More Than Ever

[feistee]

Title : More Than Ever
Length : Approx. 5000 words
Summary : Amidst a restless night, Robin journeys to Locksley in an attempt to regain possession of something he holds close to his heart.
Spoilers : 1x07, though there's a throwback to 1x02.
Genre : Romance
Disclaimer : Robin Hood isn't mine, unfortunately.
Rating : PG
Character/Pairing : Marian/Robin
Note : This is my first Robin Hood fic, and I am very new to LJ, so I thought this would be a good way to get to know some of the people in the community.  Also, I'm from Canada, so though I do own the first season on DVD (and I absolutely adore it), I have not seen season 2 (but I've unfortunately been spoiled about the general scenario).  Thanks very much in advance if you enjoy the story!

More Than Ever

The piercing darkness of night blanketed the encampment thickly, while the air was still heavy with the scent of ale that had long since been drunk, and the only discernable sounds were the light snores of Much, who had his head propped against his beloved burgundy flask. His face was settled into a blissful smile and he still wore some of gaudy pearl necklaces, unclaimed spoils from Lucky George’s caravan that Allan had forced about his neck amidst a drunken stupor.

Robin’s mood, however, contrasted starkly with those of his comrades. He could not sleep, and the incessant chattering of a distant magpie did nothing to ease his nerves. He turned roughly on his side and adjusted the pack beneath his aching neck in attempt to gain some semblance of comfort on the cold and hard forest floor. He was dreadfully fatigued after the intense exertions of the day, but his mind still raced at full force, not allowing him to fall into the dreamless sleep he had become so familiar with.

Marian was to wed Gisborne. And he was powerless to stop it. Robin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake away the images that came to his mind, of Gisborne in her room, and her ultimate resignation to his requests. If he had not gone to the Holy Land, none of this would have happened, and they would have…

He forced himself to stop his inane ramblings and found his thoughts shift to a different time. Before Jerusalem, and before Acre. Memories of Locksley came flooding into his mind, of the summers beneath the tall boughs of the birches and elms, which shaded them from the unrelenting heat of the sun. Those were the days he spent with Marian. But it was all in the past now, a less complicated time, that he had foolishly destroyed for no reason other than to escape the responsibilities that had come at him too hard and too fast once his father had passed. No reason other than his own selfishness.

Robin pushed himself up from the ground, and gazed into the dying embers of the fire. Suddenly, he could hear her voice in his head, something she had not said so long ago, the words sharp and acerbic.

“Please, the ring my father gave you years ago before he knew the wickedness of your heart.”

He stood then, breaking from his reverie, and gently dusted off the dead leaves and twigs from his britches as he leaned over a nearby log to fetch his bow and quiver. He tip-toed silently from the others into the thicket, certain he would not wake them.

“Robin!” came a hiss from behind him.

Djaq, astute as ever, had sat up, and was watching him with bemusement writ on her groggy features.

He put a finger to his lips as he froze in his place, and dared to let out the smallest voice he could. “I will be back, do not wake the others. Please.”

She examined him for a moment, before lying back down with defeat, and nodded. When he was a safe distance away, he broke into a run, west, towards Locksley.

---

The guard gave a small grunt as Robin hit him hard over the head with the butt of his sword. He pulled the man out of sight from the stable doorway, behind a horse and covered him with a few armfuls of hay, wrinkling his nose as the unpleasant odours rushed his senses. He resumed his approach on the manor, seeing no other resistance outside the structure.

He shot towards the entrance as the torchlight within flickered ominously on the stone veranda. One more soldier lingered within, sitting on the bench inside with his back towards the door, and busied himself by picking at his chainmail. Robin stayed close to the inner wall and managed to hoist himself up to one of the rafters silently. The guard made no move to show he had noticed his entry.

He circumvented the room to the upstairs, and pushed himself over the banister, landing nimbly on the floor. He stayed crouched as he made his way into the far corner, past Gisborne’s bedroom, and began to lightly tap at the wooden slats of the floor. It had been too long, he accepted, for him to remember the exact location. After a few moments, one noise had a slightly different quality than the others, so he dug his fingers to the sides of the worn wood and pried away gently. The hollow was dark, and he could not see where he extended his arm, but he felt a tiny and rough package, wrapped in old cloth and paper. He retrieved a brown satchel from his pocket and placed the bundle within before replacing the slat.

Robin quickly made his way back, retracing his steps across the rafters, and was about to pounce down in front of the door when voices echoed throughout the chamber.

“You are tired, my Lord, I will make a bath,” came the nervous voice of a servant girl. “The Sheriff should not keep you out to such late hours.”

“No, I simply wish to retire,” came the low and unmistakable voice of Gisborne. The pair walked into the room, Gisborne with his arms characteristically crossed across his chest. “Tell Thornton to have my meal ready by sunrise tomorrow.”

“Yes, my Lord,” came her reply, and she scurried past him towards the kitchens that were beyond the lazy guard.

Gisborne’s gaze shifted from the girl’s retreating form to the bench, where the guard had stood to recognize his master’s return.

“What are you doing?” Gisborne growled as he took three long strides towards the man. He grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and hauled him to the entrance. “You stand here, fool. Do you understand?”

“Of course, m’Lord,” said the guard as he stood up a little straighter, and began scanning the yard with feigned vigor. Robin cursed to himself silently; the man stood right beneath him, blocking his only way out.

Gisborne gave an exasperated sigh and began for his quarters, slowly making his way up the stairs. But then, as he reached the top and rounded the corner, there was an unmistakable squeak of the floorboards. He examined the source of the noise with his foot, and prodded at it until the board came loose, shifting easily under his force. Robin’s muscles tensed. He had not replaced the slat properly.

“I want this fixed by tomorrow!” Gisborne shouted as he began to turn around to the guard below. Instead, he froze. They were now at eye-level, and Gisborne’s mouth hung open as he registered Robin’s form atop the rafter. Unable to resist the opportunity, Robin gave a tiny wave and smiled, which spurred Gisborne into action. He withdrew his sword and bolted towards the stairs.

The guard panicked, thinking Gisborne was after his head, and turned for the door, but Robin leapt down at him, knocking him to his knees. He did not turn around to see how close Gisborne had gotten, but could hear his yells for the other soldiers and the neighing of horses from the stables as he made it towards the cover of the trees.

He headed for a particularly thick part underbrush, knowing it would slow the horses. Nevertheless, he could hear the hoof beats not far behind him as the branches and brambles whipped past his face and through the thin layers of cloth on his arms painfully. He ran as quickly as his legs would take him and he ignored the burning in his lungs that became increasingly pressing, but Gisborne’s men were not giving up. He realized then that Gisborne was amongst them, directing the guards to disperse throughout the woods.

Robin nearly tripped on an errant rock, but stumbled from his scraped knees and broke into a sprint once again, before glancing over his shoulder to see the spots of menacing torchlight become smaller. They were falling behind. He snickered, but his joy was cut short as he collided at full force with something. All the wind was knocked out of him as he toppled and tumbled down a steep hill, but he could barely register anything else. It took him several moments to realize that the thing he had run into was not a thing at all, but a person, and he heard a gasp as they both rolled to a stop at the foot of a large ash tree.

Robin’s eyes were watering, as the stranger’s elbow had collided hard with his nose during their fall, but he brushed the tears away and saw the unmistakable form of the Nightwatchman. She pushed herself up from his side, rather ungracefully, as she shakily reached out for the mask that had fallen in the bushes beside them.

“I-” he began, continuing to hold his hands to his throbbing nose.

“You fool,” she spat as she readjusted the mask. “Come!” and she hoisted him to his feet.

“Do not worry,” Robin chuckled, resisting her pull. “I lost them.”

Marian pushed him, hard against the chest and hissed menacingly, “They circled around and caught sight of me. I was not so lucky.”

There was the unmistakable ruffling of leaves shifting and branches snapping atop of the hill where the guards were wandering. Robin swallowed hard, and he allowed her to lead him away as they picked up their pace. He was quickly tiring, and she could sense this as she turned directions sharply.

“Knighton?” he said between harried breaths as he fought to maintain the tremendous pace of running. “If they discover that I am with you-”

“You cannot run like this for much longer. They will capture and hang you by tomorrow morning,” she said, grabbing his arm with urgency. Again, he followed her as they shot through the forest with renewed speed. Knighton, for the first time in recent memory, was the last place he wanted to go, but he knew she was right.

They came upon a familiar clearing and headed straight for the lodge, not even attempting to stay in the shadows. Marian easily jumped to the horizontal iron rod and pushed herself atop the wooden overhanging beside her room window. She worked at the latch for a moment before it gave way and she pulled the shutters aside. A few moments later, Robin joined her, albeit with hesitation.

The moment he was within the confines of the room, she snapped the windows shut, lit a candle in the corner of the room, and spun around, her hands on her hips. She whipped the mask off her face and pulled the cowl beneath her neck to reveal an all too familiar steely expression etched on her face.

“You could have gotten us killed.”

“I would have been fine if you were not there,” he muttered, crossing his arms in a childlike defiance. “What in God’s name were you doing out there, wandering through the woods?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she said, pulling the hood back and unbuttoning her jacket. She winced as she pulled the material from her shoulder and then she moved her other hand towards her arm as she felt the familiar wetness of blood. “But if you must know, I just came back from Nettlestone. Yesterday, the Sheriff confiscated the grain stores, their only reliable source of food. They would have gone hungry.”

He saw then, in the poor light of the single flame that she was nursing a split lip. Robin took a step towards her, his irritation suddenly forgotten. “You are hurt.”

Marian easily sidestepped the comment and stared him down unflinchingly as she lit several more candles. “What did you do? What was so important that you needed to gallivant about the woods tonight? And without your men at that.”

He said nothing, watching her as she peeled away the sticky cloth of the shirt. To his surprise, she did not ask him to turn away when all she was left in was a thin undershirt. She went to the corner of the room and gathered a bowl, filling it with water from a jug and taking a few strips of cloth from her chest. Then, sitting on the bed, she dabbed the material in the bowl and brought it to her skin, shuddering slightly as she cleaned the wound. He approached her slowly, waiting for her inevitable protests, but when none came, he joined her on the bed, took the cloth from her hands and examined the damage. There was a gash, slightly longer than his thumb and angry marks of red where the skin had scraped away. He began to work at it, gently and thoroughly, straining the cloth every time the blood soaked through. It was not serious, but without a doubt, it was painful.

“Must have caught myself on a rock when we fell,” she said, her anger gone and her eyes darkening as she looked at him. His heart lurched as she licked her cracking lips, wincing as her tongue ran over the split flesh on the bottom. Then suddenly her gaze dropped, to his waist, and before he could dart from her reach, her hand snapped out and seized the satchel at his belt. He groaned, knowing he should have recognized her bluff, and collapsed on his back in defeat.

“This?” she laughed humorlessly, dangling it in front of him. “This is what you risked your life for?”

Robin gritted his teeth and reached out, attempting to get it back, but she would not relent and kept her fist around the satchel tightly, her knuckles going white from the exertion. He decided to shut out her accusing voice and instead revel in the pleasant feeling of the goose down mattress beneath his aching back.

“You were coming back from Locksley, I know,” she pointed out. “Thieving from Guy, to keep him in his place, is that it? You are infuriating.”

“It is not his. It is mine.” Robin brought his arm up to shield his eyes, unable to face her. He mumbled, “Therefore, it can not be constituted as thievery. Please…give it back.”

“Odd, that you would choose to do this after today in particular,” she continued, referring to her now impending marriage to Gisborne. “Always having to feed that ever restless ego of yours. If he overshadows you in any way, you must make a mockery of him, and because of this you are becoming even more reckless.”

He sat up again, bristling, as she pulled at the leather strings of the satchel and opened it roughly with her forefinger and thumb. Her injured right arm, now completely forgotten, hung limply at her side. She shook the cloth package out of the bag and immediately began to pull the folds aside.

“Marian-”

But it was too late. Glinting in the dim light on the palm of her hand was a silver ring. She gasped, running a finger along the side of the smooth metal, still untarnished. The diamond at its top sparkled, sending spots of dispersed light all along her arm as she tested its weight in her hand. The silence was suffocating, and he realized he had been holding his breath for quite some time. Her head snapped up as she sniffed, the exasperation and self-righteousness suddenly washed away.

“Your ring? I believe you gave up the right to say that long ago,” she whispered. “Take it, sell it, or do whatever you intended. It means nothing anyway.”

A dull aching began to fill the pit of his stomach, and his mouth was suddenly dry as she pulled his hand and pressed the ring into his palm with unnecessary force. Her words were biting, though he knew they were a rather callous attempt at hiding her own hurt.

“I do not intend to sell it, Marian.” He placed the ring on the table beside the bowl and wetted the cloth once more before bringing it to her shoulder. “Besides, it was once your mother’s. I know it means something to you, even if not in the context I would hope.”

She tensed under the pressure of his fingers and closed her eyes, pursing her lips and refusing to reply. Neither said anything for a time, until the noise of clattering hooves and an urgent banging on the door downstairs startled them both. Marian stood decisively, gathering her scarlet robe from the armoire.

“Is it still bleeding?” she asked over her shoulder, ensuring her the robe was dark enough to hide her injury.

“A little,” he conceded as he glanced out the window. Gisborne was waiting at the doorstep, rocking back and forth on his heels lightly.

“Wait here. Do not attempt to leave, they will see you,” she hissed, grabbing his arm as she shrugged the robe over her shoulders. “And clean up this mess, incase he comes upstairs.”

Robin nodded and began to gather the bowl and bloodied cloths. He quickly dumped the reddened contents of the bowl out the window as Marian rushed down the stairs to head off Gisborne. Robin rolled the cloths into a tight ball and shoved them into Marian’s armoire before silently heading to the bedroom door, pushing it just slightly to see what was happening below.

“Sir Guy,” Marian said as Gisborne stepped into the room, his dark eyes scanning the vicinity. “My father is not here right now, he left for Nottingham hours ago, so if you have business with him, I’m afraid it will have to wait.”

“Some outlaws were seen from here not too long ago,” Gisborne said easily. “I came to make sure you were alright.”

Marian smiled tightly as she motioned towards the door. “I assure you, I am fine. Please, Sir Guy, it is late…”

Robin craned his neck to watch as Gisborne moved out of his line of sight. The sliver that the door had been left ajar gave him a very poor view into the lodge’s lounging quarters.

“Marian, you are bleeding.”

Robin could only see the length of Gisborne’s arm, clad in leather, reach out to cup her chin gingerly and examined her face with curious intrigue. Robin was frozen in place as a tempest of emotions whirled inside him, but he could not tear his eyes away.

“I fell in the woods this evening,” she laughed, angling her face away from him. “I was not paying attention to where I was walking. It was clumsy of me.”

“Come,” he said, his voice low and severe. He took her by the elbow and towards the stairs, “we’ll clean you up.”

“Really, that is not necessary,” she began, pulling away, but his grip was firm.

“I wish to take care of you. Will you not give me this one thing?” There was silence, except for the soft sound of Marian exhaling slowly. To Robin’s horror, she nodded, and they began the ascent up the stairs.

Marian caught Robin’s eye through the slightly ajar door and her eyes were wide, urging him to hide. He slipped back, his mind scrambling as their footsteps drew closer. He could not go outside, where Gisborne’s men were waiting. He eyed the four poster bed for a moment, and decidedly pulled himself up to the hanging silks above, but not before pocketing the ring from the table. When they reached the room, Gisborne gave her a gentle nudge towards the bed against her injured shoulder. Impressively, she remained impassive, but for a sharp and barely discernable intake of breath.

“Sit,” he said simply as he filled the bowl once again with clean water as Marian brought over a new, unsullied cloth. He took it from her, and gave a rather uncharacteristic smile as he brought the damp cloth to her face, dabbing at the wound. The action was rather needless, as it had healed quite well already, and all three people in the room knew that.

The process was agonizingly slow in Robin’s mind as he watched from overhead. So he closed his eyes, until Gisborne’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

“Good,” Gisborne said. He did not lower his other hand from Marian’s face, and instead leaned in, his movements wrought with hesitation and awkwardness. His lips skimmed against her forehead and she closed her eyes. “Marian…Hood was one of the men my guard was pursuing tonight. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Should it?” came her unassuming answer. Then slowly, her face broke into a watery smile, ever the actress, once again. “It is late, Sir Guy, and I should wish to retire now. But please, do not mistake my weariness as ungratefulness, for I am very thankful.”

He stood then, and nodded brusquely, seemingly satisfied with himself. “Be careful. The outlaws are getting bolder.”

As Marian led him out of the room, Robin listened to their voices grow more muffled as they went farther. When a few moments had passed, he swung his legs down and landed on the bed, leaning back on the pillows when he heard the front door close with Gisborne’s departure. He kicked off his boots and made himself utterly comfortable as she walked in, eying him and shaking her head.

“Robin, I am not in the mood for your games, please, leave now,” she said, tidying up her room hastily.

“Hang on, still need to bandage up that bump of yours,” he drawled as he sat up, and suddenly stopped mid-movement. “Or…do you want me to call on Guy to help you with that too?” As expected, he had fallen into a familiar pattern of sarcastic jibes and comments, prompting her to give a huff of disdain.

She sat down fiercely on the bed and glared at him. “Do not make childish quips just because you are a small and petty man, Robin.” Nevertheless, she untied the robe to reveal the wound again, knowing she would not be able to dress it adequately on her own.

Robin quickly fetched the bandages from the armoire, finding a particularly long strip, and began to wind it around her shoulder. She was silent, but he could see her eyes dart across the table, trying to find the item which he was very glad was in his pocket.

“Do you know why I did it?” Robin whispered against his better judgment, patting the bandage with finality once he was done. “It was evidence, and now more than ever, I needed evidence.”

She turned to face him, her features etched with confusion. “I do not understand.”

“It just helped me remember that once upon a time, even if it was many seasons ago,” Robin began, fishing the ring from his pocket and holding it in his hand, “you and I-”

He stopped, choking on the words suddenly as he looked upon the silver once more. Her gaze, however, was set upon a flickering candle as she waited for him to continue.

“That you and I once belonged to each other,” he finished, prompting her to meet his eyes again. She seemed taken aback and surprised that he had said such a thing, and though he would not admit it, he was too.

Robin’s hand arose to her cheek, his expression suddenly tender, and she did not resist his unexpected demonstration of affection. This only spurred his boldness as his thumb grazed her lip, running across it, as if to wipe away Gisborne’s sullying touch.

“And what now?” she breathed, the air escaping her lips hot against the skin of his palm. “You have tried this before, Robin. Saccharine words and empty promises-”

“These words are not hollow, Marian,” he insisted with a quiet urgency. “You do not have to wed Gisborne.”

“My father is sickly. The fever may come and go, but I know it is slowly overwhelming him,” Marian whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke, “and when he is…gone, there will be nothing standing in the way, even if we were to delay the wedding now. You know that.”

“I will stand in the way,” Robin interjected quickly. His brows were furrowed with an unwillingness to accept what she had said.

Marian closed her eyes, and to her embarrassment, she could feel tears beginning to form and threatening to spill. “As an outlaw? You truly do overestimate you abilities, Robin.”

“When Richard returns,” he murmured, shifting closer to her and bringing his other hand to her hair, letting his fingers curl around the tresses soothingly. “I will get my title back as Earl of Huntington, and I will stop it. I give you my word.”

“It will be too late, do not make this harder than it already is-”

She was silenced by his mouth against hers, gentle and warm and incredibly inviting, but for the stinging of her own split lip. His hand buried deeper into her hair as her own went to find his neck, pulling him closer and she was ambushed with fragmented memories of their first awkward kisses and touches. Her mind was filled with images of Locksley by the pond, lying hidden under the tall fescue and thick blades sweet grass. There, they stole many private moments together after escaping poor Much, who was then forced to wander the village shouting Robin’s name all alone.

There were many things the same about him. He still tasted of the wind and the wood, mingled together in a deep medley which was tantalizing against her tongue. But then beneath it all was something else, darker and earthy. She could detect blood and sweat and dirt floating off his skin, and she realized, that she too must have smelt as such. It was unfortunate, she decided, that they had been driven to live lives such as these.

Then a shuddering thunderclap caused them both to jump and break apart. Soon after came the unmistakable patter of rain, drumming hard against the window shutters and the outer walls.

“Look at us,” she said with a laugh, letting her forehead fall to rest against his chest, “still acting like children.”

“Children,” Robin said, his voice thick with amusement, “are not allowed to even think about what we were about to do.”

She nudged him in the shoulder and gave a feigned groan. “I do not know what you were thinking, but my intentions were perfectly innocent.”

“You are a gifted liar, Marian,” he mumbled, resting his head against hers and gathering her close, but minding her injured arm.

A sudden pulse of light lit the room up briefly as the glare of lightning managed to make its way through the cracks of the window shutters. All of a sudden, she was reminded how tired she was and closed her eyes briefly, until she realized she would fall asleep right there if she continued. He too must have sensed this as he pulled away and began to pull his boots back on and she was unnerved by how cold she felt when he withdrew. A pang of guilt struck her as she knew he would have to trek through the horrendous weather.

“You know…” she said, reaching out and prying his left boot from his hands. “It looks dreadful outside.”

Robin froze and cocked a curious brow as he still sat bent over his foot. “And?”

Marian leaned in quickly and seized his lips in a quick and intense kiss. She pulled away almost immediately and let his boot drop to the floor of her bedroom with a resounding thump. “Continue with this charade of ignorance and my invitation shall be withdrawn. Understood, Locksley?”

“Of course, my Lady. I only ever serve to please you,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back to the pillows. “And,” he said, pressing something cold and smooth into her palm once more, “I think this belongs to you.’

“You do not want it any more?”

“Well, I think…all the evidence I need is right here,” he said, squeezing her hand gently, “It is yours, Marian, but perhaps one day, when I gain the right to present it to you properly, I will need it once more. Until then, keep it safe for us, will you?”

“My goodness, Robin,” she smiled, “I do believe that was a proposal…for a proposal.”

“Yes, I think it might have been.” he chuckled, slipping the ring onto her right hand slowly, as if asking for permission. And in an instant, the humor was gone from his face, Robin whispered into her hair, “Do not worry, I will be gone by day break.”

“I know,” Marian said softly, and though his words saddened her she closed her eyes once more and reveled in the sensation of having someone close to her again. As they lay together, they listened to the storm pounding outside as if the clouds and the rain and the thunder could shelter them from the chaos of their lives, at least for a time.