I have been writing Robin Hood stories since the mid-1950’s so I was really excited when the Slash Advent Calendar issued a Robin Hood challenge for Christmas Eve 2003.   This story probably comes as close to being a Mary Sue (or in this case Mary Ann) story as I will ever write; but I have to admit it was fun.   Please do not let your dislike for this genre keep you from reading this.   It is rated R, and does contain slash.

Beta:  Julia, Tol, Becky and Uber-D.

 

LAYOVER

Adam Pierson slowly closed the paperback novel he had been reading and placed it on the seat next to him.  He had no idea how much longer the layover in Atlanta was going to be extended and knew that soon his much coveted extra seat would be claimed by some exhausted traveler willing to break the “every-other-place-unless-you-are-traveling-together” rule in place at most United States airports.  With bad weather both in the Northeast and central-plains, he had serious doubts that he would be departing anytime soon.  If only he could have found a flight that went through Cincinnati or Houston, he would have been in Seacouver now.   Who would have thought on a flight from Paris to Seacouver you’d end up stranded in Atlanta?

Even more disconcerting was that, ever since the plane had landed, he had noticed the buzz of an immortal somewhere in this wing of the terminal.  It was reassuring that the increased security in airports all over the world had made them one place where swords were probably not available.   Still not willing to rely on either the vigilance of airport employees or the peace and goodwill of the holiday season, he specifically chose a seat in the back of the gate area near the person he deemed least likely to be in search of his head.  Sure he could have sat next to one of the family groups -- they were sure bets; but he also valued his peace and quiet.  This woman seemed quite safe.

The woman was past middle age, but not yet elderly.  Probably going to visit her grandchildren.  One thing that he had noticed recently was that, while people were living longer, they were looking younger.  The old classifications of the stages of life had to be refitted and re-aligned.  After all, he was five thousand years old and looked thirty-five.  Why did it matter to him how old she was anyway?  He wasn’t going to interact with her, except maybe to ask her to watch his seat when he went to the restroom.  She was well dressed and well groomed, and looked friendly – and mortal.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Mary Ann Walters noticed him even before she felt the buzz.   Of course, after surveying the crowd, he had taken the seat one over from her.  She was used to that, probably because she looked so very safe. 

 

Talk about the synchronicity.   Her flight, which was supposed to go through Detroit, had been diverted to Atlanta.   When it became apparent that there was no way she was going to be able to make a connection to where she was supposed to be going but had no desire to go, she rebooked and planned to head home.  Her husband could deal with Christmas with his family. She’d spend the holiday at home in Columbus, if she would ever get there.

She feigned reading her manuscript and wondered if she should say something to him.  It might put him at ease to know that the cause of his headache.  He might be interested to know that, while she was almost eight hundred years old and had had 47 husbands, she had absolutely no interest in taking his head.  She had never played the game – not once.   She knew the rules; it was just that others were either not astute enough to realize that she was the immortal present or figured that little could be gained from taking the quickening of an old woman.  

The southern accent on the desk attendant was so strong that she couldn’t understand exactly what had been said.  The groans of the fellow passengers did the translating for her.  No decision had been made to cancel the flight; the matter would be updated in approximately two hours.

Yet another plane was spilling its contents out of the jetway.  She noticed that most of the passengers checked the departure schedule or joined the queue at the ticket desk indicating that Atlanta had not been the flight’s original destination.  The gate’s population was about to be increased by another seventy people who would be angry and looking for seats while they waited for a break in the weather and the flight schedule gridlock.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Adam moved over next to the woman to give his seat to a mother with a thankfully sleeping toddler.  He noticed a quick glance and a faint smile and was far too much of a gentleman not to say something.

“Looks like we are existing in close proximity for a while.  I’m Adam Pierson.”

“Mary Ann.”  She answered softly and did something totally unexpected.  She reached over and took his hand in hers and softly rubbed her fingers against its back.  It was not the caring, motherly pat of an older woman but something else that took him a while to recognize and left him even more confused.

*  *  *  *  *

WINTER SOLSTICE – 1207 – Nottingham, England.

Morning, or what was necessitated by the rigorous schedule as the time to awaken, had come far too quickly after a night of rigorous sexual activity.  Adam lay naked on the bed and watched as the man with whom he had spent the night donned his rich clothing and adjusted the ornate cross he wore around his neck.  Leaning over for one quick kiss, he pressed his body against Adam’s and hugged him so hard that the jewels made depressions in his partner’s skin.

“I guess that is one way to make you wear the symbol of our lord.”

Adam looked down at the rapidly fading marks.  “I’ll have the mark for a while, I fathom; but the symbol is purely that of your lord.”

“How am I ever going to hold face with those I seek to police when I share my bed with a foreigner, a pagan. . .” 

“And a man.”  Adam added.  “One would think it best if it is kept our secret.  I would think my refusal to wear a crucifix around my neck minor compared to the appendages I carry here.”  He cupped his balls and lifted them slightly.

“Are you attempting to lure me back into bed?  One would think that you are in league with the outlaws and wish to keep me from my profession?”

“You know I am in league with the man who would be your king, and I just want to keep you in bed a while longer.”  Adam rolled his eyes skyward as he stretched his body seductively.  Despite his lack of physical attractiveness, this middle-aged man had remarkable bedroom skills particularly for one who feigned inexperience.  Adam’s charged tasks had been completed and he planned to move on that day.  One last fuck for the road would not be unpleasant. 

“I am the High Sheriff of Nottingham and I have work to do.   I would suggest you get dressed and on your way before the chambermaids arrive.”

“I shall not see you until after the new year then; let us hope it will bring the prosperity and progress you seek.”

Adam extracted himself from the bedclothes and filled the chamber pot almost to overflowing before he blew the sheriff a quick kiss and disappeared out the bedroom window.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Marian noticed Robin watching her as she wrapped the straw baby in some strips of homespun cloth and tucked it in the feed trough. 

“When will I see you giving that loving care to our child?”

She looked up into his eyes hoped for a smile.  There was none, and she felt tears forming in her own.

“You are an outlaw.  You live in the forest. I don’t see a house or even a cottage.  Do you really desire to father a child that would be bedded in a feed trough not because of ritual but because of necessity? To live a hut surrounded by feral men?”

“I am mortal.  A child would carry on my line.  One day I expect to die maybe of a wound like this.” 

“You’re healing fine, Robin.  Not like some of your men.  We’re all going to die, but hopefully not anytime soon.”

“You and I have been lovers since . . .”

“A very long time Robin.  Don’t you think my memory of our couplings is as keen as yours?  Don’t you think I cringe every time someone calls me Maid?”

“There is a word for those between the state of maid and mother.”

“I know. . . wife . . . but you don’t seem in any hurry to bestow that status upon me either.”

“Actually I was thinking wench.”

She thought about commenting about how much he loved this particularly high-born wench who would bring him drinks, spend the night in his bed of leaves and twigs with her legs wrapped around him, wash and mend his clothes, endure the taunts of his fellow men, and still. . . She had never been sure if he really wanted a wife or just a woman at his beck and call; but she knew for some perverse reasoning known only to men, that he wanted the one thing she could not give him, an heir.

*  *  *  *  *

Another flight delay was announced along with a suggestion that those with lodging available in the Atlanta area might wish to exchange their tickets for two free tickets at a later date and the comfort of their own beds.  Adam noticed that the woman sitting beside him did not volunteer.

“I take it that you, like myself, are, shall we say, ‘laid-over’.”  He joked.

“I’ve already canceled my travel plans.  Now I am just trying to get home.   I have to admit I am in no hurry, although I do not relish the idea of sleeping in an airport.”

Adam crossed his arms behind his head and stretched his legs out in front of him.  “I really, really need to sleep.   I’m supposed to be on the final leg of a flight from Paris.  Been up about twenty hours right now and getting a little tired.  Can you watch out for me, if you see someone with a sword coming to chop off my head, hit him with your purse, will you.”

She laughed as he closed his eyes. 

*  *  *  *  *

Adam commandeered one of the sheriff’s horses and rode off into the forest.  He had come to Nottingham as an aide of Prince John to teach sword skills to the sheriff’s men in their fight against the outlaw Robin Hood.    The visit had resulted not only in a better-trained cadre but a pleasant, if unexpected, sexual encounter.  Who would have thought that the Sheriff of Nottingham could be seduced so easily or be such fun in bed? 

Still Adam realized it was time for him to return to London. Tonight the Sheriff would be spending his time with his fellow Englishmen in celebration of the birth of the son of their god.  Listening to prayers and performing rote verbal exchanges in a language none of them could speak.  It wasn’t even the language of the man they called their savior.  Why didn’t priests say mass in Greek or Aramaic?  It would have been just as mysterious and a lot more authentic.  Why did they worship in the language of the Romans who had crucified him?

He knew that some of his kind, especially some of the younger ones, had embraced this new religion.  He had seen sects and gods come and go over his lifetime and was not convinced; but at least the Christians’ fondness for building churches had created many more places of refuge on holy ground.

There was an argument, that he hoped he would not have to make, that Sherwood Forest itself was holy ground.  At least it used to be when the druids had been there.  He did not feel like carrying a sword tonight. On a night that served as the cusp between the creation celebrations of two area religions, he hoped that he would not be called upon to defend himself or convince his aggressor that the forest was holy. 

The four men who attacked came out of nowhere.  It was as if they were part of the trees and then had him surrounded.  He had not seen such skilled woodland denizens since the Amazon nation.  Fortunately, they did not seem to be immortals or in search of his head.

“I am just a traveler on my way back to London.”  He said as he dismounted and surrendered to them.

“We know who you are.  You are the man sent by Prince John to help train the Sheriff’s men.  We have heard of your skill with a sword.”

“I am unarmed.  I travel without a sword on this holy night.”

“Then why ain’t you in church with the rest of the sheriff’s slugs?”  The big man asked roughly.

“I said the night was holy, not . . .”

“You’re not a damn Druid are you?”

He shook his head and looked to the ground.

“Well, let’s take him back to camp.  Maybe if we leave him strung up overnight he’ll suddenly find some holy insight as to what the sheriff’s men are using on their arrows that is making us so damn sick.”

“Or better yet,” he looked the man in the face with the confidence of a peer.  “I have been trained in healing arts.  Perhaps I can help.”

“Yea, you’ll probably be as successful as Friar Tuck and Maid Marian’s prayers.  Our men are dying . . . so we can use any help we can get.” 

*  *   *   *   *

Mary Ann watched as Adam’s long eyelashes flickered and his hazel eyes opened.  He straightened his arms as she watched a stretch quiver through all of his long linear body.  It was particularly interesting as it passed through his groin, pushing his cock against the soft denim of his jeans.  She was an old lady, but she still liked to look.

“I need a rack,” he said with a smile.

“Airport chairs do not make the best of beds.”

“Not that kind of rack, the kind they used to put prisoners on in the Dark Ages.  Pull all the stiffness out of my joints.”

“I doubt that many people found the rack particularly comforting; despite the fact that it might have had offered some relief from the inflexibility.  It was only temporary . . . until they were torn apart.” 

“Ah, but it was good while it lasted,” he said with a big smile.

She laughed.

*  *  *

Dark Ages.  The aptness of the term was illustrated by the clearing where his attackers took him.  There were numerous civilizations in which he had lived where animals existed in better conditions those in which these men were now living.   Several men sat huddled around a smoking fire and a few lay directly on the damp muddy ground.

He was surprised that the leader of the group was younger than most of his followers.  He, too, sported a bandaged wound and the tell-tale sweat-beads on his forehead that indicated a fever.  

“Look here, Robin, we’ve captured Prince John’s weapons expert.” 

The man turned his head lethargically. 

“I admit to being him.  More importantly, I’m also a healer.  I hope I am not too late to help your men.”

“Tell us what the Sheriff is putting on the arrows.  The wounds are not healing.”

“I don’t believe the cause lies with the sheriff, but with your bandages.”  He pulled the blood soaked bandage from the leader’s arm and surveyed the wound.  It didn’t look too bad.  “Do you ever wash them, let alone boil them?”

The men looked at him questioningly.

“So I thought.  I know the supply of cloth is limited, but a dirty bandage is worse than no bandage.  Gather them up and boil some water.  Wash them, and the wounds.  I think you will see a difference.”

He was surprised when the group followed his orders.  He reckoned that they were used to following or else tired of being sick.  

“Well, if you are successful in helping my men live, you may too.  Perhaps it’s the holiday spirit.  My name is Robin.”

“Adam.”

“I know your name.  It is whispered all over the shire, and not just because of your skill with a sword.”

“Idle gossip of town harpies.”

“They say you are the consort of the Prince, and the sheriff. . . “

“And the big bad wolf . . . and the devil . . . I am sure.”

“Who are you?  What are you?”

“I have no reason to tell you.”

“You do if you want to live.”

“I can assure you, that my living has very, very little to do with my telling you details about my life.”

“What then?”

“Give me something to drink besides water and a little privacy and perhaps we can discuss it further.”

*  *  *

“Well, while you were sleeping, Adam, night came.”  He rubbed his eyes and slowly remembered he was in the Atlanta airport talking to a woman named Mary Ann.

“They cancelled all the flights and informed us that they were very sorry that all area overnight accommodations were filled.  Then they offered to bus us, without our luggage of course, to some motels about 30 miles from here.  A few people took them up on it, mostly those with children.  I figured you wouldn’t mind staying here.

“They also gave us a delicious box lunch.  Tuna fish sandwich, greasy potato chips, bruised apple, you know . . . Yours is under my seat.  I protected it well.” 

“I’m sure it was difficult. Thank you very much, Mary Ann.   I feel a little better.  Rested, but I think. . .”

“I’ll watch your seat, it’s about half way down that corridor.”

“So you read minds too.”

“Hard not to read a man’s mind when he has to pee.”

*  *  *  *

Adam had honestly expected to spend the night on the road to London or perhaps if the weather had turned bad in an inn along the way.   Had he taken lodging then perhaps he would have had a drink of two -- most likely ale.  It was very unlikely that he would have consumed an entire jug of some home made liquor that bore the smoke of peat fires in every sip.  Even drunk, he would probably have spent the night alone.  He preferred relationships that lasted more than over night whether they were with men or women.   But tonight was clear and moonlit, and instead of riding the London Road, he was in the middle of Sherwood Forest, pleasantly drunk, and enjoying a sexual romp with the outlaw Robin Hood.

Rumors and reputations were hard to avoid.   It wasn’t a seduction that he would probably long remember.  If it were not for the fact that he had also bedded the man’s archenemy, it probably would have melded into the mass of sexual acts over his long life.   It was only remembered because it served as an indication that Britain was getting too small and that he should move back to the continent.  The heavy forests that lay beyond the homeland of the Germanic tribes held a fascination and promise of anonymity when he left England.  He pledged to himself, once again, that the next time he would be forced to move it would be because he was in need of hiding his immortal status and not because of his sexual activities.

*  *  *  *  *

“Damn, they closed the bar.”  Adam muttered when he sat down in his saved seat.  “They did have popcorn though.  I bought some for both of us.

”Thanks.  I think the bar closing might have something to do with it being Christmas Eve, but it might also be due to the fact that they don’t want drunks running up and down the halls. Can you imagine?”

“I can, but I still need drink.  Popcorn is salty.”

 “Well, there’s some Sprite in your box lunch.”

“I said I needed a drink, not some sugary lemon-lime bubbles.”

“Complain, complain.  You young people are like that.“  The tone of her voice indicated that she wasn’t serious, and maybe more. “I think I could find something to help us out, if you are willing to share the Sprite.”

“Something?” 

“Brandy.”

“You have brandy?  You mix brandy?”

“It’s the cheap stuff.  I have a bottle I was taking for my husband’s uncle for Christmas.  Since I’m not going to make it to give it to him anyway, I’ll share it with you.”  She rummaged through a large shopping bag and extracted a green felt drawstring pouch. 

“I’m thankful that they don’t let you bring gift-wrapped items through security.”

“We’d probably look a little desperate tearing open a Christmas present, wouldn’t we?”

“I doubt if anyone will notice, and I’ll drink it straight. I am sure I have had worse.”

A glance around the gate area indicated that almost all of the remaining passengers had figured out some approximation of a comfortable position in which to at least attempt to catch a few hours of sleep.  The airline had dimmed the lights and turned off the ever-present television monitors.  The few people left awake did not seem to notice the attractive man and the older woman passing a bottle of brandy back and forth between them while eating salty airport popcorn.

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to call off Christmas this year,” she said.

“To no-Christmas.”  Adam toasted touching his Styrofoam coffee cup to Mary Ann’s.  “They even turned off the music.  That’s the only part of Christmas my lover likes.”

“Me, too” Mary Ann added with a yawn.  “Perhaps we have something in common.”

“If you want to sleep I’ll watch your stuff.”  Adam volunteered.

“And my head?”

He shook his somewhat puzzled and added, “sure.”

*  *  *

Marian was used to leaving her father’s manor house at night and following a trail of white stones in the moonlight that led into the forest to Robin’s camp.  For the past five years it was the primary time that they could be together.  Her days belonged to her family, his to his band of followers, but the nights belonged to them.  Tonight, the eve of the birth of the savior was a special night.  Perhaps tonight would be the night that they would conceive a child. 

She heard his men singing softly around the campfire.  Those who were wounded must have been feeling better.  Perhaps the prayers had helped.  Robin was not with them, so she walked slowly up the trail toward his hut, hoping that his early retirement was not due to his wound. 

She noticed a light was burning in his hut and heard muffled voices.  She exercised caution as she pulled away the oil skin that covered the windows and was totally unprepared for what she saw.

She and Robin had grown up watching animals mate.  They were well aware of the changes in physical appearance that indicated maturation and the mounting styles of animals.  She was also aware that among dogs and wolves males would sometimes roll and expose their sexual organs to the victor in a fight or the leader of the pack.  A cow in heat would stand to receive the mounting of another cow if no bull were available.  She was not aware of such same sex practices in humans.

Robin was down on all-fours, while this man, who she knew from the streets of Nottingham to be the representative of the Prince, performed an act . . .  of sex. With her it was an act of love; with him it was too horrible to try to comprehend.   She had heard whispers she never fully understood about his being the sheriff’s lover.  Now their truth was graphically revealed to her.  This man was truly the minion of the devil.

Her mind was filled with demons.  No wonder no children had come of their couplings.   It was Robin who was cursed, not her.  She stumbled into the clearing where her doll lay in the crèche.  She grabbed it by the head and ran screaming into the forest, followed by a few of Robin’s now drunk cohorts and eventually two half dressed men.

*   *   *   *   *

Mary Ann awoke with a start.  Adam watched as she tried to comprehend her surroundings and reached for her shaking hand to comfort her.

“I’m sorry, I had a bad dream.”

“Could have been from the brandy or the tuna fish sandwiches.”

“No, it’s a reoccurring dream I have, and when you’re as old as I am it has reoccurred a lot.”

“Now, you’re not that old.”  He lied.  Everyone seemed young when you had lived over five thousand years. “I have bad dreams, too.”

“I bet you do.”

“Sometimes I find if I write them down, they go away for a while.  I keep a journal.”

“I’m a writer, too.  Fan fiction, on the internet.  Does telling someone work?”

“Don’t know.  Don’t often discuss my dreams.”

“Even with your lover . . . lovers.  The man who likes Christmas music.”

“What?”

She paused and looked directly into his eyes.   It was only then that he realized that the immortal buzz had been coming from this woman.  It seemed totally impossible.  There was no way this woman could hold her own in any kind of a fight.  Still an immortal wearing the body of an aging woman would not attract attention; she had certainly fooled even him.

“I’m unarmed.  This is a holy night.”  Adam gasped. 

“Come on, do you really think I would fight you . . . or anyone.”

“If I told the truth, you’d probably want my head.”

“Have for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.  Have we met?”

“Not formally, but let’s say our paths crossed once.  Back in . .  what did you call them. . . the dark ages.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about it? I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’ve been uncomfortable all night.  I recognized you immediately.  You would have no reason to recognize me.  I was younger then.  Young and beautiful and in love.

“The man I loved  . . . I had loved him all my life . . . we grew up together . . . grew up making love.   He wanted a child so badly.  I had no idea why I couldn’t give it to him.   One night, on Christmas Eve, I discovered him in the heat of passion with someone else. 

“That must have been horrible.”

“That someone else was you.”

 

“Oh my god.”

“I think I used a lot stronger curses than that that night.  I damned his soul and yours.   I saw what you were doing and didn’t understand why.  I just knew you were both demons.  I ran off into the woods and ended up in of all places a convent.  I lived there for years. 

“One day, when we were both very old, he returned to find me.  I never told him what I saw that night.  I just told him I was sorry and that I had missed him.  He was dying.  I died, too.  Took poison and fell on a dagger.  Talk about overkill.”

“But. . . .

“I guess it was expected that I would have died at a somewhat younger age.   I had no idea what I was when I woke up and wandered aimlessly around England for years until I met this man named Ramirez.   He told me about myself, what I was and what I had to do.   I told him he was crazy.  But we both know he wasn’t.”

“You actually knew Ramirez?”

“Briefly.  He actually reminded me of my lover in his later years.  When I refused to play the game, he called me a lost cause and told me I would probably die soon.  I reminded him that I had wanted to die . . . but over the years I have learned that no one looks for a post-menopausal female immortal.   Most of you just think you have a headache.”

“Unbelievable.  I never would have . . .”

“One question.  Do you remember sleeping with my lover?”

“Robin Hood?”

“Yes, and don’t worry.  I understand a lot more now, about sex and love.”

“Of course.  You’re Maid Marian.  There are songs and stories about you.”

“I was a wench . . .  not a maid.”

*  *  *  *

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a fresh gate crew and a series of announcements that planes were once again leaving mid-western airports and certain flight would need to be loaded immediately to make room for the arrivals at the jet ways.  Columbus and Chicago, from where Adam would make his Seacouver connection, would be boarding in approximately twenty minutes from gates at opposite ends of the airport.  

Mary Ann picked up the almost empty brandy bottle from the floor and handed it to Adam.  “Merry Christmas.  To you and your lover.”

“Duncan.”

“What?”

“His name is Duncan.  Duncan MacLeod.  My lover.  The one who likes music.”

“Tell him your dreams, Adam.  You’ll rest easier.  Not that you’ll have to worry for a few days.”

There were tears in his eyes as he leaned over to hug her.  He was surprised when she turned her lips to him, as if she wanted a kiss.  Even more surprised when she extended the peck to a kiss that included a soft tongue.  So, this was the game she wanted to play; it was so much better than the other one.  He reached down and gave her buttock a good squeeze pulling her pelvis into his.

“I was a wench, Adam, and I still am.”

“Later.”

She smiled as she looked back at him over her shoulder rolling her luggage down the corridor.

McJude

November 15, 2003