The Wayward One
Title: The Wayward One (Chapter Five)
Author: glorious_clio
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none; pre-series
Summary: Marian stays behind after Robin abruptly breaks their engagement and goes off to the Holy Land. What happens to those left behind? This is not a romance.
Characters: Marian, mentions of Robin, OC's
Disclaimer: I do not hold any ownership over the BBC's version of Robin Hood. Crossposted at ff.net.
And there's a message that I'm sending out
Like a telegraph to your soul
And if I can't bridge this distance
Stop this heartbreak overload
I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone, away
I ain't missing you
No matter, what my friends say
I ain't missing you, I ain't missing you
I can lie to myself
o0O0o
"Again," Robin commanded, out of breath.
She panted. It was always like this. He came home, full of energy and fire and brought her to life. She was always sore in new places, stretched to breaking points, bruised from the inside out, dirty, sweaty, hair full of grass or hay, but felt all the better for it it.
She lifted her sword, ready to defend herself against his onslaught. Her father had taught her the basics, but he was honing her skills, teaching her to go from defense to attacks. He taught her with every weapon he could think of. With no weapon. When one had no weapon and needed to defend against a knife, sword, or mace. He helped her refine her archery, but she was already quite proficient with that.
The swords clanged together as they fought. Though the blades were dull, they were still dangerous. Marian craved this. She felt so close to him when they fought. She learned well, and always found a way to surprise him.
She overbalanced him and he toppled to the floor.
"Good," he said, leaping up.
"Again!" she cried.
Sparring was more fun than kissing, some days.
o0O0o
Being the Nightjar is much more dangerous these days, Marian thought, looking around the glade. She had just had to take out five of the Sheriff's best guards who had surprised her on her way home from Clun.
She panted and thanked God that Robin was such a demanding teacher. And that she was more agile then the lumbering guards in their full armor. Nameless, faceless guards. She did not think of them as men with families or lives, she could not afford to. Because if she thought of that, she would feel the guilt. And Marian could hardly take her activities, her war, to confession.
There had been more patrols to dodge lately, and she had let her guard down. She swallowed, and went on light feet back to Knighton Hall.
o0O0o
"Lady Marian," Guy greeted her before the morning's Counsel of Nobles.
She turned to face him. "Good morning, Sir Guy," she said, her teeth already on edge.
"You look exhausted."
"I did not sleep last night," she responded, dismissively.
"Are you a-feared of anything? The Nightwatchman?"
"And what, pray tell, is the Nightwatchman?" Marian huffed.
"You do not know? It is a man, all in black, who sneaks out at night, defying the Sheriff."
"How does he defy the Sheriff?" Cold dread settled in her stomach.
"Well, the poor think he brings them food, though I have never met anyone who actually benefited from it," Guy said.
Because you do not talk to the poor, thought Marian.
"But he brings blackness, dissent, and death and fear. The Sheriff must work twice as hard to restore his good name to the populace. Just the other day, the Nightwatchman took out five of the best guards in Nottingham."
Marian must have looked surprised.
"Yes, I know. But do not fear, Lady Marian, I will not let him harm you."
"Thank you, Sir Guy," she managed. But all she can think was how she needed to be more careful. Nightwatchman? It is as good a name as any. No better or worse than Nightjar. Similar, anyway. Marian knew in that moment that she had been correct in her impulse to hide her identity. What she was doing was not illegal, (apart from the slaying of the guards) but certainly, Vaisey and Gisbourne were not going to let her undermine their plotting.
Suddenly her secret identity felt like another chain, keeping her from her true self. Marian longed to fight for what she believed in without fear or shame. Like the Knights of Old. Poverty was her dragon. And let all who come between her and her goals perish by her sword.
She turned to face the Sheriff; Sir Guy stalked to his side, and the meeting began.
o0O0o
She had known, of course, when he had finally become a knight. Such things were often written of, and he had done so himself, to his father, the Earl Geoffrey. And announced he would visit home before going to France to train with Prince Richard. Marian was not completely unprepared when he showed up at her window well after midnight and dragged her off into Sherwood Forest. Much was not there, but she knew well enough (after so many similar adventures) that she was safe in Robin's company (though for simplicity's sake, they shared the same horse. She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tightly. It had been so long since she had seen him).
"How was it?" she asked. "What happened? What ceremonies did you observe? Tell me all, tell me everything. I have never been to London - leave nothing out!" she demanded.
"Hush, my lady, it is not seemly to talk of such things," he said in his half-teasing courtly voice.
"Surely some things are seemly to speak on," she countered.
"Very well, but first, I have a mission to accomplish," he said enigmatically.
"A mission?"
"A promise."
She smiled at his cloak and buried her nose in the hood.
The promise was to declare his loyalty to her. At best, it was a shabby, improvised ceremony. She stood next to the tallest tree in Sherwood. He knelt, and gave her a handkerchief (an innocent looking scrap of lace, it reminded her of when they were children, when he had once before sworn loyalty to each other, though neither were knights, and he, barely a page. He had slipped her a hankie then).
"Lady Marian Fitzwalter, as is befitting to a Lady of your rank and privilege, I hereto swear my loyalty to you, upon pain of death. I promise to serve you faithfully, putting before you only God and the King himself. Should you ever have need of me, I will be by your side instantly. All you must do is ask."
She tried not to giggle. "I bid you stand, Sir Robin of Locksley. I accept your loyalty, and your token."
A month later, he proposed. That was part of the game, too. His waywardness was not part of the game, however. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to forgive him him. Even now, when she had need of him.
Marian shook the memory from her mind, sat down, and began writing a letter to her "loyal" knight. She still hated him, but she needed him, as an ally. She had no allies here.
All her old friends had been married off, to other neighborhoods far from reach and of no immediate use to her.
Marian's own father could not be depended on as an ally; he had hardly put up a fight. Perhaps it was understandable. He had been sheriff since before she was born. Sir Edward was old, tired.
Marian was young, and ready to do battle. But she recognized she might need to raise an army.
Lifting her quill, she began,
Dear Robin,
No, scratch that,
Robin, nothing "dear" about that.
Or maybe formal was the way to go,
To the attention of Sir Robert of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, Captain of the King's Guard in the Holy Land,
But formality was a game they played when they were children. She blotted out the careful letters.
Dear Much,
Who did not read, Marian knew. Dammit. Marian could not write this. She was still angry with him. But would it be easier if she was still in love with him? (Which she was not, she told herself. She was not in love with anyone, and she never would be again.) She looked down at the mess she had made of the parchment. Frustrated, she balled it up and threw it in the fire.
Robin,
I know you are likely busy with more important pursuits than silly little me. God help you if you are enjoying your work. But you are needed at home.
No, do not get any ideas, foolish boy. I do not need you.
But Nottingham does.
My father has been ousted as Sheriff. Prince John has replaced him with an evil man, known as Vaisey. He has raised taxes to "pay for the Crusade," and often ruthlessly punishes those who cannot pay. I am not convinced that our King sees any of this money. But people here are suffering. A man who tried to steal an apple for his painfully hungry daughter had his thumbs cut off.
It gets worse for you. Vaisey has a lackey, known as Guy of Gisbourne (or Guy of Gross-bourne, in certain circles). Vaisey has granted Locksley to him for "safe-keeping." I worry for your people, Thornton especially, and his young daughter Bridget even more. You should too, or the Robin I knew growing up would have.
You have twice sworn loyalty to me. I cannot fight alone. Come home.
Marian.
She thought of Locksley, changed so much by Robin's absence. She had only visited the house once since he left. It seemed that before Marian visited, Gisbourne had heard she was engaged to its former master; he made all sorts of insinuations at how well she might know the house.
Marian had remained silent on the matter.
But at Council of Noble meetings, he always tried to have a conversation with her, however brief, even once going so far as to declaring she needed a husband to take care of her.
A master was the last thing she needed.
A partner, however, was much more desirable. And Sir Guy of Gross-bourne did not have it in him to champion those less fortunate than him.
o0O0o
It was unusual for Guy of Gross-bourne not to be at a Counsel of Nobles meeting. Marian did not want to comment on it, thanking her lucky stars that he was not there, and she did not want to seem overly anxious for his return.
Vaisey, however, took it upon himself to announce where Guy was.
"Sir Guy is ill, and according to his physician, Pitts, he may not be recovering for quite some time."
Marian wondered if the Sheriff had grown tired of Sir Guy sniffing around him, and had the man poisoned. But she did not have much time to dwell on it.
That winter was a hard one. Especially so, given that Sir Edward could no longer afford to keep his bare-bones staff. John left first, than Sara, carefully carting off her sick daughter to greener pastures. Marian could not blame them. But now she had more than enough work to keep her busy. She was the Lady and the maid and the cook by day, the Nightwatchman by night.
Balancing was difficult, that she did not have time to dwell on Aldith (who never wrote), on Robin, or on Sir Guy and his illness (which was going quite long) or anything else.
Suddenly, without any fanfare and nearly a year after he had taken ill, Sir Guy reappeared at a Counsel of Noble's meeting, hardly looking worse for wear.
"Did you miss me, Lady Marian?" he asked, sidling up to her after the meeting.
Had she known him long enough to miss him when he went? "I noticed your absence, Sir Guy, but in truth, I was very busy... You look, almost,tan," she noticed suddenly. He did not look as if he had been ill; he was thinner, yes, but not emaciated, as someone who had been sick for a year might be.
Guy flushed suddenly, then stumbled out a reply, "Oh, uh the physician, Pitts, said... jaundice."
Odd. Jaundice was more yellow - she had seen it in babies. Marian let it go. "I am glad you are recovering, Sir Guy."
o0O0o
Author: glorious_clio
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none; pre-series
Summary: Marian stays behind after Robin abruptly breaks their engagement and goes off to the Holy Land. What happens to those left behind? This is not a romance.
Characters: Marian, mentions of Robin, OC's
Disclaimer: I do not hold any ownership over the BBC's version of Robin Hood. Crossposted at ff.net.
And there's a message that I'm sending out
Like a telegraph to your soul
And if I can't bridge this distance
Stop this heartbreak overload
I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone, away
I ain't missing you
No matter, what my friends say
I ain't missing you, I ain't missing you
I can lie to myself
o0O0o
"Again," Robin commanded, out of breath.
She panted. It was always like this. He came home, full of energy and fire and brought her to life. She was always sore in new places, stretched to breaking points, bruised from the inside out, dirty, sweaty, hair full of grass or hay, but felt all the better for it it.
She lifted her sword, ready to defend herself against his onslaught. Her father had taught her the basics, but he was honing her skills, teaching her to go from defense to attacks. He taught her with every weapon he could think of. With no weapon. When one had no weapon and needed to defend against a knife, sword, or mace. He helped her refine her archery, but she was already quite proficient with that.
The swords clanged together as they fought. Though the blades were dull, they were still dangerous. Marian craved this. She felt so close to him when they fought. She learned well, and always found a way to surprise him.
She overbalanced him and he toppled to the floor.
"Good," he said, leaping up.
"Again!" she cried.
Sparring was more fun than kissing, some days.
o0O0o
Being the Nightjar is much more dangerous these days, Marian thought, looking around the glade. She had just had to take out five of the Sheriff's best guards who had surprised her on her way home from Clun.
She panted and thanked God that Robin was such a demanding teacher. And that she was more agile then the lumbering guards in their full armor. Nameless, faceless guards. She did not think of them as men with families or lives, she could not afford to. Because if she thought of that, she would feel the guilt. And Marian could hardly take her activities, her war, to confession.
There had been more patrols to dodge lately, and she had let her guard down. She swallowed, and went on light feet back to Knighton Hall.
o0O0o
"Lady Marian," Guy greeted her before the morning's Counsel of Nobles.
She turned to face him. "Good morning, Sir Guy," she said, her teeth already on edge.
"You look exhausted."
"I did not sleep last night," she responded, dismissively.
"Are you a-feared of anything? The Nightwatchman?"
"And what, pray tell, is the Nightwatchman?" Marian huffed.
"You do not know? It is a man, all in black, who sneaks out at night, defying the Sheriff."
"How does he defy the Sheriff?" Cold dread settled in her stomach.
"Well, the poor think he brings them food, though I have never met anyone who actually benefited from it," Guy said.
Because you do not talk to the poor, thought Marian.
"But he brings blackness, dissent, and death and fear. The Sheriff must work twice as hard to restore his good name to the populace. Just the other day, the Nightwatchman took out five of the best guards in Nottingham."
Marian must have looked surprised.
"Yes, I know. But do not fear, Lady Marian, I will not let him harm you."
"Thank you, Sir Guy," she managed. But all she can think was how she needed to be more careful. Nightwatchman? It is as good a name as any. No better or worse than Nightjar. Similar, anyway. Marian knew in that moment that she had been correct in her impulse to hide her identity. What she was doing was not illegal, (apart from the slaying of the guards) but certainly, Vaisey and Gisbourne were not going to let her undermine their plotting.
Suddenly her secret identity felt like another chain, keeping her from her true self. Marian longed to fight for what she believed in without fear or shame. Like the Knights of Old. Poverty was her dragon. And let all who come between her and her goals perish by her sword.
She turned to face the Sheriff; Sir Guy stalked to his side, and the meeting began.
o0O0o
She had known, of course, when he had finally become a knight. Such things were often written of, and he had done so himself, to his father, the Earl Geoffrey. And announced he would visit home before going to France to train with Prince Richard. Marian was not completely unprepared when he showed up at her window well after midnight and dragged her off into Sherwood Forest. Much was not there, but she knew well enough (after so many similar adventures) that she was safe in Robin's company (though for simplicity's sake, they shared the same horse. She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tightly. It had been so long since she had seen him).
"How was it?" she asked. "What happened? What ceremonies did you observe? Tell me all, tell me everything. I have never been to London - leave nothing out!" she demanded.
"Hush, my lady, it is not seemly to talk of such things," he said in his half-teasing courtly voice.
"Surely some things are seemly to speak on," she countered.
"Very well, but first, I have a mission to accomplish," he said enigmatically.
"A mission?"
"A promise."
She smiled at his cloak and buried her nose in the hood.
The promise was to declare his loyalty to her. At best, it was a shabby, improvised ceremony. She stood next to the tallest tree in Sherwood. He knelt, and gave her a handkerchief (an innocent looking scrap of lace, it reminded her of when they were children, when he had once before sworn loyalty to each other, though neither were knights, and he, barely a page. He had slipped her a hankie then).
"Lady Marian Fitzwalter, as is befitting to a Lady of your rank and privilege, I hereto swear my loyalty to you, upon pain of death. I promise to serve you faithfully, putting before you only God and the King himself. Should you ever have need of me, I will be by your side instantly. All you must do is ask."
She tried not to giggle. "I bid you stand, Sir Robin of Locksley. I accept your loyalty, and your token."
A month later, he proposed. That was part of the game, too. His waywardness was not part of the game, however. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to forgive him him. Even now, when she had need of him.
Marian shook the memory from her mind, sat down, and began writing a letter to her "loyal" knight. She still hated him, but she needed him, as an ally. She had no allies here.
All her old friends had been married off, to other neighborhoods far from reach and of no immediate use to her.
Marian's own father could not be depended on as an ally; he had hardly put up a fight. Perhaps it was understandable. He had been sheriff since before she was born. Sir Edward was old, tired.
Marian was young, and ready to do battle. But she recognized she might need to raise an army.
Lifting her quill, she began,
Dear Robin,
No, scratch that,
Robin, nothing "dear" about that.
Or maybe formal was the way to go,
To the attention of Sir Robert of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, Captain of the King's Guard in the Holy Land,
But formality was a game they played when they were children. She blotted out the careful letters.
Dear Much,
Who did not read, Marian knew. Dammit. Marian could not write this. She was still angry with him. But would it be easier if she was still in love with him? (Which she was not, she told herself. She was not in love with anyone, and she never would be again.) She looked down at the mess she had made of the parchment. Frustrated, she balled it up and threw it in the fire.
Robin,
I know you are likely busy with more important pursuits than silly little me. God help you if you are enjoying your work. But you are needed at home.
No, do not get any ideas, foolish boy. I do not need you.
But Nottingham does.
My father has been ousted as Sheriff. Prince John has replaced him with an evil man, known as Vaisey. He has raised taxes to "pay for the Crusade," and often ruthlessly punishes those who cannot pay. I am not convinced that our King sees any of this money. But people here are suffering. A man who tried to steal an apple for his painfully hungry daughter had his thumbs cut off.
It gets worse for you. Vaisey has a lackey, known as Guy of Gisbourne (or Guy of Gross-bourne, in certain circles). Vaisey has granted Locksley to him for "safe-keeping." I worry for your people, Thornton especially, and his young daughter Bridget even more. You should too, or the Robin I knew growing up would have.
You have twice sworn loyalty to me. I cannot fight alone. Come home.
Marian.
She thought of Locksley, changed so much by Robin's absence. She had only visited the house once since he left. It seemed that before Marian visited, Gisbourne had heard she was engaged to its former master; he made all sorts of insinuations at how well she might know the house.
Marian had remained silent on the matter.
But at Council of Noble meetings, he always tried to have a conversation with her, however brief, even once going so far as to declaring she needed a husband to take care of her.
A master was the last thing she needed.
A partner, however, was much more desirable. And Sir Guy of Gross-bourne did not have it in him to champion those less fortunate than him.
o0O0o
It was unusual for Guy of Gross-bourne not to be at a Counsel of Nobles meeting. Marian did not want to comment on it, thanking her lucky stars that he was not there, and she did not want to seem overly anxious for his return.
Vaisey, however, took it upon himself to announce where Guy was.
"Sir Guy is ill, and according to his physician, Pitts, he may not be recovering for quite some time."
Marian wondered if the Sheriff had grown tired of Sir Guy sniffing around him, and had the man poisoned. But she did not have much time to dwell on it.
That winter was a hard one. Especially so, given that Sir Edward could no longer afford to keep his bare-bones staff. John left first, than Sara, carefully carting off her sick daughter to greener pastures. Marian could not blame them. But now she had more than enough work to keep her busy. She was the Lady and the maid and the cook by day, the Nightwatchman by night.
Balancing was difficult, that she did not have time to dwell on Aldith (who never wrote), on Robin, or on Sir Guy and his illness (which was going quite long) or anything else.
Suddenly, without any fanfare and nearly a year after he had taken ill, Sir Guy reappeared at a Counsel of Noble's meeting, hardly looking worse for wear.
"Did you miss me, Lady Marian?" he asked, sidling up to her after the meeting.
Had she known him long enough to miss him when he went? "I noticed your absence, Sir Guy, but in truth, I was very busy... You look, almost,tan," she noticed suddenly. He did not look as if he had been ill; he was thinner, yes, but not emaciated, as someone who had been sick for a year might be.
Guy flushed suddenly, then stumbled out a reply, "Oh, uh the physician, Pitts, said... jaundice."
Odd. Jaundice was more yellow - she had seen it in babies. Marian let it go. "I am glad you are recovering, Sir Guy."
o0O0o