FIC: By Candlelight [Merlin / Robin Hood]
Title: By Candlelight
Author: atraphoenix
Fandom: Merlin / Robin Hood
Characters: Marian/Gwen
Rating: PG
Summary: The engagement ring - stolen away by Robin in a fit of typical impetuosity - was gone, but she could still feel the weight on her finger.
Author's Note: I blame gnimaerd for this.
“I don’t want to marry him.”
It was an unnecessary statement, really, but Marian had spent the entire day with the words stuck in her throat. She’d been desperate to voice them, desperate to free herself - just a little, just a little - from the nagging guilt that filled her. She didn’t want to want to marry Gisbourne.
The engagement ring - stolen away by Robin in a fit of typical impetuosity - was gone, but she could still feel the weight on her finger.
“He isn’t all bad,” said Gwen soothingly, lifting Marian’s nightdress out of one of the drawers. It wasn’t a particularly cold night, but Knighton Hall wasn’t as well tended as it had once been. The wind slipped in through cracks in the unpainted sections of the wall, chilling Marian to the bone and threatening to extinguish the weak yellow light from the candle flame. It was best to dress warmly, even if you did have somebody pleasant to share your bed.
“Oh?”
“He has … qualities.”
“Qualities?” Marian laughed, torn between amusement and incredulity. Coming from Gwen’s lips, the words sounded almost believable.
“His feelings for you are certainly genuine ...”
“And that’s what matters?”
“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
Despite herself, Marian smiled. She’d have to tell Robin that, and try and echo Gwen’s conviction as she spoke. In so many ways, her maid was a miraculous person. Her indomitable faith in the human spirit both entranced and infuriated Marian, who considered herself as icy as any bitter English evening. It was like watching a person from another world. Gwen would probably be able to think of something nice to say about the Sheriff, if given enough time!
“Will you be going out tonight?” Gwen she asked, interrupting Marian’s reverie.
“No,” Marian replied with a shake of her head, glancing sideways at her maid as she undressed and pulled on her nightdress as quickly as possible, “I think the Nightwatchman needs a rest this evening.”
She was mildly disappointed when she realised that Gwen wasn’t actually watching her. She’d hoped to feel the other woman’s eyes tracing her profile, trying to catch a glimpse of briefly exposed white flesh before it was hidden away by the heavy garment. Unfortunately, her maid was ever professional, bustling around the bedroom and tidying things away.
“Good. You ripped your cloak a few nights ago. I need time to sew it.”
“What would I do without you?” said Marian with a smile, but, as Gwen crossed the room to open the wardrobe and collect the costume, she found herself shaking her head. “No, don’t. Stay with me. I’ll help you sew it ...”
There was something terribly domestic about sitting and sewing industriously by candlelight, and Marian rather liked the idea. She could pretend to be another maid in Knighton Hall, rather than the lady of the house. They’d gossip about the upcoming wedding - the light, airy gossip of two people who are watchers rather than participants, of two people who won’t be effected by anything as vast as the return of King Richard.
No.
That wouldn’t be her, would it? She couldn’t be a non-combatant. (Her life as the Nightwatchman proved that.) She could never be anything other than herself, no matter what her father wished or Sir Guy of Gisbourne believed.
Catching her maid’s - her friend’s - eyes, she realised that Gwen, at least, understood that. She also knew full well that Marian’s sewing skills left a lot to be desired. (Marian herself couldn’t work out why wielding a needle was so difficult, when wielding a sword felt perfectly natural.)
“Don’t look at me like that, Gwen,” she said with a laugh, sitting down on the edge of her bed, “We’ll just talk, then? Anything you like.”
“Anything?” repeated Gwen, a smile flickering across her lips. Marian flushed.
“Within reason,” she promised, and her maid sat down on the bed next to her. Their hands didn’t actually touch, but the sudden closeness sent a shiver of electricity up Marian’s spine. “Although, when I am with you, I find that I’m anything but reasonable ...”
That made Gwen laugh.
“That’s why you need me.”
They both fell silent for a moment. Gwen’s hand moved inexorably, as if being tugged along by an invisible forced, her fingers linking with Marian’s.
“Will you come with me?” Marian asked, softly, “After I’ve married Gisbourne?”
“You know I’d follow you anywhere, my lady.”
“Then I shall bear it.”
Author: atraphoenix
Fandom: Merlin / Robin Hood
Characters: Marian/Gwen
Rating: PG
Summary: The engagement ring - stolen away by Robin in a fit of typical impetuosity - was gone, but she could still feel the weight on her finger.
Author's Note: I blame gnimaerd for this.
“I don’t want to marry him.”
It was an unnecessary statement, really, but Marian had spent the entire day with the words stuck in her throat. She’d been desperate to voice them, desperate to free herself - just a little, just a little - from the nagging guilt that filled her. She didn’t want to want to marry Gisbourne.
The engagement ring - stolen away by Robin in a fit of typical impetuosity - was gone, but she could still feel the weight on her finger.
“He isn’t all bad,” said Gwen soothingly, lifting Marian’s nightdress out of one of the drawers. It wasn’t a particularly cold night, but Knighton Hall wasn’t as well tended as it had once been. The wind slipped in through cracks in the unpainted sections of the wall, chilling Marian to the bone and threatening to extinguish the weak yellow light from the candle flame. It was best to dress warmly, even if you did have somebody pleasant to share your bed.
“Oh?”
“He has … qualities.”
“Qualities?” Marian laughed, torn between amusement and incredulity. Coming from Gwen’s lips, the words sounded almost believable.
“His feelings for you are certainly genuine ...”
“And that’s what matters?”
“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
Despite herself, Marian smiled. She’d have to tell Robin that, and try and echo Gwen’s conviction as she spoke. In so many ways, her maid was a miraculous person. Her indomitable faith in the human spirit both entranced and infuriated Marian, who considered herself as icy as any bitter English evening. It was like watching a person from another world. Gwen would probably be able to think of something nice to say about the Sheriff, if given enough time!
“Will you be going out tonight?” Gwen she asked, interrupting Marian’s reverie.
“No,” Marian replied with a shake of her head, glancing sideways at her maid as she undressed and pulled on her nightdress as quickly as possible, “I think the Nightwatchman needs a rest this evening.”
She was mildly disappointed when she realised that Gwen wasn’t actually watching her. She’d hoped to feel the other woman’s eyes tracing her profile, trying to catch a glimpse of briefly exposed white flesh before it was hidden away by the heavy garment. Unfortunately, her maid was ever professional, bustling around the bedroom and tidying things away.
“Good. You ripped your cloak a few nights ago. I need time to sew it.”
“What would I do without you?” said Marian with a smile, but, as Gwen crossed the room to open the wardrobe and collect the costume, she found herself shaking her head. “No, don’t. Stay with me. I’ll help you sew it ...”
There was something terribly domestic about sitting and sewing industriously by candlelight, and Marian rather liked the idea. She could pretend to be another maid in Knighton Hall, rather than the lady of the house. They’d gossip about the upcoming wedding - the light, airy gossip of two people who are watchers rather than participants, of two people who won’t be effected by anything as vast as the return of King Richard.
No.
That wouldn’t be her, would it? She couldn’t be a non-combatant. (Her life as the Nightwatchman proved that.) She could never be anything other than herself, no matter what her father wished or Sir Guy of Gisbourne believed.
Catching her maid’s - her friend’s - eyes, she realised that Gwen, at least, understood that. She also knew full well that Marian’s sewing skills left a lot to be desired. (Marian herself couldn’t work out why wielding a needle was so difficult, when wielding a sword felt perfectly natural.)
“Don’t look at me like that, Gwen,” she said with a laugh, sitting down on the edge of her bed, “We’ll just talk, then? Anything you like.”
“Anything?” repeated Gwen, a smile flickering across her lips. Marian flushed.
“Within reason,” she promised, and her maid sat down on the bed next to her. Their hands didn’t actually touch, but the sudden closeness sent a shiver of electricity up Marian’s spine. “Although, when I am with you, I find that I’m anything but reasonable ...”
That made Gwen laugh.
“That’s why you need me.”
They both fell silent for a moment. Gwen’s hand moved inexorably, as if being tugged along by an invisible forced, her fingers linking with Marian’s.
“Will you come with me?” Marian asked, softly, “After I’ve married Gisbourne?”
“You know I’d follow you anywhere, my lady.”
“Then I shall bear it.”