Fic: The Sum of Our Choices
Dec. 5th, 2011 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roh_ficsTitle: The Sum of Our Choices (1/10)
Characters: Marian, Robin, Allan, Djaq, Will, Guy of Gisborne, Vaizey, OCs (in approximate order of appearance)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, het
Warnings: None.
Notes: Written for Big Bang 2011 at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rhbigbang. Many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladykate63 for the rush beta job.
Chapter 1. A Woman's Place
Marian sat on a tree stump, shuffling her feet and enjoying the rustle of leaves under her boots. Life in the forest was good, if a bit slower than she was used to. Although the pace was sometimes sped up by the fight against injustice, these battles—little more than skirmishes—were few and far between, and Robin's men were content to mark off time in weeks rather than hours.
Marian was happy, but it was stifling. Robin's company was constant and comforting, but it gave her little time to think, to weigh what she'd seen with her own mind. At night, she'd lie awake on her makeshift bunk, staring at the sky without really seeing, her mind awhirl with all she could be doing if she were still at the castle. But guilt would stab at her and she'd turn away and let sleep claim her.
On this day though, she'd had plenty of time with her own thoughts. It was market day in Nottingham, and Robin had left camp early that morning, taking Little John and Djaq with him. The town would be crowded, and after the market was done, the townspeople would drink and talk, Robin picking up whatever words fell off their loose tongues. Some of the information was gold, but much of it was dross, no more than half-truth and rumour.
She sighed in frustration, and picked up a stone, flinging it at the nearest tree. It made a satisfying thunk before falling to the ground.
“I'm glad I'm not that tree.”
She turned back to find Robin leaning against a gnarled yew, looking bemused. She held a hand out to him. “You're back.”
“A while ago.” He squeezed her hand and raised an eyebrow. “Much says you haven't been back to the camp since morning.”
“I just went for a walk.” She looked away. It was easier to speak to him if she didn't meet his eyes. “I needed to think.”
Robin laughed. “There's not much else to do here but think.”
“So. What happened in town?”
He shrugged. “The same as always. People sold things, other people bought them. And the Sheriff made his weekly sermon.”
Marian laughed. “What was it about this time?”
“False kings.” He gave her a weak smile. “I'll give you a ha'penny if you can guess who he meant.”
“Doesn't that worry you?”
Robin knit his eyebrows, giving her an odd look. “What the Sheriff does worries me more than what he says.”
“But what he says...” Marian let go of his hand and walked away. The distance helped clear her head, made it easier to speak her piece. “It's true, isn't it?”
He gaped at her. “You think the king is false?” He laughed. “You didn't fall and hit your head, did you?”
“No.” She forced herself to look straight at him. “It's not that the king is false, not exactly. But he's not here, is he?”
Robin narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“He's not here. And while he's away, the Sheriff takes every chance to remind people of that fact, to remind them who really takes care of them, watches over them.” She crossed her arms, defiant. “It's why he's winning.”
“He's not winning. He's--”
“Stop it. Just because you manage to give a villager a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese, it doesn't mean you've defeated the Sheriff.” She paced furiously, trying to calm her jangling nerves so she could present her thoughts to Robin properly.
He caught up with her and put his hands to her shoulders. “It's not just that though. We escaped that business with Carter. And he's on his way to the king now with--”
She pulled out of his grasp and glared at him. “You're not really his quarry. You're only an annoyance for him, a fly he can't seem to swat away. His real target is the king, and he gets closer all the time.”
“Closer?”
“Have you ever thought about what Vaizey does when he's not cutting out peasants' tongues? He talks to people. Powerful people. Men with lands and money, but little scruple. Everyday, he wins one more over to Prince John's banner.”
“There's nothing I can do about that, Marian. But it will all change when the king returns. You'll see.”
“There is something you can do. You can do what the Sheriff does. He trades in information, and you should too.”
Catching the look of confusion on Robin's face, she let out a small sigh. “He influences people that you don't because he hears things that you don't, sees things that you don't.”
He nodded, finally understanding. But he did not meet her eyes when he spoke. “So you want to be my ears, do you?”
“Yes. And maybe your eyes too.”
He hesitated a long while, and when he spoke, his voice was almost a hush. “Are you so unhappy here? With me?”
“Don't, Robin. You know this isn't about that, about us.”
“Isn't it?”
“No. I'm perfectly...content here.” She shuffled her feet, worried about him, for him. “But I can't be one of your foot soldiers.”
“I'm not asking you to be--”
“It doesn't matter. It's just that taking orders, following directions...it's not what I'm good at. I'm not good at letting someone else lead.”
“You might be, if you tried.” He sounded like a petulant child, so she walked back over to him and took his hand, trying to soften the blow of her words.
“Maybe. But I've been doing things my own way for a long time now. I've gotten used to it.” She gave him a pointed look. “Just like you.”
He smiled a little. “I can't say you're wrong there.” He gazed at their joined hands, before raising one to his lips and kissing her fingers softly. It was a wordless gesture of affection, of regret, and she accepted it in the same vein. “Where will you go? Not back to the castle, surely.”
“No,” she said, with a chuckle. “I don't think I'm welcome there anymore. But I was thinking...”
“I already don't like the sound of it.”
She laughed and punched his arm playfully, a gentle jest. “I told Gisborne I was going to Ripley Convent, to mourn my father. Perhaps I should make truth of the lie.”
“You'd make a terrible nun. Even just as pretense.”
“I'm not going to pretend. I'll be Marian of Knighton, and I'll have a perfectly good reason for being there. I'm all alone in the world, and an abbey is safer for a noble woman than even her own home.”
“And if you need to get out?”
She laughed. “I'm sure I can find a way.”
He joined in her laughter, but when it ran out, the silence stretched awkwardly between them.
He squeezed her hand. “We're at a fork in the road, and we're always taking different paths. Aren't we?”
She squeezed back. “Maybe, but it's not forever. The paths will meet again. On the other side.”
“The other side of what?”
She paused, uncertain. “I don't know.”
–
Two days later
Ripley Convent, Nottinghamshire
Marian knelt at the altar, a prayer veil wrapped tightly around her hair. She tried to muster what piety she could, but it was a difficult task. After a few moments of distracted pretense, she gave up and strode out of the chapel. She was not here to win God's praise, but to win His battle against evil, and prayer alone would hardly be enough.
She kept her eyes cast down as she walked the narrow passageway of the cloisters, the silent sisters of Ripley gliding past her like ghosts. The place was renowned for its austerity, and secluded within its four walls, Marian began to regret her decision to leave the forest. She'd hoped that the convent would be a hotbed of intrigue, a place where political considerations were as important as spiritual ones. This was certainly true at Kirklees Priory. But Ripley was as dull as the gray autumn sky outside its windows, and not much of anything had happened in the last fortnight.
Still, it was not an entirely bad place. She had freedom here she'd never expected to have. Within the convent, nobody questioned her actions or her whereabouts. She was never asked to explain her behavior, and she had no fear of being caught at anything. The convent also had a small library with shelves crammed with illuminations and old parchment, and Marian had passed hours reading scrolls of arcane maps and old histories she'd never seen before. Not for the first time, she was grateful her father had thought to educate and train her as if she were his son. And for a time, I was his heir. Now all that's gone...
She shook her head. It was gone for now, but she'd redeem Knighton and all her father's wealth once the king returned. She was not greedy by nature, and the lack of wealth was no great hardship, but the Sheriff's seizure of their holdings was an injustice against her family, and she could not forgive Vaizey so easily.
She could feel her blood warm with anger, so she took in a few quick breaths and schooled herself back to calm as she entered the hall where the nuns dined. The place was nearly empty, most having finished their midday meal. But a few women—mostly young novices—lagged behind, still eating the last of their meal and talking in loud tones. Mealtime was the only time of day the women in the convent were afforded this freedom, and they were making good use of it.
One of the novices waved in her direction. Marian smiled weakly in her direction, racking her brain to remember the girl's name. Servilia? Sylvia? Sybilla! That was it.
“Will you join us, Lady Marian?”
Marian shook her head. “No. I'm afraid I'm not very hungry.”
Sybilla laughed. “Oh, I don't know how you can even say such a thing. Food is the only vice still allowed us, and it seems wrong not to indulge it.”
Murmurs of gluttony being a sin passed around the table, but Sybilla dismissed them with a cluck of her tongue and a peal of laughter. Marian joined in, liking her. Sybilla was young, younger even than Marian, with a cheery demeanor and a pleasantly round face that would probably run to fat as she got older. But the most striking thing about her was her bright red hair, and although it was mostly covered by her novice veil, not even the cloth could keep all of it in, and shocks of red spilled out around her face.
“If you insist, I suppose I could eat.”
Someone pushed a board with a half-cut loaf of bread down the table, and Marian cut off a piece and chewed thoughtfully. It put the bread in the castle to shame. No wonder our clergy is so fat. They eat better than even the nobles...
“Eat what you can now. There may not be any tomorrow.”
“Why not?” As far as Marian knew, it was not a fast day, and what other reason would the convent have for running out of bread?
“The lady abbess is receiving visitors tomorrow. It happens once a month, but she doesn't like us to be seen. I think she worries we'll be a source of temptation for a man with a wicked heart.” Sybilla sighed. “We get a bowl of porridge in our rooms in the morning, and naught more until the visitors leave.”
Marian could not contain her curiosity. “Who are the visitors?”
Sybilla shrugged. “Goodness knows. Besides, it's not our place to know these things.”
Marian smiled as genially as she could. “That's where you're wrong. It's always a woman's place to know things. All things.”
--
The visitors turned out to be mostly merchants and goodwives, those who sold their wares to the convent and bought the convent's goods in return. They came once a month to settle their accounts with the lady abbess and her cellarer. Marian had spent much of the morning wandering the cloisters and trying to catch a glimpse of those who came and went, but it had been disappointing and by midday, she'd given up.
She was on her way to the library when she caught the distinct sound of horse hooves clattering up the pathway, and she quickened her step towards the gate, careful to appear discrete and indifferent.
The convent's gate was a low wooden door stuck in a side wall, and cleverly hidden from outside view, but the riders seem to be aware of it as they knocked loudly and were admitted only moments later. They've been here before, Marian thought, craning her neck to get a better look. There were two men, the first of whom was tall and richly dressed but otherwise unremarkable. Marian did not recognize him nor the device he wore on his cloak. The other was Prince John's toady, and Marian knew him instantly.
Sir Jasper! He came to the castle frequently to consult with the Sheriff, and he was as odious as any man Marian had ever encountered. She smiled now, remembering how Guy, in a rare moment of humour, had called the man Sir Jape, and now Marian could think of him as nothing else.
She stifled her laughter, but as she was craning her neck to get a closer look, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Lady Marian.” It was one of the senior nuns, and the stern expression on her face was all the information Marian needed.
“Perhaps you should go within now. It is not...seemly for you to wander the corridors.”
Marian bristled, and the words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. “I am not a prisoner here, I hope.”
“No, but you came here to be safe, and we can hardly be idle when you put yourself in danger.” The sister looked pointedly in the direction of the gate.
Marian cast down her eyes and feigned contrition. “You are right, sister. I should be more careful. Perhaps I'll return to my rooms now.”
The nun nodded, a smug expression on her face as she sidled away. Marian swore under her breath and wondered how she'd get to the bottom of this mystery.
--
(TBC)
Characters: Marian, Robin, Allan, Djaq, Will, Guy of Gisborne, Vaizey, OCs (in approximate order of appearance)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, het
Warnings: None.
Notes: Written for Big Bang 2011 at
rhbigbang. Many thanks to ladykate63 for the rush beta job. Chapter 1. A Woman's Place
Marian sat on a tree stump, shuffling her feet and enjoying the rustle of leaves under her boots. Life in the forest was good, if a bit slower than she was used to. Although the pace was sometimes sped up by the fight against injustice, these battles—little more than skirmishes—were few and far between, and Robin's men were content to mark off time in weeks rather than hours.
Marian was happy, but it was stifling. Robin's company was constant and comforting, but it gave her little time to think, to weigh what she'd seen with her own mind. At night, she'd lie awake on her makeshift bunk, staring at the sky without really seeing, her mind awhirl with all she could be doing if she were still at the castle. But guilt would stab at her and she'd turn away and let sleep claim her.
On this day though, she'd had plenty of time with her own thoughts. It was market day in Nottingham, and Robin had left camp early that morning, taking Little John and Djaq with him. The town would be crowded, and after the market was done, the townspeople would drink and talk, Robin picking up whatever words fell off their loose tongues. Some of the information was gold, but much of it was dross, no more than half-truth and rumour.
She sighed in frustration, and picked up a stone, flinging it at the nearest tree. It made a satisfying thunk before falling to the ground.
“I'm glad I'm not that tree.”
She turned back to find Robin leaning against a gnarled yew, looking bemused. She held a hand out to him. “You're back.”
“A while ago.” He squeezed her hand and raised an eyebrow. “Much says you haven't been back to the camp since morning.”
“I just went for a walk.” She looked away. It was easier to speak to him if she didn't meet his eyes. “I needed to think.”
Robin laughed. “There's not much else to do here but think.”
“So. What happened in town?”
He shrugged. “The same as always. People sold things, other people bought them. And the Sheriff made his weekly sermon.”
Marian laughed. “What was it about this time?”
“False kings.” He gave her a weak smile. “I'll give you a ha'penny if you can guess who he meant.”
“Doesn't that worry you?”
Robin knit his eyebrows, giving her an odd look. “What the Sheriff does worries me more than what he says.”
“But what he says...” Marian let go of his hand and walked away. The distance helped clear her head, made it easier to speak her piece. “It's true, isn't it?”
He gaped at her. “You think the king is false?” He laughed. “You didn't fall and hit your head, did you?”
“No.” She forced herself to look straight at him. “It's not that the king is false, not exactly. But he's not here, is he?”
Robin narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“He's not here. And while he's away, the Sheriff takes every chance to remind people of that fact, to remind them who really takes care of them, watches over them.” She crossed her arms, defiant. “It's why he's winning.”
“He's not winning. He's--”
“Stop it. Just because you manage to give a villager a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese, it doesn't mean you've defeated the Sheriff.” She paced furiously, trying to calm her jangling nerves so she could present her thoughts to Robin properly.
He caught up with her and put his hands to her shoulders. “It's not just that though. We escaped that business with Carter. And he's on his way to the king now with--”
She pulled out of his grasp and glared at him. “You're not really his quarry. You're only an annoyance for him, a fly he can't seem to swat away. His real target is the king, and he gets closer all the time.”
“Closer?”
“Have you ever thought about what Vaizey does when he's not cutting out peasants' tongues? He talks to people. Powerful people. Men with lands and money, but little scruple. Everyday, he wins one more over to Prince John's banner.”
“There's nothing I can do about that, Marian. But it will all change when the king returns. You'll see.”
“There is something you can do. You can do what the Sheriff does. He trades in information, and you should too.”
Catching the look of confusion on Robin's face, she let out a small sigh. “He influences people that you don't because he hears things that you don't, sees things that you don't.”
He nodded, finally understanding. But he did not meet her eyes when he spoke. “So you want to be my ears, do you?”
“Yes. And maybe your eyes too.”
He hesitated a long while, and when he spoke, his voice was almost a hush. “Are you so unhappy here? With me?”
“Don't, Robin. You know this isn't about that, about us.”
“Isn't it?”
“No. I'm perfectly...content here.” She shuffled her feet, worried about him, for him. “But I can't be one of your foot soldiers.”
“I'm not asking you to be--”
“It doesn't matter. It's just that taking orders, following directions...it's not what I'm good at. I'm not good at letting someone else lead.”
“You might be, if you tried.” He sounded like a petulant child, so she walked back over to him and took his hand, trying to soften the blow of her words.
“Maybe. But I've been doing things my own way for a long time now. I've gotten used to it.” She gave him a pointed look. “Just like you.”
He smiled a little. “I can't say you're wrong there.” He gazed at their joined hands, before raising one to his lips and kissing her fingers softly. It was a wordless gesture of affection, of regret, and she accepted it in the same vein. “Where will you go? Not back to the castle, surely.”
“No,” she said, with a chuckle. “I don't think I'm welcome there anymore. But I was thinking...”
“I already don't like the sound of it.”
She laughed and punched his arm playfully, a gentle jest. “I told Gisborne I was going to Ripley Convent, to mourn my father. Perhaps I should make truth of the lie.”
“You'd make a terrible nun. Even just as pretense.”
“I'm not going to pretend. I'll be Marian of Knighton, and I'll have a perfectly good reason for being there. I'm all alone in the world, and an abbey is safer for a noble woman than even her own home.”
“And if you need to get out?”
She laughed. “I'm sure I can find a way.”
He joined in her laughter, but when it ran out, the silence stretched awkwardly between them.
He squeezed her hand. “We're at a fork in the road, and we're always taking different paths. Aren't we?”
She squeezed back. “Maybe, but it's not forever. The paths will meet again. On the other side.”
“The other side of what?”
She paused, uncertain. “I don't know.”
–
Two days later
Ripley Convent, Nottinghamshire
Marian knelt at the altar, a prayer veil wrapped tightly around her hair. She tried to muster what piety she could, but it was a difficult task. After a few moments of distracted pretense, she gave up and strode out of the chapel. She was not here to win God's praise, but to win His battle against evil, and prayer alone would hardly be enough.
She kept her eyes cast down as she walked the narrow passageway of the cloisters, the silent sisters of Ripley gliding past her like ghosts. The place was renowned for its austerity, and secluded within its four walls, Marian began to regret her decision to leave the forest. She'd hoped that the convent would be a hotbed of intrigue, a place where political considerations were as important as spiritual ones. This was certainly true at Kirklees Priory. But Ripley was as dull as the gray autumn sky outside its windows, and not much of anything had happened in the last fortnight.
Still, it was not an entirely bad place. She had freedom here she'd never expected to have. Within the convent, nobody questioned her actions or her whereabouts. She was never asked to explain her behavior, and she had no fear of being caught at anything. The convent also had a small library with shelves crammed with illuminations and old parchment, and Marian had passed hours reading scrolls of arcane maps and old histories she'd never seen before. Not for the first time, she was grateful her father had thought to educate and train her as if she were his son. And for a time, I was his heir. Now all that's gone...
She shook her head. It was gone for now, but she'd redeem Knighton and all her father's wealth once the king returned. She was not greedy by nature, and the lack of wealth was no great hardship, but the Sheriff's seizure of their holdings was an injustice against her family, and she could not forgive Vaizey so easily.
She could feel her blood warm with anger, so she took in a few quick breaths and schooled herself back to calm as she entered the hall where the nuns dined. The place was nearly empty, most having finished their midday meal. But a few women—mostly young novices—lagged behind, still eating the last of their meal and talking in loud tones. Mealtime was the only time of day the women in the convent were afforded this freedom, and they were making good use of it.
One of the novices waved in her direction. Marian smiled weakly in her direction, racking her brain to remember the girl's name. Servilia? Sylvia? Sybilla! That was it.
“Will you join us, Lady Marian?”
Marian shook her head. “No. I'm afraid I'm not very hungry.”
Sybilla laughed. “Oh, I don't know how you can even say such a thing. Food is the only vice still allowed us, and it seems wrong not to indulge it.”
Murmurs of gluttony being a sin passed around the table, but Sybilla dismissed them with a cluck of her tongue and a peal of laughter. Marian joined in, liking her. Sybilla was young, younger even than Marian, with a cheery demeanor and a pleasantly round face that would probably run to fat as she got older. But the most striking thing about her was her bright red hair, and although it was mostly covered by her novice veil, not even the cloth could keep all of it in, and shocks of red spilled out around her face.
“If you insist, I suppose I could eat.”
Someone pushed a board with a half-cut loaf of bread down the table, and Marian cut off a piece and chewed thoughtfully. It put the bread in the castle to shame. No wonder our clergy is so fat. They eat better than even the nobles...
“Eat what you can now. There may not be any tomorrow.”
“Why not?” As far as Marian knew, it was not a fast day, and what other reason would the convent have for running out of bread?
“The lady abbess is receiving visitors tomorrow. It happens once a month, but she doesn't like us to be seen. I think she worries we'll be a source of temptation for a man with a wicked heart.” Sybilla sighed. “We get a bowl of porridge in our rooms in the morning, and naught more until the visitors leave.”
Marian could not contain her curiosity. “Who are the visitors?”
Sybilla shrugged. “Goodness knows. Besides, it's not our place to know these things.”
Marian smiled as genially as she could. “That's where you're wrong. It's always a woman's place to know things. All things.”
--
The visitors turned out to be mostly merchants and goodwives, those who sold their wares to the convent and bought the convent's goods in return. They came once a month to settle their accounts with the lady abbess and her cellarer. Marian had spent much of the morning wandering the cloisters and trying to catch a glimpse of those who came and went, but it had been disappointing and by midday, she'd given up.
She was on her way to the library when she caught the distinct sound of horse hooves clattering up the pathway, and she quickened her step towards the gate, careful to appear discrete and indifferent.
The convent's gate was a low wooden door stuck in a side wall, and cleverly hidden from outside view, but the riders seem to be aware of it as they knocked loudly and were admitted only moments later. They've been here before, Marian thought, craning her neck to get a better look. There were two men, the first of whom was tall and richly dressed but otherwise unremarkable. Marian did not recognize him nor the device he wore on his cloak. The other was Prince John's toady, and Marian knew him instantly.
Sir Jasper! He came to the castle frequently to consult with the Sheriff, and he was as odious as any man Marian had ever encountered. She smiled now, remembering how Guy, in a rare moment of humour, had called the man Sir Jape, and now Marian could think of him as nothing else.
She stifled her laughter, but as she was craning her neck to get a closer look, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Lady Marian.” It was one of the senior nuns, and the stern expression on her face was all the information Marian needed.
“Perhaps you should go within now. It is not...seemly for you to wander the corridors.”
Marian bristled, and the words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. “I am not a prisoner here, I hope.”
“No, but you came here to be safe, and we can hardly be idle when you put yourself in danger.” The sister looked pointedly in the direction of the gate.
Marian cast down her eyes and feigned contrition. “You are right, sister. I should be more careful. Perhaps I'll return to my rooms now.”
The nun nodded, a smug expression on her face as she sidled away. Marian swore under her breath and wondered how she'd get to the bottom of this mystery.
--
(TBC)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 04:03 pm (UTC)I have a fairly detailed outline for this story, so I know where it's going, but I'm sure the execution will be the hard thing. I love writing Marian though, so it should be fun.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 10:35 pm (UTC)I'm looking forward to finishing it, hopefully before 2013, lol.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 03:22 am (UTC)But I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2011-12-07 07:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 09:05 am (UTC)Definitely curious to see how this develops. I kind of like that Marian decides to correct, ex post facto, her lie to Guy. ;) (Yes, my ship is showing.)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 02:49 pm (UTC)