azaleas; who give themselves to the winds
Prompt: milliways_bar DE Challenge
Author: wanderlustlover
Recipient: ceitfianna
Summary: Marian and Robin: Its finally Spring.
Spoilers: Somewhere in Season Two, after Marian is Nottingham.
Disclaimer: Robin & Marian both belong to BBC Robin Hood. Title from William Stanley Braithwaite's "Flowers."
Nothing changes in Nottingham with the advent of early Spring.
Even as the thaw gives way to the earliest advent of light green-ing of the trees of Sherwood in the distant, people are trampled in the market place and good are taken as payment for outlandish charges. And she been learning to hold her tongue finally.
They have her father.
Even as she plays spy for Robin, frees money and sometimes prisoners to the cause, it feels sometimes like maybe he was right more than she was. That for every good she does, two or three more lines of the spiderweb trap her in this place. Especially as Sheriff follows each of footsteps he can, goading her into any mistake, any misstep.
But she's needed. They need her.
The Men. Robin. Her father.
The girl at the window.
Winter has been cold.
Nothing changes here.
That's what she goes to bed thinking, alone and too tired.
When she wakes up to a small, tiny five petal purple flower, so bright and green it can't have been growing longer than a day or two --and where were flowers growing this early in the spring?-- on the pillow case next to her face, she takes a shaky breath.
Pulling it into the covers with her.
It's the size of the tip of her finger.
The smallest herald and she holds her breath.
She's not alone. Even here, even there; they're together. Hope, it whispers. Remember, it reminds. Nothing is ever hopeless, when even flowers can grow in the spring snow and love can flourish in the shadows of kingdom in rebellion.
Author: wanderlustlover
Recipient: ceitfianna
Summary: Marian and Robin: Its finally Spring.
Spoilers: Somewhere in Season Two, after Marian is Nottingham.
Disclaimer: Robin & Marian both belong to BBC Robin Hood. Title from William Stanley Braithwaite's "Flowers."
Nothing changes in Nottingham with the advent of early Spring.
Even as the thaw gives way to the earliest advent of light green-ing of the trees of Sherwood in the distant, people are trampled in the market place and good are taken as payment for outlandish charges. And she been learning to hold her tongue finally.
They have her father.
Even as she plays spy for Robin, frees money and sometimes prisoners to the cause, it feels sometimes like maybe he was right more than she was. That for every good she does, two or three more lines of the spiderweb trap her in this place. Especially as Sheriff follows each of footsteps he can, goading her into any mistake, any misstep.
But she's needed. They need her.
The Men. Robin. Her father.
The girl at the window.
Winter has been cold.
Nothing changes here.
That's what she goes to bed thinking, alone and too tired.
When she wakes up to a small, tiny five petal purple flower, so bright and green it can't have been growing longer than a day or two --and where were flowers growing this early in the spring?-- on the pillow case next to her face, she takes a shaky breath.
Pulling it into the covers with her.
It's the size of the tip of her finger.
The smallest herald and she holds her breath.
She's not alone. Even here, even there; they're together. Hope, it whispers. Remember, it reminds. Nothing is ever hopeless, when even flowers can grow in the spring snow and love can flourish in the shadows of kingdom in rebellion.