(Story below song lyrics)
My Skin, Natalie Merchant ~ Guy & Marian, Robin Hood
Take a look at my body
Look at my hands
There's so much here
That I don't understand
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Contempt loves the silence
It thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils
That strangle the heart
They say that promises
Sweeten the blow
But I don't need them
No, I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
I'm a slow dying flower
Frost killing hour
The sweet turning sour
And untouchable
Oh, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
Oh, I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
Angel sweet
Love of my life
Oh, I need this
I'm a slow dying flower
Frost killing hour
The sweet turning sour
And untouchable
Do you remember the way
That you touched me before
All the trembling sweetness
I loved and adored?
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
No, I don't need them
I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
The angel sweet
Love of my life
Oh, I need this
Well, is it dark enough?
Can you see me?
Do you want me?
Can you reach me?
Or I'm leaving
You better shut your mouth
Hold your breath
Kiss me now you'll catch your death
Oh, I mean it
Oh, I need this.
.com/watch?v=V1LegWs8xdc (put after .com of YouTube)
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Robin Hood, their plot lines or characters.
Author's note: I have purposefully not named G** in this, so when the reader feels Marian is thinking about him it should be the reader's choice or instinct. Thank you and please review if you feel the need to : )
Marian's POV
It was wrong. Just wrong to even think of it… but God it felt so right.
The forest around me was sinking into darkness, the trees to the east gilded by the setting sun, the leaves burning orange in the autumn evening.
In the middle of a forest, I was sitting on a rock. That's what he had brought me to. Complete… failure to care.
The peppery, pungent scent of vegetation, mud and musk sat affably on the air and I breathed in the smell, heartily.
He set all my morals into disarray. He'd tried to hurt and had hurt ones I loved... The flames of that jaundiced night flared in my mind and I flinched as I remembered my father's terrified eyes. I could still taste the sourness in my mouth, the spilling tears, the plunge of mourning as my home had been ruined...
But for all his sins, I couldn't help but think that he wasn't doing it for the shallow reasons everyone blotted him for. He lashed out like a child abused for so long that the capacity for affection was no longer existent.
I pushed a bunch of dead leaves with my green-slippered foot and watched Chalman, my bay horse, nuzzle around the trunks of the trees about two metres ahead of me. He swished his groomed, black tail, swatting a couple of midges that were buzzing around the forest now it was growing warmer.
He'd given me that horse… at first, I'd thought it nothing more than bribery, an unctuous flirtation or payment for my hand in marriage…
But you can't fake that look… that look that says: I'm trying. Please, give me a chance. Let me look after you. Give me an exit out of this.
Even though he could be foul, there was a side of him begging to be let out… and, God Help Me, my whole being was answering to his calls.
The Lord knew I was not perfect. I had killed people. I had trained myself to do so. I lived every day with the guilt of knowing that, though I had tried not to when I had knowledge of them, I had killed guards who worked for the Sherriff… who had families. Children. Wives. Brothers. Sisters. Each one had a mother, each one a father.
On most cases, I ensured a simple concussion upon combat. But in the heat of battle, one on one, it's self-defense…
Robin didn't understand. Lord help me, he probably had it in his head that I didn't kill. A gentleman he may be, but- shockingly- his ideas on women were not as liberal as thought on first impression. He'd never send Djaq nor I to the front line of any heist.
With Robin, I was told.
With Robin, I was loved and yet I wilted, unappreciated.
With him… I debated.
With him, I felt... free. This thought amongst all my angst made my eyes sting was sudden, unexpected tears. I did not let them fall down my cheeks, but instead looked up at the high trees and let the water sink back around my eyes. But one stubborn tear slid from the corner of my eye and my heart, constricted and yearning, slid up to my throat in synchronisation. I trembled inwardly and my nails drew in a little on the rock's edge.
A black creature, thin and muscular, had begun to tie knots around odd areas of my body, tying me down from my thighs, wrists, neck, feet...
I needed to fly... and I knew he had the wings. God, I hated myself for thinking so like a...
"Woman in love," my father's voice echoed in my mind. If I remembered well enough, my father had had pity for him not anger.
He had done so many things for me... taken punches from the Sheriff that I deserved, covered my tracks, concealed my alter-ego. He'd actually adapted some of his natural reactions so as not to frighten me... that transformation had been a stunning one to watch.
I'd whispered a million prayers at my bedside, asking any Saint for an answer, a point in the right direction... a kick out of my adolescent fancy...
His body, his hair, his nose, his cheeks, his hands, that leather... those things were arousing, aesthetic and though I was falling for them, a whole new muscle inside of me- one unknown, one unnamed, one so unfathomable that no physician could possible anatomise it or pinpoint its location in any body- was aching for...
Him.
My arm wrapped under my stomach, hand on the scar of the wound that he had effectuated himself. My chest panged with regret and the remembrance of the pain. But…
But it had been in battle and I had been in a mask at that point. I could have been any attacker and he was rightfully defending his turf after the injuries of his men.
That kiss... I had initiated that one... and, Mother of Jesus, a foolish part of me pushed him away. But, admittedly, I had felt in that kiss not him. Not his true self... but I had seen it sometimes, seen the rare glimmer.
I felt so weak and stupid. So embarrassed. What I had with Robin was more than... well, more! But... there it was again, that 'but'.
If I told myself the truth, Robin was more in love with England than me. That's what I felt.
I loved Robin. Admired him. Respected him… Yet for all those words, I was not speechless about him.
I was for…
I bit my lower lip and tucked my brown hair behind my ear, green eyes searching the clouds, lounging purple and navy around the fiery sun, for an answer.
My gut told me all I needed to know. As did my heart.
I looked at the palms of my hands and remembered my inward gasp when he had taken my hand so roughly to show his hold on me to the Lords at Locksley. That ring... was beautiful. It was a warm evening and yet... the flesh of my hands felt cold without his hand there. My waist felt empty, ghostly... non-existent with his strong arm around it. What I had first taken to be disgust in my body was actually fear... hypocrite that I was and am, I coined him for the insensitive one. How wrong had I been.
The sweetness of his conviction. His loyalty... argh, but his loyalty to Vasey, that oily, little wen on England's face. What could he possibly see in the Sheriff? Power... his hunger for that was very unnerving. But, now thinking about it... Robin was much the same: moody and passive when praise wasn't being showered upon him.
He just went to a corner and quietly suffered. I could see him now, eyes hooded by his tired eyelids and hair tousled over his ashen face, clay goblet in his gloved hand, his slouched, sore body clad in the black that so resembled his outlook on the world. Sometimes he brought the axe down on himself. Other times, prisoners or unsuspecting villagers would feel his bitter wrath...
I hated him. A ginormous part of me hated him.
I hated this feeling of vulnerability. I wanted to slap him. Wanted to hurt him back. I felt so dirty, though, so unworthy. GOD, I hated that. I had hurt him. Deeply. Treated him like he was all that he was on the surface. How naive. How... childish. Selfish. And Robin, charitable, charitable Robin, had let me hurt someone who knew nothing but hurt.
He had tried so hard to change, to become a better man... and I had countered his efforts with an icy slap to his ego and pincer to the heart. Who was the worse one now?
I swallowed and stood up, brushing the dirt off my green dress and strode over to Chalman. He raised his head and I stroked down his strong nose from the rough hair to the soft, sensitive part above the mouth. I scratched behind his pointed, velvety ear then looked into his black marble eyes…
And I saw his eyes in there, staring right back out. Cold. Hateful. Bitter. But deep, deep in those stormy blue irises, down the tunnel of those pupils I saw neverending passion and kindness. He'd never been loved, so didn't know how to respond to it... Lord, did he know how to be in love?
My eyelids grew heavy with my weariness.
I smoothed my hand up Chalman's reign, put my foot in the stirrup, pushed up and swung my other foot into the stirrup on the other side. Then I dug my heels down, determined, and nudged the back side of Chalman's belly. He started into a small trot and then whinnied as I encouraged him to canter.