"Rest, my child," the Friar had said before he left the tent that stank of blood. He'd motioned towards a blanket with his blood soaked hand, and Marian had not spared the Queen nor the Friar another glance after that. She'd fallen upon that blanket and was asleep immediately.

It can't have been more than an hour before Marian is tossing and turning restlessly.

Marian can hear the chirping of birds outside. It's their song that has her stirring unhappily, she is still unused to the sound of them so early in the morning. Marian grumbles incoherently and tries to merely turn over, as if that would somehow block the sound. She tries to sleep, but she lets out a long sigh of air. She has to admit defeat. She rolls onto her back on the blanket with a hand coming up to rub at her face.

"Where am I?" a voice rasps quietly. The sound drives sleep as far from Marian's mind as possible.

It is the Queen. Marian's eyes spring open as she sits up. The Queen, only an arm's length away, is attempting to sit up from her own nest of bedding. The Queen grimaces and lets out a small gasp. Friar Tuck said she'd not awaken for a day or more, if she would even wake. Her wounds grievous, her loss of blood staggering, yet here she is pulling herself up. The Queen had lost enough blood to turn her lips blue and the Friar had thought she might die twice in the night. "No, no," Marian says, moving past her surprise, hands outstretched, "you'll pull the stitches, Majesty!"

The Queen stills, propped up on one arm, almost upright, she is shaky and breathing deeply. Her large eyes study her surroundings. There's a keenness to her gaze that surprises Marian. Intelligence sparks in those eyes and something darker too, for just a second, something dark and terrible in such a sweet young face. "Where am I?" the Queen repeats, and the darkness is gone, slipped from her features as if never there. There's fear in the Queen's voice, under the bark, under the regality that's bred and beaten into the girls of Noble Houses. Marian had belonged to a Noble House and can hear under the pretense with ease.

"You're in a camp on the edge of Sherwood Forest, Majesty," Marian answers, for she sees no reason not to answer. The Queen is not a prisoner, and can certainly not run in any case. The Queen has no reason to fear, Marian will assure her, "my husband brought you here in the night, and we treated your injuries as best as we were able."

The Queen takes a moment to understand what has been said and Marian uses that moment to study her. The Queen's hair is inky darkness, a cloud of loose curls framing her face, the face that is even still drained of color, the lips are no longer blue, but they are pale, and they are quivering, but still Marian can see what a prize this woman is. The second wives were always the pretty ones. Marian's father had remarried after the death of Marian's mother, he had married a dark haired beauty much like the Queen, young too, just like the Queen.

With the blood washed away the Queen before her seeps regal bearing even in her borrowed nightshirt. Marian can't match this woman before her now with the one that lay before her hours ago. Bleeding and torn, heavy and lifeless, waking only once in the long hours of the night, waking as Caline was attempting to stitch her. Those dark eyes had blinked open, her head had tipped up and it was blankness on the Queen's face as she observed the old woman between her open thighs and bent knees. The Queen's head had thumped back down softly, she had stared up at the tent ceiling for close to ten minutes before Tuck realized she was conscious and attempted to give her something for the pain she must have been in. The Queen had shaken her head away, like a babe refusing the breast, had not said a word, had shook her head so forcefully away from the offered milk of the poppy that Caline had to pause in her work, landing a hand on one of the Queen's bent knees, that touch had the Queen's eyes growing, blankness gone, sudden delirious panic in every feature, she'd tried to scuttle away, soundlessly, the entire thing happened in silence, in the end the Friar had forced the draught down her throat, asking forgiveness the entire time.

"Thank you," the Queen says and breaks Marian from her remembrance. There is a measure of gratitude in the Queen's voice, but the fear is still there, and something else that is strange, petulance almost. There in the tenseness of her mouth and in the line of her shoulders. "I required stitches?" the Queen asks, and the Queen is so young, Marian thinks suddenly, she has smooth skin, smooth as if carved from stone, there are no laugh lines at her mouth, but her brow is furrowed as she shifts her weight, another grimace escaping.

This Queen looks no older than Marian and yet Marian knows this Queen has been married many years. She must have been so young...

"Careful," Marian soothes, as she shuffles up onto her knees and tries to shuffle closer to the Queen. The Queen looks startled, not unlike when an animal is caught in a trap, caught in a trap and ready to attack any hand that reaches for it. Marian stops herself from getting any closer. "Is there much pain? I can fetch you something for it?"

The Queen shakes her head, a more controlled motion then the flailing of last night, but underneath is the same panic. "No," she says, "I'm perfectly fine," she adds on.

Marian can't imagine that is true. Can't possibly imagine that is the truth at all.

"Water then," Marian decides, "I'll fetch you water to drink?"

The Queen's brow doesn't relax, her body is still tense, looking uncomfortable and wary. She licks her lips, her colorless lips, and sways softly before catching herself and straightening. "How did I come here?"

A soft smile grows on Marian's face as she answers, as she thinks of Robin. "My husband carried you."

"Your husband?" the Queen's echoes with her head tilting. Confusion etches itself into her brow. "Is he a," she shrugs, "a servant? Does he serve the King? Does he know the danger he's placed himself in?"

Marian titters out a chuckle and shakes her head. "No, Majesty, no, he serves under no King."

Robin swears no fealty but to the silly lion on his arm, but that's not something to share with the Queen that seems intensely more perturbed at the sound of Marians laughter, as if it is a foreign sound to her.

"His name is Robin of Locksley, Majesty, he was within the King's stronghold to-"

The flap to the tent is thrown open and the Queen flinches back from the soft dawn light slanting in, but it's only Robin trying to maneuver in with two plates of food in his hands.

"Majesty," Marian is quick to try and reassure with her hand flung out, her fingers splayed towards the Queen that doesn't cower, no, her spine is far too straight for that, she's far too regal to do that, but the fear in her, Marian can see it so clearly, has increased substantially at the presence of another, the presence of a man perhaps. "This is he, my husband, who carried you here."

The Queen nods slowly. Her eyes, still so wide, they are lovely brown in the new light.

Robin smiles at Marian, a warm smile that brightens his whole face, those dimples charm her every time she sees them, but his gaze turns to the Queen, his head swiveling, his smile dims. "Forgive me, we heard the sound of your voices and I'd thought you'd both be starved."

Marian smiles as Robin crouches on the balls of his feet, one plate delivered into her waiting hands. "Thank you, Robin," she says, but he isn't looking at her. He isn't quite looking at the Queen either anymore, as if afraid the woman will bolt off if he focuses too much of his gaze upon her. That assessment doesn't look far from the truth. The Queen's mouth snapped shut the moment Robin walked in, with her breaths equal and even to the point that she must be consciously controlling the intake and outtake of air.

"You carried me here?" the Queen asks as Robin places her plate atop the blankets she's pushed off her lap. He places the offerings of toast and ham before her, stretching his arm absurdly to keep the bulk of his body out of the Queen's space.

"Aye, M'lady," Robin says. That easy smile that Marian fell so fast for flashes into being once more, those dimples deep, but his eyes strained. "I'm Robin of Locksley, and this is my wife, Marian. You're safe in my camp, with mine and my men's offer of protection."

"You carried me here for what purpose?" the Queen questions. She makes no move towards the food given to her. The Queen's hands have fisted in her lap, her fingers twisting at the cotton of the borrowed nightshirt. Marian turns her sight away from those wringing hands and the mangled wrists they're attached to.

Robin's smile dims at the question, his heavy brow constricting. Marian lays a hand on his arm to comfort him and he absentmindedly pats at it. "What purpose?" Robin echoes, "You were in need of aid, M'lady, and asked for my help."

The Queen frowns, her nose scrunches up as if trying and failing to recall, the gesture is, well, it's childish and endearing. Marian spies a bit of the woman underneath the Queenly exterior.

"Did I?" the Queen asks faintly as Marian chews on a piece of toast.

Robin has moved back to sit next to Marian, his hand still over hers on his arm, but his focus is entirely on the dark haired woman that still makes no move towards the food. "Yes, M'lady," Robin answers with his jaw working and his eyes narrowing. The face he wears is the same as when he's working hard on his aim, or when he's working the tumblers of an unwilling lock. "You cannot remember?"

"No," the answer is soft. The Queen turns her head, eyes not seeing, she shakes her head. "I should not have appealed to you, I apologize," the Queen says. The words are stilted, and her voice is suddenly hollow, as empty of life and as jarring as the screech wind makes when it runs through bare branches.

Robin splutters, his hand leaves Marian and hovers in the air as if he wishes to touch the Queen, but he's not a fool, and his hand does not go any further towards the woman that is still shaking her head. "M'lady-"

"It's Your Majesty," the Queen corrects, still with that hollow voice. Hollow and empty, the sound of it has Marian shaking as if caught in a frost with no covering. That's the empty voice so common at Court, empty voices for empty women, empty voices for the slowly dying. Marian shakes thinking she could have been among their number, she slides her hand down Robin's arm, grabs a hold of his fingers, his warm hands.

"Your Majesty then," Robin says, "do not claim to me that you did not require assistance, the blood you lost-"

"I should not have appealed to you because in doing so I have placed you in danger," the Queen clarifies, finally turning her head back to look at them, she tucks a portion of her hair behind her ear as she takes both Marian and Robin in one fell swoop of a glance. "My husband, the King-"

The change in Robin is enough for Marian's breath to catch in her throat and for her to drop the bite of food she'd had on her way to her mouth. She's never seen such a look in his eye, never before seen rage contort his face like this, she lets go of his hand.

He hisses out, "That monster will never touch you again."

A smirk tips the Queen's mouth, an awful thing, she scoffs. "The King's reach is long, Robin of Locksley, you are only an hours gallop from his gates. You promise me things that are impossible."

"We'll pack camp and move deeper into Sherwood," Robin answers. Marian wears no visible reaction to this news, but it's a shock. Less than a week they have been here, they were planning on remaining for at least a month more.

"You don't understand," the Queen says with her face twisting up, the blankness leaving and it's irritation in its place. The Queen is shaking, trembling. Marian remembers Friar Tuck's words, the Queen should not even be awake, worry has Marian frowning. "The King will think I ran awa-"

"You don't understand," Robin's voice cracks like a whip through the air, loud and hot, the Queen shrinks back barely at all, but for both Robin and Marian, both watching so intently, the action is seen easily.

"Robin," Marian says, a warning and a caress in one, her hand back on his arm, squeezing on his arm, but Robin is already calming, he takes a breath. Marian turns to the Queen, the lovely young Queen that looks ready to faint, the Queen shouldn't be awake, and Marian doesn't know what reserve of strength the Queen has used to prop herself up like this, but she can see it is quickly fading. "Do you wish to return to the King?" Marian asks quietly, because she knows as well as any that love can trap a person as well as any cage, and perhaps this bloodied young Queen wishes to return, maybe she loves her husband in spite of the monster he obviously is.

The Queen shakes her head, an immediate reaction that seems out of her control; Marian thinks so, so softly, that it would have been easier for them all if she had wanted to return to the castle. The Queen opens her mouth to speak, but Robin speaks first.

"Mistake or no, you asked for my help," Robin's voice is still hot, his anger roiling under his skin. Marian can't understand why he is feeling these things so strongly. "You asked for freedom," Robin says with desperation laced in his words.

"Freedom?" the Queen echoes with disbelief in her voice. Her head goes sideways and is suddenly loose on her neck as her eyes close slowly. Robin goes tense all over, a tight fist growing on his lap, as if it's the only way to stop himself from reaching out to help her. The Queen's body tilts to the side before she blinks her eyes open again, there's sweat beading on her forehead now, and that awful smirk grows. "My memories escape me, but I'm certain this is not the freedom I meant."

"It's the only freedom I would give you, you are free," Robin insists quietly.

"You will lose your own freedom if my husband finds me here." The Queen sways and a sharp breath tears itself from her as she leans all her weight to the side on one shaking arm. She swallows, her eyes close, then her whole body is loose and heavy, her front headed fast to the ground.

"Majesty!" Marian says and moves forward, her hand leaving Robin, but Robin is quicker, his hands on the Queen's arm as Marian is still putting her plate down.

Marian fears another episode like hours ago, when Caline had rested her hand on the Queen's knee, but the Queen is already sinking fast into unconsciousness, blinking and breathing fast. She sinks against Robin when Robin pulls her to his chest with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Your Majesty?" Robin asks with his eyes wide in fear.

A whine comes from the woman, not quite a word, and then her eyes are closed. She's unconscious.

"Put her down," Marian says. She has a hand rubbing at Robin's back, moving up to his shoulder when he doesn't move. "Gently, Robin, put her down."

After another moment Robin does so- cradling the Queen's unresponsive form until the last possible moment.

Marian moves the untouched plate of food offered to the Queen off the blanket and she holds it with both hands as she watches Robin as he watches the Queen. The Queen rests on her back with her hair spread behind her head and her mouth slightly open. "Did you ever meet her?" Robin asks, finally turning away, looking to Marian with tortured eyes.

The question is unexpected and Marian stumbles on her answer before she remembers. "My father and I were at the wedding," she says as she's remembering years ago. She'd gotten a new dress for the occasion. Her father had chosen to take her instead of his new wife and remembering it now it seems so trivial, but at the time Marian got so much satisfaction over it. "We were on the balcony; my father's station was high enough for an invitation, but not high enough for a good seat."

Marian's lips twitch up. She is lost in memory; she has not seen her father since running from the marriage he tried to force on her. Her father always told her how much he adored her, his only girl, his little darling. He'd tried to marry her away anyway, he promised the match would be good for her and sent her away when she cried. Her smile fades.

Robin has his hand pushing hair off the Queen's forehead, the touch is more intimate then is appropriate, but Marian knows well that Robin is a caring man, a kinder man then she has ever known, far kinder then Marian's father, and Nobles have a different view of what is appropriate and what is not, she reminds herself. That lesson has been hard for Marian to remember. Robin's hand leaves the Queen quickly though. He turns to Marian and grabs one of her hands off the plate, his thumb runs over her knuckles. "Let's eat by the fire," Robin says. He urges Marian softly along as they exit the tent.

Marian turns him and pulls her hand from his to cups his face instead. She gazes into his eyes. "You did a good thing," Marian tells him. She tells him because he looks tortured and conflicted. At her words he lets out a breath and looks down. "Robin," Marian whispers.

"I fear she'll seek that freedom she wishes for," he mumbles.

Marian sighs. "She doesn't want to die," she placates, "we just have to show her how to live." Which is a burden that should not be theirs to bear, Marian thinks, but one Robin would give to no other.

He smiles impishly and somehow genuinely at once. "Wise and beautiful," he says with a smile, "you're a wonder." He gives her a kiss and holds her hand as they sit by the fire and eat.


The camp is packing by lunch.

Marian tries her best to be helpful, but finds herself more in the way than anything else. She still feels uncomfortable. The men and their families are kind, and they are patient, but Marian still feels a burden when she can't start a fire or when she doesn't know how to pitch a tent or how to pack one.

She is learning and she's doing her best. Every day it is easier to live in this type of world.

"Robin!" Dunstan cries. He's out of breath as he throws a huge sack to the ground, he's just returning from a last minute excursion into the closest town to gather what they won't be able to scavenge in Sherwood.

At the sight of the poster in his hands, the poster he unfurls and upon it is the Queen's face, an unsmiling portrait that doesn't do justice at all to the woman that still lies unconscious on a mess of blankets now by the fire, Marian lets out a gasp. She walks around the Queen's unconscious form- the Queen out in the open now that the tents are packed away, the Queen buried with quilts thrown over her still shivering body, the Queen unknowing of the glances thrown to her and the murmurs that catch behind cupped hands.

"This is ill tidings," John says as he comes to stand next to Robin. John takes the poster from Dunstan. Marian reads it as she approaches. Upon the poster, written in bold, REWARD, with a number that makes even Marian's eyes widen.

"What does it say?" Simon asks. He's looking from between John and Robin and back to the poster, he's looking right at the poster Marian thinks- it takes Marian only a moment to realize the boy must not know how to read.

Simon can't read, but Marian can, and her eyes scan the poster hungrily. It reads as a heartfelt bid for a man's wife be returned to him unharmed. It offers a great reward for any knowledge of her whereabouts, but Marian knows it all for falsehood, with her own eyes she saw how the King loves his Queen.

"It says nothing," Robin growls. He tears the parchment from John's hands and he crumples it and throws it in the last fire, stepping over the Queen's blanket clad legs to throw it angrily into the flames. He watches as it burns and waits for it to be completely ash before he turns to John. "We move within the hour," he orders.