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livingintrinity
21 April 2007 @ 12:10 pm
The pool opened into a bower of sun streamers and green in the shades of fading new spring and the whisper of promised emerald summer. There was a rock formation which jutted upward for twenty feet in the Northern area just beyond them, trees crowning onward from it, and just beyond westerly was a worn path with rivets from cart wheels which wound its way through the dappled grove.

"This," Marian said, with an awe and love that was never, and would never, be tarnished by time. "Is Sherwood forest."
 
 
livingintrinity
22 March 2007 @ 12:15 pm
Marian was staring intently at a perfectly folded pile of clothes on the table near her.

Not touching them.

Specifically.

When Marian came down for breakfast she'd light heartedly told the servitor she really wanted a proper dress more than breakfast tea. The servitor--she'd stop trying to figure if they were he's, she's, it's, etc now--had returned with both. In her utter astonishment she'd stared at the dress and been unable to even say her thanks.

When she could speak, still in shock as she picked the dress up, she ironically made a comment about a perfect nightwatchman's costume.

Then with a laugh she'd taken the dress up to her room and changed.

Along side the tea and breakfast, when she returned in the dress there was another pile of clothes on her table. It looked like dark supple leather, in the perfects browns and blacks of Sherwood at night. There were multiple layers to the pile even.

She hadn't said it to anyone specifically.

But it was there.

And she couldn't bring herself to leave it or touch it.

[OOC: Here for about two hours, then I'm off for work and returning in the mid-evening.]
 
 
livingintrinity
20 March 2007 @ 10:10 pm
Never one for idleness past dark, Marian gathered her mask and arrows.

She needed a real outfit, but the small saving wasn't enough yet.

She made due with what she could filch before donation. The breeches were patched, the long strap of leather mask, the hooded shirt had straps around her arms in places to keep the extra fabric from billowing or catching and the boots one size too large with a hole in each.

Stopping at her fathers cracked door she listened to gentle breathing. Her finger tips graced the wood without moving it, then she turned to go with quiet footfalls.

He'd never know just how much she did this because of and for him.

~*~

She hadn't expected the last man.

Singling out the first two, knocking one down and out with an errant arrow. When the poor man they'd been hounding made it into the clear, she cheered her victory with the smallest sound.

Which had led to the running now.

Thought the darkness. Through the bramble. Looking through black endless for a tree big enough or a hole deep enough.

Foot steps gaining on her.

And she prayed. Heart thudding, lungs aching, legs screaming.

To her mother, to Mary. For help, for hope, for salvation, and rescue.

When the water crashed all around her being tears flooded her eyes shamelessly, even as she couldn't remember why she was crying.
 
 
livingintrinity
When she returned her skirts were wet again.

The sun still shining. The forest quiet save for animals, water and breeze. The tree trunk still behind her.

When she makes it back to the house, the Lady's tell her she should be more careful. So she carefully makes sure not to mention the second forest with it's lodge, or the girls and boys from all over the time.

In part because telling them really would further the tale of 'her spells'.

~*~

When her father comes back for Nottingham he's livid. Because the Lady's told him she fell in the woods. Because she doesn't clarify or deny their story. Because she could have been hurt much worse and alone be unaided.

She knows it from concern but it doesn't stop either of them from snapping at each other.

They can't help but be at odds.

The government is changing. She didn't get married. The people are terrified. She refuses to be 'A Lady'.

~*~

She leaves in the evening to the rookery. To fill the feed and watch the dark birds descend on it until the sun streamers begin to fade. She'd stay longer most nights, but she goes even though she wants to stay. Even though she wants to go back to the other wood.

For her father's sake.

They'll apologize. There will be desserts.

Because he wants her to be his little girl.

Because she knows it's one of the last things that hasn't been taken from him.
 
 
livingintrinity
17 March 2007 @ 01:05 am
When she left the rooms they didn't even whisper anymore. It was no secret that Lady Marian had spells. They blamed it on a weak heart. Said it was failing due to her fathers replacements and being cast aside by her childhood sweetheart. She'd stopped waiting at the door to hear them a year ago. She simply walked out of the house and into Sherwood.

They liked to believe in the spells being dangerous were she pushed too hard, and without her saying anything to refute them, they let her go.

The spells in all truth were moments when her patience finally snapped. Her fingers were tired of the embroidery today, her fathers tart words from breakfast had left a sour taste, and she longed for the sounds of the forest. She walked into the greenery until she couldn't see or hear the house.

Stopping to rest on a tree she lifted her face to letting the sun shower her.....and was surprised to feel water submerge her being.

Panic came first and then curiosity to why she should panic.

She couldn't remember.

Anything really.

She walked through the water and the trees, comforted that there were still trees, toward a shape in the distance. There is no weakness in her absence of thought, though humility and elegance echoed from her every movement.

Her eyes betray a soul too old to be young and too young to be old, which understand in the fog more than was understood previously, even as the lodge's finite appearance causes that truth to slip away once more.

And then she remembers she is Mary; but Marian to those who ask.
 
 
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