade her.
Robin stopped abruptly and turned to Much, giving a sigh of frustration. “Is this really the time to discuss this?” he asked. “We need to focus.” Then he resumed his pace. “Yes,” he said after a few moments. “She will.”
*************
Knighton
Marian had been anxious to return to her home village ever since she’d stepped foot on English soil, so when Tuck had suggested she accompany him to the villagers whilst the others were in Nottingham, she’d suggested they visit Knighton first.
Robin had told her that when he’d first returned from the Holy Land to Locksley, it had been one of the happiest moments of his life. He’d described it as like a drink of cool water after a long trek in the desert. But on sighting her own village, Marian felt no such relief, instead there was a pang of sadness. But of course Locksley village was still full of life, whereas she quickly discovered that the Knighton before her was worlds away from the one she’d left.
With no manor house and no Lord to maintain order and provide security, the village had all but emptied. It pained her to see the abandoned homes and gardens of the people she had once known so well, and wondered what had become of them. Knighton was small in comparison to Locksley or Nottingham town, but it had been her home, and its people had been her charge. She was no longer Marian of Knighton, for Knighton was gone - as dead as her father was.
Marian walked to the edge of town where Knighton Hall had once been. A mere two years had almost erased the estate from existence, and the only indication of the home was parts of the original foundation, now overgrown by grass, weeds and a few wildflowers which had not yet died off for the season. It was life renewing itself, she knew, but it was also a part of herself that had irrevocably slipped away, and her heart ached from the loss of it.
All avenues were closed to her - she could not return to the castle or to Knighton, she had no family elsewhere. Marian had pledged her life to the outlaw’s cause, and accepted that the forest would be her home for perhaps many years to come, but the bitter finality of knowing she had nowhere else to go was somewhat disheartening.
Tuck appeared at her side. “You must miss your father.”
Tears fell on her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe them away. Her father had taught her to ride a horse on these grounds, and she could almost still hear his encouraging words, his pride in how quickly she had learnt, his half-hearted calls for her to come inside when she rode past sundown.
“Very much,” she answered, unable to express anything further in words. “Do you have a family, Tuck?” she asked after a few moments of silence.
“I did,” he told her. “A long time ago.”
She did not probe him further, because some things were better left unsaid, and a grief shared was always more comfortable with fewer words. They stood there for some while, neither looking on one another or speaking, but listening to the Autumn wind that ran across the meadow in silent solidarity.
*******
Great Hall, Nottingham Castle
Vaisey sat in his desk in the Great Hall, drafting the formal announcement of the King’s capture with glee. It was near perfect - even if he did say so himself - the right mixture of pathos and guilt over poor Richard’s situation that the easily-led populace would be lining up to do their patriotic duty and hand over their coins for his ransom. Not that Richard would see a penny of it, of course. Vaisey laughed to himself at the irony that the money meant to be allocated to the ransom fund to secure Richard’s release was instead going to fill the coffers of the very people responsible for his capture.
His moment of levity was broken by the doors of the Great Hall being flung open, and Vaisey looked up to see Sir Jasper enter. Jasper strode down the steps with purpose and crossed the empty hall to take a seat opposite Vaisey without waiting for an invitation.
“Sir Jasper.” Vaisey forced a toothy smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“My Lord Sheriff,” Jasper nodded. He crossed one leg over the other and then removed his gloves. “I am here to inform you that Prince John has made the announcement in London regarding his brother’s capture in Austria. I presume you are also prepared to do so here.”
“Of course,” Vaisey answered, gesturing to the parchment before him with his quill.
“The Prince also wants your assurance that the announcement will not result in reprisals from outlaws,” Jasper continued. “I do believe he is concerned about the incitement of insurrection.”
“He need have no concern about that,” Vaisey said through gritted teeth, livid that he needed to answer to a trumped-up popinjay like Jasper. “The Hood problem has been contained.”
“Yes, so your man has been telling Prince John in London I hear,” Jasper continued nonchalantly, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. “I understand the Prince is quite impressed by him.”
Vaisey wasn’t concerned by Jasper’s insinuation - he had complete control over Guy. Since killing that twit-willow Marian, Guy had been more malleable than ever, and Vaisey had no concerns about his loyalty. He had nothing else to live for other than what Vaisey could give him.
“I’m sure Gisborne is enjoying London hospitality,” Vaiser said with a sardonic smile.
“I’m sure he is, but no doubt you require him to be present for the announcement?” Japser asked. “He is certainly no scholar, but I imagine his presence may….dissuade any adverse reaction from the populace.”
“There will be no reaction,” Vaisey responded tersely, fed up with Jasper. The man was nothing more than an glorified clerk, in Vaisey’s opinion. “Only compliance.”
But Jasper only seemed amused. “Well then,” he said. “I look forward to your speech.”
Onto 14.2