It was a summer day. The kind they rarely seemed to have in Knighton this year. The sun was golden, the grass was such a brilliant green and nothing seemed to be able to go wrong. She'd even managed to convince her father to come talk to her outside while she fixed a basket that frayed. The sunshine and light exercise would do him good she knew, and he hadn't even mustered up a complaint about her 'extra' activities of late.

Gisborne arriving was not part of her perfect summer day plan. Seeing him giddy as a school boy on arrival was disconcerting on many levels. When he picked her up over his shoulder, amid an outcry from herself and her father, she'd managed to flip away, thinking she'd idiotically given herself away only to see his face contort in a rare emotion: disappointment and hurt. Followed quickly by something as equally rare: an apology and then a gentle request.

If it was not duty, then it was curious confusion that drove her to obey the request to come to Locksley Manor with him. He was so buoyant in his step and free with his laughter she thought perhaps something had shifted in him. Seeing Thornton had not helped her but to remember the last few times she'd been in Locksley Manor; many, many, many years ago, off setting her almost comfort in this new, strange Guy. To make things stranger he led her upstairs to rooms she'd longer let rest in memory, to show her a chest full of money while he spoke of 'being a man of substance, wealth, who could provide for her'.

It wasn't until he spoke of pride and lineage directly, that she suddenly understood what he was so coyly dancing about: the king was returning.

It had taken a clever control of herself to maintain her cool in the face of the panic that longed to break free in her stomach. But when Milliways appeared she simply smiled, without simpering, while he spoke about date, details, and locations for their wedding arrangements

(the same as her last....

same church

same house

same bed

...everything but the man)

until she reminded him that she needed to see to her lands and arrangements if this was to happen so soon. He seemed to take it as a sign of her approval of the situation and let her go, not sparing her these looks of tenderness and pride which simply confused her more. And became a welling she pressed down when she spotted Robin among the sheet-wash before the house, glaring at her as though this were all her fault.

Marian spurred her horse for home, and arrived out of breath, as though she'd been racing the wind, or a hoard, and not simply her thoughts.

Marian scrambled out her door the moment she saw it, all grace lost with her plunge into the sea and barely regained with the lead from Will, hoping without any realistic expectation to out run the weight which crushed the inside of her being.

Hating him, as much as you could while utterly rejoicing you'd watched a love one achieve their final and best dream, that it was still there on the other side of the door. Everything was still there. The feel of the ocean on her skin and hugging him and of being sure this could not, would not be the end.

And the fact those things did not change grief.

Nor did it change the sea soaked gown and her father dictating, as she deftly avoided looking him in the eye for fear he'd see how stricken she'd been, to her about the tenant she needed to see.

She agreed, hastily and perhaps even part-rudely, grabbing the thick white cloak and thinking only one thing as she dashed out the door and into the attached stable.

Escape.

Lineave, going as fast as they could from the moment she was prepped and Marian was astride, took her in the direction, opposite of the tenant, toward Sherwood.

Her bower. Her safety net. Her endless home.

Her, first and last and best, Sanctuary.