Summary: A bit of fun "fluff" based on the storyline and ending of my Season Three re-write, "A Friend Closer Than a Brother". Characters include Guy, Robin, Marian, Meg, Matilda (my favorite minor character!) Allan a Dale, and one OC.
It's a beautiful summer day in Locksley, three years after the siege and Guy's pardon from the king, but Guy is upset, and Robin's got his hands full trying to calm him down. What's up? Read to find out! Comments always welcome.
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC, "Robin Hood", or any part thereof, and will receive no profit from writing and publishing this story, only the fun of sharing it with others!
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"Guy, will you cut that out? You're going to wear a hole in the floor."
Robin sat at the dining table in Gisborne Hall and watched Guy as he paced up and down, up and down the length of the room, like a wild animal in a cage. The man's arms were crossed on his chest, and his brows were drawn together in a deep frown. He held one hand to his face so that he could chew on his fist.
He paced the exact same way, thought Robin, in the front entrance of the church in Nottingham on a snowy December day over two years ago, while waiting for his bride, and no amount of reassurance from me or anyone else could convince him that Meg Bennett hadn't changed her mind and run off and left him at the altar. He didn't relax and smile until after she said "I do".
I guess I can't blame him, after the business with Marian. He must have wondered if any woman in her right mind would actually go through with it and marry him. We all did.
He needn't have worried about Meg, though. She entered her marriage willingly and with her eyes wide open. The girl is fearless. And to all appearances, and against all odds, she's very happy with him.
But look at him now, tramping the floor again in that same demented fashion, only this time in his house in Locksley Village, and for quite a different reason.
"The baby won't come any sooner for all this, you know," said Robin.
Guy ignored him and continued to pace.
Why do I even bother? Robin mused, as Guy's heavy leather boots beat a steady rhythm on the wooden floor. He couldn't be calm then, and he won't today, either. It's not in Guy's nature to be cool-headed, or patient. I should know that by now.
Robin gave a resigned sigh, leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes wander around the room instead.
He had never quite gotten over the surprise he felt upon entering the newly-built Gisborne Hall for the first time. He had once imagined that it would come to bear a strong resemblance to the dungeons of Nottingham Castle—full of shadows and heavy, dark, ponderous furnishings. In his more lurid nightmares, which Marian laughed heartily over, he had even envisioned chains hanging from the rafters, and blood-chilling instruments of torture on display in the entrance, to terrify any visitors who dared venture within its walls.
He smiled to himself as he looked around the bright, sunlit room, which still smelled faintly of new wood and whitewash. Far from a dark and dreary fortress, it was colourful, warm, and inviting inside. Its youthful and sweet-natured mistress's hand was clearly in evidence in the decorating. Bright curtains hung at the windows, which looked out over the flower beds and vegetable garden that Meg tended herself.
The only jarring note in that cheerful space was Guy's sword, hung conspicuously over the fireplace in the dining room. A great, heavy, ominous thing—oddly juxtaposed amongst the pots of flowers that lined the mantelpiece in summer—it was Meg's one concession to her husband's masculine tastes, so long as it stayed put.
The last life that sword had taken had been Sheriff Vaisey's, after which Guy had put it away, vowing never to use it to kill again. So far he had kept true to his vow. He took the sword down now only to engage in friendly mock battles with Robin and Allan a Dale.
At least, thought Robin, he no longer walks around with it strapped to his hip. The residents of Nottinghamshire can breathe easier these days.
He turned back to Gisborne—a somber, brooding, black-clad figure who looked, like the sword over the fireplace, absurdly out of place in his own house.
"Guy, relax, for heaven's sake."
"Shut up, Locksley."
"You're getting really annoying. Why don't you just sit down?"
Guy suddenly stopped, turned, and scowled fiercely down at Robin.
"Relax?" he cried. "Like you did last summer when Marian was bringing your daughter? Oh, yes, you were so bloody calm, as I recall!"
"That was different," Robin replied. "We were worried for Marian."
How worried they had all been was something Robin didn't want to relive again. He was certain it would take a lifetime for the memory of that anxious day and night to fade. The birth had been difficult, and during the long, agonizing hours of Marian's labour even Matilda had shaken her head with a grim foreboding. It had taken his wife many weeks to recover from the birth, and Matilda had warned them that they might not be able to have another child safely. But their beautiful, happy little girl Eleanor, now taking her first steps, was their miracle, and the joy of their lives.
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing's going to go wrong," answered Robin. "Matilda's already told you that Meg is doing just fine. What are you so upset about? She'll be okay, and the baby."
"You don't know that."
Robin was ready with more easy reassurance, but he stopped himself. Guy was right. Women died in childbirth all too frequently. Only a month ago, a woman in Nettlestone had left a bereaved husband and father of five with two more mouths to feed….
He pushed the awful memory of the man's stricken face, as he looked upon his newborn and motherless twins, out of his mind. He went to the sideboard and poured a sizable amount of wine into a goblet.
"Come on, Guy, sit down. You've gone all white. Matilda's too busy to come down here to tend to you if you faint on me!"
"Don't talk rubbish. I'm not going to faint."
"I've heard that before. I've seen you faint, Guy, more than once, and it's not a pretty sight, believe me. Here, take a sip of wine. No, I'm not trying to get you drunk, just calm you down. It's medicinal."
As Robin set the goblet on the table, a shrill cry from the bedroom upstairs reached them.
"Oh, God!" Guy moaned.
He stopped his pacing, and strained to hear the sounds from the bedroom. Rapid footsteps, a whispered conversation, and then another long, drawn-out wail.
Robin went to Guy, whose knees were beginning to buckle, and led him over to a chair.
"Guy, sit down before you fall down."
Guy slumped over the table, his face in his hands. Robin grinned wickedly at him.
"You and Meg had better think twice before having another baby, if this is what fatherhood is going to do to you."
Guy looked up, frowned at Robin's smile, took a long drink, and set down the empty glass.
I don't suppose, Robin chuckled to himself, that this would be a good time to make some smart-mouthed remark about how he might already be a father. Given the mood he's in, he'd be likely to get up and paste me one if I did.
In an admirable fit of conscience shortly before his marriage to Meg, Guy had inquired after Annie and Seth at Kirklees Abbey, only to learn that she had left the abbey to marry a man from a neighbouring village. He also found out, to his chagrin, that Annie had confessed to the nuns that he had not been her only, or even her most frequent, bedmate. He had been the one with the most worldly goods, however, and hence the one she attempted to pin fatherhood on, in an effort to gain financial support and possibly the title of Lady Gisborne.
Guy had arranged to meet her, with her new husband and son, at Kirklees, and later told Robin he was pleased to discover that Seth, now a little boy of five, was his mother's child, and bore no likeness to him in either face or manner. He supposed the child could still be his, but he doubted it. More likely the boy was the offspring of one of her other discarded lovers.
Annie's husband, a widowed carpenter, was a decent sort of fellow, however, and Guy was assured that the boy would have a good father. Before they left, Guy had pressed a small sack of gold coins into her hands, and secured her promise that she would not trouble him again. She had made the promise, but also tucked the money hastily into her apron, before her former lord and occasional lover could have time to repent of his generosity and take the money back.
Having discharged his responsibility, as he saw it, Guy had then come back to Locksley to marry Meg without any further qualms.
No, I'd better not mention it, thought Robin, even in jest. Guy doesn't want to look back, any more than I do. The past is too painful for him, for me, for all of us. All that matters to him now is Meg, and their child.
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"Why doesn't someone come down here and tell me what's going on?" Guy asked, his voice rising.
"I'm sure they will."
"If someone doesn't tell me pretty soon, I'm going up there to find out for myself!"
Robin laughed. "I wouldn't advise poking your nose in there, Gisborne. Matilda is apt to bloody it for you if you show yourself and start hollering at them. Babies are women's business, my friend. Be patient."
A moment later, a young teenaged girl emerged from the bedroom and came down the stairs, carrying an empty basket.
"Here comes Anna now," said Robin. "Ask her."
Guy glared at the girl as she curtsied to them, scurried into the kitchen, and returned with a basketful of clean towels. She tried to slip past them and back upstairs unnoticed, but Guy rose from the table like a great, hungry black wolf, and blocked her way.
"Well, girl?" he demanded. "What's happening? Is my wife okay?"
"Sir, yes, sir, I mean, I don't know, sir," Anna stammered, her face white and red by turns.
"Don't know? Aren't you helping Matilda and Lady Marian?"
"Yes, my lord, but I don't know anything about—I mean—I've never—"
"You mean you can't tell me how she is?"
"Sir, I-I—"
Guy slammed his fist on the table, causing a vase of flowers to jump and nearly spill.
"Well, somebody had better start finding out," he bellowed at top volume, "or I'll—"
"Y-yes, my lord!" She curtsied again, and scrambled back up the stairs, dropping towels along the way in her haste to escape.
Robin rolled his eyes at Guy, and checked the tabletop for cracks. The table, made by Will Scarlett as a wedding present, was as sturdily built as the rest of the furniture in the room, but even so, he feared it might not withstand too much of that furious pounding.
Guy had changed in many ways in the three years since the siege and his pardon from King Richard. The peasants who worked his lands ate well now, their cottages were warm in winter, and they went about their business without fear of abuse from Gisborne and his guards.
His marriage to Meg had changed him as well. As Marian had predicted, she had smoothed his path for him in ways large and small. The generous and kind-hearted Lady Gisborne was the reason so many in Locksley could accept the presence, and the oversight, of the former right-hand man of the now-dead Sheriff Vaisey.
It was common knowledge in the village that Sir Guy was completely besotted with his young wife, as he had once been with Lady Marian, and treated her with a tenderness that many would never have believed him capable of.
But some things never changed, and one was Guy's mercurial temper. With everyone but Meg, he was the same old Gisborne—hot-headed, demanding, short on forbearance and long on rash actions. Robin had given up hope that he would ever stop shouting at the servants. Most of them were used to him, which was some consolation. They bore his outbursts with equanimity, and counted their blessings that he no longer backed up his words with a weapon or his fist. Shy little Anna, however, was a new servant in the household, and in profound dread of its lord and master.
"You didn't need to yell at the poor girl like that."
"What are you talking about?"
"You scared her half to death!"
"Good! Maybe she'll move a little faster next time!"
Robin chuckled and shook his head. "You know, Guy, you've really got to work on your people skills."
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Matilda came down the stairs a short time later.
"Now what's all this?" she addressed Guy. "Poor Anna's shaking like a leaf in a storm."
Robin tucked his head to hide his smile, but Matilda saw it.
"Why are you grinning like a fool, Robin? Tell me, what did he do?"
"He used his most persuasive tone on her, that's all. Anna isn't used to him yet."
"Hmm, I can guess what that means," she replied, hands on sturdy hips as she turned her reproving gaze back to Guy. Though he was tall, powerfully built, and gave off an aura of menace to anyone who didn't know that his bark was worse than his bite these days, Matilda was more than a match for him. She was one of only a handful of people either man had ever seen openly defy Vaisey, and live to tell the tale.
Robin smiled at the scene. The friendly antagonism between the two never failed to entertain him. It hadn't always been that way. The first time he had shown up at Matilda's cottage door in company with Gisborne, after Guy had joined the outlaw gang, he'd had his hands full for several minutes stopping an incensed Matilda from beating his new friend and ally over the head with a shovel. It had taken a good deal of patient wheedling afterward before she would allow "that black-hearted son of vipers" into her house with the rest of Robin's men.
"Meg is doing just fine. What's all this fuss about? A big man like you, acting like a—"
"But I heard her scream!"
"Good Lord above! Are you really that ignorant? Of course she did, and she will again before it's over. A lot of work to bring a baby, especially a first one."
Matilda poured some fresh water into a pitcher.
"You men, you never think of that, do you, when you're having your fun. You needn't snicker like that, Robin. You know exactly what I mean. It's all fun and games for you, isn't it? And hard work and pain for your poor wives."
Robin couldn't suppress a smile at this, and thought back to the last time he and Marian had made love, two nights ago. She certainly hadn't acted as if it were all hard work and pain, No, not at all….
But once Matilda was on a roll, expressing her disapproval of the various and deplorable shortcomings of the male gender, there was no stopping her. She turned back and gave them both a long, stern look.
"It'll be a fine big baby, a boy, most likely," she added. "Bound to be, seeing how much trouble he's causing already."
She wasn't finished, however. She set down the pitcher, stood in front of Guy, and pointed an accusing finger at him.
"You're lucky I'm here at all, after what you did. You haven't forgotten, have you, that you dragged me away from my own daughter Rosa when she was about to deliver my grandchild, my sweet Alice? She pulled through, all thanks to my darlin' Robin lad here, and Little John, and no thanks to you!"
"Well, you called me a hairy, pig-witted fox turd and a slimy little snot-head. Those were your exact words," muttered Guy, unwilling to let Matilda have it all her own way.
"You remember that, do you?" she replied without missing a beat. "Good. You're still a hairy, pig-witted fox turd and a slimy snot-head, and don't you forget it."
Robin grinned as he watched the man hang his head in defeat. Guy could growl and snarl all he wanted, but he was no match for Matilda's sharp wit. She missed no opportunities to "put Sir Guy in his place", and took a certain malicious pleasure in her triumphs over him. He respected her too much now, however, to take any real offense, and, as another cry from the bedroom reached his ears, was past caring how much she abused him. In desperation, he resorted to another tactic.
"Are you sure she's okay, and the baby?" he implored humbly as he tugged at her arm.
Matilda had often declared herself immune to Guy's considerable and ongoing attempts to charm her, so Robin was surprised to see her brusque manner soften at the sound of his plaintive entreaty, and the sight of his pale, tired face. He almost choked when she reached out a work-roughened hand to gently pat Guy's cheek and smooth the tousled raven hair falling across his brow, as if he were a small boy with a skinned knee.
"There, now," she said, her deep-down kindly nature coming to the fore, "don't you worry. Your Meggie is a brave, strong girl. Me and Marian will take good care of her and the wee one to come. You helped Robin get rid of that whore's son of a Sheriff for us—may he rot in hell!—so I'll return the favour. I couldn't love that sweet wife of yours any more if she were my own daughter, even if she is bringing your child into the world."
Robin winced at the barb, but for Guy, compassion from a fellow human was still a new experience. He didn't hear the insult; he saw only the kindness in her eyes. He squeezed Matilda's strong hands in a gesture of trust, then picked up the cup of wine which Robin had refilled, drained it again, and gripped the empty glass as though his life depended on it.
"Shouldn't be long now," said Matilda, as she picked up the pitcher. She gave Robin a "watch over him, will you, I've got my hands full already" look as she went up the stairs.
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Guy's head sank back down.
"If anything should go wrong….Robin, I can't lose her! I couldn't bear it if—"
"It'll be okay, you'll see." He smiled and put a hand on Guy's shoulder. But the words rang hollow in his ears as Guy lifted his head, and he looked into the man's distraught eyes.
He's not putting this on, Robin realized, as the smile left his face. The nervous father-to-be—it's not an act with him. He really is this scared. And I understand why. He's lost so much already. His parents, his sister, and very nearly his own life. Marian, the woman he loved for years, he lost to me.
And the past still haunts him, as it does me. Perhaps more so. He grasps at happiness, but I fear the depths of happiness will always elude him. He'll never be truly at peace with the world, and himself. He's done too much wrong, and had too much wrong done to him.
Meg has been the best, most perfect part of his life since he changed his course, and the reason he keeps up his struggle to be a good man. He loves her now as he once did Marian. I don't think he could bear it if he lost her, too. If he lost Meg now, it would break him, finish him.
"Guy, Meg is in good hands. Marian's there with her, and Matilda. She got Marian through it, and she can get Meg and the baby through."
Guy nodded, wiped his eyes, which were suspiciously moist, and breathed a shaky sigh.
"I know. I know. I'm okay. But I'm glad you're here just the same."
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The front door abruptly banged opened, and Allan a Dale, all smiles, came into the room. He leaned heavily on a walking cane, but his former clumsy hobble had been transformed into a jaunty, energetic step that almost made one forget how cruelly Vaisey had tortured him.
"Robin, Giz! So, did I miss all the action? Is it time yet to ring the bells in Locksley and spread the happy news far and wide?"
He thumped both men on their backs before he collapsed into a chair. The leather patch over his blind eye, combined with his wind-tossed fair hair, gave him a rakish look, but his grin was as disarming as ever.
"Maybe you can cheer Guy up," remarked Robin. "I haven't had much success."
"What? No baby yet? Not tryin' to be funny, gents, but what's takin' so long?"
"Babies come when they're good and ready, or so I've been told," replied Robin.
"Want me to go upstairs and see what's up?"
"Oh, sure, Allan, that's a great idea. We'll pick you up off the floor after Matilda plants her foot in your backside and pushes you down the stairs."
"Aw, come on, Robin, you're jokin', right? She wouldn't do that to a crippled man, would she?"
This elicited an amused smirk from Guy, though he was really very fond of Allan, but it quickly vanished as another scream reached them. He looked from Robin to Allan, but before either of them could say anything more, they all heard the cry of a newborn baby.
Robin turned to Guy with a grin.
"There, what did I tell you?"
Allan reached across the table and shook Guy's hand. "Congrats, mate, you're a father!"
Guy sat like one dazed. "Is Meg all right?" he asked, in a whisper. "Robin, find out if she's all right."
No one moved. As the baby's cries continued, Guy suddenly stood up and began to move toward the stairs. Robin got up as well, prepared to physically restrain him if necessary, but at that moment a timid Anna appeared on the stairs.
"I'm supposed to tell you Sir Guy that the baby's born and Lady Meg is doing well and she's fine and either Lady Marian or Matilda will be down in just a minute just as soon as they can—"
The words tumbled out of her in a rush, as if rehearsed, before she paused for breath.
"There, that's it, my lord!" she finished. She dashed up the stairs before Guy could gather his wits sufficiently to roar at her again.
He sank back down limply into his chair, the deathly pallor gone from his face. Allan went behind him and gave his shoulders a sympathetic shake.
"How about a drink, Guy, to celebrate? You look in desperate need of something, my friend."
"I think he's had enough already, Allan," Robin smiled.
"I'll have one, then. How about you, Robin?"
"No, I'm fine. Help yourself."
The "minute or two" stretched into half an hour. Robin sensed that Guy was teetering on the verge of another explosion, and considered whether he ought to offer him another therapeutic goblet of wine, just in case, before Allan could polish off the entire bottle.
Allan was smacking his lips appreciatively, and pouring himself a third large glass of Guy's expensive French wine, when Marian came quietly down the stairs, carrying a little cloth-swaddled bundle in her arms. She smiled and winked at Robin, then walked over to Guy, who rose up to meet her.
"Congratulations, Sir Guy of Gisborne," she said. "You have a son."
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"Is he all right?" were the first words out of his mouth.
"He's perfect, Guy," answered Marian. "Strong and healthy and perfect."
"And Meg?"
"Well, she's a little tired at the moment, but she did just fine."
Robin ground his teeth as he looked on at the picture of Marian, more beautiful and precious to him than ever since the birth of their daughter, as she stood close to Guy and held the baby for him to see.
It could just as easily be their baby, Robin thought, and he wondered if either of them were thinking it, too.
He was aware, and had come to accept on some level, that Marian and Guy had once loved one another, and in some ways still did. He knew that a little corner of his wife's heart would always belong to Guy, and a part of Guy's heart would always be Marian's.
But it doesn't mean I have to like it, he silently fumed, as the two, his wife and her onetime suitor and his jealous rival, stood in close proximity, and he saw a long and rather affectionate look pass between them.
He was about to interrupt the tender scene when he realized what Marian was quite innocently doing—showing Guy how to hold the baby. His irritation dissipated as he watched him take the baby gingerly, as if the tiny creature were made of glass.
He's probably never held a baby in his life before, thought Robin, as he saw Guy cradle his new son, almost lost in his big arms, with an awkward gentleness. A look of wonder overspread Guy's features as he gazed upon his child. His face, so often stern and sullen, broke into a smile of unconcealed delight. He looked up and met Robin's eyes, and Robin was reminded again of just why this man, once Vaisey's brutal lieutenant and the terror of Nottingham, was now his friend.
They all gathered around him to admire the baby. His wispy, damp curls were black as a crow's wing, and in the round, soft curves of his face they could already discern the unmistakable stamp of his father—the infant beginnings of his strong features, his intense blue eyes.
"He's going to be a handsome little lad," declared Matilda, who had just come downstairs to join the group. "And what a set of lungs on him already! Takes after his papa, no doubt."
"Are you sure he's all right?" asked Guy anxiously.
"Would I lie to you?" retorted Matilda. "Yes, for the hundredth time, yes, he's all right! As fine a baby as I ever saw."
Mollified at last, Guy asked, "May I see Meg?"
"Of course you may," replied Matilda in a softer tone. "She's asking for you, and she wants to see the baby. Just give Anna and me a minute or two to tidy up a bit, and you can bring your son up to see her."
"We need to get word to Will and Djaq," said Marian. "And Much and Eve. They'll all want to see the baby."
"I'll send Matthew over to the orphan's home, to let Little John know," added Allan. Guy smiled and nodded his thanks.
"It's a shame Meg's father and her stepmum couldn't have been here, too," said Marian. "They'll have to wait to see him when they get home."
"We can get a message to them, and I'll send a letter to Tuck and Archer in London," said Robin. "First thing tomorrow."
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A few minutes later, Anna appeared, and motioned Guy to come upstairs.
"Lady Meg is ready to see you, sir."
"Wait, hold on, Guy!" Robin called after him. "You haven't told us what you and Meg plan to name him."
"Yeah," said Allan. "Don't keep us all in suspense. What's the baby's name?"
Guy turned to his friends and smiled.
"His name is Rodger," he told them. "In memory of my father."
He bent and kissed his son's forehead. When he looked back up at them, his eyes were shining with happiness and immense pride.
"One day, he will be Sir Rodger of Gisborne."
The End