Till Death Do Us Part

- DO NOT READ AHEAD IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS FOR SERIES 2 -

Summary: Alternate ending for Series 2, because I didn't agree with the finale. I've slipped some scenes into S2 E13, and continued afterwards. Marian-centric, but features the whole gang, as well at the Sheriff, Guy and some OCs. First attempt at fanfiction, and un-beta'd.

Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to the BBC and Tiger Aspect, not me. But I do own my OCs, and (as far as I know) this plot.

~ Nia

Chapter 8 – Marian

This is occurring a week after the previous chapter (thirteen days since Marian's supposed death). The whole sequence with shadows represents Hassim's train of thoughts, just in case that confuses anyone.

***

It was thirteen days after 'Rose' had been brought to his doorstep, and Hassim wasn't feeling hopeful. She appeared to have the sleeping sickness, for which there was no cure. He still couldn't bring himself to tell his daughter that the woman would eventually die: he had to let her hope at least. So it was with a heavy heart that he, at her request, had located a new rose to replace the withered original. Despite his scepticism he had hunted down a replacement and now laid it on the bedside table. At the sight of the woman he thought about the family she must have back in England, who were heartbroken as they thought her dead. Hassim thought about how he would feel should Aliah be taken away from him, and choked back a sob as he remembered how he had lost his late wife. However, as much as he hoped for the opposite, he had to admit the woman's chances were slim; as of yet there was no cure for this illness. Not even the absurd cures Aliah would think up. Hassim admired his daughter's optimistic spirit, but there were times when her illogical remedies made his head spin. Hassim had turned to leave, when a movement on the wall caught his attention; a shadow. The woman's shadow. The shadow of the woman's eyelids. Hassim shook his head, believing it to be a trick of the dying sunlight outside, but no - there it was again. Hassim turned around slowly to check the woman's actual eyelids and was stunned to see the woman's eyes flickering as though she was waking.

***

There was that smell again; of roses. There was that memory from long ago, when she was an innocent child with no knowledge of how corrupt her homeland would soon become. The thought of Knighton brought back the image of Gisbourne again, but it was soon cast away by the scent of the flower. The light behind her eyes was a soft shade of pink, drawing strength from the sunset outside to which she was oblivious. Yet for some reason as she tried to locate the light, her previous pain seemed to dissipate, leaving calmness. She became faintly aware she was asleep, and after inhaling the glorious scent of the rose for possibly one last time, she tried to wake.

***

"Aliah!" Hassim called his daughter up urgently when he first saw the woman stirring, understanding that the English woman may be less distressed by his daughter's gentle face than his stony one. As Aliah dashed into the room she understood the miracle-like situation and immediately took her place in the bedside chair in order to provide the woman with a sense of safety and understanding. Hassim edged out of the room, not wishing to disturb the woman, and left her in the care of his daughter. Allah be praised, he thought to himself, and he took back all he had said about his daughter's constant hopefulness.

***

Marian managed to weakly open her eyes to a slit but couldn't see any detail. She exhaled then feebly tried again. Her head felt fuzzy as she peered out through hazy eyes under flickering eyelids. Exhausted by even this tiny effort, she conceded defeat and closed them again, but still faintly awake.

Encouraged by even this tiny movement, Aliah held a cup of milk to the woman's mouth and smiled, satisfied, as the woman drank the rich liquid.

Marian again attempted to open her eyes, taking strength from the warm milk. After a few deep breaths she managed to do so, blinking at the sudden fierce light. Aliah immediately reacted by closing the shutters to exclude the bright sunlight. Marian's eyes immediately adjusted to the dimmer light, and she managed to make out her surroundings: a light, homely room with faded furnishings, and a Saracen woman sitting to her right. The room was shabby and evidently not lavishly furnished, but Marian took comfort from the fact that the patched and frayed furnishings brought comfort and life to the room.

Aliah was relieved that the woman wasn't startled by her location, or the presence of a stranger, and smiled warmly. In order to communicate with the woman, Aliah pointed at herself and said her name, then pointed at the Englishwoman with a questioning look. Marian understood this to be an introduction, and hoarsely replied, "Marian."

Marian soon became acutely aware of the fact that she was lying down in bed although it was clearly not night, and attempted to sit up. She propped herself up with her elbows, but when she clenched her stomach muscles she gasped in agony as the wound hampered her strength. Aliah's smiles dissolved into concern when Marian's face contorted with pain, but could do nothing but watch as the woman gasped and struggled for breath. Marian folded back the bed-coverings in order to see what was causing this pain, and pulled up the loose shirt she was dressed in over thin trousers to reveal two jagged lines twisting her pale skin. The year-old scar was almost healed, although it would never fade, but now was bisected by a horizontal, bloody wound on her lower abdomen, just below her belly-buttonbelly button. It was chilling to see, a rough gash surrounded by red-raw, bruised and formerly blood-matted skin. Blood still edged its way out from the neat stitches in tiny streams.

Aliah recognised the symptoms: Marian began swaying when she sat; the blood, the lack of food and water and having sat up quickly all combined made Marian's fuzzy head grow worse. As she slid back onto the blankets, Marian remembered a far-away voice calling.