Knowing Her
Author's Note: Going through old files, I found this one-shot that I'd written years ago. Thought I'd go ahead and share. It's set after Marian's death and from Guy's POV, but it's all about Marian's 'secret' love for Robin. The letter was inspired by the scene in S1 when Marian tells Robin she's going to marry Guy and Robin 'grows up,' leaving with barely a word of protest. I always felt from her reaction that she'd expected him to fight more, had wanted it in fact.
Anyway, hope you enjoy. Would love to know what you think, so hit the Feedback button and tell me!
Knowing Her
He had done the unthinkable. He had loved blindly. Without proof of a love returned. With patience. With hope. With an insanity that drove him to murder.
"I would rather die than be with you, Guy of Gisborne. I'm going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood…"
Did her life reflect her final words? Was she truly a master of deception? Or had the truth been before him the whole time?
These questions, and more, had been haunting him since that day.
He had to know. He had to find out. He needed to discover the truth, especially now that a certain outlaw had been captured and was awaiting punishment in the dungeon below.
That's why Guy of Gisborne was standing on the threshold of what had once been her room. Without her presence, it was cold. Lonely. Bereft of any good thing.
Savoring the chill, his long strides placed him in front of Marian's wardrobe. He ripped open the doors with vehement impatience. Running a hand lightly over the dangling garments, he mind vaguely registered the materials, varying from linens to silks. The faint scent that was Marian accosted him and memories flooded his mind.
He savagely pushed the images away, his actions mimicking the mental exercise till he found it.
Her favorite cloak.
Soft and beautiful. Warm and resilient.
Just like Marian.
Gisborne ripped the cloak from its place and threw it onto the nearby bed. His eager gaze swept over it, looking for something, anything that might have been a sign. It took him several passes, but he finally found it.
A tiny bulge. On the upper, inside flap, right over her heart. Barely noticeable to the scrutinizing eye. To the unobservant, it was invisible.
Pulling out a knife, Gisborne split the material and dug his fingers inside the open cavity to pull out the familiar token. It was a piece of wood, a tag, popular with the peasants.
And secret supporters of Robin Hood.
He gripped the symbol so tightly, his knuckles turned white. If she had risked wearing such damning evidence every day, there had to be more. He dropped the tag and spun around, his gaze searching everything in the room.
He paused when he saw it.
Her embroidery. The basket sat next to her chair just waiting for her attention. Gisborne slipped to the floor, his gaze locked on the basket.
He stared at it remembering the many times he'd seen her contentedly employed in the delicate craft. She had joked that despite her devotion, her mastery was woefully lacking. He had assumed her modesty forbade her from taking pride in her work. He had suspected her natural talent was beyond the prosaic skills of even Nottingham's finest.
Gingerly lifting the lid, Gisborne emptied the basket's contents. The first few layers of material were elementary patterns. The skill was amateurish. Gisborne practically threw them across the floor with a growl of frustration.
He had been wrong. There was nothing here. No hidden secrets. No private Marian to be revealed.
Then something red caught his eye. His gaze shifted back to the basket. To a hidden compartment where a hastily stuffed piece of material was peaking out, begging to be found. Gisborne tore open the compartment's door and extracted the delicate material. Holding it up to the light, his breath stilled.
A masterpiece.
A work of art so intricate, so creatively clever it could only come from the woman he was here to discover.
The scene was easy to recognize. The streets of Locksley were laid out before him. With the chapel to the right, the manor house to the left and a dozen or so cottages dotting the spaces in between. There was the miller's hut placed gingerly next to the tanner's. Even the store shed did not escape Marian's detailed notice.
In front of Locksley Manor stood a maiden with long dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. Marian. Beautiful, bold and unmistakable. In the center of her chest, where her heart would normally beat, there was a gaping black hole.
At first glance.
Upon closer inspection, something was inside.
Gisborne dipped his head and squinted to bring the tiny image into focus. In the next moment, his pale blue eyes widened and his breath caught. For nestled inside what could only be Marian's heart was a bird. More specifically, a robin.
Her Robin.
Gisborne could have sworn it was smirking at him.
He felt ill. Tossing the material to the side, he lunged for an unused chamber pot and released the bile that filled his throat. Fevered, shaking, Gisborne's breathing was labored. His dulled eyes scanned the room.
No longer searching. No longer wanting to know.
And that's when he found the most damning evidence of all.
A leather-bound book tucked hastily under her mattress.
With shaking hands, Gisborne extracted it from its hiding place. He opened and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a journal. An innocent and mundane recounting of her daily activities at court. His own name appeared on several pages, etched forever in Marian's graceful script.
A ray of hope began to warm his cold heart.
Perhaps she was not as indifferent to him as he was lead to believe…
A loose page falling from a hidden pocket turned his heart to stone.
My dearest,
You have just left me, as I expected you would when I told you of my decision. That you did not try to stop me from marrying another, argue with me longer, fight me harder, I confess, I did not expect.
This letter will change nothing. I do not even know why I am writing it except that I need one last moment of truth before my entire life becomes a complete lie.
That we have had precious few words of honesty between us since your return is my fault. If I had only dropped my bow and gathered you into my arms that first day, maybe things could have been different. Maybe you wouldn't have been so reckless. Maybe we could have found a way.
Together.
If only…
You asked me once if I had suitors in your absence. I evaded the question. In truth, there were four. They were all acceptable matches. Each was titled, with land and wealth, and hearts as changeable as a chameleon. When they offered a winning smile, all I saw was your taunting grin. Arrogant, irritating, and oh, so dear.
When they attempted to take my hand, I was transported to the meadow. Do you remember how you teased me that day? "Your hand is so ugly no man in his right mind would ever want to hold it." Then you reached out with a deliberation that made my heart leap. You entwined our fingers and pulled my hand to your lips. I was never so glad you were not a man in your right mind.
I told you I had not married because marriage requires a man. But tell me, my love, how could I have married any other when I was still promised to you? Not by word and not with metal and stone. But by every beat of my heart.
I know you released me before you left. I understand your intention: to set me free so that I would not spend years waiting or drown in my own tears if you should fall on a battlefield thousands of miles away.
But the truth is, I have been in a cage these five years. Trapped between the harsh, cruel reality of my paled existence and glorious, vibrant memories of you. Of us. And now, I must act as my own jailer and imprison myself in a place where even your memories will not be allowed to exist.
I cannot allow them. For certain death would soon follow. Whether mine or his, I cannot say, but blood would surely taint our love.
For you were right. I do not love him. Nor do I have the hope of ever doing so. You and I do not have souls that flicker like a flame with every change in the wind or hearts that falter at the slightest obstacle.
Once given, they are never retrieved.
Five years and a great distance have separated us. And yet I find that I love you more today than the day you walked out my door with your back straight, and your course set, intent on serving your king.
Tell me then, how will I survive the years to come without you? How?
An endless void stretches out before me and I am tempted to throw myself into an ocean of despair so deep it will drown me instantly and forever. Only you can save me now.
Yet, I have done the unthinkable. I have made you believe you are less in my eyes than the devil I intend to wed. I have allowed you to think that I trust him more, that he stirs me to anything but pity and fear.
Forgive me. It was the only way I knew to save you from certain destruction. For if you knew, if you had the slightest idea, just how deep my longing for you is, how high my hopes, how full my dreams, nothing would have stopped you from fighting for me, from gaining me. Nothing, save the end of his sword.
I would sacrifice everything, including myself to keep you safe. For me, you alive and well somewhere in the world is more than anything. My very existence has depended on it these past five years.
How you picked me from all the women in the world, I will never understand. Perhaps you did not. Perhaps, neither of us had a choice. A love like ours, that transcends time and distance, is surely destined from above.
That is the one and only thing that gives me hope even now as I despair my coming tomorrows. That Heaven is suffering with us this day and will intervene at the eleventh hour in a manner we cannot foresee. I pray with all that I am that it be true.
I fear if it does not, I shall be separated from you forever.
For I can no longer lie even to myself.
I cannot forget you. I cannot banish your memories. I cannot stop loving you, no matter how hard I try. And because of that, my love for you will not allow him to touch me.
This is my truth.
Know it now, as you surely know me.
I know not how this will end, but I fear the end is certainly near. I can only hope that your grief will be solaced with the knowledge that I am now, as I have always been and forever will be…
Yours and only yours
Marian
Heaven had intervened. At the eleventh hour, just as she'd prayed. Why then, had she kept this damning evidence?
Was it for this moment? For these eyes? Was it to torment or to free?
Had she foreseen this day? This hour? This decision?
Was she calling to him from the past, begging for a life that was now in his power to give?
Or take away?
Guy of Gisborne folded the letter and stuffed it in his tunic. He crumpled the needle-worked masterpiece in one fist. The tag of Robin Hood was clenched in the other.
As the weight of the letter pressed against his cold, black heart, he turned to the door his eyes glittering like diamonds.
He'd gotten what he came for.
He knew her now like he never had before.
And the knowing has set him free.
Tbc…