Author's Note (please read): The story of Robin Longstride and Marion Loxley's relationship throughout the movie. Follows the movie almost exactly - special thanks to [ . /movie_ ?movie=robin-hood-2010] for having the script so I could look up the words of the dialogue as needed. Obviously, these characters are not my own, nor actually is the story line. What this story tries to be is a novel-ization of the movie with a greater focus on Robin and Marion's relationship, exploring their thoughts and motivations in a way the movie did not or could not. So any material that is mine is mine, and whatever is the property of the movie-people is theirs. That being said - PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARIZE MY WORK. I worked really hard on this story. Don't muck that up for me :)
Also - I live for feedback! If you liked it, hated it, somewhere-in-betweened it, please, write a review, leave a comment, and let me know! Even liking my story will let me know that people are enjoying my work as much as I have, and will inspire to me keep going and, always, improve.
On to the story!
"Marion, who is here?" came a man's voice from within. They both glanced at the door, before Robin looked back at the woman before him, uncertain if he should respond. He hadn't been properly introduced yet, after all.
"A traveler, Walter," Marion called back. She glanced at him with something not quite panic in her eyes. Gritting her teeth visibly, she walked purposely to the door and shut it before turning back to Robin.
"This news will go very hard on him," she said gravely. Robin could now see, by the light of the fire in the large hearth, the worry and stress lines, especially about her mouth. Her concern for the old man pleased him, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't know her or, for that matter, the Lord of the house, this Walter.
"Bring him in!" called the voice from behind the now closed door. Marion looked back at Robin, imploring him with her eyes to do as she said.
"Yes, yes," she called back distractedly. Her eyes sought Robin's. "Tell him Robert is in the Holy Land, sends his love, and will return soon," she said, thinking quickly. There, that should please Walter. And, based on what their guest had said, it might not even be a lie. Well, the returning part was… she'd worry about sorting that truth out later. Right now –
"Marion," Walter said, pushing the door open with his staff. Robin's gaze snapped from the woman trying to coach him to the door, where his Lord and host had now appeared in his dressing gown. "Our traveler will be thirsty. Travelers are always thirsty. Is that not so?" He reached out with shaking hands for Marion, who stepped naturally forward to take them. "Your name, sir?"
Well, he would do his best to follow the woman's orders, but he had a mission, after all. "Longstride. Robin Longstride."
In the silence that followed Robin's announcement, several dogs ran by, barking.
"Do you mock me?" the older gentleman finally said. That was not the response Robin had been expecting. He glanced at Marion to see what her reaction was.
"Sir?" he asked quietly, unsure how to proceed. Marion was being no help now. Robin decided to forge ahead with his mission. The sooner he delivered the sword, the sooner he could be on his way – north, to escape the political storm in London and anyone who might be looking for him.
"Your son," Robin said, stepping forward and pulling the sword in its scabbard from about his waist, "he asked me to deliver this." The old man reached out a shaky hand. Robin guided the sword so that the old man's hand grasped the handle.
Walter pulled the sword halfway out the scabbard, the sound of the blade scraping free as familiar to him, ten years later, as the day Robert had boldly taken it from him.
Robin knew that what he was doing was right, was what the knight in France had asked him to do. But looking at the pain in the old man's eyes as he realized what Robin had brought him made Robin wish anyone else had been given this task but him. He may have grown up without a father, but he could still remember the love he had had for his father, before being abandoned.
Unbidden, a memory flashed into his mind. He could see… another man's face… like an older version of his own… that same look of pain that was in Walter's eyes now… staring back at him…
It was gone. That man wasn't here, wasn't real. Walter was.
"And how," asked Walter, still staring without seeing, "does Robert defend himself if he has no sword." His voice was flat, but somehow still full of grief. Robin looked away, unable to hold that pained gaze for long. "So. The prodigal son will not return, after all," Walter continued, voice quiet.
Robin looked at Marion for her reaction. She already knew Robert was dead, thanks to his own massive blunder earlier of blurting his mission to her without knowing who she was. Now, she was looking at Walter, and her gaze was full of sympathy.
She knew Walter, though somewhat feeble and completely blind, was still as sharp as a tack, and indeed incredibly clever. She had known he would figure it out. She had known it would be silly to think he wouldn't, that this…traveler could hand Walter the sword and say Robert sent his regards. But the pain in Walter's eyes cut her to the bone. As much as she had missed her husband, the truth was, she hadn't really known him all that well before he ran off to join King Richard on his Crusade. Walter, though… that was his son. His son who had left in anger. She could remember standing by the table in the great hall, setting it for supper, trying to pretend that her husband and father-in-law weren't having a shouting match for the ages just a week into her stay there… that her husband wasn't abandoning her already…
"No tears," Walter said, struggling for his composure. "No forgiveness from his father…" Marion wanted to weep, not only for Walter's pain, but for her own, and Robert's, as well. She couldn't wait for this traveler to have his meal and leave, so she could grieve in peace…
"No amends to be made," Walter whispered. He turned to Marion. Even in his grief, he remembered that he had a daughter in her, and that she would be hurting, too. They were partners, Marion and he. Together they had kept the hall running while his son had run off to play boy soldier in the King's army. He had seen the steely strength in her, as day after day, year after year, they somehow kept afloat, through tax seasons, poor harvests, and as more and more men left for the Crusade.
Marion moved toward Walter and rested her forehead on his shoulder, just as she had when he came to her room to talk to her the night Robert left. He kissed her forehead and hugged her close.
Robin was uncomfortably aware of the high emotions that were running around the room, and that he was the cause for a lot of the tension here. He had never met these people. His only introduction to them was to bring them news of the death of a loved one. He fidgeted. The stupid chainmail was heavy…
"Did you see him die?" Walter asked, turning back to Robin again.
Robin nodded and bowed his head. "I was with him when he passed," he said quietly, his voice gruff. He wished he could comfort him somehow. Then he realized, he could offer them something. "His final words were of the love and bond between a father and son."
Walter seemed now in control of himself. "Forgive my rudeness," he said. "My grief has been waiting on this day." He handed his staff to Marion, who was also pulling herself together. "So come, so that I may see you," Walter added, holding his hands out towards Robin.
Robin stepped forward, the chainmail clinking as he moved. Walter's hands found his upper arms, then moved up to his shoulders, his neck. He felt the smooth, worn skin as Walter's hands found his ears, his brow, his eyes, and down his straight nose. Walter's eyes closed, as if to visualize what his hands were telling him in his mind's eye. His fingers gently brushed Robin's eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. And then Walter spoke.
"Robin Longstride," he said thoughtfully. Robin glanced at Marion. Did Walter know something he did not? "A common enough, but noble Saxon name," Walter declared.
Marion smiled ruefully at Walter and Robin's exchange. She knew the old man well enough to know that he was up to something. He knew something he wasn't saying.
"So, you will dine with us," Walter said to Robin. It wasn't a question. "But first, you must bathe, son. You stink," Walter said, pulling a face.
Robin glanced quickly between Marion and Walter. Was this some sort of joke? Was he offending his hosts? What had happened to the emotionally intense atmosphere? Things were suddenly changing and happening very quickly. Walter had said he smelled and was now walking away. What was he supposed to do? Damn it all, he wasn't a knight, he wasn't a Lord – he didn't know how these things worked! And this chain mail was heavy! It was hard work just standing still in it, let alone he'd been traveling in it for days!
Walter was gone and Marion was left to show their guest to the wash room.
"Follow me," she said, and swiftly turned and walked purposefully towards the stairs. Robin hastened to keep up with her, chainmail clinking.
She showed him to a small room. Serving girls were bustling about, filling the large tub in the center with hot water from a cauldron that hung over the fire in the hearth. Marion told Robin to go ahead in and that she would be right back. He did as he was told and tried his best to stay out of the wenches' way as they worked, filling the tub almost to the brim with the steaming water.
"I've laid out some of my husband's clothes; I hope you don't find that too discomforting," Marion said, reappearing at the door with a bundle of clothes in her arms. She set the bundle on the sideboard and the serving girls, apparently finished with their task, hastened out of the room. Marion turned to follow them out the door. They did still have supper to prepare, and now they had a guest…
"My lady," Robin said, stepping forward from the corner of the room he had found to stay out of the way. Marion turned back. "I'll need some help with the chain mail."
Marion's gaze took in Robin from head to toe and she looked away quickly. The only part of him not covered in chain mail was his head. She shook herself.
"Winifred?" she called out the door. She stepped halfway out into the corridor. "Wi-Winifred?" There was no response. She was just going to have to be brave and do it herself. She turned back to the man in front of her and shut the door behind her. This situation called for privacy.
He wasn't saying anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? Did he think that just because her husband had worn the armor, she would know how it worked? Damn it why wasn't he saying anything. The silence was making her edgy and nervous, so she did what she always did – she lashed out.
He could see her nervousness. It was apparent in the way she held her shoulders and wouldn't meet his eyes directly. She made an impatient gesture with her stiff shoulders. Even without speaking, she was giving him orders. She seemed to be waiting for him to tell her what to do first.
"The coif has a clasp at the base of the neck," he said, not willing to stand awkwardly with her for longer than necessary. Plus, Walter had so helpfully reminded him that he smelled awful, and the heat and steam of the room were making it worse. He didn't want to offend the beautiful woman any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Still not meeting his eyes, Marion walked boldly up to him and reached up to the lacings just visible under his chin. Her nimble fingers undid the ties quickly and she took half a step back.
Robin turned around, pointing vaguely to his back. "If you take off the coif, you'll find lacings in the back of the tabard." Robin felt suddenly lighter as she removed the hood of chain mail from where it hung on his shoulders and heard the heavy thunk it made as she set the armor on the sideboard.
She was not overly gently as she pulled at the lacings of the tabard apart. No, she was all business. Each time she pulled at the lacings, he was jerked ever so slightly off balance. He couldn't help but wonder if this was payback for asking her to do such a menial task.
The lacings finally undone, she pulled the tabard and set it too on the sideboard. She moved around to face him again and started to work on the lacings under his left arm. He glanced at her face as she worked, more than aware still of his smell, and the fact that he was seriously in this woman's debt: not only for her help now, but also for the way he had told her about her husband.
She glanced up and held his gaze for a moment, seeming to understand the thoughts going on in his head. She had a wry twist to her lips, and was suddenly just a tiny bit gentler with the lacings.
He was so tired, and the chain mail weighed so much, that they ended up having to peel it off of him. She pulled the hauberk over his head, and he bent over to help, so she wouldn't have to lift it. She gave one last good tug, which unbalanced her from her crouch so that she fell on her bottom on the floor, the chain mail following suit. At last, he was free from the metal casing he had been carrying for days. He almost felt like he could fly, except the withering look Marion cast him from her less than dignified place on the wash room floor quickly grounded him again.
Too proud to accept the hand he offered to help her up, she stood again under her own willpower, so he picked up the chain mail to set it on the sideboard with the coif. Marion sighed, knowing that he still needed help, as the lacings of the shirt he wore were in the back. Men's clothing was so inconvenient sometimes. Without having to say anything, Robin turned so his lacings faced her and she set dutifully to work on them.
The shirt, too, was apparently too much for Robin, and after watching him struggle to get it over his head for a second, Marion simply grabbed the bottom of it and pulled it over his head. He bent over again so she could tug it right off him.
It came off much easier than the chain mail had, and as he straightened, Marion couldn't help but glance at Robin's torso. He was strong and solid, much like Robert had been. She balled up the shirt in her hands and hastily brought her gaze back to his face, lest he catch her staring at him.
"Thank you," he whispered, as if all his energy had been spent. He reached out to take the offensive-smelling garment from her. She snatched it away. "I'll have it washed," she said, and she swept out of the little room, chin held high. Robin turned to follow her movements, a second behind her quick movements.
At the door, Marion turned back for a moment, eyeing him one last time. The firelight bathed his bare chest and arms in golden light. There were a couple of large, dark scars on the left side of his body. That was all she saw before she went out the door, closing it firmly behind her.
What had that been about? Robin was too tired to try to figure out the mind of a smart, beautiful, independent woman. He splashed water from the tub on his face. He quickly did away with the rest of his clothing, just remembered to grab the soap from its dish on the sideboard, and gratefully sank into the hot water.
He could almost feel the layers of dirt and road grime coming off his skin. He dunked under the water and came up again. He wished he could stay in the bath until the water grew too cold to bear, but he didn't want to be late to supper, especially as the guest of these two formidable characters who ran Peper Harow.
Downstairs, Marion found Margaret, the laundress, and handed her Robin's shirt for washing. That task done, she headed for the kitchen, to ensure that preparations for supper were running right on schedule. She didn't know how long Robin would take in the bath, but she didn't want him coming downstairs before she was ready. As much as the man irritated her, she would be damned if he were treated to anything less than a perfect meal. Her mother had taught her the importance of being a gracious and proper hostess, and she would die before any guest in her house was found wanting.
Finally assured that the meal was in good hands, Marion quickly ran up the stairs to her room to change for supper. She splashed water on her face, combed her hair back, and put on her nice, dark blue dress. It wasn't fancy, but it was one of the better ones she had. Coming out of her room, she went to Walter's bedroom, just two doors down from hers, and escorted him to the large table in the great hall.
Walter sat down at his place at the head of the table. Already, a plan had presented itself in his mind, and he couldn't wait for his guest to come downstairs so he could put the plan into motion. Not only would it save Peper Harow, it would keep Robin Longstride around, and that, he thought to himself, was a very good thing indeed.
"Marion, more wine," he called from his seat at the table, pleased with himself. He could hear, under the hum of the usual sounds of servants preparing the food and bustling about, a man's step on the stairs. Robin Longstride pulled out the chair to Walter's right and sat down. Servants continued bringing dishes to the table as the men filled their plates. From the smell, they would be having the usual sparse fare that served as sustenance in Nottingham these days, although he knew Marion would have seen to it that what food they did set out was as fine as could be.
Marion grabbed the decanter of wine from the sideboard and the pitcher of water and approached Walter's side to serve him.
"You've taken a long road to bring this to me," Walter was saying to their guest. "I cannot decide if that makes you trustworthy," he said, sipping from his goblet.
"Or manipulative," Marion supplied, reaching Walter's side. She had had time to think, and she had come to the conclusion that Robin Longstride was nothing but trouble. The sooner they got through supper and he was on his way, the better.
"Marion, I am merely trying to gauge the quality of the man we have as our guest," Walter admonished as she poured first wine, then water into his goblet. He hated it when she watered down his wine. Did she think him a feeble old man who could not hold his drink? He decided to push her.
"Is he handsome?" he asked.
Marion knew his game right away and called him on it. "Yes," she admitted. He was quite handsome. Especially without a shirt, in firelight… "In the way that yeomen sometimes are," she continued, pouring wine into Robin's goblet for him. She met his eyes. "When they're sober." She finished pouring and made her way back to her seat across from Robin, on Walter's left.
"Entertain us with a tale of your life, sir. We don't get many visitors anymore, except tax collectors and other beggars," Walter said. Oh, yes, she had caught him in his game, and gave as good as she got. He needed to steer the direction of the conversation away from any budding hostility between the two – especially if his plan was going to succeed.
"I don't know where I'm from," Robin admitted. He stared down at his plate. "Only know where I've been." He prayed Walter wouldn't ask where he'd been. He didn't want to relive his past. Better to leave the horrors of war, the years of begging as a child to himself. Especially given Walter's apparent view of beggars.
Though blind, Walter could tell Robin didn't want to talk about the past. "So, Marion, what color are his eyes?"
Robin shifted his gaze from his plate up to Marion, daring her to look him in the eye, to answer Walter's question. Marion met his silent challenge, holding his gaze for several moments.
"I don't yet know," she said thoughtfully. Walter grinned to himself. She was uncertain of herself, which was a rare accomplishment. Additionally, with her uncertainty, she might be open to his plan. He decided it was time to make his great announcement.
"I have a proposal for you, young man," he said seriously. He needed to choose his words carefully now. "You brought me this sword, which has great meaning. If you give me your time, it is yours."
Robin was staring at Walter with rapt attention. Why would the old man give him this sword, the last memento, really, of his dead son? He didn't notice Marion, who merely glanced at Walter and back to her food. She knew the old man had some trick up his sleeve. He would reveal it when he was good and ready. And she knew, from this preamble, that what he was going to say was going to be big. He had fiercely loved Robert and been bitterly disappointed when his son had taken the sword and gone with the King. For Walter to give it away, now, to a perfect stranger…
"I could stay for a day," Robin said. His glance slid across the table to Marion. "Or more." He caught her eye roll as she dipped her fingers in the wash bowl and wiped them off. She refused to be baited by him, refused to meet his gaze. Robin grinned.
"I have a question to ask you," he said, turning back to Walter.
"And what is your question?" Walter asked.
"The words, on the hilt of the sword – what do they mean?"
This was better than Walter could have asked for. "Well, I think I have much to tell you about history – about your history."
Robin sat back in chair and studied Walter. What could the old man possibly know of his history? "That's very kind," he said.
"Well, you haven't heard the other half of my proposal yet." Walter paused, savoring the moment. He knew his audience was captivated now. "I want you to stay in Nottingham and, for the time being, become my returned son… and therefore… Marion's spouse."
The words were barely out of his mouth before Marion rose angrily. "Oh, that's enough! You've had too much to drink!" She reached for Walter's goblet, which he grabbed before she could.
"Listen! Listen!" Walter said. Robin watched their exchange with great interest. "We both know that without a husband, you will lose this land when I die." Marion paused. "Do you dispute that? Hm?"
"No," she said quietly. She could see the logic of Walter's proposal, and knew in her head that it was a sound plan. Her heart, however, was telling her something else. Her quiet "no" was not only a response to Walter's question.
"No! So, if I say this is my son, he will be seen as that. And so, as your husband, huh? It is a fair contract," he continued. He knew Marion was coming around to seeing things his way. "It is not as if I expect you to have children or…" Marion glanced at Robin and felt her face grow hot at his obvious interest in what was being discussed. The image of him in firelight came once again to her mind, adding to the heat in her face.
Walter came back to his point, his attention still on Robin, unaware of the exchange between the two younger people. "No. The sword for your time, Longstride. Are you in agreement?"
Robin gazed up at Marion, where she still stood at her place on Walter's left. He gave his reply to her. "Yes."
Immensely pleased with the evening, Walter turned to his daughter-in-law. "Marion, go tell the staff that my son has arrived, and our home is now whole again." Marion stormed off, grabbing the second decanter of wine off the table so Walter couldn't drink it. "Tell them to ring the church bells in celebration!" he called as she walked off – he could hear her angry footsteps and then the door to the buttery slam shut. "And more wine, please!"
So, the first chapter is complete! Please, if you're enjoying the story, leave a comment or review. I'm not sure how many total chapters there will be. Happy reading!
