You Can Never Go Back (A Robin Hood fanfic)
"Nothing is at is seems." These were the last words that Vaisey uttered to Guy, as he lay "dying" in the battlements in Season 3.
Now, we know what he meant with those words, but what if there was more to it than his plan to destroy Guy and Robin Hood, and put the witch-known-as-Isabelle into position as Sheriff?
In my version, Marian didn't die - but neither Guy, nor Robin, know it. The only people who are aware that she is alive, are thousands of miles away - and everyone is fresh out of carrier pigeons.
Since I'm still so green, I just wanted to apologize ahead of time for my atrocious grammar, plot, character development, outlines, and anything else that may be offensive to the seasoned writer (and reader). I hope someone out there enjoys my little dabble in make-believe, but if not, that's quite alright. I'm enjoying myself.
*grins*
Without further ado - Lady Marian:
The dry desert air whisked sand and grit against her boots and full skirt, as she stood impatiently outside the door of the foreign tavern. Weary of standing in the blinding heat, she'd chosen to slump against the roughened stone of the outer wall, not caring how unladylike she must seem.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, ignoring the curious glances of the mom who passed by, but still she could not block out the blinding sun. She imagined that she was leaning against wood, instead of sandstone - and the air that was blowing against her skirts was cool and wet, instead of hot and dry. She was no longer able to remember exactly what the cool felt like, however - it had been too long...
"Marian!" the screeching voice calling her name caused her to roll her eyes and sigh. She picked up her skirts and sauntered inside, presuming the heir of a woman who still bore a title, a place of importance in the world. In reality, she was just a slave, but this time, not to her country or crown; she was a slave to the man who had paid a high price for her: Prince John.
Her first meeting with the insipid, flowery monarch was shortly after her..."Injury." It took her all of one minute to assess the nobleman as the fop that he was, and decide that she detested him.
She had healed from Guy's attack faster than anyone had expected; so quickly, in fact, that a decision of, "what to do with her," now had had to be made. The men, who proved themselves to be imbeciles and blockheads, came to the conclusion that she was "too pretty" to be held hostage in a camp full of lonely men - but too strong-willed to be sold to any of the neighboring nobles to be sold as a wife. Carter, her favorite of the rabble, had decided that her skills at fighting and self-defense should be put to good use, which, to Marian, sounded like a dream...until it became her worst nightmare.
Her "usefulness" in being female was soon found to becoming nothing short of a servant for spoiled and pampered Prince John, who anyone with half a wit would know, was only here to pretend to support his brother, Richard. He spent his hours, when not before his looking glass, whining about the weather conditions, and the ill-effects it held toward his normally perfect coif. Marian had never seen a man who acted so much like a woman; she had never a woman who acted like Prince John.
Her "duties" to the Prince were to see that he and his entourage were comfortable, which usually meant fetching things:
"Marian, bring me my cloak."
"Marian, my slippers - now."
"Marian, I need more sugar for me tea."
"Marian, have you seen that servant boy? I believe he was bringing me some fruit from the market, and he's been gone too long. Go and fetch him."
When he wasn't barking orders, it was the non-stop need for declarations of love.
"Marian, do you love me? I am your prince, and I do so much for you. I take good care of you, don't I, Marian, so you must love me."
To which she gave her usual reply:
"Of course, my lord."
It was becoming increasingly difficult to reply in the same even-toned, sweet manner. Each and every day, he showed his self-centered and cruel nature a little more. Her patience was wearing thin, and Carter had still not arrived with news of home, or the ship that was meant to take them to England. She was beginning to think he had abandoned her completely. She plotted ways of getting out of this disaster that had become her life, but she could think of nothing that wouldn't eventually place her in a more perilous predicament. Her heart, however longed for England - and the two men who were waiting there for her.
"Marian! Where are you? I need you!" a high-pitched and nasally whine reached out amongst her daydreams and snatched it away. Oh well, she thought. At least he does sleep sometime. She smiled to herself. It was almost as if he were a child, and she were his caregiver. Never, had she seen a man so helpless. How was it that one son was brought up to be confident and strong, yet the other weak and annoying? What plot had his nursemaids played against the too in their upbringing to ensure that the elder son was, in all ways, the better to wear the crown?
She slipped into the darkened room, quietly bracing herself for the newest set of orders, when she spotted the disturbingly famliliar round face sitting beside the prince. Both men took great delight in her unguarded reaction.
"Surprise!" the older, balding man said, gleefully. Oh, he was enjoying himself, immensely. "Are you not happy to see me, Marian?" He jabbed the prince in his side, which caused him to whine and glare at the sheriff, who paid no notice, so enthralled was he in his own joke.
Marian struggled to gain her composure, drawing upon years of experience in playing the meek and timid - though she knew the sheriff knew better.
"My lord, Sheriff. What are you doing here?"
"Ah, always the polite one, aren't we, Marian? Tell me, are you always this polite to people after you've tried to stick a sword in their backs?" He grinned so large, his one gold tooth glinted in the light from the flickering candle from the table in which he sat. She glanced at it for a moment, pondering the angle in which she would have to hit it to send it flying directly into his smiling face.
"Ah-ah-ah, I don't think so, not this time. No." He shook his head, still wearing that maniacal grin. "You see, this time...I am prepared." he circled around her, so close that she could smell his foul breath and feel his cold, clammy hands on her shoulders. The unmistakable steel edge of a knife pressed tightly against the back of her neck.
"And I will not be as kind as Lord Gisborne when I plunge it through. This time..." he pressed it a bit harder, breaking skin, "...I will make sure to stay around and finish the job. Although, when I'm finished with you, you may wish that he had murdered you."
She looked to Prince John for mercy, but he quickly pretended to be interested in the non-existent dirt underneath his well-manicured finger nails.
"And what of the king? Surely, he will notice my absence." She was grasping at straws; she knew the king was far too busy to notice anything other than his mission - especially not a mere girl, such as herself. But Carter would notice - wouldn't he?
Both men burst into laughter, which sounded much like the cackling of two old women.
"Oh, you are very funny, Lady Marian. Very funny, indeed." He pressed the knife even harder into her neck, and grinned like a madman at her sudden gasp. "Not quite so brave when the tables are turned, are you, Marian - or should I say, "Nightwatchman"? Hm? You didn't think that I was completely ignorant of Guy and his bird-brained plans to keep you safe, did you? Ironic that he ended up being the one who did you in, isn't it?"
He laughed breathlessly against her neck, causing her stomach to churn. She held her breath and moved her head as far as the knife in the back of her allowed. His words cut her more deeply than she wanted to admit. The familiar pain constricted within her chest, but she forced her thoughts elsewhere: the strategic elbow she would put in his gut, the paces it would take her to run to the tavern door... but where would she run? She had no one here, save her friend, Carter, who may not even still be in The Holy Land - or on this earth.
She had no one.
That thought alone was all it took for her to claim defeat. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave in to the despair of her situation, which weighed down on her far heavier than the desert heat.
"Well, the climate change has been good for you, I see, Marian." He began to push her closer to the tavern door, Prince John following closely behind. None of the occupants in the room lifted a hand to help; this was nothing of interest to them. It served to further remind her of how alone she truly was. If this had been England - no, with the exception of a handful of scraggly outlaws and one Lord, no one in England would have had the power to save her either. The thought of those she had once considered her friends only made the pressure in her chest increase.
As they reached the door, Vaisey leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "Don't think this act will save you, Lady Marian." the sound of her name laced with heavy sarcasm, "I am not a lovesick pup who will come crawling at your feet, begging for scraps."
The heavy weight of iron hit the top of her head, causing her to see a blinding white light. She heard the faint sounds of Vaisey mumbling in the background, as she felt herself sleeping into unconsciousness.
Now, we know what he meant with those words, but what if there was more to it than his plan to destroy Guy and Robin Hood, and put the witch-known-as-Isabelle into position as Sheriff?
In my version, Marian didn't die - but neither Guy, nor Robin, know it. The only people who are aware that she is alive, are thousands of miles away - and everyone is fresh out of carrier pigeons.
Since I'm still so green, I just wanted to apologize ahead of time for my atrocious grammar, plot, character development, outlines, and anything else that may be offensive to the seasoned writer (and reader). I hope someone out there enjoys my little dabble in make-believe, but if not, that's quite alright. I'm enjoying myself.
*grins*
Without further ado - Lady Marian:
The dry desert air whisked sand and grit against her boots and full skirt, as she stood impatiently outside the door of the foreign tavern. Weary of standing in the blinding heat, she'd chosen to slump against the roughened stone of the outer wall, not caring how unladylike she must seem.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, ignoring the curious glances of the mom who passed by, but still she could not block out the blinding sun. She imagined that she was leaning against wood, instead of sandstone - and the air that was blowing against her skirts was cool and wet, instead of hot and dry. She was no longer able to remember exactly what the cool felt like, however - it had been too long...
"Marian!" the screeching voice calling her name caused her to roll her eyes and sigh. She picked up her skirts and sauntered inside, presuming the heir of a woman who still bore a title, a place of importance in the world. In reality, she was just a slave, but this time, not to her country or crown; she was a slave to the man who had paid a high price for her: Prince John.
Her first meeting with the insipid, flowery monarch was shortly after her..."Injury." It took her all of one minute to assess the nobleman as the fop that he was, and decide that she detested him.
She had healed from Guy's attack faster than anyone had expected; so quickly, in fact, that a decision of, "what to do with her," now had had to be made. The men, who proved themselves to be imbeciles and blockheads, came to the conclusion that she was "too pretty" to be held hostage in a camp full of lonely men - but too strong-willed to be sold to any of the neighboring nobles to be sold as a wife. Carter, her favorite of the rabble, had decided that her skills at fighting and self-defense should be put to good use, which, to Marian, sounded like a dream...until it became her worst nightmare.
Her "usefulness" in being female was soon found to becoming nothing short of a servant for spoiled and pampered Prince John, who anyone with half a wit would know, was only here to pretend to support his brother, Richard. He spent his hours, when not before his looking glass, whining about the weather conditions, and the ill-effects it held toward his normally perfect coif. Marian had never seen a man who acted so much like a woman; she had never a woman who acted like Prince John.
Her "duties" to the Prince were to see that he and his entourage were comfortable, which usually meant fetching things:
"Marian, bring me my cloak."
"Marian, my slippers - now."
"Marian, I need more sugar for me tea."
"Marian, have you seen that servant boy? I believe he was bringing me some fruit from the market, and he's been gone too long. Go and fetch him."
When he wasn't barking orders, it was the non-stop need for declarations of love.
"Marian, do you love me? I am your prince, and I do so much for you. I take good care of you, don't I, Marian, so you must love me."
To which she gave her usual reply:
"Of course, my lord."
It was becoming increasingly difficult to reply in the same even-toned, sweet manner. Each and every day, he showed his self-centered and cruel nature a little more. Her patience was wearing thin, and Carter had still not arrived with news of home, or the ship that was meant to take them to England. She was beginning to think he had abandoned her completely. She plotted ways of getting out of this disaster that had become her life, but she could think of nothing that wouldn't eventually place her in a more perilous predicament. Her heart, however longed for England - and the two men who were waiting there for her.
"Marian! Where are you? I need you!" a high-pitched and nasally whine reached out amongst her daydreams and snatched it away. Oh well, she thought. At least he does sleep sometime. She smiled to herself. It was almost as if he were a child, and she were his caregiver. Never, had she seen a man so helpless. How was it that one son was brought up to be confident and strong, yet the other weak and annoying? What plot had his nursemaids played against the too in their upbringing to ensure that the elder son was, in all ways, the better to wear the crown?
She slipped into the darkened room, quietly bracing herself for the newest set of orders, when she spotted the disturbingly famliliar round face sitting beside the prince. Both men took great delight in her unguarded reaction.
"Surprise!" the older, balding man said, gleefully. Oh, he was enjoying himself, immensely. "Are you not happy to see me, Marian?" He jabbed the prince in his side, which caused him to whine and glare at the sheriff, who paid no notice, so enthralled was he in his own joke.
Marian struggled to gain her composure, drawing upon years of experience in playing the meek and timid - though she knew the sheriff knew better.
"My lord, Sheriff. What are you doing here?"
"Ah, always the polite one, aren't we, Marian? Tell me, are you always this polite to people after you've tried to stick a sword in their backs?" He grinned so large, his one gold tooth glinted in the light from the flickering candle from the table in which he sat. She glanced at it for a moment, pondering the angle in which she would have to hit it to send it flying directly into his smiling face.
"Ah-ah-ah, I don't think so, not this time. No." He shook his head, still wearing that maniacal grin. "You see, this time...I am prepared." he circled around her, so close that she could smell his foul breath and feel his cold, clammy hands on her shoulders. The unmistakable steel edge of a knife pressed tightly against the back of her neck.
"And I will not be as kind as Lord Gisborne when I plunge it through. This time..." he pressed it a bit harder, breaking skin, "...I will make sure to stay around and finish the job. Although, when I'm finished with you, you may wish that he had murdered you."
She looked to Prince John for mercy, but he quickly pretended to be interested in the non-existent dirt underneath his well-manicured finger nails.
"And what of the king? Surely, he will notice my absence." She was grasping at straws; she knew the king was far too busy to notice anything other than his mission - especially not a mere girl, such as herself. But Carter would notice - wouldn't he?
Both men burst into laughter, which sounded much like the cackling of two old women.
"Oh, you are very funny, Lady Marian. Very funny, indeed." He pressed the knife even harder into her neck, and grinned like a madman at her sudden gasp. "Not quite so brave when the tables are turned, are you, Marian - or should I say, "Nightwatchman"? Hm? You didn't think that I was completely ignorant of Guy and his bird-brained plans to keep you safe, did you? Ironic that he ended up being the one who did you in, isn't it?"
He laughed breathlessly against her neck, causing her stomach to churn. She held her breath and moved her head as far as the knife in the back of her allowed. His words cut her more deeply than she wanted to admit. The familiar pain constricted within her chest, but she forced her thoughts elsewhere: the strategic elbow she would put in his gut, the paces it would take her to run to the tavern door... but where would she run? She had no one here, save her friend, Carter, who may not even still be in The Holy Land - or on this earth.
She had no one.
That thought alone was all it took for her to claim defeat. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave in to the despair of her situation, which weighed down on her far heavier than the desert heat.
"Well, the climate change has been good for you, I see, Marian." He began to push her closer to the tavern door, Prince John following closely behind. None of the occupants in the room lifted a hand to help; this was nothing of interest to them. It served to further remind her of how alone she truly was. If this had been England - no, with the exception of a handful of scraggly outlaws and one Lord, no one in England would have had the power to save her either. The thought of those she had once considered her friends only made the pressure in her chest increase.
As they reached the door, Vaisey leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "Don't think this act will save you, Lady Marian." the sound of her name laced with heavy sarcasm, "I am not a lovesick pup who will come crawling at your feet, begging for scraps."
The heavy weight of iron hit the top of her head, causing her to see a blinding white light. She heard the faint sounds of Vaisey mumbling in the background, as she felt herself sleeping into unconsciousness.