Title: A Knight in a Church
Rating: K+
Summary: Pre-Series. Robin and Marian are always loyal to each other, and have been from a very young age. This is the story of the Christmas that started it all.
Disclaimer: I do not hold any ownership over the BBC's version of Robin Hood.
Author's Note: Every time I see a Guy/Marian story, I vomit, and the resolve to write Robin/Marian. Because they belong together, obviously. Thanks to musical-penguins for the beta read! Any mistakes are my own.
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She was six, he was nine, and it was Christmastide in Nottingham. The honorable Sheriff of Nottingham, Lord Edward, had called together the lords and ladies of the shire (the ones who did not wish to travel to King Henry's Christmas Court) for the advent season.
And since there was to be a feast, first, there was to be a hunt. Marian watched with great envy as ladies and lords, courtiers, squires, all prepared their horses. She had never been on a hunt, and despite usually getting her way in all matters equestrian, she was unable to sway her Lord father's mind.
"Marian, my sweet, I cannot watch you and kill a stag. You must stay here with your nurse and play hostess to the other children of the court."
The other children of the court were very dull indeed. Boys paid her no mind, and girls preferred embroidery to Marian's chatter. Marian had just learned to thread a needle last winter, and was nowhere near good enough to create lovely, intricate designs.
So she gave her nurse Avice the slip (no one knew the castle like Marian, so small and dark and curious. She would creep along, following maids into secret passages). Aimlessly wandering through the corridors, she rounded a corner and suddenly came upon one young Robin of Locksley. He was not so dull as the children she had left to their nurses. He was as independent as she (and just as sullen to be left behind, though neither will admit it to the other).
"Maid Marian," his mouth lifted into a smirk though he greeted her formally. They had known each other since her birth, but he always seemed to be toying with her, testing her title and name, trying to shock her into breaking with her father's rules. "What brings you down here?"
"I think it none of your concern, master Robin. Where is your man, Much?" In truth, Much was not much more than a whipping boy (though Robin's father Lord Geoffrey was never so cruel to whip Much instead of Robin, who had had his own share of lashings).
Robin shrugged. "The kitchens, I expect. It is where I left him. Not much to do," he offered.
Marian sighed and leaned against a cold stone wall. She hated winter; even Christmastide was only a diversion. She would rather it was spring or summer, so she could dash out of doors at a moment's notice (much to Avice's displeasure). "No," she agreed. "Not much to do." Except go on hunts or listen to minstrels or watch tournaments or get drunk on her father's ale (an excess of ale which was not allowed for her).
"Being a courtier is a boring thing," Robin stated, as if reading her train of thoughts.
"What would you be if not a courtier," Marian asked rhetorically. There was no changing one's lot in life.
"A crusader," Robin said simply.
"Do not jest." Still, she could not help but remember him fighting in the boys' battle a few days prior. While he was not the best fighter of the bunch, he was nimble and quick enough to keep himself out of any real trouble.
"I spoke the truth!"
Marian toyed with her heavy cloak (castles, for all their grandeur, were cold and drafty). "You are a fool, master Robin. There are no crusades right now."
Robin shrugged. "What would you be if not daughter of the Sheriff, already eyed by men for marriage?"
She shuddered. Marriage seemed like a distant, frightening thing. She knew nothing of it, for her mother had died when she was born. But she did not like the idea of being married off to a man twice her age. Surely she must marry for love – being married off did not do King Arthur's wife Guinevere any good; she fell in love with one of Arthur's knights, Lancelot (even if those were just stories). "I would be a… minstrel."
"Can you sing?"
"Well enough."
"Let me hear."
"No," she told him primly, modestly. "I only sing at Mass."
"Well, then, to the chapel!" His face lit up.
"Will that not get us into trouble?" Marian asked doubtfully.
"The chapel is not locked," he offered, a mad glint in his eye. "Surely we must be able to speak with God at any hour of the day or night."
So, he had done this before and obviously survived unscathed. No wrath-of-God thunderbolts, or his father's switch. Besides which, the priest was on the hunt with the rest of the adults. "Very well, lead on."
Grinning, he grasped her hand and nearly pulled her along up the corridor, around the corner and down again, skidding to a halt in front of the heavy oak door. "Open it," he dared her.
Not wishing to show weakness, Marian let go of his hand, marched up to the door, and pushed it open. Instantly, she could smell incense, candle wax, and the lingering smell of unwashed bodies from all those who worshipped inside. It was dark inside, only the candle at the tabernacle was lit and it was very cold and drafty. The chapel was small, but large enough to hold all of the Christmas court (if slightly uncomfortably). "Alright," she whispered.
"HALLO!" Robin shouted at the top of his lungs – the stone walls echoed his greeting.
"Shh!"
"Marian, there is no one to hear."
"God will hear!" she hissed.
"And did not the Lord Jesus demand his apostles to suffer the little children? We are young and innocent of any real sin."
Arguing theology. An interesting development. But she could not think of a rebuttal just now. Instead, she flounced to her customary seat and settled down in the pew.
Robin waited expectantly.
"What?" she asked.
"Well, are you not going to sing? Though to be honest, you will not be such a good minstrel if you do not learn to sing outside of a church."
Marian shrugged. "Maybe I like church."
"Maybe you should be a nun," he teased.
"I cannot, you know. I am father's only child. He needs to pass his lands to someone. And he told me he thinks all my cousins unsuitable."
"You have thought about taking orders?" He settled next to her. For all his energies, he had a remarkable talent at listening to what she said, even though she was three years his junior.
She shrugged. "I have no mother," she started, but then remembered his mother died the same way as hers.
"Yes?" he encouraged, sensing her pause.
"And, well, convents are all women. I am mostly surrounded by men. Right now I am my father's pet, and while he teaches me things not fit for a lady to know (so says Avice), my sums and my Latin and so on, and he tells me that I belong to him until I marry, and then I belong to my husband. Can I not belong to myself?"
Robin whistled. "These are deep thoughts for one six winters old."
Marian shrugged. "Six and a half. And I am clever and learned. I wish to be surrounded by other clever and learned women. I have so few friends here."
"You wound me!" His right hand shot to his heart, as if pierced by some weapon.
"How so?"
"Am I not your friend? Do I not think you clever and learned? Do I not seek your conversation and your company?"
"Only when the other boys cannot be found."
"Not true. Did I not give them the slip?"
Marian pondered this in her heart. "Yes, you gave them the slip. And yes, you let me chatter on. I guess we are friends, Robin. But an unlikely pair, we two."
Robin shrugged. "Not so unlikely. I am not free to do exactly what I wish. I also must learn states-craft and how to run my father's lands, though I too wish to travel the world and to do the work of God like you."
"So perhaps we are allies."
"I prefer the word friend."
"Very well. How did you know the chapel was open, anyway?"
He shrugged. "I often come down here. It is quiet and I can hear myself think. Unless everyone is down here, hearing Mass. But when it is quiet like this, it reminds me of Sherwood."
"A chapel reminds you of a forest?"
"A forest is created by God – is it not just as holy?"
"I suppose."
"And I guess I am practicing. When I am made a knight, I will have to spend a night alone in a church, praying."
"So you were scared to spend a night in a church?"
"At first. The shadows are long, and the crucifix disturbed me. But now, I almost find comfort in the shadows."
"We are safe here," Marian whispered. "In God's hands."
"Yes," he whispered back.
Silence fell, heavy and soft. Without thinking, she reached out and clasped his hand again.
"You know," he tried quietly, "if you married me instead of an older lord, we could travel the world together. Righting wrongs and singing songs."
"I suppose you will be writing the lyrics," Marian giggled at his rhyme.
"We shall have to share the work. You shall have to learn to fight, too."
"I think I can do that."
"Good. I need someone I can trust to watch my back."
Marian warmed with the thought that he might trust her enough to fight with her. "Much cannot watch your back?"
"Much is loyal, but he only fights to please me, and my father."
"I see. I am glad you have a friend in Much, though. I would not mind if he comes with us."
"Well, we will have to ask him."
"When do we leave, then?"
"After I become a knight, I suppose."
"Alright. And I shall learn to fight in that time. You must teach me as you learn. Maybe I can get my father to instruct me, too."
"I wish you could become a lady knight."
"I have no need to be a knight. Did not Queen Eleanor go on crusade to the Holy Land, leading ladies herself? She is not a knight, nor were her warriors. I think it only men who need silly titles."
"I suppose this is true…" Robin said carefully. "Very well, this shall be your night in chapel. After this, you shall be a knight in your heart."
"Does this mean you will leave me?" She squeezed his hand tightly.
"No, I shall stay. But only because you are so small, and not a warrior yet."
"And if I should be a knight, will I not be loyal to another man?"
"Are you saying you are not loyal to the King?"
"I am, of course," she back peddled. "But he will not take a lady knight seriously. No man would."
"I would!"
"Well then, I shall be loyal to you."
"No," said Robin, his voice low and very serious. "I am not a knight yet. If anything, I should be loyal to you. Perhaps you could be loyal to yourself?"
"I like that," she smiled.
"Very well."
"Now what?" She trusted him to know the ceremony of knighthood.
"Uh," he stalled. Robin was only a page, and no one had told him what would become of him on the night in the church. But he could guess. "You have not a weapon, so I cannot bless that. I could hear your confession?"
"No, that is blasphemy. What else?"
"I know you are supposed to be wearing white."
Marian looked forlornly at her light blue dress. "I do not get to wear white – it shows the dirt, Avice says."
Robin looked thoughtful, and then said, "Well, the Virgin Mother wears blue. I guess you will be alright."
She looked relieved. "What else?"
"In the morning, you must take a bath."
Marian's eyes lit up. "Avice has already ordered that I bathe tomorrow!"
"Thank heavens, we can do one thing right!"
"And in the morning, I shall be a knight, and after Epiphany, everyone shall go home, and I shall learn to fight. And when you receive your knighthood, and then we shall be married, and then we shall travel the world together!" she planned.
"Sounds like a plan!"
Somehow, the children were not missed in the confusion of the hunt's return, and the merrymaking later. Robin and Marian continued talking and making plans for their future. It was not until morning that they were discovered, curled up together on the pew, still holding hands and covered with her heavy cloak. They were scolded by their fathers before being separated for the rest of the holidays.
But before they were pulled apart, Robin managed to give her a small, white (and dirty), handkerchief, in token of his loyalty to her, the realm's only lady-knight.