Author Disclaimor: The characters of BBC Robin Hood are not mine.
There was an odd stillness to Sherwood this morn, no sound but the lull of faint breaths and the soft tickle of falling leaves
There was an odd stillness to Sherwood this morn, no sound but the lull of faint breaths and the soft tickle of falling leaves.
It seemed as though time stood still, the sun balanced on the peak of ascension still lounging behind the dusky shadow of mountaintops.
All of the camp slept on, John snoring lightly, Will was silent even in sleep if not for the rise and fall of his chest she'd mistake him for dead, Much nearer to Robin than the rest, but at the same time apart.
Robin slept on his side looking like he'd dropped where he stood and decided not to get up, a restless hand pillowing his head. They'd all dropped off to sleep in various positions but Robins was the only one she analyzed, Robin was all she had eyes for.
Even as Marion watched with envy they slept unawares, they're dreams peaceable and smooth sailing as calm waters on the vast sea of dreamland.
They were men, they didn't dream of what-ifs and could-have-been's they didn't even think of such things, because they were men, and fools.
Brave fools.
But fools all the same.
Her eyes softened and she watched as he slept the shadows of early morning dancing across his face catching on the sharp contour of hic cheeks, to the bridge of his nose and the sun bleached hair hanging gracelessly over his closed eyes, he was handsome.
Even with dirt smudged across his cheek, and an errant twig lodged in his hair if one were to look close enough, hard enough, to see.
How had they come to this?
Robin of Loxley becoming an outlaw skulking in the cover of Sherwood, though she must admit it suited him well. She acting as spy and hiding her love for him lest someone should discover, as though it was all some scandalous secret they kept.
She loved him; she knew that, even when the foolish young man he had been left for the crusades for their king and honor and a naïve ideal of glory, cleaving her heart in two swifter than any enemy blade, she loved him still.
Even when he was foolish and reckless and so very daring that she felt the urge to shout her claim.
Robin may not realize and she'd never say, but she knew how the ladies eyes followed where he went like hawks after prey.
He was the notorious Robin Hood, an outlaw, a bandit, just the thing for their scheming melodramatic little hearts.
But he was hers.
The object of her scrutiny rolled over when his eyelashes fluttered her heart stopped, had she been found out?
But they fell closed again, and she breathed out in relief.
That had been close. Too close.
"His ego will know no bounds if he were to know…" she thought wistfully, with a tinge of amusement "I wonder what he dreams of? Another way to undermine the sheriff, or to out-do Gisborne perhaps? The next reckless, foolishly brave gesture certain to see him killed. But does he ever dream of me?" she wondered pensively thoroughly chastising herself seconds after the thought crossed her mind. Those were not thoughts becoming of a lady, even if she did conspire with outlaws.
Marion pushed such thoughts aside trying to enjoy the beauty of the faint light peaking through the green woods
Morning was closer now, the long quiet of Sherwood fading away with each new sound the coming dawn brought, the dulcet cooing of dove, the pitter-patter of rabbit, the wind swishing through the trees gentle boughs whipping at her face as though to say 'wake all yea laze a bout's, morning has come!'
As her inner thoughts quieted the silence, now interrupted only by the soothing sounds of forest life, was welcomed like the calm after a clamor of noise that never seems to end hence here she was, Lady Marian of Knighton Manor stretched like a peasant on the soft earthy soil beneath the towering boughs of Sherwood in the company of outlaws with her head elegantly propped on her hand as she enjoyed the stillness of it, for this manner of tranquility came along so seldom.
How had things changed so much?
Oh she knew nothing ever stayed the same, to ask that was to ask the impossible.
But once in a while it felt like they were children all over again and Robin had only the other day been teasing her for her girlish braids as they fooled around like children were wont to do, or he was whispering sweet-nothing's in her hear and they were both young and so in love that she could believe her world was complete that she'd found her place, then came those damned Crusades, and she learned what it was to loose everything in the space of a fortnight.
At that moment she had hated him as much as she'd loved him.
She had never thought she could equally love and hate one person so much, and she had never in her most feverish imaginings thought Robin would be the one to bring her to that.
But now things were greatly changed, they weren't children anymore, and they both knew the score.
She was a woman in her own right but sometimes when she is truthful to herself she thinks she still needs, loves, wants him as badly as she did then.
She can do naught but pray that this time ends better.
She watched him sleep knowing that when he wakes everything will be in a hustle, and this peace, this stillness she's discovered will be gone. Robin could never remain still for long, not even when they were young.
That had never changed.
She'd tried hard, but she had no control over her heart it had a mind of its own and it beat for Robin, and that there was naught she could do about, nor did she truly wish to any longer her mind had begun catching up with her heart…For all his arrogant, foolhardy, cocky ways, she loved him still.
That had never changed, not even when the rest of their world had.