Title: Birds of a Feather
Rating: T
Summary: Set the day after "A Clue: No," somewhat of a sequel to "Dreaming Through the Darkness" (no need to read beforehand). Djaq has a wound to tend to, and an unlikely friendship blossoms.
Disclaimer: I do not hold any ownership over the BBC's version of Robin Hood.
Author's Note: Not beta'd. Feel free to point out any mistakes. Please. Clearly I should be working on original fiction, but every time I try, fanfic comes out. So consider yourselves lucky, unless you're one of the few people who follow my fiction tumblr. Oops. Read and review?
o0O0o
It was morning now, on the day after the false king had returned to England, the day after Lady Marian's near wedding. And only three days since her brush with death. When Robin hadn't returned the night before, no one had wasted their breaths in asking where their leader may be.
Djaq was up with the sun, beginning the day by washing and praying a distance from the most recent camp. When she returned, everyone was awake and Much was building a fire. Little John rasped a "good morning" in her general direction, Allan nodded sleepily, Will watched silently as she gathered a few of her mysterious (to him) ingredients and tucked them into a bag. After a few moments, she was interrupted.
"What are you up to, Djaq?" Allan asked.
"Lady Marian has wounds that need tending," Djaq said simply, pulling her kit onto her shoulder. "I must go see to them."
"Then we all go," Little John spoke.
"After breakfast?" Much asked hopefully.
Will stood, as if in answer. "The sooner the better." Djaq could hear the guilt in his voice for setting out to Scarborough. "We should hurry."
"I do not need a guard," Djaq huffed impatiently.
"Just try and shake us, mate," Allan teased.
She sighed, Much put out his fire, and they set out towards Knighton Hall.
o0O0o
Djaq made short work of scaling the wall to Marian's second storey window. She knew her fellow outlaws stood watch all around (and she knew the nobles to be in Nottingham, hoping to curry favor to the Sheriff that was still in power). Safe. Relatively. Still, she knew some good hiding spots in Marian's chamber now.
Silently, she crept through the window. Neither Marian nor Robin woke with her light step in soft deer-hide boots. They were bound up so tightly in each others' arms; Djaq's quick eyes could not distinguish under the blankets where one ended and the other began. Repressing a stab of jealousy for a life she was not even sure she wanted, Djaq opened her bag and observed aloud, "Perhaps the Lady should ask for a better guard; this one does naught but sleep."
It was almost comical to see Robin launch himself out of bed, full of fight. Marian sat up suddenly, but with a small cry at the pain in her belly (and seeing Djaq as no threat), she fell back onto her soft pillows.
"Djaq," Robin breathed.
"I must tend to Marian's wounds," she answered. "Leave us." She was glad to see him clothed, and Marian too. These two, however they denied it, had a deep connection. But they were not stupid enough to give in to their passion while she suffered from a severe belly wound.
"No," he refused. Djaq sighed, but had anticipated this.
"Robin, do as Djaq bids," Marian said.
He sat back down on her bed and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I have no desire to leave you."
"Then make yourself useful," Djaq commanded. "Wash your hands and bring me a kettle full of water, I will boil it on the hearth in here. Then go and fetch me what you English call Witch Hazel, for I need to cast a spell. And some juniper."
"What is the juniper for?" Robin asked.
"Your breath."
Marian laughed. Robin offered a small smile, pulled on his boots, and rushed off to do the work. After he had brought the kettle and left again, Marian whispered, "Witch Hazel is not in season as yet."
"Do I not know this?" Djaq pulled the soothing herb in question out of her kit. "How is the stitching?"
"It has not opened."
"Good."
Djaq assisted as Marian got out of bed and took a few wobbly steps to her chamber pot, a pitcher of water to wash, and then back to bed.
"I do not understand; yesterday I could run, but today I am as weak as a new-born lamb."
Djaq nodded. "Because yesterday, you were needed to do battle. Give yourself time to rest properly Marian." She cleaned the wound and dressed it. She waited a bit to cover it, sensing it needed a few moments to breathe. Marian lay back on the pillows, reclining as if she were some queen. Maybe she was. Djaq reached into her kit and pulled out some bread and two wrinkled apples. She kept an apple to herself and passed the rest of the food to Marian.
"Where did you come by this healing knowledge, Djaq?"
Djaq blinked and thought before answering. "My father. He let me assist him with his medicines. He was a respected physician in our community. He taught my brother and I well."
"Brother?"
"Yes, his name was Djaq."
Marian wrinkled her brow in confusion.
"I wear his name now. He… died. In the battles. I… decided not to be Saffiya any longer, but rather live on in his name. He was much braver than Saffiya – she should not have been the one to survive."
"Do not say that- you have a strength and a knowledge that I could never have," Marian protested fiercely, indicating her sewn abdomen.
"No, I think you have this strength too, Marian."
"I disagree. If I had your courage, I would take to the forest with Robin and the rest of your gang."
"And yet, do you not carry out your own work? And have you not done so for much longer? Yes, the Nightwatchman has been around for many years, Marian. I hear stories when they think I am not listening. And you too listen when no one thinks you could hear. In the castle. I think you and I are more alike than I thought before I had bandaged your side. There are many kinds of courage, do not discount yours simply because it is not the same as Robin's. You will not thank yourself for it, nor will he."
Marian was taken aback by this. She sat silently for a moment, pondering. "Saffiya…"
"Djaq," she said firmly. Not in reproach, but with a definite rejection of the name, of the identity long gone.
"Sorry." She paused before continuing, "What made you stay in England? This is not your fight. Robin could have aided you out of the country."
It was Djaq's turn to ponder. It was not that she did not have an answer, it was just that it was a difficult one to verbalize, especially in another language. "I had nothing to go back to, at home, just a country torn apart by crusades.
"But to stay in a country that… supplied the crusaders, well, that is a special kind of stupidity, I guess. Especially a place so cold. Yet I learned in my travels that life is not so simple, that the difference between good and evil is not a line in the sand. The sands shift and it is nigh impossible to stay on top of them. Even my faith, my thoughts of Allah have changed. It has become more complicated."
"For instance?"
"For instance," Djaq smiled, "I no longer think you heathens for worshiping your images. Though I do not see God in those faces, I can see it is how you keep your mind on your prayer, the way you use beads to count your Aves. Though of course, if you were not so backwards, you would not need such things."
Marian could not help but laugh at that. "Ah, theology. The priests would not thank me for discussing it, least of all with another woman, and of another faith."
"You at least have more freedom here, to go around with your head bare, to say as you will, to keep your hold in the castle."
"Ah, but that is not true. Most women in England are the property of their husbands, fathers, or brothers. I should have been married to Robin by now, but he left for the Holy Land. As it is, I must answer to Sir Edward. And all of the girls I have known in my youth were married off at a very young age, often to men the same ages as fathers. And we never discussed politics, or religion other than who was embroidering altar cloths for which chapel. All conversation was silly and nonsensical. Women in power are rare. And as to the veils, Christians have them too. The moment I marry, I will be expected to cover my head. And I must cover it at mass."
Djaq rolled her eyes. "And here I thought I might be free!"
"I am afraid it is not that simple. I do not get to take wing whenever I like. And you are even more inhibited by your faith and your skin."
Djaq nodded in acknowledgment. "You take wing at night... an owl, perhaps? And fear not. I know I am no fair English rose as you seem to be."
A comfortable silence fell as the two considered the words of the other.
"Marian," Djaq said gently, much more gently than even she would have expected from a woman so hardened.
"Yes?"
"I fear I must tell you something that… I did not tell you earlier for fear you would stop fighting for your life. For surely, I think your life more important than…" Djaq trailed off.
Marian was now, suddenly, frightened. Her mind scrolled through possibilities. The gang? Was someone ill? Was Robin ill? Injured? In love with another? Thinking the truth could be no worse than her impulsive thoughts she demanded, "Djaq, speak, for the love of God that you call Allah-"
"You may not, with the wound where it is, be able to have children," Djaq interrupted, bluntly.
Marian fell silent, though this one was fraught with tension.
"I know nothing of breeding, pregnant women are usually kept in confinement, as I suspect they are here, but… I think it a possibility you will not be able to bear a child."
"I… yes. I understand." Marian's eyes were filling with tears. "Never lie to a wounded man."
She pushed the rest of her bread away. Djaq bandaged the wound so it might remain clean and dry.
After a few moments more, Djaq heard Robin come loudly into the house and climb the stairs.
"Djaq, methinks you sent me on a fool's errand, for in the village, Elaine told me Witch Hazel will not be ready for at least another month, and she is only ten years old…" he opened the door. Seeing Marian's tears, he rushed to her side, nearly knocking Djaq aside in his haste. "Are you in much pain, my Lady?"
"I will live. So says Djaq."
She nodded. "Now go get the lady some food. Something with meat in it, for she must build her strength. Rest, Marian, I shall be back tomorrow."
"Yes, Djaq, and thank you."
Djaq could hear the gratitude in Marian's voice. For the bandaging, of course, but for the conversation and ultimately, for the painful truth.
"Thank you, Djaq," Robin said.
There was sincerity in his voice. Robin and Marian were like two swans, mated and fated for life.
Djaq realized while crawling back out of the window that never would have guessed that in all her days she would ever befriend an English Lady. Of course, her life (as she had told Marian), was like keeping your position on shifting sands. Perhaps one day they might be able to not just hold their ground, but learn to fly above the mess they floundered in….