Hair the colour of flame drapes around her neck pale, eyes the colour of bluebirds gazing over rolling green hills, edges with shine gold in the light. There is no real reason for her to be up, but years of ploughing and back breaking work in the fields has conditioned her body.
She is not longer beautiful, this she knows.
Her cheek are too high, eyes holding too much pride for a woman. This she has been told
But, as Robin rustles awake, lumbering toward her in the manner of giants, as he binds her flame coloured hair against the nape of her neck, as he plants a kiss behind her eye, she allows herself to be lost in a sensation that must be akin to peace.
In this chamber, at the far corner of Nottingham Castle, far from prying eyes there is only silence between them, soft caresses. Bitter words are left at the door, crossing the threshold to their chamber it is only him and he.
It is them only, and, Marion cannot help but wonder if this is what peace feels.
Is peace the settling of her stomach as she sees the worn features of Robin- not handsome, never handsome but strong and sturdy and a smile that promises equality and the sort of love that needs nothing in return?
Is peace the ebbing away of her loneliness, the loneliness that clung to her as a child does its mother breast, as Robin teases her gently, kindly?
Is peace her laughter, or the ease in which they keep each other's company, not through words of passion or worship but an undeniable bond that circulates love between them?
This is peace- Marion thinks to herself as Robin wraps archer's arms around her sapling waist, pulling her to him, binding themselves to each other- for if it is not, then no such thing exists upon man.