He had left Marian with hollow promises and meaningless words. She had accepted it, with a calmness that had surprised her. If he was leaving she saw no reason to continue harbouring any feelings for him. Robin may have left her but her father still needed her. She could help people; the poor, the starving. She threw herself into a new life; a colder one.
Then he returned, so sure that he could pick up where he left off, even while she had her arrow trained on him. When he was gone, Marian leant against the closed door, shaken by relief. She silently berated herself for that first second, before Robin spoke, when she had almost stretched her fingers toward his cheek. She would not be a weak-willed woman, unable to refuse him anything. She would depend on no man. She mastered her emotions beneath cool anger and was pleased to find that she had entire control of herself.
That night she dreamt of him. When she awoke she was alarmed at this lapse. She busied herself with helping the villages, refusing to dwell on him, only then realising that this cause, that she had used as a basis for her life, she did truly believe in.
She remained unfaltering in her resolve, for a while. His jesting comments of love and devotion were met with solid disinterest. Though, often she wondered idly to herself, with a flawless detachment, how many of his declarations had succeeded in winning him hearts. No doubt he had practiced on many unwitting girls. She almost pitied them.
When his life was in danger, she rescued him out of what she told herself was no more than duty. It was a practicality to save him; alive, he was of more benefit to the people she wanted to help. But a small part of her, the hurt and betrayed portion she had forgotten existed until now, wanted him alive, if only to hear his pathetic excuses and unimportant reasons just for her to dismiss them.
And then she found herself having to trust him. He knew her secret and much as she did not want to admit, he was slowly melting her best defences. Suddenly, she found she didn't want him hurt any more. But her feelings were soon proved to be inconsequential. She had the opportunity of securing safety for herself and her father; all she had to do was marry a man she did not love. There was an ironic sort of poetry in that Robin had wanted her, but left her, and now that she wanted him, he could not have her.
She focused on the positives of the situation she now found herself in. Her father would be safe; the people she helped would still have Robin to aid them. She could find good qualities in Gisborne, if she looked hard enough. Allowing herself to think of Robin as anything more than a fellow champion of the poor would only make life that much harder, so she refused to let herself think like that. But she could not lie to herself. He had changed but underneath, there was still the sweet fire he had always possessed. She respected him, admired him, even. Marrying Gisborne would not change that.
Although Marian succeeded in trying to think well of Gisborne, when the opportunity arose for one last adventure, one last night as the Night Watchman, she could not deny herself the pleasure. All those riches he intended to lavish on her, to provide her with nothing more than trinkets and ornaments, rich food she did not need, dresses he would pay exorbitant prices to have made. She could do the ultimate in good deeds; feed the poor, clothe their children. The price of a dress might carry an entire family through the winter. As she stole into the manor, she felt as though she were doing something that truly mattered.
But chance intervened. Or maybe she had become so confidant in her role that she failed to recognize the danger. She had not been careful enough, and the knife in her gut was the consequence. That night, she believed she could die, and she learned that Robin was not invincible. He let his guard down, and she was glad that, if these were to be her last moments, they were finally being honest with each other. But honesty, she realized as she woke to find herself alive, did not change that she had to look out for her father. She would marry Gisborne that day. Or not. Somehow her strongest intentions were always turned on their head. Gisborne was not the man she thought he was; she had overestimated his good qualities by far; and Marian was grateful she had not been bound to a life with him, however dangerous her life would be now. But she had Robin now, and as long as he continued to put so much faith in his own abilities, so would she.
Her life became that much more complicated. She still had her father to worry about, and Gisborne to hold at arms length, but she also had the Sheriff to contend with, all the while trying to help Robin. She embroiled herself in deceit to balance her precarious existence. She was helping people, aiding the struggle against tyranny, and surely it would all be worthwhile when the king returned. But knowing that did not make life any easier. And as always, she was put off kilter again. Her father was killed and it shattered her to the core. He was the foundation of her life and had been for so long. She was lost. She was reckless. She endangered their cause. She realised the best way for her to help was as she always had: collecting information from the heart of Nottingham by feigning an interest in Gisborne.
She had made many mistakes before, but soon made the worst one yet. She was a prisoner, Robin couldn't rescue her and she could see no way out for the foreseeable future. And she did not believe her future was all that lengthy. She would not lie to herself; chances were, this was the end, for her.
But as she lay, dying, she felt peace. She could do no more, she had no more responsibility. There was nothing more she herself could do so she made Robin promise to keep fighting, and knowing that he would still do all he could made her feel better. All she had to do now was keep believing in heaven, because she did not think she could stand it if these last moments were all she had with Robin. There was a chance she could see him again, and so she held it tight and refused to let it go. She wished there was more time; she wished this wasn't all she had. But at least she knew he loved her; and if there was no heaven, if all she had left were her last few seconds, she had had her last seconds loving him and had to hope that that was enough.
For both of them.