Disclaimer: Robin Hood is the BBC's and Tiger Aspect's. Fic title is Rudyard Kipling's. Inspiration also drawn from the song Fields of Gold by Sting.
Characters/Pairings: Will, Marian, Robin; one-sided Will/Marian, Robin/Marian
Summary: How could he ever have forgotten that she was a noble, and he just a peasant?
Written for: RHFC Yuku 2nd Ficathon: Unusual Pairings
And Never the Twain Shall Meet
It is common enough knowledge now that the Sheriff's daughter is friends with a carpenter's son for no-one to bothers raising an eyebrow at the pair frolicking in the field anymore. For as long as any of the villagers can remember the two have been inseparable, closer than siblings in every bond but blood. When Marian's mother died giving birth to her, Jane had been her wet-nurse. From the same breast to the same hearth the two children had gone, Sir Edward seemingly unfazed by the attachment his daughter was forming for the boy. Nothing would ever come of it, after all, so why should he keep them apart? Besides the Huntingdon lad there were very few children of her own age and temperament to keep her company, and Kate had always been fond of the Scarlett family. What harm could come of their friendship?
The untilled meadow that marks the boundary between Locksley and Knighton is their place, their own little private world. The eyes of the adults cannot penetrate here (or so they think, but there's always a tender, protective gaze looking on from one of the villages) and they're free to do as they please, to act as they wish and be children. Everything is a contest between them; who can run the fastest, who can climb the tree by the fence in the quickest time, who can throw their apple cores the furthest and who can whistle the loudest. They push each other over in the long grass, lie flat on their stomachs at the top of the slight slope and then roll sideways down it, splash each other in the stream at the bottom, and then sit out in the sun to dry off their clothes. Her fine dresses and his shabby shirts never come into it, nor does the fact that when they return home later she is going to a manor house to be taught embroidery (a skill, she confides in him, she detests) and he to a small house of a single room to learn carpentry (a profession, he tells her, he is thrilled to follow); they do not think of their differences in these enchanted afternoons and stolen evenings. It is just him, and her, and the scent of the wildflowers that surround them.
He plucks a flower from the abundant display and presents it to her with all the flourish of a gallant young knight. Like the elegant young lady she has become she takes it from him, grazing his fingers with hers as she does so, and sweeps it up to her nose to inhale the scent. He steps closer to her, as if anxious that she does not like the gift, and she raises her eyes to meet his gaze. He gently takes the flower back from her hands and twists it into her hair, scarlet against auburn. She squints up at him, trying to make out his face against the fierce sunlight casting him into a silhouette. He sees her lean forward – or imagines that she does so – and he matches her movement. She's staring at him intently through half-shut eyes, a curious smile gracing her slightly parted lips. For a moment he thinks that she'll traverse the final space between them and press her mouth to his.
And then suddenly she laughs, flings her head back and closes her eyes on the warm sunlight, and they're holding hands and swinging each other in circles, her poppy-adorned hair flowing loose behind her. Her carefree mirth brings a beam to his face, and they tumble into the long grass when their legs give way, giddy and exultant. He shakes away the feeling of disappointment with one look at her peaceful expression, and lies down on his back beside her, eyes closed against the sun. She hums something softly, a tune the farmers whistle to call up the rains, and slips her hand innocently into his.
She tells him of her betrothal in their field. Until now Robin has always been a figure in the distance, standing on the outskirts of the peasants' spring celebrations while Marian sits among them, her eyes ablaze with the light of the fire and her laugh spiralling up with the smoke. And now he's to marry Marian, to take her from their midst and whisk her away on his high-handed horse; an extravagant gift, no doubt, from his noble father. The thought brings a bitter taste to his mouth. He keeps his eyes riveted to hers and hears her voice eager at the thoughts of flowers and gowns and dancing, and all the while his stomach sinks further and he struggles to keep the easy smile on his face. Of course he's pleased for her, of course he'll come to the wedding, he assures her.
When she's flitted back to her manor he drops the facade. The customary flower he gives her on every walk of theirs here had tumbled from her hair and into his hands as she ran off, and now he crumples it in his fist and hurls it away. He starts back to Locksley and trudges up the hill, snapping a stick off a tree and whipping off flower-heads. At the top of the field he sees a pair of azure cornflowers together and thrashes them to shreds. He kicks the remains into the dirt and flings the stick away. How could he have ever thought things between them could be any different? He was lucky enough to be a friend to her; he was a fool to think he could ever be more. How could he ever have forgotten that she was a noble, and he just a peasant? He'd never begrudged her station before, or bemoaned his own; now he does both.
He takes one last look towards Knighton, towards her, and closes his eyes on its image. He remembers their past, and imagines her future. Will she bring her husband here?, he wonders. Will she lie in the grass with him and shower him with seed heads? Will she tickle his chin with a buttercup and tell him the meaning of the yellow glow?
Enough, he tells himself. No more. He hardens his heart and raises his shields, and tells himself that when he reopens his eyes her face won't be the first thing he wants to see.
He takes a deep breath to steel himself, opens his eyes, and tries.