This is the beginning of a fic I’ve been wanting to write for a while. @fizzyxcustard has already seen it, and @mistresskayla-blog1 tempted me enough with her offer to collaborate, that I decided to post it (even though I’m stuck for where it goes next…)
The idea is, what if you travelled to Gisborne’s world? Not the historical past, but the wacky television show you love to watch, warts, anachronisms and all.
What if you tried to change things?
Squinting through my throbbing headache, I turn the key to my small flat. It has been another long day at work and all I want is to close the door to the world outside, take off my uniform and lose myself in my favourite show. And pizza. And maybe (definitely) a bottle of wine.
Inside, I kick off my shoes and pretend I don’t see the mess of unwashed dishes, dirty clothes and ever-growing piles of unopened mail. It’s not like anyone is going to see it, anyway. It’s not like anyone ever comes over. I power up my computer, make a call to my favourite delivery place and take a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen. On second thought, make that two bottles.
I know I drink too much, and that the alcohol is definitely not helping my depression. But then again, neither are the pills the doctor prescribed. Nothing seems to help and at this point, every day I lose the will to live a bit more. I’d probably have tried to end it all if I wasn’t so stubborn.
With a sigh, I sink in the saggy old sofa and let the jaunty theme tune of Robin Hood wash over me. 3 hours and 4 episodes later, I’ve fallen asleep, surrounded by empty wine bottles and pizza crusts.
You’re walking through the shaded paths of Sherwood Forest. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and the birds are singing in the trees. Maybe this time you will run into Robin Hood and his merry men. The air is cool and fresh… so why are you having trouble breathing?
A magpie takes off from a tree, chattering. You can smell fire. Is it Robin Hood’s camp? You look around, but you can’t see any smoke… where is that smell coming from? You try taking deep breaths but it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen in your lungs. Another magpie flies up… And another. You start to panic, you can’t breathe, and now there are magpies everywhere… Their flapping wings are sending waves of hot air to your face, and some animal’s high-pitched screech pierces your ears, and the magpies keep coming, and you can’t breathe-
-can’t breathe! I jolt awake to the sound of the fire alarm. The room is stiflingly hot and full of smoke. Fire! I try to concentrate through the fog of sleep and alcohol. I need to get out… the smoke chokes me and makes my eyes stream. I try to find my way to the door but I’m too disoriented. I don’t even know where the fire is, but I have to try… I stumble around until I touch a wall, and then follow it, feeling blindly for the door. My head is swimming and I trip over something and fall to my knees. All the times I wished for everything to end, this wasn’t what i had in mind… I feel the wall, desperately looking for something to grab so I can stand up again, when my fingers touch the cool metal of the door knob. Cool metal -this means there’s no fire on the other side. I turn it, push the door open and crawl through. ‘Push? I thought I was supposed to pull’ is my last semi-coherent thought before I black out.
My eyelids flutter as I try to focus. Above me, all I can see is blue sky. My fingers feel the ground and it’s… soft? I sit up, groaning, and look around me trying to get my bearings. I don’t see the power lines and buildings that should be here. Instead, I see… trees. I rub my aching head and make another unsettling discovery. My previously short hair is now falling below my shoulders. I look down and see that instead of my clothes, I appear to be wearing some type of linen night dress. My feet are bare and the mermaid tattooed on my calf (a souvenir from a trip to Greece in my early 20s) is missing.
I am trying to make sense of this, when a figure dashing through the trees ahead of me captures my attention. I stare at it in disbelief. I know this figure. I’ve seen it hundreds of times, on my television and computer screen. It’s a character from my Robin Hood show… It’s the Night Watchman.
The Night Watchman disappears in the distance and I’m left alone, shivering in the cool air. This doesn’t make sense… am i dreaming? I might be hallucinating from the smoke I inhaled, but the burning feeling in my chest and my bruised and scraped knees feel very real. At a loss of what else to do, I get up and start walking to the direction the Night Watchman disappeared to. If there are any answers, I won’t find them sitting under these trees.
I make my way out of the forest and head towards the settlement I can see past the fields and meadow. I wasn’t wrong, the scenery is eerily familiar. I recognise this house, with its thatched roof and wooden frame. I am standing in front of Knighton Hall.
You know, if you’d asked me last week how I would react if one day I woke up inside my favourite television show, I would have gone with upset, or disbelief. Clearly, it would mean i was having some sort of mental break-down, and that would surely be a horrifying turn of events. I mean, I know i have issues, but full-scale immersive hallucinations? I couldn’t brush that under the carpet and pretend to get on with my life. Now though… Now I’m finding I just don’t care. Either I’m here, or I’m not. Either it’s real, or it’s not. I’ll find out soon enough, and it’s not like I’ve left anything important behind in the real world. I’ve been sleepwalking through my days for so long that I don’t even remember what it felt to be invested in my own life. And now, instead of scared, I feel intrigued… and strangely hopeful. I take a deep breath, straighten my back, and knock on the heavy, wooden door of Knighton Hall.
I hear footsteps and then the door opens with a creak, revealing the worried face of actress Lucy Griffiths… or rather, Lady Marian.
“Please, I need help,” I plead. “I was attacked by outlaws, they took everything, even my clothes.”
Marian’s eyebrows shoot up. She is clearly doubting my story… After all, she knows the outlaws around these parts, and they’re not into stealing the clothes of lone women.
“Now is really not a good time,” she says and starts closing the door, but I’ve seen the conflict in her eyes. Suspicious or not, turning me away must go against all her bleeding-heart instincts. I push my foot in, keeping the door ajar.
“Please, my Lady,” I implore her. “I have nowhere to go, and I’m scared I’ll be found by someone even worse, in this state…”
She opens the door with a sigh.
“Oh, very well. Come in.”
I come inside, taking note of her worried expression. She closes the door very softly, clearly trying to be quiet. Her sleeve is raised and there is a fresh gash on her right arm. She follows my gaze, and pulls her sleeve down.
“I caught it on a splinter while I was tending to my horse in the stables. I was distracted.”
I smile politely at her. I know exactly what happened to her arm, and how to use it to my advantage.
Marian gestures to me to follow, and starts climbing the wooden stairs to the sleeping quarters, wincing slightly every time one of the steps creaks. She leads me to what is clearly her bedroom. A great four-poster bed dominates the otherwise sparsely decorated room. The walls are lime-washed and there are bunches of flowers and herbs hanging over the bed and the door, inundating the room with their fresh, clean smell. The only other decorations are a sheer, sage-coloured fabric draped over the posters of the bed, and a deep green, embroidered cloth covering a large chest pushed against the wall. This cloth is hanging unevenly, in contrast to how neat everything else is. Bingo.
“Get cleaned up,” Marian points to a basin of water and a clean linen cloth sitting on a little wooden table. “I will fetch wine to fortify you and some clothes.”
As soon as she leaves the room, I whip open the lid and start rummaging through the folded clothes and other belongings in the chest. At the bottom, bunched up and hastily hidden, I find what I knew was there… The Night Watchman’s costume.
When Marian walks back in I’m sitting on the bed, holding the incriminating bundle, still dusty and sprinkled with leaves and twigs. As soon as she notices what’s in my hands, she grows pale but she carefully keeps her expression neutral. I have to admire her poise… Not that it will help.
“If you give me a needle and some thread, I can mend this for you.” I offer a friendly smile. “Whoever stabbed you ripped the sleeve as well.”
“You went through my things… How dare you!”
“Oh, I hardly think I’m the only daring one… my Lady Night Watchman.”
Marian closes the door softly and turns to face me again. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks flushed. “Who are you and what do you want?” she whispers.
“I won’t ask you for anything more than what you already do for the people of Nottingham,” I reassure her. “You help those in need… I need shelter. I can’t return to my home. Let me stay here.”
“Here?” She shakes her head. “If your family comes looking for you… I can’t put my father at risk, he is old and frail. I can help you get to the convent at Kirklees, or ask…” she hesitates, “… someone else for aid.”
Yes, I know just who you would ask, and I want nothing to do with him, I think. Robin Hood might have been the hero of the show, but I never did like him.
“No one will come looking for me, I promise you this much.”
“You don’t need to know more,” I interrupt her. “Let me keep my secrets and I’ll let you keep yours. I’ll even help you!”
Marian opens her mouth to argue more, but voices coming from downstairs stop her in her tracks. Before she has time to react, footsteps echo up the stairs and Sir Edward walks into the room.
“Marian, Sir Guy is asking…” he begins but then notices me and stops in his tracks. “Who is this?”
I clear my throat and give Marian a pointed glance, readjusting the bundle of clothes I’m holding. She gets the hint.
“Father, I will explain everything later, I promise. Please, tell Sir Guy I am just getting changed and I will be down in a moment.”
“But who is your guest, you didn’t tell me you had company?” he asks with a perplexed frown. I stand up and incline my head respectfully. “I’m afraid I surprised your daughter by turning up unannounced… I apologise.”
Marian’s father stares at my dirty shift and disheveled, unbound hair. “Just what is going on here?” he demands, reaching for Marian and causing her to hiss in pain as his fingers close over her injured arm. He drops his hand, alarmed. “You are hurt?”
“Please, Father… not now. Gisborne is waiting, I don’t have time to explain”
Sir Edward nods, and heads downstairs.
Marian turns to me again, eyes blazing. “You have no right to put me in this position” she spits, but she has lost, and she knows it.
I just give her an innocent smile and watch as she flounces down the stairs. My mind is wheeling. Could I really be inside my favourite television show? The idea is ridiculous, and yet everything i see around me from the setting, to the people and even the situation is undeniably familiar.
