The Constant of Sherwood
Summary: Sherwood was a thing too deep, too true in them.
Prompt: Milliway's Bar DE Challenge
Summary: Marian & Will: The Constant of Sherwood
Disclaimer: Robin Hood Myth belongs to the world at large and Robin Hood 2010 belongs to the BBC. Will, from Myth, and Marian, from BBC RH, have met many years ago at Milliway's Bar. This is takes place at the end of all of Marian's canon, after Milliway's Bar helps her get out of the end results of her role in canon.
She had to stop, hand on the tree, to clench her eyes closed at the stabbing pain searing through her head. It was like someone was trying to use a dagger to crawl out of her head. A feeling she would never not know intimately.
"We should return," Will said, from what would be feet away, but it felt like it was through leagues water.
Marian forced her eyes open, even in a blur of vision the colors of Sherwood were right here. Right in way Ambergeldar never could be at their base: beautiful sanctuary, but not home of her heart. "I'm fine. Just a few minutes longer and I won't trouble her anymore."
"I did nae say it for her sake," Will said, carefully, hesitantly, putting an arm around her shoulder.
"You should," Marian said, blinking. She didn't fight the arm, or the hand that settled on the far shoulder from him, as her vision was clearing. "Supposedly whatever is happening to me might be happening to her as well. There were people who said two versions of one person can't exist in the same place. The more hours the worse it can get."
"You would hav' done it for her if you knew of the need," he said, with some concern for her point, but even more point to the words he said.
Need. Need. She looked at the woods around her, around them. The way she hardly looked at anything or anything around her. The way she hadn't in weeks since her door became a sooted silhouette she could never walk through again. Like it was the only air she'd known, and she was suffocating without it.
Eventually she crossed her own arm. The one against him. Raising it to cover the hand on her opposite shoulder. Not like holding hands. Almost like she was clinging to a cliff she could fall off of. Regardless of whether the leaves stayed in focus or not.
Sherwood was a thing too deep, too true in them, and far too big for small words like thank you.