queenofmay: (Sherwood)
[personal profile] queenofmay
Marian confided the whole tale in her father, though it did little good. They discussed the impossible wishes and wants for escape in glances which needed no words. He spoke about the king in a hushed tone, even though she didn’t' respond except to contemplate her cup of water.

She missed a few rambling moments until he mentioned her mother's veil in a half sentence she'd ended simply by jumping out of her chair, causing it to rattle loudly against the floor, and striding toward the front door, stopping only to pick up her sword.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-09-17 08:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] outlaw-bold.livejournal.com
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.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-09-17 09:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] outlaw-bold.livejournal.com
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."

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May 2014

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