The Letter
Original Post
Word Count: 3218
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Robin/Marian, Much, the outlaws
Spoilers: through 2x08 or so; sort of a "lost scene" between 2x08 and 2x09
Summary: Robin and Marian have an argument. Angst ensues.
Disclaimer: I claim no rights toward the show Robin Hood or the characters portrayed therein, and mean no infringement by my little tale.
Notes: For robinsociety in rh_intercomm. This is actually a piece I began for Intercomm last year, and then hit a loooong block, and honestly forgot all about it until I found it in Google Docs a couple of months back. I've played with the idea since, so maybe that's helped... we'll see, I suppose.
As the pack spilled its contents over the floor of the camp, Marian exclaimed in dismay. Swooping to pick up the scattered items, she said, "I'm sorry, Much! My elbow bumped it as I walked past."
From the kitchen, Much's jaw dropped when he saw what had happened. Hastening over, he called out, "No, no! It's all right! Just leave it be; I'll get it."
"No, it's no trouble. I am the one who spilled it," she replied, gathering up a handful of miscellany and putting it back. As she reached down to retrieve more, something caught her eye.
It was a folded square of parchment, worn around the edges and splotched here and there, probably from some foodstuff or other that had been by it in the pack at some point. On the front was her name, in Robin's handwriting.
Much made a grab for it, but was too late; Marian had already picked it up, flipping it over to find Robin's seal on the back. Meeting Much's horrified gaze, she demanded, "What is this?"
He held out his hand. "You were never meant to see that. Please, just give it back."
Her chin jutted out. "It has my name on it, which means it was intended for me."
Shaking his head, he repeated, "Please, give it back."
"Tell me what it is," she instructed, pinning him with a stare.
"I cannot," he said miserably. "I promised I wouldn't. Not unless..." He glanced around the camp, probably wishing anybody else was there to use as a distraction, but they were all making deliveries. Only the two of them remained behind; Marian to keep from being seen with the outlaws, and Much to get supper started.
When he did not finish his sentence, Marian asked, "Unless what?"
Reluctantly, he met her gaze. "Unless Robin died. But, that was before we came back from the Holy Land, so it's all changed now, anyway, so there's no sense in reading it, is there? You can just give it back to me."
As a thought occurred to Marian, her eyes widened and flew back to the parchment. Those splotches... "Is that blood? Robin's blood?"
Much shook his head. "No. I don't know what it is; this and that, I suppose."
"Then, why the stipulation for its delivery?"
Much sighed heavily. "He wrote it when he thought he was dying, and made me promise to give it to you if he did. He also made me promise to destroy it if he survived."
She studied him. "But, you did not destroy it."
"I meant to," he replied, shrugging helplessly. "I just... I never got round to it."
Biting her lip, Marian considered the missive. Finally, she said, "I am sorry, Much; but I need to read it."
He looked as though he still wanted to argue, but then sighed again. "Maybe you do."
With that, she turned and left the camp, finding a good place to sit a few yards away. Leaning back against the trunk of an ash tree, Marian slowly traced the edges of the missive. She had seen Robin's scar, and knew its cause. She was aware of how close he had come to being claimed by the wound inflicted by Guy. Yet, she had managed to remain mostly removed from the situation emotionally-- likely because Robin had presented the facts that way. He had only spoken of the attack when necessary, and played down his reaction to it even then, reciting the incident instead of relating it.
Now, she held in her hands evidence that it had affected him, for there could be no other reason for him to have written to her unless he had anticipated his death; and not even Robin could do that in an unimpassioned manner. And, that was what made her pause. With him yet keeping his feelings on the matter to himself, she felt that it might be intrusive to delve into such a sensitive time in his life.
However, this could be an opportunity to gain a better understanding of what he had gone through. If she was more aware of his thoughts at that time, she might be able to help him deal with the things that still haunted him.
Thus justifying the decision in her mind, Marian broke the seal.
* * *
"Next time, do not go into her cottage, no matter what she says," Robin advised with a chuckle, giving Will a bolstering pat on the back. The poor lad still looked a bit stunned, but he would recover. A good meal would help, and the tantalizing scent of stew reached them just before the entrance to camp came into view.
He began to call out a greeting, announcing their return, when he caught sight of someone underneath a tree nearby. His hand already gripped the fletching on an arrow when he recognized Marian, who had noticed them and risen. Dropping his arm back to his side, he grinned at his friends. "Go on; we will be along soon."
Ignoring the good-natured ribbing that followed him, he started over to her at a jog, but his steps slowed as he got closer and could make out her expression. She was either unhappy or so coldly furious that it was no longer obvious. With a cautious smile as he came to a halt in front of her, he asked, "Is everything all right?"
She merely stared at him for a moment, before holding up a piece of parchment. "I got your letter," she said quietly.
Robin shrugged carelessly, the parchment unfamiliar to him. "What letter?"
Without another word, she held it out. As he began to skim it, an ill sensation settled in the pit of his stomach. A vague memory drifted back to him, foggy as were most of the memories he held from when he was in the grip of the fever, of writing... of being thankful it was his left side that was injured, since the task would have been even more difficult if it were his right... of needing her to know...
"How could you?" she hissed.
He tore his eyes from the missive, and it was all he could do not to gape at her. "What?"
"You left me." Her voice, still low, wavered, and while he thought it was with some of the old hurts, it was equally due to anger. "You left because you wanted the glory, you broke off our betrothal-- you left me, and then you had the audacity to write that?"
It was not often that Robin found himself bereft of words, so at sea that his mind was literally blank, but it happened then. Afraid he was about to become seriously angry in return, he let the parchment fall from his hand, turned, and moved away. He made it several feet before she called after him; against his better judgment, he drew to a halt, not turning around.
"Do not dare walk away from me," she snapped behind him.
The rational voice in the back of his mind understood her ire, but it was in danger of being drowned out by his own hurt. Propping his hands on his hips, he dropped his chin and let out a breath. "Marian, can we not do this right now?"
"When would you rather do it?" she queried, her voice laced with sarcasm.
"Never," he shot back as he turned toward her again, aware she already knew that. After a pause, he said, "I never intended for you to read that. I was still feverish when I wrote it, or it never would have been written. And, Much was supposed to destroy it when I recovered, which he clearly did not."
The unimpressed eyebrow she raised at him was too familiar an expression for his liking. "Well, the fact is that you did write it, and I did read it."
Exasperated, he flung his arms out. "Fine. So, now what?"
Apparently, she was not sure, either, as her stubborn expression faltered. "So, now I need some sort of explanation." Bending over to grab the parchment, she glanced at the ink on it. "Did you truly mean all of this?" she asked quietly.
"No." Maybe, a straight refutation would bring this conversation to a close. "I told you, I was consumed by fever. I was not in my right mind."
That was the wrong answer. She eyed him and said, "So, where you say you have always loved me, that was the illness speaking?"
He scowled. "You know better than that."
"I know better than to believe that," she retorted. "You have not always loved me."
Robin simply studied her for a minute, his temper cooling at her accusation. "Before I loved you as I do now, I loved you as a friend."
"You could not have loved me at all, if you were willing to leave me," she said. "Nor can you say you held me in very high regard: Every woman is you from afar, but each of them are lacking once I am by them." The parchment snapped when she flung her arm back down after consulting his letter.
"How is that disregarding you?" It was a true statement; while he knew better, he had constantly been thinking he saw her walking down a street, shopping in a market, or hanging laundry out. There would be that thrill of excitement before he remembered exactly how impossible that was, and that he knew better... and then, the inevitable crushing disappointment when he acknowledged the likelihood of ever actually seeing her again.
She gaped at him, before turning the look to a glare. "I am not the fool you mistake me for. I understand what 'by them' means."
"You misunderstand," he argued, frustrated once more. "And deliberately, I think." While she was not entirely wrong about some of his time in the Holy Land, he absolutely had not meant it in those terms. He would hardly admit to being mocked for his celibacy throughout his first year in the king's army, nor to then becoming known for his avoidance of any woman who resembled her in the slightest, once he had permitted some of the other Crusaders to bully him past abstinence. He might have been unfaithful to Marian, but it had been in an attempt to let her go-- after all, she had made it clear that he held no further claim on her when he told her he was leaving, no matter how reluctant he was to agree to that-- and he would not allow himself to pretend for the slightest moment that he was with her.
"Why do you not explain it to me, then? You mean to say you revered me the entire time you were away?" Clearly, she knew better, and he permitted his expression to reflect his opinion of the question.
Irritably, he said, "Not all of us are saints, Marian."
"I am not claiming to be a saint."
She appeared very taken aback, and he regretted his words. "I'm sorry. I did not mean that."
Studying the letter once more, she suddenly held it out. "Read it aloud."
"What?"
Her gaze was steady now, which he was glad to see, even as he wished the conversation to be over. "Read to me the parts which you meant. Skip over what was due to your infirmity."
It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. He had bared his soul in writing that, which was making him feel very exposed, and reading it aloud was only going to make things worse. However, he also knew that this was not something he could simply brush off. This was critically important to her, and a critically important part of his life. Without speaking, he held out his hand and accepted it from her.
Skimming it again, he fought with himself over whether he was actually going to read it. Perhaps, if he simply spoke the words, detaching from it so as to disallow any meaning, that would help... He had no idea if he could accomplish that, but it was worth a try.
"Marian,
"It is difficult to decide how to begin this letter. You are my dearest one, and my love, but I doubt you will believe either. Or, if you do, I doubt you will accept it. Nor can I blame you for your inevitable doubt; I committed a grievous offence against you. Personally answering the king's summons instead of hiring another to take my place might have seemed the noble path for my country, but I failed on the most noble path of all: honouring the woman I wanted, who had accepted me. Not only the woman I wanted, but the woman I loved, whom I have always loved, even if it has taken me too long to realise that.
"I cannot believe I was so foolish to have forsaken you. There is no one else in this world who can hold a candle to your brilliance, a fact which I can state with supreme assurance. I have tried to find you on my travels. Every woman is you from afar, but each of them are lacking once I am by them. Not only did I give up an amazing woman, I gave up the most amazing woman in the world.
"And now, I am in a position to look back over my life and acknowledge the wrongs I have done. Whilst they are countless at this point, and I do regret each of them, my worst wrongdoing was toward you. Almost anyone else whom I have harmed in my adult life knew they were in a situation where that could be the result. That does not excuse my actions, but it does make the fact that you were innocent stand out even more clearly.
"I do not expect your forgiveness, yet I beg it of you, regardless. Even if it is not something you can readily bestow now, I hope that one day, you can forgive me.
"May the world offer you all the happiness I could not.
"Yours now and always,
"Robin."
He continued to gaze blindly at the parchment; his detached approach had been wildly unsuccessful, and he would rather be strung up on the Nottingham gallows than standing there at that moment. Marian's extended silence did not help.
Finally, her voice faltering, she said, "You read all of it."
Giving her a jerky nod, he suddenly crumpled it up into a ball and threw it aside, not caring where it landed. That done, he began to turn around again, but she grabbed his arm. Still, he could not look at her.
"You would have left me with that on my conscience: whether to forgive you for breaking my heart, or hold a grudge against your memory."
Closing his eyes, he said roughly, "It would appear I could not stop wronging you, even near death."
"Robin." When he did not respond, she gave his arm a shake and insisted, "Robin, look at me."
It took so much force of will to comply that it was nearly painful to do so, but he did.
Intensely, she said, "If you had not returned home-- if you had died then-- I would never have forgiven you." He frowned, wondering if she even understood the basic circumstances he had been in, when she continued, "I could not have, because I would have regretted it all for the rest of my life. Treating you with anger before you left, wishing I would never see you again... you made me think and do things I could never have forgiven myself for. How could I have forgiven you?"
"Marian--"
"But," she interrupted, "I forgave you nearly all of it the moment I saw you at my door; alive, and thinner, yet well." Shaking her head a little, staring at him as if he were mad for not already knowing this, she finished, "The only thing I could not instantly forgive was that you left in the first place, leaving me to live through... all of this, alone. Nor could I let you know any of that," she added, the faintest glimmer of humor coming through.
He desperately wished to respond to that humor, yet was not quite to the point where he could. "I am sorry, Marian. I am so sorry--"
Cutting him off once more, she said softly, "You already apologized to me once for that. While this was something different, I want to be able to move ahead."
Robin nodded. "I want that, too."
Returning the nod, she said, "Now. Is there anything else I should know about that time?"
It was not a demand for full disclosure; she would never expect that of him, nor he of her, which was one of the many reasons he felt that they were so well suited. But, it was a request for full trust, which was something he innately balked at giving, even to the woman he loved. He could tell that she knew what he was thinking; yet, her gaze remained steadily on him. Drawing and releasing a deep breath, he finally thought about the question, considering it as she wanted him to do. At least, he did not have to talk about the nightmares; they were lessening, and she had already witnessed a couple of them. He hated that she had, as much as he appreciated that she had accepted the most basic explanation he could give for them. That had been truth, in its barest form, but truth nonetheless.
"There may be a couple of things," he finally acknowledged. "It was war, Marian. It was the most intense fight we have experienced here in Nottingham, a thousand times over. More than a thousand times over, in some cases." Quietly, he said, "It is not something I like to revisit. It's not something I can revisit."
Laying a more gentle hand on his arm, she replied, "I am not asking you to discuss anything you cannot, or anything I do not really need to know. It is only that I should have known you intended to send that letter to me."
"There was nothing else like that," he told her.
She took his hand and said, "Then, we will not speak of it again unless you want or need to do so."
As they headed back toward camp, he tentatively began a more inane conversation, relating Will's misfortune during their delivery. He was grateful when she went along with the chatter, but he could not be completely at ease. It was not a matter of whether the subject of the war would likely come up between them again; it was really a matter of when. Marian gave his hand a little squeeze before letting go to sit down by Djaq, and he realized that the reason for any future discussions was that she would be with him. It would be due to their future together, if she wanted that-- and he sincerely hoped that she did, when she looked over and smiled warmly at him.
If the price for having her by his side was the occasional session of painful honesty, Robin was more than willing to pay it.
*
Word Count: 3218
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Robin/Marian, Much, the outlaws
Spoilers: through 2x08 or so; sort of a "lost scene" between 2x08 and 2x09
Summary: Robin and Marian have an argument. Angst ensues.
Disclaimer: I claim no rights toward the show Robin Hood or the characters portrayed therein, and mean no infringement by my little tale.
Notes: For robinsociety in rh_intercomm. This is actually a piece I began for Intercomm last year, and then hit a loooong block, and honestly forgot all about it until I found it in Google Docs a couple of months back. I've played with the idea since, so maybe that's helped... we'll see, I suppose.
As the pack spilled its contents over the floor of the camp, Marian exclaimed in dismay. Swooping to pick up the scattered items, she said, "I'm sorry, Much! My elbow bumped it as I walked past."
From the kitchen, Much's jaw dropped when he saw what had happened. Hastening over, he called out, "No, no! It's all right! Just leave it be; I'll get it."
"No, it's no trouble. I am the one who spilled it," she replied, gathering up a handful of miscellany and putting it back. As she reached down to retrieve more, something caught her eye.
It was a folded square of parchment, worn around the edges and splotched here and there, probably from some foodstuff or other that had been by it in the pack at some point. On the front was her name, in Robin's handwriting.
Much made a grab for it, but was too late; Marian had already picked it up, flipping it over to find Robin's seal on the back. Meeting Much's horrified gaze, she demanded, "What is this?"
He held out his hand. "You were never meant to see that. Please, just give it back."
Her chin jutted out. "It has my name on it, which means it was intended for me."
Shaking his head, he repeated, "Please, give it back."
"Tell me what it is," she instructed, pinning him with a stare.
"I cannot," he said miserably. "I promised I wouldn't. Not unless..." He glanced around the camp, probably wishing anybody else was there to use as a distraction, but they were all making deliveries. Only the two of them remained behind; Marian to keep from being seen with the outlaws, and Much to get supper started.
When he did not finish his sentence, Marian asked, "Unless what?"
Reluctantly, he met her gaze. "Unless Robin died. But, that was before we came back from the Holy Land, so it's all changed now, anyway, so there's no sense in reading it, is there? You can just give it back to me."
As a thought occurred to Marian, her eyes widened and flew back to the parchment. Those splotches... "Is that blood? Robin's blood?"
Much shook his head. "No. I don't know what it is; this and that, I suppose."
"Then, why the stipulation for its delivery?"
Much sighed heavily. "He wrote it when he thought he was dying, and made me promise to give it to you if he did. He also made me promise to destroy it if he survived."
She studied him. "But, you did not destroy it."
"I meant to," he replied, shrugging helplessly. "I just... I never got round to it."
Biting her lip, Marian considered the missive. Finally, she said, "I am sorry, Much; but I need to read it."
He looked as though he still wanted to argue, but then sighed again. "Maybe you do."
With that, she turned and left the camp, finding a good place to sit a few yards away. Leaning back against the trunk of an ash tree, Marian slowly traced the edges of the missive. She had seen Robin's scar, and knew its cause. She was aware of how close he had come to being claimed by the wound inflicted by Guy. Yet, she had managed to remain mostly removed from the situation emotionally-- likely because Robin had presented the facts that way. He had only spoken of the attack when necessary, and played down his reaction to it even then, reciting the incident instead of relating it.
Now, she held in her hands evidence that it had affected him, for there could be no other reason for him to have written to her unless he had anticipated his death; and not even Robin could do that in an unimpassioned manner. And, that was what made her pause. With him yet keeping his feelings on the matter to himself, she felt that it might be intrusive to delve into such a sensitive time in his life.
However, this could be an opportunity to gain a better understanding of what he had gone through. If she was more aware of his thoughts at that time, she might be able to help him deal with the things that still haunted him.
Thus justifying the decision in her mind, Marian broke the seal.
* * *
"Next time, do not go into her cottage, no matter what she says," Robin advised with a chuckle, giving Will a bolstering pat on the back. The poor lad still looked a bit stunned, but he would recover. A good meal would help, and the tantalizing scent of stew reached them just before the entrance to camp came into view.
He began to call out a greeting, announcing their return, when he caught sight of someone underneath a tree nearby. His hand already gripped the fletching on an arrow when he recognized Marian, who had noticed them and risen. Dropping his arm back to his side, he grinned at his friends. "Go on; we will be along soon."
Ignoring the good-natured ribbing that followed him, he started over to her at a jog, but his steps slowed as he got closer and could make out her expression. She was either unhappy or so coldly furious that it was no longer obvious. With a cautious smile as he came to a halt in front of her, he asked, "Is everything all right?"
She merely stared at him for a moment, before holding up a piece of parchment. "I got your letter," she said quietly.
Robin shrugged carelessly, the parchment unfamiliar to him. "What letter?"
Without another word, she held it out. As he began to skim it, an ill sensation settled in the pit of his stomach. A vague memory drifted back to him, foggy as were most of the memories he held from when he was in the grip of the fever, of writing... of being thankful it was his left side that was injured, since the task would have been even more difficult if it were his right... of needing her to know...
"How could you?" she hissed.
He tore his eyes from the missive, and it was all he could do not to gape at her. "What?"
"You left me." Her voice, still low, wavered, and while he thought it was with some of the old hurts, it was equally due to anger. "You left because you wanted the glory, you broke off our betrothal-- you left me, and then you had the audacity to write that?"
It was not often that Robin found himself bereft of words, so at sea that his mind was literally blank, but it happened then. Afraid he was about to become seriously angry in return, he let the parchment fall from his hand, turned, and moved away. He made it several feet before she called after him; against his better judgment, he drew to a halt, not turning around.
"Do not dare walk away from me," she snapped behind him.
The rational voice in the back of his mind understood her ire, but it was in danger of being drowned out by his own hurt. Propping his hands on his hips, he dropped his chin and let out a breath. "Marian, can we not do this right now?"
"When would you rather do it?" she queried, her voice laced with sarcasm.
"Never," he shot back as he turned toward her again, aware she already knew that. After a pause, he said, "I never intended for you to read that. I was still feverish when I wrote it, or it never would have been written. And, Much was supposed to destroy it when I recovered, which he clearly did not."
The unimpressed eyebrow she raised at him was too familiar an expression for his liking. "Well, the fact is that you did write it, and I did read it."
Exasperated, he flung his arms out. "Fine. So, now what?"
Apparently, she was not sure, either, as her stubborn expression faltered. "So, now I need some sort of explanation." Bending over to grab the parchment, she glanced at the ink on it. "Did you truly mean all of this?" she asked quietly.
"No." Maybe, a straight refutation would bring this conversation to a close. "I told you, I was consumed by fever. I was not in my right mind."
That was the wrong answer. She eyed him and said, "So, where you say you have always loved me, that was the illness speaking?"
He scowled. "You know better than that."
"I know better than to believe that," she retorted. "You have not always loved me."
Robin simply studied her for a minute, his temper cooling at her accusation. "Before I loved you as I do now, I loved you as a friend."
"You could not have loved me at all, if you were willing to leave me," she said. "Nor can you say you held me in very high regard: Every woman is you from afar, but each of them are lacking once I am by them." The parchment snapped when she flung her arm back down after consulting his letter.
"How is that disregarding you?" It was a true statement; while he knew better, he had constantly been thinking he saw her walking down a street, shopping in a market, or hanging laundry out. There would be that thrill of excitement before he remembered exactly how impossible that was, and that he knew better... and then, the inevitable crushing disappointment when he acknowledged the likelihood of ever actually seeing her again.
She gaped at him, before turning the look to a glare. "I am not the fool you mistake me for. I understand what 'by them' means."
"You misunderstand," he argued, frustrated once more. "And deliberately, I think." While she was not entirely wrong about some of his time in the Holy Land, he absolutely had not meant it in those terms. He would hardly admit to being mocked for his celibacy throughout his first year in the king's army, nor to then becoming known for his avoidance of any woman who resembled her in the slightest, once he had permitted some of the other Crusaders to bully him past abstinence. He might have been unfaithful to Marian, but it had been in an attempt to let her go-- after all, she had made it clear that he held no further claim on her when he told her he was leaving, no matter how reluctant he was to agree to that-- and he would not allow himself to pretend for the slightest moment that he was with her.
"Why do you not explain it to me, then? You mean to say you revered me the entire time you were away?" Clearly, she knew better, and he permitted his expression to reflect his opinion of the question.
Irritably, he said, "Not all of us are saints, Marian."
"I am not claiming to be a saint."
She appeared very taken aback, and he regretted his words. "I'm sorry. I did not mean that."
Studying the letter once more, she suddenly held it out. "Read it aloud."
"What?"
Her gaze was steady now, which he was glad to see, even as he wished the conversation to be over. "Read to me the parts which you meant. Skip over what was due to your infirmity."
It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. He had bared his soul in writing that, which was making him feel very exposed, and reading it aloud was only going to make things worse. However, he also knew that this was not something he could simply brush off. This was critically important to her, and a critically important part of his life. Without speaking, he held out his hand and accepted it from her.
Skimming it again, he fought with himself over whether he was actually going to read it. Perhaps, if he simply spoke the words, detaching from it so as to disallow any meaning, that would help... He had no idea if he could accomplish that, but it was worth a try.
"Marian,
"It is difficult to decide how to begin this letter. You are my dearest one, and my love, but I doubt you will believe either. Or, if you do, I doubt you will accept it. Nor can I blame you for your inevitable doubt; I committed a grievous offence against you. Personally answering the king's summons instead of hiring another to take my place might have seemed the noble path for my country, but I failed on the most noble path of all: honouring the woman I wanted, who had accepted me. Not only the woman I wanted, but the woman I loved, whom I have always loved, even if it has taken me too long to realise that.
"I cannot believe I was so foolish to have forsaken you. There is no one else in this world who can hold a candle to your brilliance, a fact which I can state with supreme assurance. I have tried to find you on my travels. Every woman is you from afar, but each of them are lacking once I am by them. Not only did I give up an amazing woman, I gave up the most amazing woman in the world.
"And now, I am in a position to look back over my life and acknowledge the wrongs I have done. Whilst they are countless at this point, and I do regret each of them, my worst wrongdoing was toward you. Almost anyone else whom I have harmed in my adult life knew they were in a situation where that could be the result. That does not excuse my actions, but it does make the fact that you were innocent stand out even more clearly.
"I do not expect your forgiveness, yet I beg it of you, regardless. Even if it is not something you can readily bestow now, I hope that one day, you can forgive me.
"May the world offer you all the happiness I could not.
"Yours now and always,
"Robin."
He continued to gaze blindly at the parchment; his detached approach had been wildly unsuccessful, and he would rather be strung up on the Nottingham gallows than standing there at that moment. Marian's extended silence did not help.
Finally, her voice faltering, she said, "You read all of it."
Giving her a jerky nod, he suddenly crumpled it up into a ball and threw it aside, not caring where it landed. That done, he began to turn around again, but she grabbed his arm. Still, he could not look at her.
"You would have left me with that on my conscience: whether to forgive you for breaking my heart, or hold a grudge against your memory."
Closing his eyes, he said roughly, "It would appear I could not stop wronging you, even near death."
"Robin." When he did not respond, she gave his arm a shake and insisted, "Robin, look at me."
It took so much force of will to comply that it was nearly painful to do so, but he did.
Intensely, she said, "If you had not returned home-- if you had died then-- I would never have forgiven you." He frowned, wondering if she even understood the basic circumstances he had been in, when she continued, "I could not have, because I would have regretted it all for the rest of my life. Treating you with anger before you left, wishing I would never see you again... you made me think and do things I could never have forgiven myself for. How could I have forgiven you?"
"Marian--"
"But," she interrupted, "I forgave you nearly all of it the moment I saw you at my door; alive, and thinner, yet well." Shaking her head a little, staring at him as if he were mad for not already knowing this, she finished, "The only thing I could not instantly forgive was that you left in the first place, leaving me to live through... all of this, alone. Nor could I let you know any of that," she added, the faintest glimmer of humor coming through.
He desperately wished to respond to that humor, yet was not quite to the point where he could. "I am sorry, Marian. I am so sorry--"
Cutting him off once more, she said softly, "You already apologized to me once for that. While this was something different, I want to be able to move ahead."
Robin nodded. "I want that, too."
Returning the nod, she said, "Now. Is there anything else I should know about that time?"
It was not a demand for full disclosure; she would never expect that of him, nor he of her, which was one of the many reasons he felt that they were so well suited. But, it was a request for full trust, which was something he innately balked at giving, even to the woman he loved. He could tell that she knew what he was thinking; yet, her gaze remained steadily on him. Drawing and releasing a deep breath, he finally thought about the question, considering it as she wanted him to do. At least, he did not have to talk about the nightmares; they were lessening, and she had already witnessed a couple of them. He hated that she had, as much as he appreciated that she had accepted the most basic explanation he could give for them. That had been truth, in its barest form, but truth nonetheless.
"There may be a couple of things," he finally acknowledged. "It was war, Marian. It was the most intense fight we have experienced here in Nottingham, a thousand times over. More than a thousand times over, in some cases." Quietly, he said, "It is not something I like to revisit. It's not something I can revisit."
Laying a more gentle hand on his arm, she replied, "I am not asking you to discuss anything you cannot, or anything I do not really need to know. It is only that I should have known you intended to send that letter to me."
"There was nothing else like that," he told her.
She took his hand and said, "Then, we will not speak of it again unless you want or need to do so."
As they headed back toward camp, he tentatively began a more inane conversation, relating Will's misfortune during their delivery. He was grateful when she went along with the chatter, but he could not be completely at ease. It was not a matter of whether the subject of the war would likely come up between them again; it was really a matter of when. Marian gave his hand a little squeeze before letting go to sit down by Djaq, and he realized that the reason for any future discussions was that she would be with him. It would be due to their future together, if she wanted that-- and he sincerely hoped that she did, when she looked over and smiled warmly at him.
If the price for having her by his side was the occasional session of painful honesty, Robin was more than willing to pay it.
*