A long, long time ago, a powerful noble named Guy Gisbourne used to live in a beautiful and terrifying manor atop a cliff by the sea. Guy only wanted the best for his younger sister, Christine Gisbourne and her daughter, Mary. He always did what was best for his sibling, even when it meant killing some people to get what he wanted. And he always got what he wanted.
When Christine was twenty years of age, she fell in love with a homely poet. When Guy discovered this, he flew into a rage and went out and had the poet slaughtered, then his head mounted above his massive fireplace. Later, he found that his sister was with child. The poet's child.
Being only a few years older than Christine, and their parents dead, he arranged for her to marry an old, toothless Barron, after she had the baby. Christine refused, and angered him more, though, he kept his fists tethered, reminding himself that he was not raised on good breeding to hit a woman. But then again, the servants usually heard her pained cries behind his locked doors.
Soon, a healthy baby girl was born, and Christine became totally enamoured with the infant. She always sang to her, coddling her with all the love she could muster. She once said to her handmaid, "I never knew love until Mary was born." Mother and daughter spent hours together, playing in the garden and laughing, but these moments did not last long.
When Mary turned five, Guy was determined that Christine was to be married to a nobleman who lived in Nottingham. This meant for them to be separated permanently. Both women were distraught. And Christine also had plans for the future. To run away.
On the night of their escape, Christine took Mary aside and hugged her close, running her fingers through the girl's long brown hair.
"Mary," she said, catching the girl's eyes, "Promise thou shalt never forget me,"
"How can I forget thee, momma, thou art here, with me,"
"Yes," she said, camouflaging her tears with a cough, "Still, thee must promise me,"
"Aye," Mary replied, nodding her head, "I will." Christine slipped a silver chain from her neck and laid it around Mary's neck, "May the moon shine on thy dreams, and the sun shine on thy path," she quoted their cherished lullabye, and then pulled Mary down the hill, away from her brother's estate. Only they did not get far.
They were captured by an evil man only known as The Sheriff. Christine was torn away from Mary, and they did not see each other ever again. Mary would never know if her mother was married to him, or killed, or thrown into the Sheriff's dungeons. Although she always had a little hope that her cunning mother would escape from her captors and rescue her from her uncle's tender care.
Her uncle believed that her hopes and wishes wouldn't last for long.
When she turned twelve, her uncle announced that she would be betrothed to none other than the very Sheriff that had taken her mother. Refusing to succumb to marrying a man thrice her age, she attempted to run away for the second time in her life. This time she succeeded. Mary took refuge in the Barnesdale Wastes, for she knew that her uncle would not dare to search for her.
The forest was her only hope.
For the first few months, Mary hid in a makeshift lean-to, made of rotted bark and dead branches, surviving off acorns and wild strawberries that grew under the brush. As the seasons changed, food became more scarce, and Mary found herself wandering, half-starved, with no hope left in her heart.
Then, a hermit woman found her hungry and shivering while she was on her daily walk. The woman's name was Sarah, and she wore a grotesque mask made of leather and wood, but she did not frighten Mary. She brought her into her home and fed her like she was her own child. Sarah listened to her story and urged her to stay in the safety of the forest, and christened her as Marian, Lady of the Woods.
Marian grew to know every tree for miles around, memorize the secrets of the paths that winded throughout the forest, and became strong with a bow. Her adventurous spirit often worried Sarah, for she knew that one day, because of Marian's independence, she would find trouble. Sarah could see things that others did not.
Marian limped to Sarah's dark cave. The older woman stood there, unsure of what had happened, but she welcomed Marian into her home, and dropped a spark on a lone candle.
"Thou were right, I did have visitors tonight."
"Who?"
"Guy Gisbourne."
"Thine uncle?" The hermitress was obviously worried, she could not control the shaking of her hands.
"Aye, I am sure of it." Sarah sat down to collect her bearings. She wrung her hands and took a deep breath, shaking her head, "Why didn't I see this? Why? I should have..."
"Nay, 'twas not thy own fault,"
"Marian, I feel as if I have betrayed thee," she said, her voice warbly, sounding almost close to tears.
"Nay, thee shall help me."
"Right, Marian."