Fic: A Life Less Ordinary (Robin Hood) - Chapter 4
Title: A Life Less Ordinary
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy, Sheriff.
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.
In this chapter: Carter and Marian try to further the cause for peace, and it is decision time for Will and Djaq.
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3
Chapter 4: There But for the Grace of God
Djaq appraised the woman before her, trying to reconcile the memory of her lying bleeding in the sand to the image of the one who was very much alive.
“This is a miracle,” Will declared, kneeling at the table behind them. He had been gazing reverently at Marian the entire time she had been telling them the story of her survival.
Djaq didn’t believe in miracles. Every night when she’d been in slavery she’d prayed to Allah for salvation - to lead her out of bondage. He had never answered, not directly, anyway, and Djaq had learnt that she could not rely on divine intervention. She had to make her own way. It was that which had reminded her of the terrible cost of Marian’s survival. The woman had been drastically altered, as only such an experience would do to a person. There were more obvious physical signs, of course - Djaq had been examining the gash that scarred her side. It was deep and only partially healed. Miracle or not, such a wound changed things.
“The injury is grave.” Djaq finished her examination and moved slightly back from the rug where Marian had lain. “You may never fully recover from it.”
Marian nodded. “I know.” She pulled down her cloth tunic back over her stomach and sat up, grimacing slightly as she held her side.
“You are certainly not well enough to travel,” Djaq told her shortly, unsure of why her voice sounded so cold. Perhaps it was because she could see Will’s disappointment at her declaration clearly. Or perhaps it was because she had seen so many with similar wounds - her people and those of the enemy - lying on the battlefields. She had not been able to save them. And yet Marian had been stabbed twice - and had been delivered from death both times. And as happy as she was to find Marian alive, something about it seemed utterly unfair.
“We can still send Robin a message. Let him know that you’re alive,” Will spoke up, brushing away her inner thoughts. “I know the pigeons are for emergencies - but this certainly seems like one to me.”
“No,” Marian said firmly, shaking her head, her mouth in a firm, determined line. “I mean, you said it will still take a while for me to recover,” she clarified. “If you send a message back now, it will only worry Robin - he won’t be able to just wait.”
“But it would ease his mind,” Djaq counselled, and yet even through her objections, she knew Marian was right. As soon as Robin heard the news, he would do something rash - most likely return to the Holy Land immediately.
“Nottingham needs him more than I do,” Marian replied.
Will still did not look convinced. But Djaq knew that at heart, Will still had an inbuilt respect for the nobility his family had always lived under and had difficulty questioning the social order - especially towards a lady. He would respect Marian’s wishes, even if he did not agree with them.
“Then we will wait for you to recover,” he rejoined.
“We?” Djaq asked innocently, but could not keep the sharpness out of her tone. She should have expected it, but it still stung slightly that Will had already made up his mind to accompany Marian back to England.
Will looked slightly sheepish. “Well...”
Shaking her head, Djaq cut him off. “We can discuss it later.” She turned back to Marian who had adverted her eyes and looked slightly uncomfortable at what could have turned into a lover’s spat. Djaq thought it amusing that she would immediately leap to that conclusion, and remembered she had probably worn a similar expression when Marian and Robin had bickered and huffed around the camp back in Sherwood.
“Amineh has taken good care of you,” Djaq changed the subject quickly. The older woman had left the room to give the three of them some privacy.
“She has,” Marian smiled warmly. “And I don’t know how to repay her for her kindness - and yet...I am so happy to see both of you.”
Djaq was touched by the self-conscious happiness and vulnerability in her tone, knowing that in the past Marian would have never been so transparently affectionate. It surprised her, and yet she understood it. It must have been so difficult -to wake up alone and injured among strangers - enough to bring emotions once held so carefully in check to the surface.
“It’s a miracle,” Will repeated, and Marian gave him an indulgent smile.
“It also makes my plans a little easier,” Marian added.
Djaq shared a quizzical look with Will. “Plans?” she asked.
******
Carter ran through the Crusaders camp, dodging fires, discarded weaponry and other soldiers to get to the King’s tent as quickly as possible. He burst inside, out of breath. Richard sat at the small desk he’d insisted on bringing from France, the ornate wood in contrast to the simple trappings of the tent. He looked up when Carter entered, and then back down at the parchment he was reading.
Carter bent over slightly, resting his hands on his knees and he took in lungfuls of air.
“What is it Carter?” Richard asked shortly, eyes still on his parchment. Carter knew he didn’t like his soldiers wasting his time. He should have waited outside until he was recovered but the excitement had been too great.
“I have news to share with you, sire,” Carter stood up straight and managed to speak.
“Yes?” Richard put down his parchment and focussed his attention on Carter.
“As you know, my lord,” he continued, “I have been in contact with Will and Djaq - Robin’s followers who are living in Acre,” he reminded the King.
“I remember,” Richard nodded. “Do they have news of the Saracen’s movements?”
“No,” Carter admitted, not bothering to say that he didn’t imagine Djaq letting them know any of her people’s secrets, even if she was privy to them. “But...several days ago they found someone in hiding among the Saracens in Acre.” He paused momentarily, unsure of how to properly explain it. “It was Marian.”
The King furrowed his brow, obviously trying to place the name.
“The woman who saved your life, sire,” Carter told him softly. “Robin’s beloved.”
Richard looked at him with even more consternation. “But she is dead.”
“Apparently not,” Carter shrugged. “Will and Djaq say that she was discovered to be alive by the caravan you asked to bury her. She was gravely injured, but will recover.”
Richard stroked his jaw, looking deeply troubled. “How is this possible?”
“I think the particulars are quite complicated, sire,” Carter said. “But the reason I came to see you in such a hurry was to tell you that she is on her way. Now.”
Richard stood abruptly. “Now?” he said gruffly. “You gave her permission to do this without speaking to me first?”
“She was rather insistent,” Carter told him. His conversation with her had been brief, and he’d believed her when she said she had to speak with Richard immediately. That, and he hadn’t entirely trusted her not to punch him in the face again if he had refused her. He heard voices outside the tent. “They’re here now, my Lord.”
Richard grimaced. He was not a man who liked to be caught unawares. “Well, show them in, Carter.”
Carter pushed aside the flap of the tent, where Marian, Djaq and Will stood waiting. He gestured for them to enter, but Djaq held back and caught Will’s arm.
“We will wait out here,” she said softly. Carter nodded and dropped the flap of material behind Marian. She entered properly, and dropped to one knee before the King, bowing her head in reverence.
“My dear,” Richard strode forward, and taking her hands in his own, raised her up again. “There is no need for that. Why, I would not be standing before you if it had not been for your brave action.”
Marian blushed. “I know, my lord, that my presence here may be hard to believe, but there is no foul play...”
“Do you think I would question the wife of my favoured general?” Richard continued, drawing up her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes. “The Countess of Huntingdon herself?”
“Countess?” Marian spluttered. Carter bit back a smile. He would wager her mind had not even approached thinking about such connotations, but the King held nobility in the highest regard, and of course it would be at the forefront of his mind.
Richard fixed her with an indulgent, almost fatherly smile. “Are you not the wife of the true Earl of Huntingdon? Did I not administer the ceremony and witness the vows myself?”
Carter, of course, had not been there. He’d been bleeding into the sand while they had all gathered around Marian, but Richard had spoken of it wistfully later, pleased than he had been at least able to provide the ring to the couple...a ring, Carter noticed, that Marian was not wearing. She attempted to fold her hands together and cover up her naked fingers, but Richard, too, had noticed.
“I do not blame you for not wearing your ring,” he smiled at her. “You never know what thieves are about the towns and in the desert, waiting to ambush travellers.”
“My lord...” Marian had not seemed to have regained her composure fully. “I will return it to you.”
“Nonsense,” Richard waved his hand in dismissal. “It is the least I can do for the woman who saved my life,” he continued seriously. “That is a service I do not readily forget. You and your husband have rendered me such assistance, now. You are both high in your King’s love.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Marian replied demurely, but Carter could tell she was about to test such a declaration.
“Carter will fill me in on the particulars of your miraculous survival later,” Richard said, and went back to take a seat at his desk. “But I will consider it a reward from God for your bravery.”
“Yes.” Marin eyed Carter and he nodded, urging her to continue. “And of course, sire, I have a great desire to return to England. However, I wish to ask a favour of you.”
“Anything.”
Marian smiled. “I ask that you return with me.”
Richard’s mouth dropped open and sat in shock for several moments. But he quickly regained his composure and his expression turned serious. “I have sent Robin back to act in my name.”
“Yes,” Marian agreed. “But surely it would be far better for you to act in your own name?” She bit her lip, obviously worried about her impertinence, but then pressed on. “You have a ceasefire with Saladin, surely that is the opportunity to return to England and set things right there?”
Richard’s expression was inscrutable. “You sound like your husband.”
“I, too, am in agreement,” Carter spoke up.
“A ceasefire is not a truce,” Richard pointed out.
“But you could make it one,” Marian told him, fixing the King with a determined expression. “You are at an impasse. You cannot breach Jerusalem, and Saladin cannot drive you from the land. What good is there remaining here?”
“In principle I agree with you,” Richard told them. “But what would my people say if I returned to England without having conquered the Saracens? Would it not prove my bother right in saying that I was chasing a fool’s errand out here?”
“Well, it is all a matter of politics, isn’t it? Marian said. “If your armies agreed to leave, then I’m sure Saladin would be open to negotiating terms - to allow Christians on pilgrimage free access to Jerusalem, for example, and allowing you to keep some of the cities and lands that you have already conquered. Then it would not seem like a defeat, but rather a victory in terms of faith.”
Richard looked intrigued, stroking his jaw again in contemplation, toying with the quill that lay on this desk.
“I have also been thinking, my lord,” Carter added. “If you made a truce with Saladin for a fixed period - say, three years, than perhaps people would be under the impression that you are only returning to England to strengthen your forces, and that the capture of Jerusalem would still be a future possibility.”
Marian nodded eagerly. “Three years is a long time,” she said. “When the truce runs out people may have forgotten about it at all, especially if times are prosperous, and you may be able to make peace a more permanent notion.”
There was silence for several minutes, and neither Carter nor Marian dared speak another word. Finally, the King seemed to have made up his mind.
“Robin told me that you were a remarkable woman,” Richard smiled slyly at Marian. “He never said that you were so troublesome.”
Marian smirked, but hid it quickly. “I’m sure he implied it, sire.”
Richard nodded and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “Carter,” he said authoritatively, “arrange a meeting with Saladin.”
“Yes my Lord,” Carter bowed, unable to hide his grin. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Marian parroted and mirrored his bow. “Thank you.”
****
“Are you sure about this?” Will asked as the night fell around the desert and they sat out watching the stars. “I would understand if you...wanted to stay here.”
“A part of me does,” Djaq confessed. “In my heart this will always be my home.” She shifted closer to Will and he put an arm around her. “But a part of my heart also belongs with you, and our friends.”
Will placed a soft kiss to her temple. “We can come back,” he suggested.
“Maybe someday,” Djaq agreed. “But for now I must be where I can do some good.” She had come to accept that domesticity did not suit her. She had lived too long on the run, taking action, to fully enjoy the peace she had chosen. At least, when she knew that the fight was still ongoing - it felt selfish of her to settle down with Will when they had sent their comrades back to England in a fractured state. She worried about them. What if they hurt themselves? What if they needed her expertise? She felt like it should be enough; she thought being back in her homeland with the man she loved would be enough. But it wasn’t. There was more to her life than that and she was determined to reclaim it.
“It will still take several weeks until Marian is fit enough to travel,” Djaq continued, not alerting Will to her internal monologue. “There is still time.”
Time to immerse herself in the hot sands - the smell of spices in the dry air, the comfort of Bassam, her only real link to her family, the rituals of her people, the familiarity of the mosque.
Time to say goodbye to all of that, because she didn’t delude herself that she could be leaving for the very last time.