gnimaerd | Fic: Dreamers continued

continued from below...

As her thirteenth birthday came and went, Edward began notice that dresses that had suited her perfectly six months previously were suddenly looking awkward and uncomfortable on the girl.

He had new dresses made for her, but they were equally unsatisfactory, and Edward found himself at a loss as to understand why. Only at court, when he brought Marian – as he occasionally did – to meet with her young friends and chatter and play, and took a moment to compare her with her peers did he spot what was wrong.

The majority of her friends – even those who had no need to – were now wearing dresses cut for women, rather than girls. And Marian’s simple, childish pinafores and dress shirts, though fine enough, were not made to accommodate a gradually filling figure.

Where on earth her breasts had come from without him noticing, he had no idea, but he was suddenly confronted by the very real possibility that Marian was growing up.

The next day, he gave Marian’s nurse a bag of silver and instructions to take the girl to the dressmakers, have her measured properly and have something pretty made.

Marian came bouncing back that evening, acting like her usual self but looking… stunningly like Kate. She twirled about the front room in her new blue dress with its beaded bodice and long belled sleeves and fine silk skirts and clapped her hands delightedly.

“Don’t I look proper, father?”

“You look lovely, my dear.”

“Do you think Robin will like it?”

“I… am sure he will.”

“I shall wear it when he comes with his father next time – and irritate him, by being the better looking of us for once.” And she giggled, impishly, and raced back up to her room to hide her snail collection.

Robin liked the dress a great deal more than Edward was comfortable with.

He was sixteen, and had spent most of the summer tolerating Marian with the charismatic patience of a fond elder brother, laughing at her capering wit and alternating between gentle mockery and genuine sweetness.

But his gaze became that of someone altogether less brotherly when he set eyes on her in that dress for the first time.

Edward watched, half amazed, as Marian suddenly gained the upper hand in whatever game it was Robin and she played with one another, teasing and laughing and enjoying the way Robin stared at her so. Much, now a sturdy youth of some twenty years, rolled his eyes at such behaviour and complained loudly of how he would get indigestion with them bickering so.

“Father, I think I shall marry Robin after all,” Marian informed him, some time later.

“Will you?” Edward was unsure whether to be amused or not, “Why such a sudden change of heart?”

“Well,” Marian shrugged, “he’s quite handsome, really, isn’t he? Stupid, but handsome. I shall just have to do all his sums for him.” Then she smiled for a moment, a look utterly lost in blissful, innocent infatuation – and went back to mutilating her embroidery. Edward could have wept with how much she reminded him of her mother.

In Marian, then, Edward finally recognised something of himself other than their shared blue eyes and turned up nose. Marian had inherited his stormy, unerring and utterly blind passion.

For the next three and a half years Marian and Robin’s relationship fluctuated between unadulterated hatred and absolute devotion. On occasion, rather impressively, they managed both at the same time.

During one memorable instance, with Marian fifteen years of age and Robin nearly nineteen, the pair had been arguing bitterly at the top of the stairs in Knighton Hall, to the point where they had not noticed how close to the edge Marian had gotten before she crashed head first down them.

In one breath Robin went from calling Marian a stubborn little wench to yelping her name and hurling himself down after her so fast that he arrived at the bottom of the stairs almost as quickly as Marian did.

Marian, thankfully, was unharmed (if a little dazed), but Robin continued to fret earnestly over her for the rest of the afternoon.

The Lord of Locksley died suddenly, that summer – Robert tumbled from his horse, re-opened an old wound, took a fever and was dead by the end of the week. Robin came into his titles, and was distraught.

Edward felt the loss of his friend acutely, and grieved too for Robin. The boy was not ready for the responsibilities of his estate, had not been prepared to let his father go, remained listless and deeply depressed for many months afterwards. In court the boy was distracted, disrespectful and unhearing of the other, elder lords. In person, he was mess of anger and grief and a desperate want to hide from reality.

He counselled Robin as often as he could: begged the boy to continue to think of those in Locksley dependant on him; of his father’s legacy; of Marian.

“May I ask something, then, sir?” Robin enquired, during one such talk, after court, in Edward’s chambers at Nottingham castle. They were sitting before the fire, and it was later at night than Edward liked to be up – but Robin was the kind who might be awake and thrumming with life for days at a time without sleep.

Much, now officially in Robin’s employ as his manservant, was snoring on the hearth rug, his pitcher of ale half empty and forgotten next to his head.

“What?” Edward was already sure that he knew ‘what’, but was prepared to allow the boy his spiel, even as his own heart sank with a strange kind of trepidation.

Robin drew breath, and Edward could see him picking his words with care. This was not something the young lord normally did – and he was glad that Robin had the sense to at least apply his mind to the situation.

“Sir Edward, I… I have grown up always knowing you; always knowing your daughter. I can barely remember a time when I did not know Marian and I cannot imagine a world without her,” Robin paused, leant forward, ran his hands nervously tough his hair, “We are… we have always been good friends, Marian and I and I feel I should… no – I – no, this is coming out wrong.” He stood up abruptly, “I envy you your way with words, Edward, because I don’t have much of a tongue for these things.”

“Take a deep breath and say what you want, Robin,” Edward advised, gently.

Robin stepped over Much to stand before the fire, gazing into its deep red embers intently for a moment, before turning around, and fixing Edward with a look more honest and humble than Edward had yet witnessed from him.

“I love Marian, sir, and I know she loves me and I wish to marry her,” he spoke abruptly, looking stark and awkward but utterly, utterly earnest.

Edward found himself wishing that he had some comparable moment in his own life, that he might sympathise a little more with what the boy was going through. As it was, however, he had never had to ask for Kate’s hand. Her guardian had come to him and, somewhat begrudgingly, informed him of the woman’s determination to marry no one but the lord of Knighton – and informed him that he would be marrying Kate whether he wanted it or not, for the girl was refusing to eat until such a thing came to pass.

Edward had, of course, been overjoyed (and somewhat exasperated by Kate’s approach to getting her own way – a hunger strike, of all things!)

But it meant that he had no grounds from which to approach Robin other than that of a lonely and protective father, who was about to have his daughter taken from him.

“Have you discussed this with Marian?” He enquired.

“Yes, sir,” Robin nodded, knitting his hands to stop them fidgeting,

squaring his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. Nineteen years old – and so desperately trying to be a man.

Edward almost wanted to laugh. He had been a lord by the time that he was three years younger than Robin was now, and he was sure that he had had more guile and maturity about him than he suspected that Robin ever would.

“And what did Marian have to say?” Edward raised his eyebrows.

“She said she could not marry me without your blessing, sir,” Robin replied, and Edward felt a sting of surprise.

Marian had never once required his blessing for any of her actions. One of the reasons he had started limiting her time with Robin of late, aside from the fact that the boy’s depression could not be good for her, was that he would not have put it past her to elope with him if the mood so took her. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter.

Perhaps there was more of himself in the girl than he had originally thought.

“Robin,” Edward sighed.

“Please don’t say no,” Robin looked, for moment, utterly terrified, “Sir, I wont live without her – ”

“Do not start in on such extremes,” Edward groaned, “Honestly, the pair of you are so prone to melodrama – ever since you were children; the world ends over such small things for both of you. I am not going to say no, Robin – but you must hear me out.”

“You are not going to say yes, either, though,” Robin’s fists clenched.

Edward felt sure that, had he had a weapon to hand, he might have done something entirely stupid like challenge the older lord to a duel over the issue.

“Robin, please sit down and listen to me, this is important,” Edward remained gently calm.

Robin grimaced but acquiesced, taking his chair once more and fixing Edward with a look that was sharply reminiscent of that of his father whilst trying to win an argument.

“I am not against the idea of you marrying my daughter,” Edward began, evenly, “In fact, it has been in my mind – and was in your father’s mind – since the pair of you were children. If you must know, it was my Kate – Marian’s mother – who originally suggested the match, whilst Marian was still in womb. And certainly the union would be beneficial to all parties involved. I do not doubt your financial means or your ability to provide for her and any… children that result. I do not doubt that you feel very deeply for her and I am grateful for the opportunity afforded to Marian to be wed to somebody who truly cares about her well being. I do not doubt that she loves you also. But Robin… I fear one thing.”

“What?” Robin looked incredulous.

Edward sighed, “You could have asked for Marian’s hand at any point before now. Marian is fifteen – she has been of marriageable age for over two years and I have had others interested who I have had to turn away, largely because I have always known that Marian would refuse any suitor other than you. I would not see her wed that young for her own health anyway, but the fact remains that you have been in love with her for years and your family has always had the means to support your wife and children, whether or not you had inherited your estate. And yet you ask for her hand only now, and this worries me.”

“What does it matter how long I have waited?” Robin asked, beginning to look angry once more, “My father’s death has shocked me – made me see the need to act – made me wish to grow and settle – I did not think of marriage because I was a boy; I am a man now.”

“Death does not make men of us, Robin,” Edward told him, “Life does. And I do not know how much of it you have lived as yet. While I truly do not doubt that you love my daughter, I worry that the only reason you wish to marry her now is because you want another distraction from your own grief. That Marian will, in the end, become a toy of whom you will grow bored when you discover that you truly cannot use her to forget the reality you are now in.”

“That is unfair!” Robin shot to his feet again, outraged.

“Robin, I say this only out of concern for my daughter and for you and your relationship with one another,” Edward felt his patience slipping in the face of the young man’s insolence, but only tightened his tone, making it firmer, refusing to truly lose his temper. “You are not in any emotional state to take a wife or to build the kind of relationship you will need to sustain with her for you both to remain happy and fulfilled for the rest of your lives.”

“So you are saying no,” Robin said, his face flushing with fury.

“No,” Edward corrected him, “I am saying wait. It is my fondest hope that you will marry Marian at some point – but now is not the time. If you truly wish to take her hand then I wish you to wait one year, Robin, and then ask me again.”

“One year?” Robin took a breath.

Edward nodded, “Run your estate, recover from your father’s death, take care of the people of Locksley, and court Marian – officially. I have no objection to a betrothal. I will announce it myself at court next week if you so wish it. But there will be no marriage until you have waited precisely one year and then, with your heart and head in the right place, return to me and ask again. Do you understand?”

Robin swallowed, considering, then nodded, shortly. “A betrothal, then. And I will ask you again, Edward.”

“I hope that you do,” Edward lied, “Now – perhaps it would be best that you took that manservant of yours home and let him get some proper rest.”

Robin nodded, silently, and departed.

“One year?” Marian asked, at breakfast, the next day – and Edward realised that Robin must have found some way of visiting her during the night and relating the conversation with him to her. The thought alarmed him. How often, precisely, was Robin visiting her whilst Edward was unaware of it?

“One year,” he agreed, “Did Robin tell you the reasons behind my request?”

Marian, now so very nearly a woman that it hurt to look at her in those lights when she most resembled Kate, shrugged, stirring her porridge. “You think he is not ready.”

“Indeed.”

“I think it a poor excuse, father,” Marian put down her spoon, steadily.

“An excuse for what?” Something in Marian’s tone had caught him off-guard. It was even. Calm. Measured.

It was precisely the tone he used with lords at council when he was vehemently objecting to their point of view without letting anyone lose their temper and cause the situation to become unmanageable.

“Robin wishes to marry me,” Marian intoned, logically, “He is ready – if he were not, he would not be asking. He wasn’t ready before so the idea didn’t even really cross his mind. But now he wants me. And I want him. And there are absolutely no outstanding reasons why you should have any objection – nothing financial, nothing social or political. We are a perfect match to the point where my own mother pointed it out before I was born.”

“What is your point, Marian?” Edward felt a flare of irritation at her using his own ‘calmly and reasonably stopping you from getting your own way’ voice against him.

“My point is that if you wished to hold onto what remains of your wife in me for a few months longer you might as well have simply said it,” Marian stood up, her tone abruptly mutating into one of absolute acidity, “rather than putting poor Robin through yet more loops of self doubt than his abrupt entrance into the council of lords has already sent him into.”

Edward’s response surprised them both, then and ever afterwards.

“How dare you!” He stood up himself, finding his temper rising up in his throat like bile and choking him, “How dare you!”

“Oh don’t even try to act surprised!” Marian threw up her hands, taking only a moment to look startled at his snapping before matching him toe to toe, “I am fifteen, father – I have some facility for understanding these things! My mother died giving birth to me – all of Nottingham says how much I resemble her – you fear losing me to marriage and grandchildren and you fear losing her – your precious Kate – in me when I leave you!”

“Do not mention her name so lightly!” Edward felt his understanding of the girl who had once been his innocent child slip beyond his grasp – where had this brutal little bitch come from?

“I will mention it as I like!” Marian stamped her foot, her fair face flushing, her eyes dark with fury, “She was my mother and now I am trapped by the ghost of her! Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate!” And she turned and fled to her room, still screaming her mother’s name at the top of her lungs, each ‘Kate’ more venomous than the last.

Edward sank down at the table, and, for some strange reason, found tears in his eyes.

“I hate her sometimes,” Edward stopped short outside Marian’s bedroom that afternoon – Marian had not emerged since breakfast, and her voice now startled him. “Is that terrible?”

“I don’t know,” Robin’s voice somehow did not surprise Edward at all. Leaning back to look through the slightly ajar door (Marian’s door was in the habit of clicking open again when slammed too vigorously and Marian did not always remember to close it properly in such instances) he could see the young lord of Locksley sitting on Marian’s bed, Marian knelt beside him. Their backs were to the door, and they had, between and around them, the spilled out contents of a wooden box that Marian kept under her bed – the little bits and pieces of Kate that Edward had begun imparting to her over the years.

“She died,” Marian said, harshly, “She died and she left me all alone.”

“You are not alone,” Robin told her, giving her a gentle nudge.

“You know what I mean,” Marian picked up a necklace that had once been one Kate’s favourite accessories and dangled it from her fingertips distastefully. “Girls are meant to have mothers, Robin. They need them.”

“Boys need them too, don’t worry,” Robin sighed, “and fathers.”

“Do you remember your mother much, Robin?”

“A little,” Robin shrugged.

“Are you ever angry with her? For dying?”

“She didn’t want to die,” Robin sounded puzzled by the entire concept.

“Lady Kate didn’t want to die either,” Marian dropped the necklace, “but I still want to hate her for it. Not all the time – just… when father uses her as an excuse to be stupid about things, or when he so utterly fails to understand or just… I wish someone understood.”

“I understand,” Robin told her.

“Ah, but father wont listen to you any more than he listens to me,” Marian sighed, then leant forward and kissed him.

Robin pulled her into his lap and kissed her back, wrapping his arms tightly about her. Marian, not at all adverse to this treatment, giggled into his neck and nestled comfortably against his chest. Edward felt something contract in his chest. Part of him wanted very much to charge into the room and rescue his daughter from Robin’s unchecked touch.

“We can still get married,” Robin pointed it, “it’s just going to take a while. Unless you want to elope.”

“And then father will disown us both and could claim that you had kidnapped and raped me and ugh – no,” Marian waved a hand, “It might be fun at the time but it’s too risky, Robin. Even if father’s going to be awkward about it, better to wait. Besides, I said, I’m not doing this without his blessing. He’s my father – I can’t just up and leave him. He needs me.”

Robin stroked her hair back from her face, “I hope Sir Edward appreciates what kind of daughter he has.”

“So long as you appreciate what kind of wife you’re getting,” Marian nudged him, and Robin laughed, and kissed her.

Edward stepped back from the door, and left them in peace.

But to say that he was surprised when Robin left, nine months later, to join King Richard’s crusade in the holy lands, would have been a lie.

And even as he hated Robin, silently, as Marian wept bitterly into his lap, and stormed, and raged, and went cold with hatred, he was quietly, guiltily grateful.

Continued here.