Pre-show. Robin/Marian. Part one of a series of introspective vignettes about the nature of Robin and Marian's relationship before Robin goes off to war. This seems to be a popular arc, but one that is infinitely intriguing to me and hopefully to you! As always, I don't own it, I'm merely a dabbler.

Please read, review, and enjoy!

Marian knew, the moment he nimbly leapt off his most spirited horse with his infuriating grin and sopping with barely constrained mischief on the castle steps, that she was in for a long day.

Not that she had not had many of these in the past few years, but there was something particularly distracting about the boy in recent months which made her long days seem to melt away entirely too quickly.

As it was, she hadn't entirely forgiven him for their last encounter (a rather heated discussion on Marian's riding through Sherwood alone, being a 'delicate lady' as Robin had so succinctly, and mistakenly, put it), and he had a habit of being unpredictable.

"Ah, Sir Robert, and young Robin!" Her father made his way down the castle steps, arms wide, and embraced the aging (but nonetheless handsome, she secretly conceded) Lord of Locksley. The old friends immediately vaulted from exchanged pleasantries to friendly catch-up as Sir Edward signaled the stable boys for the horses.

Which left her to Robin.

She turned her attention back to him, just barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes as he appraised her, his hands behind his back and rocking slightly on his heels, obviously intent on making her begin the pleasantries. She tried to ignore the flutter in her chest as he raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a barely contained smirk.

"Robin," she nodded stiffly. "I hope you have been well."

"I most certainly have, I thank you for asking," he said, unable to keep his face straight any longer. Even formalities seemed a light mocking on his lips.

He walked up the steps and took her hand, bending down slightly to brush his lips against her knuckles, his shining eyes on her the entire time, waiting for a reaction. She stared past him at the gates, which (as she noticed every time this happened as she battled the blush that was creeping up her neck) were a very dull shade of gray indeed.

"I must say that you look exceptionally well today, Marian," he whispered as he straightened up, testing the limits of propriety, and her own will power, by placing a light kiss on her earlobe. She could make no reaction--as he was very well aware if his smug grin was anything to go on--as her father was only feet away.

Otherwise, he would have been dealing with something bruised, whether it be his lips or his cheek.

Before any more words could be exchanged, luckily restraining the ones on her tongue that she would have regretted later, her father addressed him cordially.

"Robin, your father has said you have been anxious to visit the castle recently. As much as I admire your sudden interest in court, something tells me that you have more of an interest in being here for archery rather than politics."

He nodded with an obligingly abashed grin and gave a slight bow with his head in deference. He gave a nervous glance from Marian back to her father. "That, among other things." Odd. Marian filed the comment away quickly, however, as she turned her energies to glaring fiercely at his newly adopted cocky smirk and suggestive wink.

"Robin, do not antagonize the poor girl," Sir Robert chided, smiling despite his sudden cough and as perceptive as ever, but his voice lacked any real conviction. It was no secret that he thought that she and Robin were a spectacular match, and that Robin needed all the help he could get in winning her, 'the feisty little filly' as he called her.

Sir Edward was slightly less liberal, as most fathers with free thinking, spirited daughters are in the matters of men. He most likely thought that he was being discreet, but Marian saw the way he balked when he caught the mischievous Locksley boy eying his only daughter.

But even so, they were not overly chaperoned (in large part from Sir Robert's insistences on 'only being in young love once' and in some account because he had seen, first hand, how Robin had looked the one time he had crossed a line of propriety when she had not been the receptive Marian he had encountered in less innocent instances), and she felt a headache growing when the atmosphere abruptly shifted from friendly to business.

"Marian, show Robin to the new archery ring, and lend him your bow."

Marian gave her father a disbelieving look, which he silenced immediately with a reprimanding expression that he had only perfected through intense practice with her willfulness over the past 17 years. Behave yourself.

Robin's smug grin was all she could see as he peered around her father's back. Her irritation at him was barely concealed, her nails curling into her palms at her side as she forced her grinding teeth to salvage a reply.

"Of course, Father."

"And then to your embroidery lesson." It was not a question.

Her cheeks colored slightly in childish frustration and embarrassment as Robin thanked her father and resolved to meet his own father at Locksley after court, the laughter in his tone apparent even though his voice had grown faint as she stormed down the corridor.

But, as always, he didn't let her go far. "I never knew you were so fond of embroidery, Marian, to be taking it at a run."

She whipped around, yanking her arm out of the tender grip he had used to slow her. Dear God, she wanted to strike him across the face. But her own stubborn pride at appearing more dignified than such acts restrained her. "Robin of Locksley, I swear on your soul if you do not stop mocking me, I will make sure this visit you have so been looking forward to leaves a permanent impression on more than just your memory."

He was leaning against the wall, the picture of ease, with his hands crossed on his chest and a tolerantly amused expression trained on her through her tirade, his lips pursed in a way that suggested he hadn't heard a word of what she said in his attempt not to laugh at the way her cheeks were flushed and her expression called for blood.

"You swear on my soul? A little melodramatic, don't you think? And that is all assuming I have a soul."

"Robin," Marian chastised sharply, glancing around quickly as if his words had enticed a demon with a similar thought pattern.

"Come now, Marian…do not worry overly much. The only ways I can imagine sacrificing my soul all involve your participation." He grabbed her skirts and tugged at them slightly in a kind of thinly veiled suggestion, pulling her unceremoniously, and wildly improperly, towards him.

"Robin!" she hissed, mildly scandalized but mostly exasperated. She fought the smile tugging at her lips at his raised eyebrows and boyish grin.

He leaned down to steal a kiss, but she was prepared and propelled herself from his embrace, desperately trying to remember why she had been so resolvedly annoyed with him before when all she wanted to do now was continue this impropriety in a darker alcove.

"Do not get any ideas."

He sighed good-naturedly. "Ah, you're a spoilsport, Marian."

"As ever," she said dryly, rolling her eyes and turning towards her room. She waited for the swelling of her anger at having to not only lend Robin her own bow, but to miss archery for embroidery, but it only ebbed as he followed her.

She could hardly concentrate on anything but the warmth that spread through her as she played his newly discovered game: his fingers darting in and out of hers as she pulled back automatically, seeing how long he dared hold her hand without getting a firm smack or strange looks from others in the castle. He was incorrigible.

"Do you remember the games we used to play in these halls?" he asked nostalgically, swinging their (now) interlocked hands absentmindedly. She had, against her better judgment, let him win.

She smiled. "How can I forget? You tried to place a newt down my dress. Where did you get that, anyway?"

He laughed and turned to her with an irresistible smile, his eyebrows raised. "Now that is a secret I will take to my grave. And you would probably rather not know, though I am sure that if I told you, you would appreciate how much I happened to like you, considering how much effort I put forth in obtaining it."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, because I would value the fact that you had retrieved an instrument of torment because you liked me."

He shrugged. "I did not say it made sense. I was twelve."

She shook her head, still smiling at the memories, and pulled at his hand to keep them moving, but he pushed her gently against the closest wall.

"I have learned better ways of expressing my admiration of you, Marian," he whispered, his breath warm next to her ear. She felt her breath hitch, her cheeks flush, and the inane, girlish smile that always seem to erupt when he was near appear.

"Robin, we shouldn't…" But her hands wove their way around his neck and her words spoke less with intended meaning, and more with opposite feeling. His smile was brilliant and adoring.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Oh, grow up." He gave a short laugh and leaned in as she insistently tugged at his neck, impatient for the feel of his lips on her own.

"I've missed you," he whispered, a breadth's width from her lips, tantalizingly close. She groaned in frustration.

"Yes, yes, I've missed you, too. Horribly." He gave another laugh at her snappy impatience, though she knew that he hadn't missed her sincerity underneath the quick words. She really had missed him in the four days she had not seen him, as ridiculous as the logical part of her brain thought it was.

"Would you like to know what I have done in your absence?" He asked teasingly, pulling her even closer with no immediate intention to give into what he was suggesting.

She pushed against his chest again and tried to squirm out of his grip. "Soon you will have to add this to your tale, Locksley. And I will not be the one listening to it."

He grinned again, but this time relented, unable to keep himself away. She sighed gratefully as he finally kissed her, not realizing how much she had longed for his touch until it began and too soon threatened itself away again.

With its usual thief.

"Master! Master!" Much's cries forced them reluctantly apart, their lips lingering until the echoes bouncing off the walls became one resounding beckoning. Marian groaned and hit her head lightly on his chest as he kissed her fondly on the forehead. "Finally! I've been traipsing around this dank castle for ages. Someone really ought to see to the decorating, some of those tapestries are truly revolting--"

"Much," Robin said impatiently, his eyes closing in grating annoyance at being interrupted. Despite Marian's usual defense of Much, she couldn't help but wish the manservant would have slightly more subtlety. "Shut up."

He huffed. "Well, you don't have to be like that. If you two weren't always off gallivanting and purposely trying to incite poor Sir Edward to an early grave with your antics, I wouldn't have to come chaperone you. I had to ride half a mile behind you because my Lord only mentioned needing me as you were leaving! Half a mile! Believe me, I would much rather be elsewhere, enjoying a rare day of peace."

Robin shot Marian a secret, knowing look at her just as she did him. Despite Much's fussing, they knew that he actually reveled in their clever, reckless adventures. Though on their recent adventures, many of which seemed to end in unsurprisingly similar (and increasingly un-pious) ways, she couldn't help but wish Much would find his own games.

"We weren't doing anything," Marian defended, though she was suddenly aware that she had not yet freed her arms from around Robin's neck and his hands were still resting low on her hips. Much gave a cough; Robin, a frustrated sigh as he gently unwound her hands from their resting place.

"If you are quite finished, shall we?"

Much led the way and continued to talk as they made their way to Marian's room to fetch her bow, Robin once again playfully swinging their linked hands, this time to aim 'accidental' hits at Much's back to interrupt his soothing babbling about tapestries and sweet cakes. She could not help but smile at the familiarity of it all as they wove their way to her chambers.

Once they arrived, she slipped into her room alone, although Robin was quite ready to follow (and even had a few suggestions as to alternate, un-archery related activities should she be interested), and made them wait outside, her brow furrowing in frustration as she stared ruefully at her shoddily made embroidered flower she should have finished two weeks ago.

It was not a difficult decision then, nor an unexpected one to her companions, to grab her spare bow, embroidery be damned.

"Here," she said, handing the spare to Robin, who frowned at it.

"This is not your bow."

"No," she said a matter-a-factly. "This is my bow. Which is why I am using it."

Robin sighed. "Marian, you have an embroidery lesson."

"Yes, and I would expect that the other women have by now discovered that I do not like embroidery."

"Your father expects you to go."

Marian frowned. "Then I will disobey him."

"Marian…"

"I do not know why we are still having this conversation," she said angrily, more than a little irrationally hurt by his seeming want to get rid of her. "If you do not want me to come because I am a woman, Locksley, I will…"

"You know that is not the reason. I never suggested it was--" But there was something in his tone beyond his usual exasperation that was sharp and annoyed, as if her continuing presence was ruining his chance at obtaining something important.

"What must I do to prove myself? You know that I could out fight more than half the boys in Locksley, you have said it before, and yet you still treat me as inferior! What must I do, Robin?"

His face was clouding with anger now as well. "Listen to me and your father, and go be a proper, obedient woman!"

He had crossed that line again. She felt frustrated tears well up behind her eyes immediately, but she forced them not to fall. He deflated almost instantly.

"Marian, I didn't…"

"Go towards the courtyard, take a left, and then the door next to the lion statue. That will lead you to the targets," she said coldly, her instructions directed at Much. She turned on her heel, ignoring Robin's protests and Much's sighs, and fled into her room, slamming the door.

She spent her embroidery lesson piercing patterns with her needle rather more forcefully than was entirely necessary, pretending the whole time that the cloth was Robin's head.