Release
Rated T for character death.
I own nothing. Dedicated to my dear friend and beta, Matriaya, who hated me for this story, and to Ellen-A-Dale, who will enjoy it. Surprisingly, these are two of the women who keep me sane. Thank you, ladies. I am lost without you.
Set many many many years after the events of "Husbanding England." A sad little tale of woe and such. Please don't hold this against me and my usual pattern of fluff. That almost rhymed.
To begin.
o0O0o
"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I shall fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever."
Robin shut the leather-bound Latin Bible softly, the only book they owned, not wanting to disturb his bride's slumber. That was all she did these days, though Robin supposed that she was confined to her (no, their, he reminded himself) bed, there was not much else she could do. Robin sighed. He was not angry with her. No, not exactly. He was angry at her sickness. The canker that Djaq told them frankly was beyond any help. Marain was to die from it, and probably soon judging by its rapid, ruthless growth. Marian had made a joke that Robin could not remember, something about Djaq being at her death bed once before. What did the French call it? Oh yes. Deja vu. Still, Djaq did not understand the joke and Robin was too shocked to laugh.
Djaq did her best to make Marian comfortable, but the pain seemed to increase every day. Not that the proud Countess of Knighton and Huntingdon would admit to it, but Robin could see it hiding behind her eyes.
He watched as she rolled over, closer to him. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Good morning," she said sleepily.
"Good morning, my love." He set the Bible on the bedside table. Robin moved down next to her and gathered her carefully into his arms. Planting a kiss on her cheek, her murmured nonsense words into her ear, phrases he picked up over the years that were guaranteed to make her blush like a maiden and laugh like a woman. Oh! How he loved her.
Yet after a few moments, her weak, wispy peels of laughter turned into a racking cough. Robin clasped her firmly and rocked her, as she rode out the fit on his chest. His words turned to soothing ones. The ones she whispered to him after waking from his nightmares, or words they whispered to their children when the world was just a little too scary. Or the words he whispered to her when she lost both her Edwards; the father, and later the son she named for him. The words they murmured when they lost their youngest, Eleanor and the grandchild she was bearing.
Everything always came full circle, thought Robin, rubbing her back. So much heartbreak in this life.
"I am sorry," she told his tunic when she regained control of her breaths.
'Do not be."
She sighed, burrowing her head weakly into his neck.
"What were you reading just now?"
"The story of Jacob and Rachel. You know, their kiss by the well?" he lied to her.
"The Old Testament? Liar. You were reading Psalm Twenty-Three."
He did not respond, which only confirmed her suspicions.
"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil," she quoted to him in a small whisper. "For thou art with me."
"Marian," Robin interrupted, his voice raw with words unspoken. She quoted the passage beautifully, yet he could not help but feel that she was not speaking about the Lord, but that 'you' in this context meant someone simpler. And of course, he was staying behind. "You know..." he sighed, because he could not articulate his thoughts. "I love you."
"I know," Marian said, slightly alarmed. "Why this sudden declaration? Did you burn down the stable or something?"
He chuckled. "No. I just wanted to tell you."
"Well it was hardly a secret."
"It used to be."
"Not in so many years. Not since our wedding has it been hidden." She grinned impishly. It was an expression he knew so well. "Not since I bore you six children."
Robin smiled at her. "It is a good life. Not so adventurous, perhaps."
"That is hardly a bad thing, given the circumstances of our second courtship and engagement."
"No," he agreed.
"And some things have been all too adventuresome. Need I remind you of the Civil War after John took the throne?"
"No. You and the children spent a few nights in the old cave." He said, recalling quite vividly when the war had swept in and out of Nottinghamshire.
"Yes, and not all the children had been born yet, if you recall. One in particular..."
"I am sorry. But I wanted our children safe. All of them," he said, glancing at her now empty womb for emphasis.
"I know. At any rate, I would not have left them in the cave by themselves."
"Do you remember when the brood found the recipe for the Greek fire?" He watched Marian smile at his words. He always called them that; the children. Their own, the Scarlet children, and the children of Bonchurch. And the twelve together always had a knack for making trouble. Surprise, surprise.
"Yes of course. And naturally, Sophia still knows the recipe."
"Married with children of her own now."
"I know. Can you even believe it? They all have. She was the youngest. So much like her mother."
"She became more like her father after Will died."
"That is true."
The two paused in their reflections. The sun was shining in the windows, the birds were singing in the early autumn air. The air was crisp with the promise of winter waiting in the wings. But buried in her husband's arms underneath a wall of blankets, the cold could not touch her. Robin listened as the bells rang in the steeple, signaling the end of mass. A few moments later, the manor was bustling with the return of their children and grandchildren. They were all staying in Locksley or Knighton, keeping vigil with Robin. The din from the hall echoed upstairs as they settled in to break their fast.
"Robin?"
"Hmm?"
"When did we get to be old?"
Robin chuckled as she brushed his graying hair out of his eyes with trembling hands.
"I think it happened the day Katherine married Arthur and moved into Bonchurch Lodge with him."
"Yes well, that match was obvious to all of us."
"All of our children's matches were pretty apparent. Geoffrey to Ellen of Bonchurch, Joan to the Church, Peter to Isabella of Verysdale..."
"Not Eleanor's! I had never heard of Doncaster until 'Sir David of" turned up," she said bitterly.
"Marian, it is not her fault she was swept off her feet by a dark haired stranger from far away. She always was the romantic type. And you never liked Lord Verysdale either, yet you and Isabella get along quite well."
"I know. It just rankles me that Eleanor was so far from home when she died. And in childbirth too." Marian shuddered.
"But it was a good life?" he asked suddenly. Anxiously. Desperate to know that she was happy with her choice. "Despite everything?"
"I would not have missed this life for anything. Gisbourne's money, Vaisey's power," Marian looked him in the eye, "or my father's comfort," she added teasingly.
"Good," said Robin. What else could he say, that had not already been said?
"I love you," she mewed softly.
"No secret," he quipped with a half smile.
"No, but I do have one."
Robin was suddenly curious. Each time she went into labor, she told him she had a secret. What could it mean now?
"Oh?" he asked, his smile making him look years younger.
Marian grinned back at him.
"I have always enjoyed watching you shoot. In tournaments, hunts, battles, or teaching our children."
"Really?"
"Yes. I think it is one of the ways you awoke my passion for you."
Robin blushed like a school boy.
"Pray, do not be so modest, Locksley. It does not suit you."
"I am sorry, Marian, but I do not know how to respond to this confession."
'Well how about this one." She paused, waiting for his undivided attention. "I would like you to shoot for me now, out of our very bedroom window. And where ever the arrow lands, I would like to be buried in that spot. Far be it for me to be out of your range."
For the first time, Robin felt like weeping. Tears pricked in his eyes and pressure built up behind his nose. But she was looking at him with earnest. Trust. Damned faith in him, which he did not deserve, but somehow needed. She knew this all along. He was a hero, but no saint. And he would lose this final argument with her. Hardly an argument on his part.
"God forgive me for not burying you on sanctified ground."
"God created the Earth, only man created the concept of a graveyard. I have a feeling that where ever your arrow lands, He will not mind if I am buried there."
Robin truly was crying now. Marian wiped the tears away. It was an act they preformed for each other. Neither cried very often, but if they did, they wiped each other's tears away. Robin was growing muddled and confused. His grief was so strong. Stronger than him. What had happened? Why was this pain his to carry? Why was she leaving him? The only comfort he had now was it was in his hands to give her the final resting place. Some comfort.
"Please, my love?"
Please, please. Pleading. So many times he had held her in his arms, her asking him for pleasure. Only this time her wish would only bring him pain. Not the joy of the final release into her. Now he pleaded to the Lord. Take me instead. I am not strong enough...
"Please?" she whispered. "I want this."
He could hear the pain in her voice. The pain in her body. The body that had given her so much life, for herself and their children. The body that was now slowly killing her. He could hear the pain she felt for him, his breaking heart. But he could hear her desperation for his consent.
"Yes."
Her eyes closed briefly in relief and he studied her quickly, raking in as many details as possible in the moment between them. She opened them again and he helped her up, trembling only a little as he propped her up against the pillows and the headboard. He then pulled the thick down comforter up to her chin. She frowned slightly at the mollycoddling, but did not say anything, lest he change his mind.
He caught her slightly off guard when he kissed her pale mouth as softly as he knew how. It was an aching sort of kiss, full of despair, loneliness, and love lost. When he pulled away, she smiled at him. He thought she looked tired, small, and so very old, though he was wise enough not to say this to her.
I love you. Words unspoken. Words not needed.
Robin stood again and found his bow and quiver by the door. After opening the window, he strung his bow with false bravado that he hoped would hide his pain. He then carefully selected an arrow. Marian studied him intently, not missing a single measured action. After Robin found an arrow that satisfied him, he brought it to the string, growing more confident with every passing second. Taking a deep breath he drew the bow. Marian mirrored him on the bed. After a moment of deliberation, he aimed at the tree line, and released the arrow with his breath. Marian exhaled with him and sank into the sheets. Smiling.
Robin turned to meet her gaze, and knew instantly. He set down his bow, never to pick it up again, and with his remaining strength, he strode to the door and called to his family, "I shot an arrow for your mother. A prize to the one who finds it. Leave it where it is, just find it for me."
Calls of consent met the closed door. Robin was back inside the chamber with the shell of his beloved wife.
It was five years before he could truly join her.
o0O0o
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it begged me to be written.