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

[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.

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[outlaw-bold.livejournal.com]

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.