Guy found Marian where he expected her to be - in the large hall in front of the hearth, with a fire burning. She liked to watch the flames. It soothed her and warmed her at once. Her sewing was beside her in a basket - it was done for the day.
Marian looked up and smiled. Guy smiled lightly and extended his hand, "Come love, let's have our evening wander." Marian rose slowly, smoothing her skirts. They would walk the manor grounds together and watch the sunset together, as usual. Life was quiet and peaceful now. There were no assassins or Guards to fight. There were no children running the halls or squealing with delight at some new game.
The Gisbourne children that survived childhood were grown and gone from the manor – all five of them – three boys and two girls – Allard, Madison, Raymond, Arietta, and Kenley. All were married and living lives far flung from their parents with children of their own. Unfortunately, during the first 7 years of marriage, Guy and Marian suffered the heartbreak of losing two children – a girl named Fira and a boy named Whitfield.
The girl, Fira, lived nearly 2 years before succumbing to a fever. She was born a year and a half after the twins, Allard and Arietta. It was devastating for both Guy and Marian, but especially Marian. Fira was a miniature of her father – black hair, blue eyes and a surprisingly sharp little nose and pointed chin. She was quiet and moody and stubborn and Marian absolutely adored her. She managed to be difficult even when silent. A rare smile from her left Marian giddy all day. She loved how Fira would scrunch up her little lips and jut out her chin in stubborn defiance. How she would gaze at her steadily and twist her fist in Marian's hair when she fed. But the second winter when sickness came, she quietly died from it.
For a time, Marian seemed to wish she had died along with Fira. Even the savageness of the Sheriff and the cruelty of war never brought the kind of terror and helplessness Guy felt watching Marian slip away from him in her all-consuming grief. She slept too much or not at all. Barely ate and cried - all the time. He found her one time too many just staring into space with tears running down her face. He held her, talked to her, and begged her to come back to him and their children. She looked at him like he was a stranger. She was torn between two worlds – life and death, and the appeal of death's oblivion was strong. Finally, in desperation, Guy sent word to Mathilda and asked for her help.
Mathilda coaxed Marian back to health. She administered herbs and tonics and restoratives. Fed her soup and took her for walks. Guy brought the twins for a short visit every day and Mathilda told stories and sang rhymes. At first, Marian just watched dully, not responding. The twins would kiss her cheek sweetly before Mathilda held their hands and walked them back to the nursery while Guy stayed a while longer with Marian.
Mathilda assured him it would be well. She told the twins their mommy was sad and they just needed to be patient until she was better. Eventually, Marian held the twins on those visits and the visits got longer until she didn't want to let them go. The twins called Mathilda Auntie and she ended up living with the Gisbourne's for the rest of her days, as their beloved Auntie Mattie.
Marian returned to the living and took an interest in her husband and children again. Mathilda said she wrestled her away from Sorrow's Gatekeeper. Marian made peace with Fira's death out of necessity but never forgot those steady blue eyes and sharp little chin – so much like her father.
It was three years before Marian gave birth to Madison, their second son, but by then she was much stronger. The exhaustion she felt after the trials of war and a difficult pregnancy with her twins Allard and Arietta, had robbed her of Fira – she was sure of it. She blamed the baby's slightness on her own body's weakness at the time of her birth, regardless of Mathilda's admonitions that she assumed too much. It was beyond human reach - God decided such things. Some children died young – many in fact, only one in three typically survived their early years - as Mathilda knew well as a midwife. Marian grew stronger in body and mind and Guy somehow became even more fiercely protective than he had ever been before of her and his children.
Their family grew in quick succession – one child a year for the next three years - Raymond another son, then Kenley another daughter, and finally Whitfield, their last child, a son. Whitfield was stillborn. He was a difficult pregnancy and a difficult birth. Mathilda helped Marian through the ordeal – again. This time, her body was strong, so at least that particular guilt was absent, but not the heart-rending sorrow of losing a child.
Breasts full of milk and the driving need to hold and let a newborn suckle was devastating, but Mathilda was there right from the start. And the breast milk? The two youngest happily resumed breastfeeding. Marian let them suckle for another year and a half – longer than she would have, but under the circumstances, she needed it. And so did Guy, needed to suckle that is, not surprisingly, which was a whole different kind of need, but it helped, just the same. It healed them all – nurturing and mother's milk for husband and child.
That was all years ago. Guy and Marian were "greys" now – an old married couple, taking a walk together on their manor grounds before the light of day was gone. Sometimes, they talked of hardships but mostly just of times that gave them happiness. Their children's exploits were a favorite subject. After all the trials of their youth and the trials of their early years of marriage, when a life together was still uncertain, these peaceful walks were a delight. And a blessing. They had managed to have a life together, against all odds and they couldn't help but reminisce and feel grateful. It was not a life they expected. At any given time their survival was in question, but they did survive. Life was good. Love was better.