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She is the queen of everything, and Robin will be the happiest man in England to kneel at her feet for the rest of his life. (Robin and Marian's wedding, shortly after the, ahem, fixed events of 2x13)
Marian has never looked more beautiful. Barefoot in the same white gown she wore earlier, with her hair up and a crown of desert flowers circling her head.
She is the queen of everything, and Robin will be the happiest man in England to kneel at her feet for the rest of his life.
Just as the sun sets, out in the desert where they'd nearly died only hours earlier. Someone has erected an altar of planks and sheer white curtains, and Marian stands beneath it, next to the king. It turns out that no one will give her away: who is left alive that owns her heart, other than Robin Hood?
As soon as she spots him, her face brightens. Her blue eyes shining and she wears no veil, for she has nothing to hide. They have known each other since they were children. Robin knows the lines of her face better than he knows his own heart.
It looks like every Englishman in the Holy Land has turned up, and Robin sees his men gathered near the front. John and Allan, Djaq and Will - but where is Much?
He hears a cough from behind him and smiles. Of course.
"Yes?" he says, raising one eyebrow.
Much is much cleaner than he was a few hours ago - they all are, thanks to Richard's directing them to an oasis not too far off - and he's borrowed clothes from someone. They're nicer than what he came in - and again, importantly, cleaner - but just a little too big, and he looks uncomfortable.
"I just want to say - congratulations," Much says stiffly.
Robin's eyebrow lifts even higher. Nothing is ever that simple with Much.
"Things will be different now," he says, puffing up a bit under Robin's scrutiny. "What with you being a married man."
"What are you getting at?"
Much lifts his chin. "Don't forget about us, is all. We're all very happy for you, but there is still work to do. Things back at home aren't going to be perfect just because you and Marian are married."
"Much, I know that!" Robin shakes his head, incredulous. "Do you really think I'm going to run off and leave all of you to…fend for yourselves?"
"The possibility did come up."
"Oh, come on. That's a bit unfair."
Much looks toward the place where the rest of the men are gathered and shakes his head mournfully. "Well, I expect most of them would do the same, given the opportunity."
Robin slings his arm over Much's shoulders. "You needn't worry, my friend. I suspect we'll have plenty of work to do when we return, and I intend to see it through. We both do," he adds, nodding up at Marian.
Much's gaze follows his, and he sighs. "She does look very nice."
"She does," Robin agrees, grinning. "And now it's time. Please don't worry." He gives Much a pat on the back and the two part ways - Much to join the rest of the gang at the front, and Robin to join his bride under the altar. Finally.
There are no pews, no aisles, so Robin works his way through the crowd of soldiers. A few of them recognize him from before and clap him on the back - or the back of the head - but most look right past him. Robin thinks it's not the worst thing to be married here. He'd have loved to see a wedding, back when he was a soldier here. Something to distract from the horror and death. Something bright. A reminder that life could get better.
In any case, he's not interested in putting off this wedding any longer. He postponed it once and nearly lost her forever, and he is not taking any more risks with Marian.
After what feels like an eternity, he finds himself under the altar, across from her. She gives him a smile that's almost shy - something he can't remember seeing on her before - and the setting sun casts gold across her face and hair, and Robin feels like his body could not possibly be big enough to contain everything he is feeling.
King Richard's voice booms out across the crowd, bringing everyone to attention. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of one of our most esteemed countrymen, Robin of Locksley, once and future Earl of Huntingdon, to Marian, daughter of the late Edward, Sheriff of Nottingham. Are there any here who have cause to object to such a union?"
No one objects, as far as Robin can tell. He is lost in Marian's smile. Why hadn't he done this five years ago? What an idiot he'd been.
"Then we shall proceed," the king says, smiling benevolently. It's been some time since he brought such happy tidings, having spent years presiding over hasty battlefield funerals. He goes on to tell the gathered crowd about the day's events, and Robin's and Marian's roles. It's not that Robin isn't appreciative - he is, really - but he also just wants to get on with it. He wants to be Marian's husband.
The next time he kisses her, he wants to be kissing his wife.
Finally, King Richard tells them to exchange rings. Djaq had gone earlier to the market in Acre to purchase them: slim, plain silver bands for both of them, and even those were remarkable to find - and dearly expensive - in a city at war. Richard offered the use of his jewelry, but Marian and Robin fully intend to keep the rings that marry them.
When Robin slides the ring onto Marian's finger, all he knows is how warm her hands are.
"And now, your vows," the king says. He turns to Robin and opens his mouth to speak, but Robin cuts him off.
"I, Robin, take you, Marian, to be my lawful wedded wife," he says, for the second time today. He grins at her, and this time he doesn't hesitate, and he doesn't wait for anyone to prompt him. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and cherish and worship, for as long as we both shall live."
The king doesn't interject at all this time. Marian's eyes are so full of light. He wonders how she looked earlier, the first time she married him. "I, Marian, take you, Robin, to be my lawful wedded husband." He holds her hands in his. She is smiling with tears in her eyes, and Robin blinks back his own as she continues. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish," and she grins slyly up at him, "and sometimes obey, for as long as we both shall live."
And then the king, one more time: "Robin, you may now—"
Robin doesn't even wait for him to finish. He pulls Marian to him and kisses her, arms around her waist. The crowd whoops and he thinks Richard is still talking, but Marian is kissing him back with such passion that he doesn't hear any of it. He could stay here forever, kissing her.
Kissing - finally - his wife.
He wishes they had just executed him on the spot. That would have been better than this.
Anything would have been better than this.
Guy had asked repeatedly to be temporarily tied to a stake out in the desert, or executed, or given over to the Saracens, but to no avail.
"Yer to be under guard at all times," a rough-faced soldier had snapped. "Can't do nothin' about it."
And no soldier is willing to miss a feast.
So: here is Guy, an unwilling guest at the wedding of the woman he loves to the man he hates more than anything.
He sees her standing up there in white, the sunlight glinting off her hair, and it tears at him. It tears at him, and he would rather be flayed alive than watch this.
And how happy she looks. No one, he realizes - not his mother or his sister and never Marian, no one - has ever looked so happy to see him. Marian is radiant with joy, even though she comes to marry a criminal, an outlaw with no claim to land or title. An outlaw who walked out on her once already.
She chose him, and it is a worse torture than any the Sheriff could devise.
Guy is at least far enough away that he does not have to hear the words they speak to each other, though her sweet laugh carries to him on the wind.
She smiles for Hood. She laughs for Hood, and tonight it is Hood who will slip that dress from her shoulders and take her, who will touch her and taste her. Her body bared for him, smooth alabaster skin and dark curls and the way she gasps when she is surprised, that sharp little intake of breath—
He clenches his fists. These are the thoughts that got him in all of this trouble, made him think that just because she was beautiful she was also good. That she could offer him salvation.
Guy does not expect salvation anymore. He just wants to die faster rather than slower.
He just wants to not watch as the woman he loves gives herself willingly to his enemy.
Hood kisses her, and Guy can't look away. He has kissed Marian, too, and he remembers her body stiff and unyielding, but she curves herself into the outlaw like it is their wedding night already, her hands cradling his face and one foot between his so there is no air between them.
She touches him like she wants him. Like she's been waiting.
Earlier, when she'd declared her love out loud, he thought that he could not possibly have heard correctly. Not Marian - good, kind, honest Marian, who had so many times assured him that she no longer felt anything for Robin Hood.
But he could not deny the light in her eyes when she said his name, and he cannot deny the way she looks now. The picture of a joyful bride as Hood takes her arm and they walk off towards the camp, towards their perfect future. Hood says something to her and she laughs, and the King of England, God curse his soul, looks at them fondly.
The golden boy and golden girl, together at last.
And Guy in black, dressed for the funeral this day should have been, dressed for the shadow he has become.
When the king said we will feast in your honor he had not exaggerated. There is more food out here than any of them has seen in months, and better. Marian wonders how it is possible.
She and Djaq are the only women other than a handful of servants and slaves, and at first she is afraid that she will end up standing alone in a corner at her own wedding feast. After all, many of these men fought with Robin - with my husband, she thinks proudly - and she knows how he gets with old friends.
But he only has eyes for her. Even when the king himself comes to offer congratulations, Robin barely spares him a glance.
After everyone has taken second (and third) helpings of food (and wine), the music starts. It is simple music, fiddle and flute and some Saracen instruments she does not recognize, but the tune they play is full and fast and joyful.
Without a word, Robin offers her his hand. As soon as she takes it, he's off: they are whirling through the crowds, across the sand, and Robin puts his hands at her waist and spins her around in the air until she is dizzy and laughing. "Put me down!" she commands, a mock-fearsome expression on her face, and he complies just long enough to kiss her deeply, dipping her so low to the ground that she is only supported by his arms. He's still holding her there when he pulls away, grinning broadly and far too pleased with himself. Marian shakes her head, fighting back a smile, and he finally relents, setting her back on her feet.
And then they are off again, changing partners; she and Djaq are passed off to dance with Will and Much and John and even a deeply reluctant Allan, and it is this last man that Marian is most glad to see. Though she's known Much since childhood, it is Allan with whom she has spent so much time these past few months. It is Allan who knows her.
The music has slowed down some by the time she's handed off to him. "I'm not a good dancer," Allan warns, placing one hand gingerly at her waist, and taking her right hand in his left.
"Neither am I," Marian says. And it's true. She spent so much of her childhood learning other things - how to fight and how to swear and how to stitch a man's wounds - that other parts of her education had been rather neglected. Her education has turned out more useful, but she hopes that from now on, she will find more occasion for dancing than battlefield medicine.
"Are you glad, after all?" she asks after a few awkward steps.
"'Bout what?"
She just raises her eyebrows at him.
"Oh all right," he says, "look, of course I'm glad. I'm here eating this feast and dancing with you instead of tied up or dead."
"But are you glad to be with Robin again?" she persists. He gives her a look like maybe she's trying to trick him, but truly she is honest.
Truly, she wants to know if anyone else ever doubts. Not that she doubts Robin - but she wonders what their future will really look like. If the king will really return to England, and if things will improve if he does.
Allan says, slowly, "Yeah, I am. Like I said."
"But?"
"I'm still a peasant," he says. "There's nothing for me back in Nottingham, whether the king comes back or not. Even less if he does, I s'pose, because you lot will all run back to your manor houses and I'll still be a thief in the forest."
"Robin won't let that happen." Her voice is more confident than her heart, but even then, what she means is: I won't let that happen.
Allan shrugs. "Maybe not."
They dance for a few moments more, Marian deftly staying out of the way of Allan's feet. Finally she says it. "I can't watch them kill Guy," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
Allan looks at her, long and even. "Yeah," he says, and she hears the reluctance in his voice to match hers. "Yeah, I figured."
For the rest of the dance they are silent, though every once in a while they look to each other for reassurance.
Marian can't regret Allan's betrayal. If things had ended differently she might have - but now, she is a little bit glad that he was in the castle, too. That he saw the same things she did. That his feelings about Guy are as complicated as hers.
When the dance ends, he bows to her and she says, for her own sake as much as his, "It'll be all right."
Allan approximates a smile, and says again, "We'll see."
He returns her to Robin's waiting arms, and her husband brushes the hair from her eyes. "That looked serious," he says, his voice still light.
Marian meets his gaze, blue and depthless blue, and she chooses her words carefully. "Allan is a good man."
Robin looks surprised. "I know that." His eyes search hers, looking for answers she does not have. Has never had. "Is everything all right?"
She considers for a minute, and cannot seem to settle on anything other than yes, but—
What is she afraid of? Here is everything she wants.
"He is worried," she says eventually, "about what will happen to him when the king returns."
"We won't be outlaws anymore," Robin says, taken aback that anything else could be in question.
"Yes, but where does that leave Allan?" she asks. "You are an earl, Robin, but he is a thief. He has only ever been a thief. And when we return to Locksley, what becomes of him?"
Marian is disappointed - if not surprised - when it becomes clear that Robin hasn't given this much thought. Still, he recovers admirably. Robin has always been a quick thinker. "You're right," he says, and the acknowledgement pleases her more than she'd like to admit. "We need to think of something for Allan." Oh, and that we. It wasn't too long ago that Robin was admonishing her for not following orders, and now we need to think of something, and Marian does love that.
She smiles at him then, and he smiles back, relief written plainly on his face. She wonders what he expected, but doesn't ask.
"Is that all?" he asks.
Her nod is not a lie; if it was not all it was at least most, and certainly all that Marian can put into words. The rest will have to wait, or die unspoken.
Robin grins in response. "Good," he says, and cups her cheek, presses a light, sweet kiss against her lips. "Then I believe we have some more dancing to attend to."
But this time, instead of steering her spinning through the feast, he leads her by the hand to the very edge of the fire's glow. Against the persistent beat of the music, Robin pulls her into his arms so her head rests against his chest. They move in small, slow circles in the half-darkness, watching the revelers and the flickering fire. No one pays them any mind. There is just his heartbeat and his arms around her, and somewhere distant, the sounds of laughter and music fading into the clear night.
