queenofmay | Episode 1x12 "The Return of the King" [Continued]

Will is one of his best informants. No one notices such a quiet young man, even if he makes a point of speaking with old Thornton, even if he wears the battered green that hides him so well in the forest; and Will has never, to Robin's knowledge, lied to him.

So when the young man comes racing back from Nottingham, breath coming hard, and says the king is coming, Robin believes him. How could he not? He trusts his own men, and he can't help but hear Will, quiet as the man might be, as clear as a brwzen bell.

Somewhere, Much is ranting about prayers being answered, about feasts and pardons, but that's all just a dull noise. Only Will's face, when Robin looks at him, is in focus. He wishes to speak loudly, clearly, but when his voice comes out it's as a near whisper.

"Tell me. Go on, tell me."

It's to Will's credit that the young man doesn't look away, so Robin can see with perfect clarity the lines of pity etched on his face, the way his eyes follow Robin across the cave. "Gisborne is saying...now that the King has returned..."

Will cannot continue, but Robin finds he can. His voice is surprisingly calm. "Gisborne is saying he will marry Marian."

Well, it's...absurd. It's impossible. Marian will never go through with it, even with the king returning, even with that damned ring on her hand. She couldn't; she won't.

But Will is saying that she is going to. On Saturday. Only a few days away, and Robin's stomach rebels, tightening into a painful knot.

He gives his share of the bread to Much and strides outside, to air, to sunlight that he raises his face to; to answers. He goes to Locksley, and Much, extra bread put aside for the moment, comes with him. They walk in silence.

He had been there not even five minutes, leaning in silence against one of the clothesposts, when Thornton led Lineave to the door for a familiar figure to mount. Gisborne is right behind her--in his doorway, in his house, with the woman who would have been his wife--like a dog, grateful for attention from his mistress. It isn't worth the effort to hide; Gisborne sees nothing past Marian's black hair and fair skin, but she is more observant and he can see her startle as she rides by.

Propriety dictates that he drop his gaze, turn away, but instead he follows her with it, his fists clenched as tight as his chest, his eyes burning.

So it's true.

The white mare gallops away, and he resists the urge to strike out at the innocent laundry, resists the thought of entering his manor and ridding the world of Gisborne this second, consequences be damned--but he cannot do either, and so he paces, his mind in chaos and his heart sick. Even Thornton's sympathies do not reach him, but he hears that strange, calm voice require information of the old man, about Gisborne.

Gisborne, Gisborne; always that thick-headed traitor who hounds him. The very sight of the man makes Robin light-headed with anger, but he clamps it down, asks for the name of the doctor Gisborne had supposedly seen during his long illness.

Thornton objects, but Robin's impatience wins through; he stalks off with Much beside him, jaw so tight that he is beginning to feel the pain of it in his eyes, in his head.

This wedding cannot happen. And it will not.

He be sure of that.

The day is long, and he spends it alone, in the forest, on the hillside, feeling the warmth of the sun and the tickling of the tall grass and wondering how they can ever draw out the venom that is sickening him. His hatred of Gisborne flared earlier, making everything brilliant and immediate, but as the day wears on, the anger leaves him, little by little, until there is nothing certain that he can take hold of. He wanders with no purpose, feeling sick to his very soul; feeling useless, helpless.

It's so sudden, this wedding, this return of the king. He hadn't been expecting it, had convinced himself that it would be months, perhaps years before Richard's return. In that time he would have found a way to keep his promise to Marian, would have been able to save her and to rid the world of Gisborne.

Now he finds he must do both before the week runs out, and it is too much; too much. His restless feet carry him along old paths, by a running stream, over a hillside and, as the purple of the evening sets around him, he comes to Knighton Hall, where the clack of metal against wood tells him that Marian, too, is uneasy in mind.

He does not bother to hide himself this time, as he comes to her, arms crossing and then falling to his sides. After a moment, he bends to pick up a long stick, and settles it across his shoulders, jsut so there might be something to do with his hands.

"I would prefer," he says, and his voice is still low, still that strange calm tone, "if you did not visit my house." He lets his eyes move to her face, and wonders what she might be able to see in them, even here in this half-dusk.

"Until it is mine again."

She'd been lost in a routine Alana had taught her, but even that was a lie. Her body moved without her. Outward spin, hand and arm moving in an arc.

Mind so very far away.

Until the voice caused her eyes to close slightly and hand to shiver. But she didn't look to him, finishing the turn so that she hit the sword right and then left on the post. A high strike and then kicked the post, because his voice raised even more frustrations.

"Guy wanted to show me my future fortune," she started, keeping her tone blankly quiet as her eyes stayed on the post. "--as Lady Gisborne."

Guy's fortune--another man's wealth, another man's house, another man's promised wife...though that was long, long ago. Gisborne is false in everything he owns or says or does, and yet Marian calls him "Guy" and sounds resigned to her fate. It's all Robin can do to keep from swinging his walking stick at the grass in impotent anger.

Instead, he lashes out with cold sarcasm, averting his eyes from Marian and her exercises, turning his back to her to pace a little further.

"And what--he showed you a few trinkets? Made you change your mind about the wedding?"

He cannot keep from moving, cannot keep still or keep his eyes on any one thing; it is too hard.

She didn't look at him as the tone changed, a frown forming across her lips only to drop.

Of course. Her father would just stare piteously at her and now Robin needed to come be sanctimonious.

"You know I have no choice." Marian aimed the hit low this time, one side and then over hand and the other side low while she continued to talk. "I promised to marry him when the king returned."

"Under duress," he points out, quickly.

This is impossible, Marian can't possibly mean this tone, this...acceptance. Not after seeing a few pieces of gold or hearing a few flattering words. He does not expect her to run away, but this...?

"Yes. Under duress."

She looked in his direction, but couldn't bring herself to look at him, instead moving her eyes to her sword a she lifted it in front of her.

"Proving my loyalty to save my life and my fathers."

Stop being so stubborn! he wants to shout at her, but instead his hands just clench on the stick he carries.

"A promise made under duress is no promise at all." Be reasonable, his voice pleads. It must do the asking for him, because she will not look at his face.

He does not know how to say anything different, or to give her another reason to change her mind, so he must appeal to her reason, to her heart, which he cannot believe wishes to be united with Gisborne's.

She looked at the ground finding the words empty. They'd given her so much hope once and they were just words. And she'd still spent the greater part of her day learning what and when her wedding would be.

As though she was a bit part to be played.

Turning to face him, her sword lowered finally and her face still impassive. "And what?"

Marian walked toward him directly. "You think I should just back out and Guy will smile and release me? If he knew I'd betrayed him, if he knew I was the Nightwatchman, he would lash out-- not just at me; at my father."

She comes within a few feet of him and he stirs into motion himself, walking around her, head shaking, trying to make sense of the feelings her words spark.

No easy definition comes, so he settles on one, uneasy as it makes him: anger. It plants him to the ground finally, lets a little of the heat that is bubbling in him escape. "Why do you always do that?" Betrayal, anger, hurt, disappointment; they swirl around him and make everything so hard to understand.

She begins to protest, or to question, but he is through with listening for a moment. It's impossible to stay silent when she always says the same things.

"Use your father as an excuse for doing nothing!"

He'd turned away from her, walked away, even as she'd tried to tell him the only things she solidly knew. She had no words for the things caught up inside of her.

Marian started the sword through a plain routine, trying not to let her stomach undo her in his temper. Though she swung out suddenly needing to here it slam the wood.

"Because my father needs me!"

"And you need him!"

Finally, the terrible cold calm is breaking; finally, he can move and speak again, even if the movement is only to throw the stick away, even if the speech is an accusation. "Because without him, you would have to make a choice."

Please, part of him calls out to her. Make a choice.

Choose me.

If she marries Gisborne, Marian will be gone from him forever, and he cannot even consider the notion without feeling helpless and lost. For so long she has been there to aid him, to laugh with him as children, to walk with him when they grew older. Doesn't she remember? She was once promised to him, too.

Her sword dropped as she grew angry at his tone, at the ineptitude of promises, and the time that had run out.

"Very well then. I am making a choice." Her eyes flashed, chin raising. "I chose to marry Gisborne."

He looked away, her eyes dropping as she felt like she'd kicked herself saying it. She shook her head and looked up, her heart in her eyes, denying herself the want to cry out, to plead that it wasn't supposed to go this way.

That she wasn't supposed to lose everything.

"Is that what you want me to say?"

Everything in him rebels at her words.

You are wrong, he wants to say, that is not your choice. He wants to take her by the shoulders until she can see that this does not have to be, that she can still escape.

Instead, he hears only that she has made her choice, that Gisborne will win this; will win her.

He will not stand for it. Words bubble up; he shuts them away, glancing up at the sky in frustration before leaning back towards Marian.

"I will deal with this." He can stop it, he knows he can--he just needs a little more time.

She rounded on him, half praying, half cursing the fact he said those words. Hating the breath that caught, the hope that blossomed even forbidden.

"How?"

That's it; the spark he was looking for, the brief gleam in her eyes that tells him she hasn't given up, hasn't stopped fighting yet. She's so cautious, but he knows her better than he knows himself, and he can hear the careful wonder in her voice.

He can also here the skepticism, and so he tosses aside his original unworded thought and latches onto one she knows of already.

"I will expose him as the liar and the traitor he is, and then you will not have to marry him." It comes out faster than he'd anticipated; rougher, and the words carry him forward towards her even as he catches himself on the wooden pole between them.

His eyes, on her, are very earnest. Believe me, he asks of her. Trust me.

Marian shook her head, wincing at this newest, baseless statement, raising her hand to rest them on her stinging eyes --

She would not cry. No here. Not now. Not looking at him. Not listen to the still endless litany that he would save her, after what she'd already stood through and what was demanded she do so soon.

-- and instead brought it down hard, open palm, against the post. The burn of pain helped to keep her emotions confused, helped her feel like there was one more breath of air in the space she was suffocating inside.

"Robin, please, do not make this more difficult than it already is."

More difficult? How could it possibly be more difficult? She is giving up, and she claims he is making things worse? Frustration raises his voice so that he cannot even hear the note of desperation, the plea in his words.

"But you do not love him!"

There. It's there. Of anything he can be certain of, it's that Marian does not want to marry Gisborne, that she does not love the Sherriff's wolfhound--no matter what Gisborne might have insinuated.

He clings to that thought, to that trust in her, tossing aside earlier jealousies brought on by Gisborne's cruel words. She does not love him, she cannot. She must wish to escape this marriage, reason and honor and safety aside. He will not watch her marry a man she does not love.

Marian couldn't disagreement with the vehemence that roared in agreement inside of her. She did not love him, but just as quickly came the sickening lurch of being stuck with that.

Loveless. Lying. Alone. Forever.

And that giddy face surfaced, sickening and bright.

"He has qualities!"

He stands with hands open, the post between them, a physical reminder of the wall that had been built ever since he first left for the Holy Land, and stares at her.

Qualities? Gisborne? It's impossible, unthinkable. Something within him begins to sink, followed by a hazy memory of Gisborne's battered face, smug as he spoke of Marian.

She is stirred by me.

"What qualities?"

"I believe his feelings for me are genuine."

She struggled through that statement and the truth she felt herself feel through that.

(You challenge me. I want to be more, better than what I am for you.)

He did feel for her. Honestly. In way she couldn't even understand. In ways she could never speak to Robin openly about.

So she looked away at the post, adding on the things he'd said that morning, even though she wasn't positive where she agreed or didn't any more. "He has wealth and security."

Each word is like an arrow to his heart, and he reacts with sudden, despairing anger, dredging up more excuses, more reasons, anything to stir the desolation in her eyes, anything to ignite a reaction.

He cannot see this resignation; it is too much as though Marian has changed her mind, that she really does not despair of marrying Gisborne, that she has accepted this lot without further struggle.

He hasn't given up. He won't. Marriage cannot be undone, and Marian will die if she is linked to Gisborne in a lifetime of misery and deceit.

"What wealth? You're supposed to be the Nightwatchman! You should steal from Gisborne and give to the poor, not acquire wealth yourself!" Will she not remember herself? They fought together, side by side, and now she is leaving without so much as a quarrel: for wealth, for security.

Somewhere along the way, his voice rose into a shout; now he could not quiet it even if Gisborne and his whole guard were to ride in at this moment.

Her hand kept raising and going back to the pole, as she kept trying to pull away and found herself unable, found her throat closed and her head filled with too many words.

"Do not tell me what I should be doing, please."

They were so close.

And yet there were years and bars and weddings and kings between them. And she just wanted to scream, her eyes burning.

She is so close that he can feel her breath on his face. His eyes lock on hers, and see that she is sorrowful and frightened, but determined, and his brow furrows in desperation.

From somewhere far away, he hears his name being called, but it's of no importance--nothing is, save Marian and the way she is looking at him now in the purple light of evening: pale and strong and beautiful. it calms his voice when nothing else would, and now he speaks low and intent; words for Marian alone.

"Look at me."

Her eyes flicker, but his voice is gentle and firm. "Look at me!"

She looks, and for a moment he is caught by her. The gray-blue of her eyes quells his own fierceness, and when he speaks again, it is a renewed promise. "I will deal with this."

Marian fled into the house, past her father, as the fight against her tearing eyes was failing; fled away from Robin with his emotional outbursts--fueled by faith, by determination, by things she couldn't dare name no less think without the world splitting apart entirely--and his continuation of unfounded promises she wanted to hold tighter than the air in her chest.

She couldn't stand still or sit, running her hands over chairs, his words shouting in her head, her skin feeling suddenly too tight. Hoping for something she couldn't name she looked up to her father, only to have him start into a diatribe on needing to leave to Merton because the King was endanger.

Not forgotten that his daughter was in danger, was to be married to the lap dog of the Vasey, a man who would be Vasey's lap dog even once he was de-throwned. Not forgotten....just not as important as The King.

Gentle toward his intentions, she looked to the table, moved both that something had gotten her father active once more and brought to a deep empty feeling that it wasn't her.

"A man must protect his king. A man must fight for his king."

"If I could protect you and the king I would."

"I know."

....because the king would ever come first before her life. How could she think five years might have changed that? His leaving had ruined her life once. How could his return have the assumption of being any different now?

And so she said the words she needed to say to assuage his guilt as she felt her foundation become colder. Perhaps she said the words for herself as well, even as what she saw most was Robin's face, angry and screaming at her, in the dim of the dusk.

I am marrying a man I do not love. There are worse things in Heaven and Earth.

And that was when the idea hit her, which the echo of Robin's words. She would give up the Nightwatchman, extract a gift and sacrifice of him, as well.

Episode 1x12 "The Return of the King" [Continued]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject