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Chapter Text

"I am going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood.”

She said the words, and the world shrank in around her. Guy, the King and her predicament was forgotten as she realised, perhaps for the first time, the truth in what she had spoken. She laughed at herself.

"I love Robin Hood.”

She loved him. Passionately, unconditionally – desperately. She no longer had any doubts.

At first she only felt a sharp pain, not realising what had happened until Guy pulled her into his arms, and she felt the cold steel of his sword tear through her.

She looked up at him, at first confused – because her mind had been so far away - and then triumphant, as she realised she had succeeded. In Guy’s eyes she saw such pain – it was the look of a man breaking inside. He could not move on to kill the King – she had made sure of that. She had won.

Marian held his gaze until she could no longer keep her feet, and crumpled to the sand below.

Four.

It did not seem like a great deal less than six, but it felt it. Much was eager to leave the Holy Land as quickly as possible, and had been relieved to see the white sands disappear beyond the horizon as they began their journey back to England. But with the distance came the longing. Much missed Will and Djaq – he had even been sorry to leave Carter, still convalescing from his wounds back in Acre. The four of them seemed a pitiful band, a sum of parts rather than a whole. A part of Much knew that they could never really be whole again, the loss of Marian a devastating impact on their morale.

Much was ready to intervene should anyone (in other words, Allan) try and throw Robin’s earlier words back at him and say that Marian had died for England. But he didn’t. If anything, Allan seemed just as upset as the rest of them.

But Much’s focus remained on Robin, and did not intend to pry into whatever anguish Allan may have felt over Marian’s death. Much could barely let himself feel his own grief, such was his concern over Robin’s state of mind. His master didn’t cry – didn’t rage at the injustice of it all - and it was that lack of emotion that scared Much the most. He kept a constant watch on him, for the fear, however irrational, that Robin might do something to hurt himself. But he didn’t do anything. He barely even spoke to any of them, and retreated behind a wall of cool indifference.

 At night Much stayed awake to watch Robin sleep – just in case – and often found his mind wandering. He didn’t want to consider what they would do once they got back to England. The journey had seemed so long, and they had lost so much. They had saved the King, but had they saved England?

So Much turned his mind to what should have been pleasanter thoughts, although somehow they seemed just as painful. He dreamed of honey-coloured hair and a sweet, lilting voice raised in song. He remembered his promise. When there is justice again, I will come find you.

But in a world where Marian could die, Much didn’t quite believe there could ever be justice again. 

The passage back to England was rough, but the Sheriff had made it clear he felt no desire to linger in Palestine, and so had forced them onto the first available boat. Guy had not the strength to argue with him.

His mind kept going back to the crushing moment he realised his life for the past two years had been a lie.

I love Robin Hood.

Guy had poured his very essence into pursuing her, at first to catch her as a prize, to obtain the last thing Locksley held dear, but it had long since become more than a means of one-upmanship with the outlaw. He had fallen in love with her, and every time she disappointed him – leaving him at the altar, refusing his invitations of marriage, being discovered as the Nightwatchman – it had only made him want her more. To discover that she had loved and fought for him the entire time – it was more than Guy’s heart could handle.

He had wanted to take her in his arms and shake her – shake every thought of Robin Hood out of her mind – make her see sense. But his sword had been there, in his hand, and once it had pierced her flesh, his anger had made it all too easy for him to force it through her completely. Only then had he realised what he’d done. He had tightened his grip on Marian once too many, and in doing so she had slipped through his fingers again, this time for good.  

And then there was Vaisey, whose brutal anger at their failure to kill the King was only tempered by his gloating over the means of Marian’s death. But the Sheriff’s pride in Guy’s actions actually disgusted him. Finally, he had broken through and gained the Vaisey’s trust, but the victory seemed hollow. 

In his mind was a constant montage of how Marian had deceived him. He saw with sickening clarity all the times he should have seen through her act and guessed her true allegiances. He remembered the time the Nightwatchman had distracted them as Hood had dangled over that snake pit – and therefore provided him a means of escape – or when Hood and his gang had come to the Nightwatchman’s rescue in Locksley, or the countless other occasions she had proved to be in league with Hood. When he’d unmasked her, he should have remembered.

And when he had told her of Hood’s birthday – he had known then, or at least suspected, the true nature of her feelings. Allan had all but confirmed it for him in the tavern on the way to Portsmouth. But he had chosen to look away – he had been foolish. He had built her up as his idol in silver and gold, and dazzled by the beauty of it, had refused to see her feet of clay.

It was a mistake he would pay for the rest of his life, because his prediction outside Nottingham gates had come true. His world was ash.

In Bassam’s house, Djaq chose the brightest silks and cloths to wrap around her head, but what once had been a habit had become foreign to her. The last time she had covered her head in such a way, she had been Saffiya. But she did it without complaint, and did not ask her dear friend to call her Djaq. It was only how she thought of herself, and what Will called her, like it was a secret between the two of them, a private code. The thought made her smile. 

Will had adapted to life in Acre far better than she had expected. He didn’t seem to mind adhering to customs that were strange to him, the suspicion that greeted him in the marketplace, or that he only found acceptance in Bassam’s house. If it bothered him at all, he didn’t show it – and Djaq had always been able to read him well, and did not believe he was putting on a front for her sake. His love for her was enough – nothing else seemed to matter to him, and although she was certain he missed their friends, he did not pine. But strangely enough, she did.

In Sherwood, Djaq had missed the hot, spiced air of her homeland, the vast expanse of sand and the camaraderie of her own people. But now that she had returned, ostensibly for good, she found herself missing Little John’s silent solidarity, Much’s warm affection, Robin’s horrible jokes and Allan’s...well, she missed almost everything about Allan. She regretted that they had not had the chance to speak properly before they left. It hadn’t seemed like the right moment – and Djaq thought back to the long months of travel when she had avoided him, not wishing to dwell on old issues. The entire situation seemed unresolved.

But even more problematic, were those doubts that burned in the back of her mind – questioning the path her life had taken. In Nottingham she had felt a sense of purpose – she had been helping people. In Acre, there was much need, but no way for her to affect change. In the forest, her outlaws had seen her as an equal, in Acre she felt the sting of her expected place in society. She had to learn to live inside the law, and it was not a comfortable place.

Somehow, re-learning to live in her homeland seemed harder than adapting to live in England. She only hoped Will’s eternal optimism would win out – and that their love would be enough. As a slave she had learned hope was often a futile and meaningless thing. But perhaps Will had enough hope for both of them.   

They were only a few weeks into their journey when the silence began to drive Allan mad. Robin walked around like a dead man, with Much flittering about him like a hummingbird, making sure he ate and didn’t wander off alone. No one wanted to talk about Marian, except Allan. He needed to talk about her. He wanted to tell Robin about her life in the castle, the small details he had noticed, the conversations they’d had. He imagined such insights may bring the man some comfort, and Allan knew it would ease his own mind to speak of them. But Much watched him warily, as if expecting such an action, and seemed eternally prepared to ward him off.

There was only one other person left to talk to. So one night, Allan took a seat beside Little John. “Don’t think we’ve ever really talked, you and me,” he said to him, characteristic half-grin on his face.

Despite Will’s harsh comments about blood money, Djaq’s pitying stare and Robin’s attempt on his life, somehow it had been John’s venomous accusation – traitor - that had hurt him the most. Perhaps because he had meant it so much more than the others. Will had felt betrayed, Djaq disappointed, Robin had demonstrated his usual self-righteous anger, and well, Much had never really liked him to begin with. But John had hated him. And while the others had been rather quick to accept him back into the fold, jokes and jibes at his expense aside, John had remained aloof.  

“Then talk.” John answered, and it was clear he had no intention of being a willing participant. It was not John’s way. It was then that Allan found himself missing Will and Djaq the most.

But they were gone. Like rats deserting a sinking ship, Allan found himself thinking unkindly. Djaq had always been the clever one – had she seen the dullness in Robin’s eyes and known that he may never be able to lead them again? He wondered what the point of him leaving Gisborne’s employ had been – and then Allan remembered the emptiness he had felt in the castle. Guy may have come to respect him, but it had never been close to the companionship he had felt with the outlaws – how he had ever valued gold over that he didn’t know. But there was no more laughter among them, no life.

But Allan had made his choice, and if that meant he drowned along with the rest of them, then so be it.

She did not remember who she was. At first, all she knew was darkness. She dwelled there, and wondered if it was purgatory. But there was no pain, no devil awaiting her, no judgement. There was nothing for a long time. But then – slowly - snatches of memory began to come back to her.

She remembered the soft hands of her mother – a faint scent of lavender, and whispered words telling her to always be strong, and to always stand tall.

She remembered being held in her father’s arms after she’d been thrown from her horse – she remembered holding him in hers as he died.

She remembered a golden summer, and the boy from the neighboring estate who brought her flowers and stole kisses from her in the moonlight.

She remembered locking herself in her room after he left and emerging three days later, eyes dry and heart hardened, vowing to never cry over him again.

She remembered his return, full of theatrics and righteous anger, she remembered them uncovering one another's scars as they found a way back to each other. 

She remembered trysts in the forest, hurried and urgent, because they could never fully isolate themselves from the world and had to take the brief moments they could with each other.

She remembered her confusion – the man who lingered on her periphery, showing a glint of humanity amidst the blackness of his soul that she wanted to save, and yet had exploited.

She didn’t remember dying – but she remembered his face, the ring on her finger, her mouth speaking the vows. Then there had been nothing. Not even peace.

She spent what seemed like an age in the darkness, and then, finally, she heard voices, unfamiliar and intelligible, but gradually rousing her sleeping soul. She clung to them – clung to life, and clawed her way back, the gaps in her memory becoming clearer, the sounds louder and the feelings stronger. She felt pain – and then she remembered her name.

Marian opened her eyes, and breathed.   

Chapter Text

Acre

It was hot. And bright.

Marian blinked several times as the world slowly came into focus. There were swirls of blue and green painted on a white ceiling above – utterly unfamiliar to her. She tried to sit up but a sharp pain went through her side and she fell back against soft pillows. Wherever she was it was comfortable, unlike the coarse mattresses she had slept on while being held prisoner by the Sheriff.

The Sheriff – Guy – the King – Robin. Her mind was filled with memories and thoughts that she couldn’t quite deal with yet. First, she had to find out what had happened – or more pressingly, where she was.

Marian gingerly turned her neck, to try and get a better view of the room she was in. It was undoubtedly Saracen, that much she could decipher from the decor. Well, that and the Saracen woman kneeling beside a table, crushing herbs and speaking lowly in Arabic. It was difficult to gauge the woman’s age, although Marian could see grey hair peeking out from under the scarf she wore over her head, and the lines around her mouth as she muttered the strange words to herself. Then, as if becoming aware of being watched, she turned towards Marian.

“So, the lady awakens.” The woman smiled at her shocked expression. “Are you surprised I can speak your tongue? It was not difficult to learn, after years of dealing with your people.”

“My people?” Marian was a little confused.

“Your pale skin – like your so-called Crusaders. You come from across the seas.”

“England,” Marian confirmed, unsure of what else to say.

The woman shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.” She crossed the room and knelt by Marian’s bedside. “Drink this.” She held a small bowl to Marian’s lips with a foul-smelling concoction in it. Marian drank obediently, for her mouth was parched. It did not taste as bad as it smelled, and it made her feel calmer.

“Thank you.” Marian lay back down again, exhausted. “How long...”

“Many weeks,” the woman replied somberly.

Marian looked to the doorway. “Is Robin here?”  

“Who?” There was no deceit in the woman’s face, she had clearly never heard the name.  Marian sighed and closed her eyes, expecting as much since he had not been at her beside.  The only reason he wouldn’t be is if he thought her dead, and if that was the case she was sure Robin and his gang would have already left for England. He would not have wanted to linger.

But she pushed that thought from her mind – she would deal with it later, when she could actually do something about it. It was clear she would not be getting up from her bed for a while yet. Marian pressed a hand against her belly, wincing as another stab of pain went through her.

“How did I survive?”

“It was not easy for me to keep you alive,” the woman admitted. “There was many a time you were close to death, and even with all my knowledge I believed you lost.” She smiled fondly down at Marian. “But you have something within you – a strength to keep fighting.”

She remembered fighting against the darkness, against the death. “But, how - ”

“Hush, now.” The woman pushed Marian’s hair back from her forehead. “You need to rest, you are not out of danger yet.”

There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but there was one thing she needed to know. “Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

The woman smiled mysteriously. “My name is Amineh. I am known as a healer to people around here. You were brought to me because of this.”

“But why? People from my country are trying to invade yours.”

“When someone is injured they can do no harm.” Amineh looked at her keenly. “And I saw the way you were fighting for life. It impressed me...” She looked at her expectantly.

“Marian,” she supplied.

“Well, Marian. Allah sent you back for a reason – he must have work for you to do.”

Marian opened her mouth to remind her that she didn’t believe in the Saracen god, but closed it again almost immediately. It would be rude, after all, to insult the woman’s beliefs after she had cared for her so well. And she remembered what Robin had said once, just after Djaq had joined their gang and Marian had questioned him accepting someone from a people he used to fight against. Robin had smiled – not his usual cocky grin – but soft, and thoughtful. He’d said that he wasn’t sure they weren’t the same God after all – that perhaps they just chose to worship Him in different ways. This had been the same Robin who’d been so intent on the cause of the Holy War before he left – for whom biblical study were the only lessons to which he’d paid attention as a child.  It was then she'd realised how much the war had changed him, how much of his bravado and recklessness was hiding the pain underneath he didn't know how to treat.

“Yes,” Amineh nodded, almost as if she could tell what Marian was thinking. “Rest, now. There will be times for explanations later.” She stood and slowly walked out of the room, leaving Marian alone.

She wanted to think things over, to try and properly understand her situation, but was beginning to feel drowsy again, and could not hold onto her thoughts. She closed her eyes, and willingly drifted back to sleep, promising herself that when she woke up she would find out what had happened to her, and why. 

Sherwood Forest

When their gang of four first arrived back at camp there was little else they felt like doing but sleep, although none of them but John managed to do that very well. Robin wandered off into the forest after a few minutes, and Much was torn between following him, or leaving him to his thoughts. He noticed Allan was also wide awake, although he seemed preoccupied with the camp itself.

“It’s strange being back here,” Allan said finally. “All I can think...” he continued, seemingly troubled. “All I can think is that before us, Marian was the last person in this camp. She went off to find you all – said the place was empty, and we never came back here after the barn. So...she was the last.”

Much nodded, feeling his own heart constrict. Marian.

He needed to find Robin – tell him what he had been avoiding saying for the long journey back to England. But it had to be said, or else the guilt would destroy him. Much stood, and walked in the direction his friend had gone, ignoring Allan calling after him.

Robin was found not too far from the camp, seated against a tree, his head resting back against the trunk, face void of any emotion. Much took a place beside him.

“At first light we should visit all the villages – make sure they’re alright.” Robin spoke up, swallowing heavily. “I feel like we have abandoned them.”

“We were saving the King,” Much pointed out, trying to give a reassurance that he did not necessarily feel. But it was important, he knew, for Robin to feel that it had been worthwhile.

“I’ve had a long time to think about it, Much,” he said sadly. “I told Richard that he’d forgotten his people. I was angry at him for it, when I should have been angry at myself for doing the same thing."  Robin sighed heavily and shook his head.  "And all of you had been trying to tell me that, and I wouldn’t listen. Now that we’re back I won’t make the same mistake.” He fixed Much with a resolute gaze. “We look after our people, that is our first priority.”

“I...I think that is a good plan, Master,” Much agreed, relieved, for there was finally a spark of life in Robin again, a sense of purpose. But he still needed to speak. “Master...I need to tell you something.”

Robin looked guilty. “I know I haven’t been myself since...but I’m trying - ”

“No,” Much cut him off, “it’s not about that, it’s...” He sighed heavily. “This is hard.” He looked upward, perhaps for divine inspiration, for the right words, before he remembered that his faith had long been shattered, and he no longer trusted in God for guidance. “I have a confession to make.”

Robin looked at him curiously. “Go on,” he urged him.

“Your birthday party – in the barn, you remember?”

“Of course.”

“Well...” Much struggled to find the right words, before deciding that whichever ones he used, the reaction would be the same. “There’s a reason why Marian couldn’t find us. I didn’t tell her. I should have, really. I’d even seen her earlier that week, and she’d asked me if we were going to celebrate your birthday, that it would be nice to see us all again. But I lied, and said no, we were far too busy.” The words fell out of his mouth in a mad rush.

“Much, I’m not sure where you’re going with this.” Robin already looked pained at the mention of Marian’s name, and clearly did not want him to continue. But Much had to unload the burden, even if it lost him Robin’s friendship.

“I told myself that it was too dangerous for her, you know, to get her out of the castle without being detected...but the truth is...” Much took a deep breath, and steeled himself. “The truth is, I didn’t want her there,” he pressed on. “Because when she’d been in the forest, it had been all about the two of you...because you listened to her opinion without question, and your thoughts were all for her. I suppose...I just wanted it to be us again. The gang.” Much’s voice cracked slightly, and hot tears formed behind his eyes, for his wounded pride, his shame, and his guilt. “And all I can think is if I hadn’t been so selfish and invited her along, then she never would have tried to kill the Sheriff and gotten captured. She would have escaped with us and...she could be alive now.”

Much turned to Robin, waiting for the justice to be served to him. He felt it fitting, really, that his jealousy had made him want to keep Robin to himself, and in doing so he had probably lost his friendship for good. But Robin did not appear angry, in fact, he sat very still.

“Master?” Much asked, looking for a reaction.

“Don’t,” Robin cut him off harshly, and when he looked up, his eyes were dark and tears were quickly forming. “Don’t call me Master. I don’t ever want to hear you call me that again.” Robin shook his head, and all his anger seemed to dissipate. “I don’t deserve it.” For a long time there was silence, as Much did not know how to take his reaction. So instead he watched him clench and unclench his jaw, waiting. Eventually, Robin began to speak.

“There are a million ways we could have saved her,” he said haltingly. “Don’t you think I’ve gone through every scenario in my head? All these possibilities - but that’s not what happened, and we can’t change it now. She’s gone.” Robin’s voice broke on those words, but he took a deep breath. “And I don’t ever want you feeling guilty for what are my mistakes, Much, and don’t try to argue with me,” he cut him off before Much could protest. “I drove you away, I didn’t treat you like you are worthy – as you should be treated. As a friend, a brother...as more than I deserve. So please don’t call me Master ever again.”

“Robin...” Much’s heart ached, happy to finally hear praise from Robin’s lips, and yet it was agonising to see him so torn apart inside by it. He seemed on the very verge of collapse.

“And it took her death to make me see everything clearly. Too clearly.” Robin brushed the back of his hand harshly against his eyes, where Much could see tears were beginning to escape. There was nothing else to do. Much pulled his friend into an embrace as the dam broke, and Robin sobbed into his shoulder as Much rocked him gently. It was the first time Robin had cried since the Holy Land, the first time he’d let anyone try and comfort him. And Much held him tighter, hoping that this was the worst Robin would get, and while it would cause him the most pain now, it meant the healing process had finally started.

Nottingham

In the shadows of his war room, Vaisey waited. He glared at his map of the known world, which had borne the brunt of his rage when he’d first returned to Nottingham castle. The small figures and flags that had been positioned in the Holy Land lay askew on the floor, the entire region pounded to dust. All that remained was England, and his Black Knights situated across the country.

The mercenaries had long gone with the money he’d taxed the country to pay for. His vaults were empty. The Knights were already sending messengers asking why he had failed, worried that they would all be caught, wishing to back out of the entire plan. He’d killed every messenger and sent their heads back to their lords, as a warning. They could not back out.

For Vaisey would not give up. He could bide his time, even when the odds had turned against him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to start again from nothing.

The people, of course, had heard that Robin Hood had returned to them, and were once again filled with hope. Which was fine, in Vaisey’s opinion. To give the maggots hope and then crush it out of them made it all so much more entertaining. He didn’t expect that Hood would pose him a great a threat as he did before – he may have won the battle in Acre, but as Vaisey told him, he would have England. That was his goal, and ultimately, why he would win the war. He was not bound by earthly, base desires as Hood was – he would never be compromised by a servant, or follower, or woman.

That point still irritated him. He’d always known Marian to be a manipulative little madam – but he’d never twigged to her true allegiances. He’d underestimated her – he who had always prided himself of being able to read people, guess their true intentions, coerce them into revealing their weaknesses. He’d never seen that hers had been Hood, until the end. It bothered him that she’d been able to pull the wool over his eyes, and so successfully, for so long. But she was dead, repaid in spades her manipulation of Gisborne. He was actually quite proud of his protégé – Vaisey wouldn’t have thought he’d had it in him. Perhaps now, he could mould him into something more like himself – above such twaddle as love or compassion. He could build a new Gisborne, now that Marian had crushed his heart. He almost thought of her fondly, for giving him that gift – to think of how much she would have hated that. It made him somewhat happier.

For Vaisey had a new plan. It was already underway beneath Nottingham castle – workers were moving dirt and bringing in stone – digging in the earth, shaping the first step in his victory. In the dark underneath the castle his dream would be reborn.

And everything would be his.

Chapter Text

Acre

Carter walked quickly through the sandy streets trying not to arouse suspicion; keeping a cowl wrapped around his head to disguise his obviously Saxon features. It was close to midday when he reached Bassam’s house and rapped smartly on the door. The old man answered and gave him a wary look. Carter lowered the cloth from his face and flashed him a smile, but Bassam seemed less than impressed, although he quickly ushered him inside.

Will and Djaq were tending to the pigeons, a sight that made Carter smile. They both seemed so content taking care of the small birds that cooed blissfully in their enclosures. He couldn’t help but wonder, however, how long their peace would last. He knew that while he longed for his fighting days to be over, there would always be a part of him that would long for the thrill and excitement of a warrior’s life. Will, perhaps, would ease back into domesticity easily enough. But Djaq, he wasn’t sure of. What little he had gleaned from Robin was that she had long been restless – searching for meaning to her life, and perhaps, the deaths of the people she’d held dear. She and Carter had more in common than most might have thought.

Djaq noticed his presence first, and approached him with a smile. “Carter,” she greeted him, and clasped his arm in friendship. He still remembered the way she had looked at him with disgust when he told of wanting his revenge against Robin, and perhaps thought him undeserving of the second chance he’d received. But now she was genuinely pleased to see him.

“Djaq,” he smiled back at her. “Will,” he greeted the taller man as he approached and shook his hand. “I am glad to see both of you.”

“Are things not well in the King’s camp?” Djaq asked, guiding them all to take a seat on the floor.

“The opposite, in fact,” Carter smiled as he folded his legs under him and rested his palms on the table. “The King has received some favourable messages from Saladin. I believe there may be peace soon.”

“Yes, we heard there was a ceasefire,” Will said, pleased. “We hoped it was a sign of better things to come.” He sought Djaq’s hand, and shared a glowing look with her.

“Truly, I do believe it.” Carter smiled again at the couple. There was an easy way between them, he noticed, a comfort at the other’s presence where before there had been uncertainty and hesitation.

“What will you do, Carter, if you are able to return to England?” Djaq asked, turning back to him.

“Richard has offered me a place in his household, as an adviser.”

Will furrowed his brow, studying him. “It is a generous offer,” he replied delicately.

“Yes.” Carter paused, the argument once again running over in his mind. “But it would not be long before the King would leave the English court. I have no desire to live in France,” he told them, mouth twisting on the word. “But for now, my duty is to stay with Richard. I will decide what to do if – when – we have peace again.”

“It may be difficult,” Djaq told him softly, “to return home again. It may not be what you remembered.”  

“I know,” Carter replied. “I feel a part of me will always remain here, buried in the sands.”

Will looked at him sympathy. “You would not be the only one,” he pointed out. “You will always have the memory of your brother, and perhaps, someone to talk to who understands.”

Carter nodded slowly. “I had thought a return to Nottingham might do me good,” he said. He wanted to say more – he had only received a short visit from Robin before he left, when Carter had still been convalescing. He’d seen the emptiness in Robin’s eyes, and perhaps the hurt that his gang was splintering away from him. Of course, he could not say this. Djaq and Will had made their choice.

Djaq looked like she wanted to say something, but was stopped as Bassam entered the room. “Saffiya, I am going out,” he stated in English, for the benefit of Carter, and he assumed, Will. The old man was thoughtful enough, he reasoned, even if he did openly disapprove of having a Crusader in his home. “I will not be long,” he continued, before turning to Carter, who rose to his feet and clasped his hands in front of him without really knowing why. But something about Bassam demanded respect.

“I wish you a pleasant day, sir,” Carter said, “I do not intend to stay much longer.”

Bassam’s expression softened. “Perhaps there will be a day where you may sit at my table without worrying that your people or mine will catch you.”

“I hope so, sir.”

Bassam turned back to Djaq. “Do you require anything from Amineh’s, Saffiya? I have a few medicines to collect.”

“Perhaps some saffron,” Djaq answered. “But only if she has some available.”

“Will?” Bassam asked, making the young man blush slightly. It was obvious Will could have no use for anything bought at the apothecary, but it was symbolic – Bassam did not want him to be excluded.

“I am fine, thank you,” he answered hastily.

Bassam smiled. “I will continue to search for any spare...wood...” he seemed to struggle slightly over the word, “that I can bring back for you.” Will laughed softly at this, and Djaq smiled fondly, and rubbed his arm as Bassam departed.

Djaq sat back down at the table, and gestured for the men to do the same. “Please stay, Carter,” she asked him. “Tell us more about the plans for peace."      

Sherwood Forest

He was far too close to Locksley. But this was where he had found and chased the damned pig, and Allan was not prepared to give up on the dream of feasting on pork. It was times like this, hungry and cold and hunting an animal through the forest in the dead of night, that Allan almost missed his employ at the castle. Almost.

The pig finally stopped, and Allan hung back, so not to startle it. He notched an arrow in his bow and took aim. But before he could let it fly, the pig was struck by another’s arrow, which sent it squealing to the ground. A second quick arrow finished the animal off, and its dispatcher stepped from the shadows.

Allan took a shallow breath. It was Gisborne. He tried to back away slowly, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He watched as Gisborne pulled out his arrows from the pig’s side. Allan expected an aide to appear to collect the carcass, but none arrived – he seemed to be on his own.

Allan did not move, but somehow, Gisborne seemed to sense his presence, his eyes fixing on the shadows where Allan was hidden. He did not seem to react, even though Allan knew he must have seen him, bow still in his hand, looking, he knew, rather dumbstruck.

“That’s my pig,” Allan said before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

Guy grunted and turned away, hoisted the pig over his shoulder and started moving in the direction of Locksley. Allan hesitated a moment, then followed without really knowing why.

“Go away, Allan,” Guy snarled as Allan matched his pace.

“You’re not afraid I’m going to shoot you in the back?” Allan asked shrewdly, curious to Guy’s reaction to him. He’d thought about, it after all – wouldn’t that have earned him Robin’s trust, once and for all? But something had stayed his hand.

Guy looked at the bow and arrow still held in Allan’s grip. “Interesting choice of words,” he replied.

Allan refused to feel shame. He’s made his choice, after all. And it had been the right one - he had to believe that.

“But I know you’re not going to kill me, Allan,” Guy continued, “just as I’m not going to kill you. Too many have died in his name.”

“You’re blaming ‘im?” he asked with disbelief.

Guy didn’t answer, but quickened his pace. Allan almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides. They walked in silence for several minutes, until Gisborne finally spoke in a voice that was harsh with grief.            

“You should have told me about Marian.”

Allan remembered the way Gisborne had pleaded with him in the inn on the way to Portsmouth. Asking to confirm what he had, surely, long suspected.

“Would you have believed me?” he questioned. Allan sensed that Gisborne had been lying to himself for so long, that only the words out of Marian’s mouth would have convinced him.

Guy ignored his question. “She was the only one you never betrayed.” And he stopped, suddenly, letting the pig fall to the ground, turning to look directly at Allan for the first time.

Allan sighed softly and shifted his feet uncomfortably. After weighing up several stories he could tell, he eventually went with the truth. “Marian was the point of no return,” he said. “If I’d given her up, there would be no going back to the forest. Robin would have...”

Guy inhaled sharply at the sound of Robin’s name, his shoulders tensing noticeably.

“So you were always looking for a way back.” Guy’s voice sounded pained, and for a moment, Allan felt sorry for him. He wondered if anyone had ever been loyal to Guy...and then he remembered Annie. She been loyal, until she discovered the man Guy was. But not is, Allan decided. Guy was not the same man he’d pulled off attacking Annie in the courtyard of the castle, and kicked in the face. Not the same at all.

“No,” Allan finally answered him. “But it’s always best to keep your options open.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Allan opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Guy shook his head angrily. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it is betrayal. Both of you played both sides – played us all so very well,” he spat out. “You disgust me, Allan.”  

“Oh, come off it,” Allan replied dismissively. “You didn’t seem to have such moral objections when it was Robin I was betraying. Face it Guy, you only have a problem with deception if you’re the one being deceived.”

He saw Guy clench a fist, and for a moment Allan thought he was going to lash out at him physically, and took a step back in preparation. But instead Guy appeared to calm himself, and took a deep breathe before speaking again, his voice clear.

“I chose my side,” he told him. “I have never wavered from that decision. Thought about it – yes.” He paused, and a dark look crossed his face. “But I have remained loyal.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Allan told him, not to wound him in any way, but rather a word of advice. Guy, for all his threats and gruff actions, had been somewhat kind to him, in the end – there had been a level of respect between them. He had, as Marian had always said – the potential to be a good man. But perhaps just not the resolve.

Without another word, Guy stalked off into the darkness, and Allan watched him until he had completely disappeared from sight. Then he looked down at the animal which still lay dead in the leaves at his feet.

“‘Ello there,” Allan grinned. He didn’t know whether Guy had left it deliberately, or simply forgotten to pick it up again – honestly he didn’t care which it was. It meant the gang could feast on fresh meat tomorrow, if Much could stop worrying about Robin long enough to cook it. Hoisting the pig up over his shoulder, Allan began the long walk back to camp, albeit rather slowly due to the extra weight.

It was close to dawn before he reached the familiar patch of trees, less than one hundred yards from the hidden camp. But another figure emerged from the trees to the east of him, and Allan dropped the carcass, grasping for his sword. But he needn’t have bothered. It was Robin, looking as gaunt and troubled as ever, carrying a small cloth bag on his back. Allan, too tired to carry the pig any further, started to drag the animal in the direction of the camp.

“Oi, Robin!” he called out.

Robin turned, and immediately strode towards Allan to help.

“Should be quite a feast, eh?” Allan said, smiling.

Expecting a diatribe about taking only the worst parts of the animal for themselves and giving the rest to the poor, Allan was surprised when Robin only gave him a simple nod and ‘Yes’ in agreement.

Robin grasped the hindquarter of the animal, and Allan the head and torso, and together they carried it towards the camp.

“This is a Locksley pig,” Robin said quietly as they were walking.

Allan cursed inwardly. How the devil did he know that?

“Yeah, I heard a few of their animals escaped,” he lied quickly. It had, in fact, been pure chance he’d come across the pig. “So I went hunting for one.”  

“I know why you went there,” Robin said softly, although he did not look at Allan.

Fear clutched Allan’s heart – surely Robin had no reason to suspect he had any contact with Guy. Despite the forgiveness he’d been given, Allan wondered if he would always be met with suspicion, and distrust. It was not a pleasant thought.

“Robin, it’s not what you think,” he told him desperately.

“You’d be surprised about what I think,” he replied cryptically. And then he looked at Allan – not with accusation, or judgement, as he had that awful day in the ‘Trip – but with understanding. “I trust you, Allan,” he continued. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

They reached the camp, and Allan took the entire weight of the pig, while Robin pulled the hidden lever to reveal the entrance and John and Much sleeping peacefully in their bunks. As he did, the pack Robin was carrying fell open slightly, and Allan saw a familiar-looking mask peek out. He then looked properly at Robin’s face, whose pallor and dark circles beneath the eyes he had attributed to grief, but could easily be explained by lack of sleep.

Robin caught him staring, and quickly pushed the mask back into his bag.

“Let’s get that animal inside,” he said.

Acre

Marian shifted uneasily in her place at the table, tugging nervously at the scarf which covered her hair.  Her legs were starting to ache from kneeling for so long, not to mention her awkwardness at the two men who sat opposite her. They were the men who had saved her life.

“There was a man,” the one who had called himself Ibrahim was saying. “But he was not dressed like one of your Crusaders. He was holding you in his arms – and the others were speaking to him.”

The second man, said something in Arabic to his companion, and Ibrahim nodded. “Yes, this man looked like he was in a great deal of grief.”

“That...” Marian swallowed heavily. “That would have been Robin, my...husband.”  The word felt strange on her tongue. 

“Yes,” Ibrahim seemed to understand. “He did not want to let you go.”

“And then?” Amineh, who was sitting next to Marian, prompted him to move on. Marian had told her about Robin briefly – as much as she could handle speaking of him – and she no doubt understood she didn’t wish to dwell on the sorrow Marian’s apparent death had caused him.

“Your husband wanted to take you back to England with him, I believe,” Ibrahim continued. “So he could give you a Christian burial. He did not, it seemed, want your body blessed by the Priests in the Crusaders camp. I do not know why.”

Marian knew. Robin had told her about his distaste for many of those in Holy Orders in the Kings Camp. They, he had said, were the most bloodthirsty of them all.    

“His companions were trying to convince him that this was not practical. But he was not, it seemed, in his right mind.”

Amineh cleared her throat and looked disapprovingly at the two men. “So your caravan was passing by at this time,” she urged them to continue.

“Yes,” Ibrihim continued, looking a little put-out at Amineh’s disapproval. “My apologies, but I had stopped to see what the problem was – I was interested, and was the only one of our party who could speak your language. Your King hailed me over, and gave me some gold. He spoke to your husband, saying that he knew his thoughts on our religion, and that if you could not have a Christian burial...”

“If he would consent to an alternate consecration,” Marian finished for him. She was not surprised. Robin has strange ideas like that – and for some reason, an affinity for the people he had fought against for so long.

“Your husband looked at me – and I will speak no further as to the look in his eyes,” he glanced at Amineh briefly, and hastened on. “But he said - we created you from it, and return you to it, and from it we will raise you a second time.”

“It is from the Qur’an,” Amineh explained.

"I told your King our women would cleanse your body, and that we would shroud and bury you in our holy way – but they would not be able to attend. He told me he thought it was better that way, and he, along with another companion – a fair one – convinced your husband to let you go, and then led him away.”

Marian bit her lip in contemplation. That explained some things, at least. “But how did they not realise I was alive?” she asked. 

“We did not either, at first,” Ibrahim replied. “You must understand, child, that you were so close to death you gave every appearance of it, your heart barely beating. It was only when our women fully examined you that they realised you were indeed taking very shallow, very irregular breaths.”

“And then they brought you to me,” Amineh explained. “Ibrahim is a cousin of mine, and knew I would look after you.”

“Thank you,” Marian said to the two men, feeling the emotions she had clamped down rise to the surface. “I don’t know how to thank you.”  The words caught in her throat, as she remembered she had once spoken them to Robin.

“There is no thanks needed,” Ibrahim told her, and smiled. “We do what we can to preserve life.”

Marian wanted to ask more, but their conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door. “Quickly, cover yourself up,” Amineh said to Marian, and moved towards the entrance. But before Marian could adjust the scarf she wore over her head an elderly man entered, and her pale face was the first thing that he saw.   

Chapter Text

Outlaw's Camp, Sherwood Forest

The camp was far too quiet.

Many people assumed that because Little John did not like to waste words himself, that he preferred silence. At times he did – he enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the woods. Although they were never completely still either – birdsong, insect buzzing, the rustle of the wind and leaves – life permeated Sherwood at every level. John enjoyed that. He also enjoyed the chatter of his comrades around the campfire; Robin’s boastful stories and plans, Much’s prattle about nothing in particular and Allan’s tall tales, usually embellishments of the gang’s past exploits, or from his days as a poacher. Much of that was gone now. Also missing was Djaq’s frank honesty and occasional fables from her homeland, and Will – although he had never spoken a great deal either, the comforting sound of him chipping away at his carvings made the crackle of the fire seem lonely.

There was little life or vibrancy left in the camp. John understood why - he'd always been taciturn but he had once been freer in his conversation, and more generous with his words. But the loss of Alice and the constant companionship of the forest, which asked nothing of his voice, had drawn him inwards. After so many years even the exuberance and youth of his outlaw friends could not completely pull him back out. And yet, he liked to listen to them talk.

John didn’t quite know what to say to Robin. His Alice was lost to him, but she and little Little John were alive – and he hoped, happy. The same could not be said for Marian and John was sure anything he did say would not help - the words of the others seemed to matter little.

He couldn’t very well say he understood Robin’s loss, for even when John had been a dead man to his wife, he’d still been able to see her, to steal away from the gang and watch her hang the washing, or draw water from the well, or play with their son.  She’d named him John, proof that despite her anger at him, regardless of his mistakes, she’d still loved him.

Robin had no such solace, and John could not give it to him.  It seemed all he could do was watch as Robin withdrew into himself much as John had once done, until he forget his trade, forgot about Alice, until he’d almost forgotten how to speak.  

He’d been a blacksmith that past life, putting his strength to good use at the forge, shoeing horses, shaping armour, constructing weapons. As a child Robin used to visit him at his workshop, fascinated by the process of giving form to liquid fire, or so the boy had so eloquently put it. He’d flittered around the forge, pestering John with questions but back then it had not troubled him to respond, even enjoying the young lord’s company and teaching him to use the bellows. Of course that had been before Lord Robert died, and after he had Robin did not visit him, even after the usual grieving period had passed.

John had understood; the boy was in an instant lord of the manor and master to them all, and more pressing matters demanded his attention. He had still seen him every now and then, when there had been a need for the use of his forge, enquiring after his health at a feast, shaking his hand and wishing him joy following his marriage to Alice.

Then that life had ended.  

It had been a peddler who’d passed through Locksley Village, selling all kinds of wares. Alice loved to examine everything on the cart but rarely made a purchase, telling John she thought such things frivolous and besides, all she needed was him to make her happy.  But he’d seen the way she’d longingly fingered a short string of pearls while the peddler had given a fine speech about their provenance in the Orient. They were expensive, in truth much more than they could afford, but John had been quite proud of the way he’d managed to bargain the man down.  

The way Alice had lit up when he’d presented them to her made it all worth it. She worked so hard to make a home for them, kept their small cottage immaculate, made the most delicious rabbit stew, and even when she’d had a hard day herself she would still sit behind him at the fireplace and work the tired muscles in his shoulders. She deserved a taste of luxury.

Alice had practically floated on air around their cottage that night, singing to herself and drawing John in to dance with her by the hearth.  But his thumb had snagged the necklace, breaking the string and sending the pearls to the floor where they shattered to reveal hearts of glass.  

John had only meant to confront the man, catching up with him on the Great North Road and thrusting the worthless beads in his face. The peddler had laughed and called him a fool, and John had flown into a rage, grabbing the man by his tunic and shoving him back into a nearby tree - it was intended as a threat only, but the peddler’s head had struck the trunk with such force that he crumpled to the ground, eyes open and unseeing, blood seeping into the earth.    

He’d fled into Sherwood, knowing that if found he’d be hanged as a murderer. He didn’t trust Robin to protect him even if he understood that it had been an accident; John liked the lad but couldn’t put his fate in the hands of a fifteen year old boy, no matter how well-intentioned. Later he’d heard that Robin had declared John outlawed in absentia, which meant he could never return. It had made him so angry, only able to comfort himself that he’d made the right choice not to go to the young lord for help.

He hadn’t given Robin a moment’s thought in the years that followed until he’d shown up with his men in Sherwood, and had the gall to not even remember him. It was only later, after his identity as Alice’s lost husband had been revealed and they’d saved Robin from the Sheriff’s clutches, that he’d apologised for outlawing him. As a dead man, Robin had explained, Alice inherited his property rather than forfeiting it, and was given sympathy rather than scorn as a widow rather than the wife of a wanted man.  

So it seemed Robin had saved his wife twice, and for that he earned John’s loyalty. It was a debt he could not repay, but that didn’t stop John from trying, for staying at Robin’s side to fight for justice even though he longed to be with Alice and little Little John.  He’d taken the coward’s way out before, he’d run when he should have held his ground, and John vowed he would not run again, at least until he was certain Robin no longer needed him.

But what could he do, when Robin seemed incapable of being cheered? At a loss of how else to help, John left the camp early the next morning and made his way to Locksley.  

Mary Lovet looked up surreptitiously from the pigs she was feeding, while John was careful to hide his large frame behind the door of the barn.

“It’s been very quiet around here,” she said in a soft voice, glancing every now and then at the manor at the head of the village. “You should talk to Thornton,” she added, “or Carol in the kitchens. They would know better than me, but I heard he keeps his fire burning all night and barely sleeps.”

“He’s not causing too much trouble here in the village?” John asked.

Mary shook her head. “It’s as if he’s forgotten about us entirely. He only comes out to make sure the taxes are collected and he even doesn’t seem to take as much pleasure in that as he used to.”

John grimaced. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. A silent Gisborne was a cunning Gisborne – a man in planning, perhaps.

“Thank you, Mary,” he said, leaning forward to press some copper into her hand. “We’ll do another drop later this week.”

“Bless you.” Mary grasped the coins tightly. “Little John?” she called after him as he turned to go. “We’ve been hearing rumours that the Lady Marian did not return to the castle with the Sheriff. At least that’s what they’re saying in town...is she with Master Robin?”

John shook his head sadly, but could not bring himself to say the words. Mary obviously understood his meaning, cast her eyes downwards and crossed herself. Turning away again, John quickly disappeared into the undergrowth. He wouldn’t let his thoughts dwell on Marian – so young – when he could be out proving her sacrifice was not in vain. He would go to Nottingham next, to see what the news was there.

The villages, like the camp, were too quiet and he didn’t trust either of them, for silence always hid secrets. It all felt like it was a false peace, or, how did the sailors put it? The calm before the storm.     

Bassam’s house, Acre

In his new desert-based home, Will did not find the heat oppressive so much as the lack of water. In Locksley there had always been the lake and well, ready to draw water from. In Sherwood there had been an abundance of rivers, streams and brooks – not to mention the rain. But in Acre Will was beginning to understand the concept of a desert – as if all life had literally deserted the place. He would never mention that to Djaq, of course, the heat made her cheeks rosy and she was constantly running her fingers through the sand absentmindedly. He had to remind himself that the deep browns and green of England countryside must have seemed just as alien to her as the desert was to him. And he liked to see her at ease.

He had not found such a balance with the place. He did not venture outside too often, due to the distrustful stares he received, the whispering behind hands in a language he did not understand – although Djaq had started to teach it to him. Only Bassam treated him with a sense of respect, although Will always felt his slight befuddlement at Will’s strange English ways, his pale skin that burnt so easily under the sun, his obsession with finding pieces of wood to carve and even, he suspected, his devotion to Djaq. But the old man never said anything out loud, and he was in no way malicious. Will suspected he was allowed to stay because Bassam found him rather amusing. Even if he was forced to put up with the old man’s snoring and talking in his sleep, so that Djaq could keep her own quarters. Not that he’d expected anything else, of course, because it wouldn’t have been proper at such an early stage in their relationship.

Still, Will wondered whether he’d been too hasty in convincing Djaq to stay – because it had been he who’d suggested it, seeing how happy she’d been in Bassam’s house. He almost wished he had Allan to talk to – who had been in every situation imaginable and was always ready to give advice. Or even John, who listened carefully to every word and sometimes gave an answer of his own, if he deemed it worthy. He loved Djaq, and wanted to be with her always, but even so, he missed the companionship of the outlaws.

Will’s contemplation was interrupted by the sound of entry through the front door and footsteps down the hallway.

“Is your Crusader friend gone?” Bassam asked as he entered and scanned the otherwise empty room  

Carter had left, rather reluctantly in Will’s opinion, not long beforehand. Will had almost talked to him about his concerns, but felt too shy with such personal information. He didn’t have that way Robin did with people – to become friendly and jovial with someone almost immediately upon meeting them.

“It seems all I am seeing today are pale faces,” Bassam grumbled good-naturedly, then chuckled. “I wonder perhaps if you cannot overthrow us, you will simply replace us!” He laughed heartily and Will returned a light smile. But before he could question Bassam on his puzzling words, he disappeared, probably in search of Djaq to deliver her saffron. Will dismissed the thought.

Several days later Will was feeding the pigeons, and as it always did, the task made him wish he could send word to Robin and the others in England. Allan had taken Lardner's mate back with him, in case of emergencies.  He and Djaq tended to Lardner himself carefully, in case they had need of him one day. However, the trouble with carrier pigeons was that once one message was sent, the birds had to separated manually again – McClelland had been forced to travel all the way to England in order to send Lardner back with a message. They could not afford to use one of the birds for trivialities.

Bassam worked next to him, occasionally singing softly in Arabic, attending to his pigeons with a loving hand.

“It is a lonely life,” Bassam said eventually, sighing softly.

“What is, sir?” Will questioned gently, looking down at the old man who suddenly, looked rather weary.

“Tending to these birds,” Bassam answered. “It is a highly important position, and respected. It has granted me favour among my people.” He sighed again, and looked at Will directly in the eyes. “But it has its cost. Because of my duty, I have never been able to fight for my people; instead I had to watch while my kin were killed on the battlefields, or came home injured beyond repair. My life was always safe, but I could not protect my family or those I loved. I was bound to protect these birds instead.”

“Then you were doing your part,” Djaq’s voice broke in, and Will turned to see her standing in the doorway. “Protecting our culture – that is still a noble calling.”

Bassam smiled sadly. “I would much have preferred to be active.”

“I wouldn’t,” Djaq told him resolutely, walking over and taking his hand. “I prefer that you are safe.”

“To have sat back and let one who is still no more than a girl do the fighting?” Bassam patted her hand. “Now, do not take offense, Saffiya,” he cut her off before she could protest. “I am sure the life you had in England was not what your Uncle had in mind when he taught you to defend yourself.”

Djaq raised her chin defiantly. “What he taught me has saved my life many times.”

Bassam looked weary. “I’m sure it has.” He patted her hand again and returned to his work. “And I am very happy that it has led you back here,” he said after a brief pause. “But I understand the call to do something more worthwhile.”    

Will looked over at Djaq, unsure of what to say or do. She crossed her arms defiantly and Will could see a subtle shake of her head. She didn’t want to hear what Bassam had to say.

“I need to collect a few things from the apothecary,” Djaq told him, effectively stopping the conversation.

But if anything, her statement made Bassam seem even more perturbed. He turned away from his birds again.

“Please, Saffiya, I would prefer if you did not go there any longer.”

Djaq and Will shared a confused glance. “Why?” she asked. “You were there the other day.”

“Yes,” Bassam agreed. “And if you need anything I would be happy to go there instead.”

“Why?” Djaq asked again.

“Did you see someone dangerous there?” Will asked, remembering Bassam’s comment about pale faces. Could it be some Crusaders had occupied the shop?

“Not dangerous, as far as I know,” Bassam admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

“I don’t understand,” Djaq gave Bassam a glare that demanded answers.

Bassam have a defeated sigh. “When I walked into Amineh’s home the other day, she was with her cousins...and a pale-faced woman.”

“She was English?” Will questioned.

“I do not know,” Bassam answered. “She did not speak, and Amineh quickly sent her away.” He turned back to Djaq. “Do you see now why I do not want to go there?”

“You don’t even know who this woman is,” Djaq reasoned, “it could be completely innocent – one of the camp followers seeking her advice, perhaps.”  

Bassam did not seem convinced. “We cannot trust someone if they are harbouring one of those people.”

“You are harbouring one of those people,” Djaq reminded him.

Bassam had no answer to that. “I am just trying to protect you, Saffiya – the way your uncle would have wanted me too.”

“But you also understand why that may not sometime be possible,” Djaq said calmly. “We cannot fear everyone.”

Nodding reluctantly, Bassam seemed defeated, and once again returned to his birds, and Will wondered if he loved them so much because they were not as willful as human beings.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Will asked Djaq in hushed tones.

Djaq shrugged. “Bassam is suspicious of everyone,” she told him. “There have been women from Europe travelling with the Crusaders for years.”

Djaq knocked on the door to the apothecary’s home. It soon opened to reveal a stout, middle-aged woman, careworn but cheerful.

“Saffiya,” Amineh smiled broadly. “Bassam said you had returned, although he did not say where you had been.”

“Travelling,” Djaq responded thinly, shooting Will a glance as they entered. “This is Will Scarlet,” she continued, indicating for Will to remove his cloak. Amineh was startled by his appearance, but quickly concealed it. “He is my...” Djaq seemed unsure of how to describe him. “My...”

“I am travelling myself,” Will took over. “Dj - uh – Saffiya is kindly showing me her homeland.”

Amineh gave him a small smile, and then spoke to Djaq in rapid Arabic. Djaq responded in her own tongue as well, and Will listened to the exchange carefully, only picking up a few words, certainly not enough to decipher what they were saying. But he assumed Djaq was explaining...something. She always seemed to be able to convince people they met that Will was not a threat.

“Welcome to my home, Will Scarlet,” Amineh finally addressed him again in English. “Please, sit down.”

Marian waited in the small alcove that had become her sleeping chambers in Amineh’s house, separated from the main rooms by a narrow corridor. She had been extra careful to keep herself to this room lately – ever since one of Amineh’s customer’s had seen her. Amineh had explained it away – she was not in the business of dealing with the invading soldiers, but their families and entourage she had no quarrel with. And times were hard in Acre for everyone. The man had seemed convinced, but had given Marian some very suspicious and not overly friendly looks. She made sure now to run out of sight whenever she heard someone knocking on the door.

But when she heard the sound of English-speaking voices down the hall, Marian followed them out of curiosity. She continued to keep herself concealed until she heard a familiar voice. Marian’s breath caught in her throat and she moved into the room.

“Djaq?” Despite the different dress, there was no mistaking the young woman, nor the man who stood beside her. “Will?”

The couple turned. Upon seeing her, Djaq gasped, and Will’s eyes became very wide.

Marian smiled nervously. “It’s me,” she told them, stepping forward.

Djaq shook her head in disbelief. “That’s impossible,” she whispered. “You were...I was sure.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Marian told her. “But I am so glad to see you.” Impulsively, she moved forward, as did Djaq, and they met in an uncharacteristic embrace. She looked over Djaq’s shoulder to Will, who still looked utterly shocked, but was grinning broadly.

For the first time since she had awoken in Amineh’s home – Marian allowed herself to weep.

Chapter Text

Acre

Djaq appraised the woman before her, trying to reconcile the memory of Marian lying bleeding in the sand to the image of her very much alive.  Pale and thin, but alive. 

“This is a miracle,” Will declared, kneeling at the table behind them. He had been gazing reverently at Marian the entire time she had been telling them the story of her survival.

Djaq didn’t believe in miracles. Every night in slavery she’d prayed to Allah for salvation – to lead her out of bondage. He had never answered, not directly anyway, and Djaq had learnt that she could not rely on divine intervention. She had to make her own way. It was that memory which reminded her of the terrible cost of Marian’s survival. The woman had been drastically altered, as only such an experience would do to a person. There were more obvious physical signs, of course – Djaq had been examining the gash that scarred her side. It was deep and only partially healed. Miracle or not, such a wound changed things.

“The injury is grave.” Djaq finished her examination and moved slightly back from the rug where Marian had lain. “You may never fully recover from it.”

Marian nodded. “I know.” She pulled down her cloth tunic back over her stomach and sat up, grimacing slightly as she held her side.

“You are certainly not well enough to travel,” Djaq told her shortly, unsure of why her voice sounded so cold. Perhaps it was because she could see clearly Will’s disappointment at her declaration. Or perhaps it was because she had seen so many with similar wounds – her people and those of the enemy – lying on the battlefields. She had not been able to save them. And yet Marian had been stabbed twice – and been delivered from death both times. As happy as she was to find Marian alive, something about it seemed utterly unfair.

“We can still send Robin a message. Let him know that you’re alive,” Will spoke up, brushing away her inner thoughts. “I know the pigeons are for emergencies – but this certainly seems like one to me.”

“No,” Marian said firmly, shaking her head, her mouth in a firm, determined line. “I mean, you said it will still take a while for me to recover,” she clarified. “If you send a message back now, it will only worry Robin – he won’t be able to just wait.”

“But it would ease his mind,” Djaq counselled, and yet even through her objections, she knew Marian was right. As soon as Robin heard the news, he would do something rash – most likely return to the Holy Land immediately.

“Nottingham needs him more than I do,” Marian replied.

Will still did not look convinced. But Djaq knew that at heart, Will still had an inbuilt respect for the nobility his family had always lived under and had difficulty questioning the social order – especially towards a lady. He would respect Marian’s wishes, even if he did not agree with them.

“Then we will wait for you to recover,” he rejoined.

“We?” Djaq asked innocently, but could not keep the sharpness out of her tone. She should have expected it, but it still stung slightly that Will had already made up his mind to accompany Marian back to England.

Will looked slightly sheepish. “Well...”

Shaking her head, Djaq cut him off. “We can discuss it later.” She turned back to Marian who had adverted her eyes and looked slightly uncomfortable at what could have turned into a lover’s spat. Djaq thought it amusing that she would immediately leap to that conclusion, and remembered she had probably worn a similar expression when Marian and Robin had bickered and huffed around the camp back in Sherwood.

“Amineh has taken good care of you,” Djaq changed the subject quickly. The older woman had left the room to give the three of them some privacy.

“She has,” Marian smiled warmly. “I don’t know how to repay her for her kindness.  And yet...I am so happy to see both of you.”

Djaq was touched by the self-conscious happiness and vulnerability in her tone, knowing that in the past Marian would have never been so transparently affectionate. It surprised her, and yet she understood it. It must have been so difficult –to wake up alone and injured among strangers – enough to bring emotions once held so carefully in check to the surface.

“It’s a miracle,” Will repeated, and Marian gave him an indulgent smile.

“It also makes my plans a little easier,” Marian added.

Djaq shared a quizzical look with Will. “Plans?”

King's Camp

Carter ran through the camp; dodging fires, discarded weaponry, and other soldiers to get to the King’s tent as quickly as possible. He burst inside, out of breath. Richard sat at the small desk he’d insisted on bringing from France, the ornate wood in contrast to the simple trappings of the tent. He looked up when Carter entered, and then back down at the parchment he was reading.

Carter bent over slightly, resting his hands on his knees and he took in lungfuls of air.

“What is it Carter?” Richard asked shortly, eyes still on his parchment. Carter knew he didn’t like his soldiers wasting his time. He should have waited outside until he was recovered but the excitement had been too great.

“I have news to share with you, sire,” Carter stood up straight and managed to speak.

“Yes?” Richard put down his parchment and focussed his attention.

“As you know, my lord,” he continued, “I have been in contact with Will and Djaq – Robin’s followers who are living in Acre,” he reminded the King.

“I remember,” Richard nodded. “Do they have news of the Saracen’s movements?”

“No,” Carter admitted, not bothering to say that he didn’t imagine Djaq letting them know any of her people’s secrets, even if she was privy to them. “But...several days ago they found someone in hiding among the Saracens in Acre.” He paused momentarily, unsure of how to properly explain it. “It was Marian.”

The King furrowed his brow, obviously trying to place the name.

“The woman who saved your life, sire,” Carter told him softly. “Robin’s beloved.”

Richard looked at him with even more consternation. “But she is dead.”

“Apparently not,” Carter shrugged. “Will and Djaq say that she was discovered to be alive by the caravan you asked to bury her. She was gravely injured, but will recover.”

Richard stroked his jaw, looking deeply troubled. “How is this possible?”

“I think the particulars are quite complicated, sire,” Carter said. “But the reason I came to see you in such a hurry was to tell you that she is on her way. Now.”  

Richard stood abruptly. “Now?” he said gruffly. “You gave her permission to do this without speaking to me first?”

“She was rather insistent,” Carter told him. His conversation with her had been brief, and he’d believed her when she said she had to speak with Richard immediately. That, and he hadn’t entirely trusted her not to punch him in the face again if he had refused her.

“They’re here now, my Lord.”

Richard grimaced. He was not a man who liked to be caught unawares. “Well, show them in, Carter.”

Carter pushed aside the flap of the tent, where Marian, Djaq and Will stood waiting. He gestured for them to enter, but Djaq held back and caught Will’s arm.

“We will wait out here,” she said pointedly. Carter nodded and dropped the flap of material behind Marian. She entered properly, and dropped to one knee before the King, bowing her head in reverence.

“My dear,” Richard strode forward, and taking her hands in his own, raised her up again. “There is no need for that. Why, I would not be standing before you if it had not been for your brave action.”

Marian blushed. “I know, my lord, that my presence here may be hard to believe, but there is no foul play...”

“Do you think I would question the wife of my favoured general?” Richard continued, drawing up her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes. “The Countess of Huntingdon herself?”

“Countess?” Marian spluttered. Carter bit back a smile. He would wager her mind had not even approached thinking about such connotations, but the King held nobility in the highest regard, and of course it would be at the forefront of his mind.

Richard fixed her with an indulgent, almost fatherly smile. “Are you not the wife of the true Earl of Huntingdon? Did I not administer the ceremony and witness the vows myself?”

Carter, of course, had not been there. He’d been bleeding into the sand while they had all gathered around Marian, but Richard had spoken of it wistfully later, pleased than he had been at least able to provide the ring to the couple...a ring, Carter noticed, that Marian was not wearing. She attempted to fold her hands together and cover up her naked fingers, but Richard too had noticed.

“I do not blame you for not wearing your ring,” he smiled at her. “You never know what thieves are about the towns and in the desert, waiting to ambush travellers.”

“My lord...” Marian had not seemed to have regained her composure fully. “I will return it to you.”

“Nonsense,” Richard waved his hand in dismissal. “It is the least I can do for the woman who saved my life,” he continued seriously. “That is a service I do not readily forget. You and your husband have each rendered me such assistance, now. You are both high in your King’s love.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Marian replied demurely, but Carter could tell she was about to test such a declaration.

“Carter will fill me in on the particulars of your miraculous survival later,” Richard said, and went back to take a seat at his desk. “But I will consider it a reward from God for your bravery.”

“Yes.” Marin eyed Carter and he nodded, urging her to continue. “And of course, sire, I have a great desire to return to England. However, I wish to ask a favour of you.”

“Anything.”

Marian smiled, clearly ready to take advantage of such an opening. “I ask that you return with me.”

Richard’s mouth dropped open and sat in shock for several moments. But he quickly regained his composure and his expression turned serious. “I have sent Robin back to act in my name.”

“Yes,” Marian agreed. “But surely it would be far better for you to act in your own name?” She bit her lip, obviously worried about her impertinence, but then pressed on. “You have a ceasefire with Saladin, surely that is the opportunity to return to England and set things right there?”

Richard’s expression was inscrutable. “You sound like your husband.”

“I too am in agreement,” Carter spoke up, his support with Marian.

“A ceasefire is not a truce,” Richard pointed out.

“But you could make it one,” Marian told him, fixing the King with a determined expression. “You are at an impasse. You cannot breach Jerusalem, and Saladin cannot drive you from the land. What good is there remaining here?”

“In principle I agree with you,” Richard told them. “But what would my people say if I returned to England without having conquered the Saracens? Would it not prove my bother right in saying that I was chasing a fool’s errand out here?”

“Well, it is all a matter of politics, isn’t it? Marian said. “If your armies agreed to leave, then I’m sure Saladin would be open to negotiating terms – to allow Christians on pilgrimage free access to Jerusalem, for example, and allowing you to keep some of the cities and lands that you have already conquered. Then it would not seem like a defeat, but rather a victory in terms of faith.”

Richard looked intrigued, stroking his jaw again in contemplation, toying with the quill that lay on this desk.

“I have also been thinking, my lord,” Carter added. “If you made a truce with Saladin for a fixed period – say, three years, than perhaps people would be under the impression that you are only returning to England to strengthen your forces, and that the capture of Jerusalem would still be a future possibility.”

Marian nodded eagerly. “Three years is a long time,” she said. “When the truce runs out people may have forgotten about it at all, especially if times are prosperous, and you may be able to make peace a more permanent notion.”

There was silence for several minutes, and neither Carter nor Marian dared speak another word. Finally, the King seemed to have made up his mind.

“Robin told me that you were a remarkable woman,” Richard smiled slyly at Marian. “He never said that you were so troublesome.”

Marian smirked, but hid it quickly. “I’m sure he implied it, sire.”

Richard nodded and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “Carter,” he said authoritatively, “arrange a meeting with Saladin.”

“Yes my Lord,” Carter bowed, unable to hide his grin. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Marian parroted and mirrored his bow. “Thank you.” 

“Are you sure about this?” Will asked as the night fell around the desert and they sat out watching the stars. “I would understand if you...wanted to stay here.”

“A part of me does,” Djaq confessed. “In my heart this will always be my home.” She shifted closer to Will and he put an arm around her. “But a part of my heart also belongs with you, and our friends.”

Will placed a soft kiss to her temple. “We can come back,” he suggested.

“Maybe someday,” Djaq agreed. “But for now I must be where I can do some good.” She had come to accept that domesticity did not suit her. She had lived too long on the run, taking action, to fully enjoy the peace she had chosen. At least, when she knew that the fight was still ongoing – it felt selfish of her to settle down with Will when they had sent their comrades back to England in a fractured state. She worried about them. What if they hurt themselves? What if they needed her expertise? She felt like it should be enough; she thought being back in her homeland with the man she loved would be enough. But it wasn’t. There was more to her life than that and she was determined to reclaim it.

“It will still be some time before Marian is fit enough to travel,” Djaq continued, not alerting Will to her internal monologue. “There is still time.”

Time to immerse herself in the hot sands – the smell of spices in the dry air, the comfort of Bassam, her only real link to her family, the rituals of her people, the familiarity of the mosque.

Time to say goodbye to all of that, because she didn’t delude herself that she could be leaving for the very last time.

Chapter Text

Locksley

The hour was late as Guy of Gisborne strode back towards the Manor. He’d been out walking, as had become his daily custom after fulfilling his duties in Nottingham. The frequent walks were not to enjoy the clean night air or the beauty of the forest that bordered Locksley at twilight – no – a large part of him did not want to return to the Manor. To the home where she had almost been mistress. He would have burned the house to the ground; to spite himself for wanting it, to spite her for never agreeing to live in it, to spite Hood by taking it away from him.

But he’d burned Knighton, too. The familiarity was all too oppressive. And if he was honest with himself, Locksley was the closest thing he had to a home, his own family lands having been long lost and his inability to find any other substitute all too clear.

So he walked, allowing his horse to find its own way back to the stables, as he always did. He wished to find peace with himself out in the woods, but it refused to come to him. There was beauty all around him, but he could not enjoy it, and the weather refused to suit his sombre mood. He would have preferred if it had been raining, if the sky was unnaturally dark and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance to drown out the incessant beating of his own living heart.

Hadn’t he heard hers beat wildly as she had stared him down in the sands of Acre? Hadn’t he heard it slow as the steel of his blade pushed horrifyingly quickly through her flesh? But Guy had never heard it stop beating. Hood had been given that honour, if you could call it that. Guy had run.

So he returned to the Manor as he always did, without peace and without freedom from his thoughts, hoping at least Thornton had a meal prepared for him. Not that he ate, really, but rather just to know that someone was there.  

But as soon as Guy entered the Manor, he knew something was wrong. Usually the servants flittered about, trying to remain unseen but never really being able to. Almost immediately, Guy noticed the presence that altered the room – his room - so dramatically.

Hood was seated in the chair by the fire, his back to Guy as he stared into the flickering flames. He didn’t turn around on Guy’s approach, although he could tell he was aware of his presence by the visible tensing of his shoulders.

A stab of anger went through Guy. Although the outlaw had proven he could gain entry into Locksley Manor undetected, somehow he sensed that this time he had been let in freely. And fed, by the looks of the empty plate and flagon on the table. For a moment Guy let his hand hover by his sword, but then decided against it. He would let Hood do whatever he had come to do. He wouldn’t resist.

“I want you to imagine something, Gisborne,” Hood spoke, almost startling him. He’d expected the outlaw to round on him immediately, sword raised. But he didn’t. Hood didn’t even turn around to face him as he spoke.

“Imagine you’re nineteen years old, and you’re in love,” Hood continued, his voice low, but clear across the otherwise empty room. “But you decide that there are more important things than love – like duty, and honour – like fighting for your King, for your country and your faith.” Hood paused, only for a moment. “But she doesn’t understand, because she always thinks with her head. Weighing up the potential outcomes, the consequences, and plays it safe. Logical. The correct way, most likely. So she coolly, calmly tells you to fight in your war, if that’s what you want. She wants a life.”  

A part of Guy listened to what his mortal enemy had to say, if only that his hungry heart longed to hear of Marian, no matter the pain it caused him. Although he noticed that Hood hadn’t spoken her name. The other part thought it strange that Hood would be telling him such intimate memories.

“You wait for her to come say goodbye the day you leave for the Holy Land.” Hood continued heedless of Guy’s confusion. “Your entire village comes to see you off. Your manservant is at your side, ready to die for you if you asked. And you have asked, really. Because although you never tell him, you know you aren’t strong enough to do it without him.” Hood’s voice sounded very far away, and Guy wondered if he even still realised he was speaking to another human being, or if his words were for himself.

“Your steward is there, and tells you that your mother and father would have been proud of you. But your mother isn’t there, because you killed her just by being born, and your father never recovered from it,” his voice became brittle and Guy saw his hand clench where it rested on the arm of the chair. “There was always been an empty spot in his heart that you couldn’t fill,” Hood went on. “He never wanted to look at you, because you reminded him of her, and on the day he died he almost seemed relieved.” Hood laughed, a strange, hollow sound, so unlike the taunting cries that had once been aimed at Guy.

“But she doesn’t come.” His tone became leaden. “You dream of her amidst the death of the Holy Land and she, not the cross, becomes your sigel. Even though you know she would have hated that. After five years of fighting, she keeps you alive, and you return to her.”

“But she’s different. She’s changed. There is a hardness to her, a determination. She’s not the girl you left behind, and to your surprise, you still love the woman who has taken her place. More, even, because she has become your equal, your counterpart. She balances out your faults and you balance out hers. And together, you’re stronger.” His voice almost broke, and Guy wondered whether he would begin to cry. He hadn’t been able to – his eyes dry and heart empty, unable or perhaps unwilling to fully grieve. Because that would mean she really was gone.

“And then the one time she doesn’t think – the one time she simply acts, not caring about the consequences, some – idiot - kills her.” Hood stopped, and Guy prepared himself for death – or whatever punishment Hood had planned. Perhaps he would be able to exact his own revenge on the man in the process – for being the one Marian loved, for being able to speak of her to readily – for being the reason Marian had turned against him.

But Hood rose out of the chair like an old man and sighed, bowing his head. Guy saw the Saracen sword that hung lowly from his hips, but the outlaw made no move for it. Without looking at Guy, he slowly walked from the room and out the front door.

Guy wanted to follow him, demand that Hood try and kill him, to declare punish me – because he could not do it to himself. He stumbled forward slightly, leaning against the chair Hood had just vacated, clenching the wood with his fists. Rage shot through him, and he brutally hurled the chair away and into the fire, where the flames popped and cracked around the sturdy timber, turning it black. He stared unblinking into the blaze, waiting for the light and heat to prickle against his eyes.

But still the tears refused to come.

No one knew Locksley Manor better than Thornton – no one had spent more time in every nook and cranny, or had more practice at remaining unseen. The old steward had watched the scene between his old master and his current one, and was deeply troubled.

“Master Robin!” he called softly, appearing behind the last surviving Locksley as he walked down the outside steps of the Manor.

The young man turned, and Thornton was immediately affected by the age in Robin’s face. He was thin and sallow, and his eyes were black.

“Thornton.” Robin nodded, and took a half-step towards him, his arms hesitantly raising, as if unsure whether he should embrace the man. With a sad smile, Thornton realised it was a mirror of when Robin had first returned from the Holy Land. The servant was always aware of his station, but had been so pleased to see the prodigal son return home he had been quite overwhelmed. And as Robin had done then, this time Thornton took the lead and drew the young outlaw into a fond embrace.

Thornton patted Robin lightly on the back as they parted. “Master, I was so sorry to hear about the Lady Marian,” he said gently.

For a moment a glimpse of despair crossed Robin’s face, but he shook it off almost immediately. “Thank you, Thornton,” he replied. “I...” He seemed to change his mind and clamped his mouth shut. There were a few moments of silence, before Robin spoke again. “Please don’t call me Master,” he said, even more softly. “I am Robin to everyone, now.” He half-smiled, and Thornton almost thought he looked proud. Why he should be, at abandoning his title and status, Thornton did not know or care to understand. But as always, he obliged his Master’s wishes.

“Very well...Robin.” The name sounded foreign on his tongue. “I...also have to thank you,” he continued cautiously. “For not killing Master Guy.”

Robin looked at him strangely, as if unable to conceive why Thornton would be thanking him for such an act. “That’s what I came here for.”

“I know.” Thornton had decided not to interfere, whatever happened between his two Masters, but he had been relieved when Robin had chosen not to strike Gisborne down. The steward had, in fact, grown rather fond of his new Master, or at least understood that his pain was just as deep as Robin’s was, although Guy had so support, no friends to see him through. No one who loved him. He felt sorry for him, and as badly as Gisborne had treated the people of Locksley in the past, he did not want to see harm come to the man. He’d even been a fair and perhaps even kind Master since returning from the Holy Land.

“Your mother always believed in the power of compassion,” Thornton added tentatively. “As did Lady Marian.”

Robin looked away,  stricken. “And yet both of them died because of me.”

Thornton wanted to shake the young man out of his depressive stupor, wanted to try to make him understand that not everything that happened was due to his own action, nor through his own fault. But, as always, propriety won out.

“Please take care, Master.” The honorific simply slipped out - old habits were hard to break, after all. “Robin,” he began again. “I know the situation seems bleak, but there is always hope. You must believe that.”

Robin gave him a small, unconvincing smile, and then left. Thornton watched him disappear into the trees and said a small prayer for the Lord to watch over the young man in his hour of need. And he prayed for Guy’s soul also, that he may find peace from his demons. That they would both find hope. 

King's Camp

Marian did not feel at home in Richard's camp. Although the King himself had made it clear that she was under his protection, it did not stop the leers, nor the whispered comments among the soldiers. And the entire circumstance of war, she did not like. It was one thing to arm herself to defend her life and the freedoms of others, it was quite another to be in a place with so much death treated with such little care.

It was so different to the peace of Amineh’s home, which she had called her own for months now. The sandstone walls had kept her safe, and now she was leaving. And she could not deny that she was anxious about returning to England – and to Sherwood. She had no idea what had happened while she had been away. Robin, Much, Allan and Little John could be captured or even dead for all she knew. And even if they were not, she dreaded the moment when she saw her husband again – which was another matter. She had known that she would marry Robin, but it had always seemed like such a distant notion – like the return of Richard, or the end of the Sheriff. Instead, it had all happened so quickly. In truth, Marian was unsure if she felt comfortable with it. The way the King had addressed her – the Countess of Huntingdon – made her feel uneasy. The surety of her feelings, which had seemed to clear and strong when she’d thrown them in Guy’s face , were now distant and uncertain. And Guy...

“Excuse me, my Lady, may I sit here?”

Marin looked up to see who had interrupted her thoughts. She saw a tall, fair man, his hair so blonde it was almost white, wearing the black robes and white cross of a Hospitaller Knight. His accent was undoubtedly English, but she found the low, melodic tones hard to place. She looked away again, towards the embers of the fire that were glowing dully in the dawn light.

“If you wish to,” she answered, unsure of his intentions. So far no one had dared speak to her, apart from Carter, who apparently had taken it upon himself to be her protector, and dogged her steps. However, Marian realised as she glanced surreptitiously behind her, he was nowhere to be found.

“Forgive me,” the Hospitaller said as he gave a bow before taking a seat a respectful distance away. “You are the Countess of Huntingdon?”

Marian looked at him sharply, at his keen blue eyes which told her he already knew the answer. She chose to say nothing.

“You are the wife of Robin of Locksley?” the Hospitaller pressed further, although his tone was so respectful she felt as if she was being rude by not answering promptly.

“Yes.”

“Then it is a great honour to meet you.” The Hospitaller raised his fingertips to his forehead and then brought them down in a sweeping motion mimicking a bow.

“You knew my...you knew Robin?” she corrected herself.

“Only by reputation, I’m afraid,” the Hospitaller smiled. “Everyone knew of the young bold Captain of the King’s Personal Guard. Although most of us had to be content to watch from afar,” he added with good humour.

“I know what you mean,” Marian answered, smiling despite herself.

“Do you believe in God, my Lady?” The Hospitaller asked unexpectedly, looking at her with a shrewd gaze.

“Of course.” The response was automatic.

“No, I mean, truly believe,” he pressed. “To know that He placed you here for a purpose, and to know, just know, when you see your path, to trust Him enough to take it?”

Marian didn’t have an answer for him. She couldn’t say she’d ever factored God into her decisions at all.

“My apologies,” the Hospitaller bowed his head. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

It took more than a mad monk to frighten Marian of Knighton. “No need to apologise,” she answered evenly. “I was simply thinking.”

“It is a question that requires great thought,” he agreed. “Perhaps you may let me know the answer when you have decided.”

Marian glanced at him warily. “You are sure our acquaintance will last that long?”

The Hospitaller smiled. “I am sure of my own path. Perhaps not the direction, but I can see the markers.” He paused. “You are returning with the King to England?”

Marian nodded.

“Please let me escort your party,” he continued. “If you would allow me the honour.” He stood, and bowed again. “My Lady, I know you are cautious. Carter will vouch for me, if you wish to seek reassurance.” He turned to leave, and then spun back around, a half-smile on his face. “Apologies are once again necessary,” he bowed his head. “My name is Tuck.”

Without quite knowing why, Marian rose and inclined her head slightly towards him in acknowledgement. She had no idea who he was, but her gut instinct told her not to discount him entirely.

She held his gaze firmly, so he would know she was not to be trifled with. 

“I am Marian.”

Chapter Text

Outlaw's Camp

Allan-a-Dale gave a heavy sigh as he threaded a silver coin through his fingers, watching the firelight reflected in the metal as it spun. The camp was quiet, as usual. Stew bubbled in the pot over the fire, tended to diligently by Much. Little John sat opposite, reading softly to himself a letter from his son, sounding out the words one at a time. Djaq had taught him to read during their journey to the Holy Land, and Allan felt slightly pained by the memory.

Robin was off again. He’d left with the mumbled excuse of taking a walk, but he’d had his sack with him, and they all knew what he was up to. But they pretended not to notice, for Robin’s sake as much as their own. Allan had to admit that it heartened him to hear the villagers still talk of the Nightwatchman. Almost as if a part of Marian was alive, somehow.

“Alright, stew’s ready,” Much announced, and poured a bowl each for Allan and John.

“You not having any?” Allan asked as he reached for his portion, noting that Much hadn’t taken a bowl for himself.

“No,” Much said quietly as he moved away from the fire and began packing a sack of his own. “I’ll eat later.”

But Allan wasn’t to be mollified. “Where you off to then?” 

Much sighed heavily. “I don’t need to inform you of everything I do, Allan.”

“Just curious.” Allan shrugged. “You off to find Robin? Cause I don’t think-”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do either,” Much responded petulantly. He drew the string on his pack tightly and threw it onto his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

“When?”

“When I’m back.” And he stalked out of the camp without so much as another glance.

Allan shook his head in confusion. “What’s up his shirt?” he asked no one in particular.

John, however, looked up from his stew to give him a stern look. “Why don’t you just leave him alone.”

“Do you know what he’s up to?” Allan almost accused him. He didn’t like being out of the loop.

“No,” John answered calmly.

“And you don’t care?”

John finished his stew and put the bowl down. “I care enough not to ask.”

Allan slumped back against his bunk. And what do I care about? He thought morosely. Robin has his grief and his cause, Little John had thoughts of his family, and now Much seemed to have something else to keep him going. But he tried to cast out the lonely, dark mutterings. He had to keep himself occupied.  

“How is little Little John then?” he inquired, changing the subject.

John smiled thinly. “He and his mother are both well. Luke provides a good home for them.”

Allan inwardly cringed. It probably wasn’t helpful of him to remind John that his wife and son were being cared for by another man, even if it was for the best. Allan knew exactly how he felt. Too often his thoughts lingered on Will and Djaq in the Holy Land, wondering how they were, whether they were happy. Whether they missed him as much as he missed them.

“So do you think Robin has a plan?” Allan changed the subject again. “I mean, we can’t sit here forever, picking off the odd traveller as they come through the forest.”

“The Sheriff and Gisborne have been quiet lately,” John added. “They’re up to something.”

“But we’ve exhausted all our contacts in town and the villages,” Allan replied, putting down his bowl of stew and running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Something will turn up,” John assured him, and picked up his letter again. “Don’t worry.”

Allan clucked his tongue and went back to flipping his coin. In truth, he was bored. There had to be a more active way of taking down the Sheriff. He just had to think of it.

King's Caravan

The King’s Company left the Holy Land almost as soon as the treaty with Saladin had been signed. Marian, Djaq and Will were not with the main procession, of course. They were afforded the protection of the caravan, but Richard had suggested they would be safer travelling separately from his party. Djaq wasn’t sure if that meant safety from raiders or from his own soldiers who wouldn’t like the idea of their king travelling with a Saracen women. It didn’t really bother her either way – she felt more comfortable simply to be with Marian and Will. Carter had for the moment abandoned the King’s guard so he could travel with them as well, and she was welcome enough for his presence. It was only the stray Marian had picked up – the Hospitaller Tuck – that Djaq felt uneasy around.

But she was glad to be going back to England, despite the hole in her heart that leaving her homeland once again caused. She knew she had made the right decision. She couldn’t wait to see Allan, Robin, Much and John again. If she was honest with herself, she missed her boys. They needed her.

And yet it had pained her to say good bye to Bassam.

“Allah forgive me,” he’d said to her as she was packing up her belongings. “Your Uncle would never have allowed you to leave again.”

“But you know better, Bassam,” she told him. “You know I would not have listened to him either.”

“You are so strong Saffiya.” He cupped her cheeks with affection. “You have survived where many others have not. I pray that Allah continues to smile upon you.”

“As do I.” Djaq had placed her hand over his. “And this is something I have to do.”

“I would not try and stop you.” Tears welled in Bassam’s eyes. “I know that I could not. But please remember who you are, Saffiya, remember your people, and your culture. Remember us.”

“I could never forget,” she promised, and embraced him tightly.

Will approached, interrupting her thoughts and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked her. There was a note of fear in his voice, as if he was worried she was regretting her decision.

“I’m just thinking of what Bassam said,” she told him. “About forgetting who I am.” She turned to him slightly, and his hand slipped from her shoulder to the small of her back. “I always thought that taking my brother’s name – becoming Djaq – was something I did to survive – that I could always go back to being Saffiya. That she was who I truly was.”

She looked down at her hands, the skin rough, the fingertips calloused from physical labor, from grinding herbs and remedies, from harsh living in the forest. “But now I know that Saffiya died when my brother did. She was just some remnant, a ghost I was trying to breathe life back into.” She looked up at Will and smiled. “This is where I belong. In the fight. Where I can be of some use to the greater good.”

“Djaq...” Will pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I love you. I know who you are.”

She leaned her head against Will’s shoulder and sighed happily. “I know.”

The company was finally camped for the night, and Marian was thankful for the rest. She would not admit it to anyone, but the long weeks travelling by ship and on horseback had irritated her side. The wound had for the most part healed, but Djaq had warned her that the internal damage may always give her trouble. So she was relieved to be able to sit down, alone by the fire. She removed her weapons; an English longbow and quiver, and a curved Saracen-style sword which Amineh had presented it to her before she had left.

The steel glittered in the sun, and Marian ran her fingers down the blunt edge, and grasped the handle edged with precious stones.

“Made by the finest swordsman in Acre,” Amineh told her with a smile. “I remembered a while ago he spoke of an English soldier – a young Captain, one of Richard’s own men – who had saved his life when there had been a raid on his home. The other Crusaders had become violent, intent on pillaging the town, but the Captain stopped them, and sent them back to their camps in disgrace. In gratitude the swordsman gave him a weapon forged by his own hand.”

Marian swiped the sword through the air to test it. It was lighter than she was used to but perfectly balanced, as if it had been made especially for her.

“I asked the swordsman not to recreate the sword he had made for the Englishman,” Amineh continued, “but its complement.”

Marian was touched, and sheathed the sword away in her belt. Her eyes were downcast. “I don’t know how to thank you for all your kindness.” She didn’t know how she would have coped with her long illness, with the waiting and her loneliness, had it not been for Amineh’s even temperament and gentle manner.

Amineh took her by the shoulders and tipped her chin, so she looked her directly in the eyes. “Just remember that you have been saved for a reason, Marian. You must not be afraid of your destiny, whatever that may be. Allah be with you.”

Marian didn’t believe in destiny – and she still didn’t think her survival was thanks to anything other than luck, but she intended to take Amineh’s advice. She was alive, and she planned to make the most of it. She had almost died before – in that awful cave in Sherwood, and at that moment she had promised herself to change her life, to live up to the expectations she placed on herself. To not be held back by anything or anyone. But she had made all the same mistakes. She had grown careless in her manner – she had let her love for Robin prevent her from thinking clearly – she had let her friendship for Guy go unchecked and encouraged him even further. She had let the death of her father affect her too deeply, or not enough, depending on how you looked at it. She had been brash and impulsive when she should have been thoughtful and cunning, and she had been manipulative and calculating when she should have been compassionate. But no more.

She was not the daughter of Edward, the former Sheriff. She was not a ward of the crown or the mistress of Knighton. She was not the wife of Robin Hood and the Countess of Huntingdon. She was not even the Nightwatchman.

She was Marian – and that was who she intended to stay. For better or worse.

A figure appeared from the shadows and interrupted her reverie with soft footsteps and a clearly agitated manner.

“What it is, Carter?” she asked, folding her arms defensively. He had been on edge ever since they had left the Holy Land, obviously eager to get her along to discuss whatever grievance he seemed to have.

“Are you well, Marian?” he asked, and she saw his eyes dart down to her side. Marian fought the urge to place her hand there and cover the area protectively. She was beyond such insecurities.

She sighed heavily. “As well as I have to be.”

Carter bristled at her sharp tone, and almost looked as if he was going to lecture her, or argue with her, but he didn’t do either. “I simply fear that the...addition to our party may have put you on edge.”

Marian raised one eyebrow at him. “You were the one who vouched for Tuck,” she reminded him.

“You asked me whether Tuck was an honourable man,” he spluttered. “I had no idea you would invite him to join us.”

“He is a man of God,” Marian said evenly. “I am certain he only wants to help.”

Carter gave her a sad look. “Those who began this war were also men of God,” he said wistfully. “I have no doubt Tuck has only good intentions, but he believes he is bound to a higher power and not to this earth. Such men can be dangerous.”

Marian mulled this over. It was true, Tuck did seem to see her as some kind of miracle incarnate, which made her slightly uneasy. But she had no doubt he was a loyal soldier, and would protect her. Besides, they could use a man like him when they returned to England. He could be a great asset to their cause. It was a gut instinct, one which Marian intended to follow.

“We will be back in England soon,” Marian told him. “We will have enough to worry about then, so we should enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.”

Carter bowed his head, still obviously disagreeing with her, but deciding to suffer in silence. Marian was thankful to retire, taking her own advice and deciding to enjoy the fact that compared to life in the forest, travelling posed no great dangers.

However she awoke to find out just how wrong she had been, and that the peace and quiet had not in fact lasted the night. Will burst into her tent, too wound up to be embarrassed or even notice that she wore only her thin gown for sleeping.

“It’s the King,” he panted, eyes wide and full of fear. “He’s gone missing.”

Chapter Text

Wittelsbach Castle, Bavaria

Marian stood in the vast hall, smiling at the flamboyant tapestries that hung on the walls. She was flanked by Tuck and Carter, both of whom looked slightly disgusted by the colourful display that was giving her such pleasure. They stood so rigidly they reminded her of warriors she had seen in Norse fairytales; tall, stoic and blonde, as still in life as they had been on the page.

Although, having been travelling with them for many weeks, Marian could now see slight differences. Tuck’s hair was fairer, almost white compared to the straw colour of Carter’s, although his face was darker, tanned by age and the sun where Carter still had the paleness of relative youth. Their stance was a mirror image of the other, hands clasped in front of them, but while Carter had the rough coarse hands of a soldier, speckled with scars and blemishes, Tuck’s were smooth, with long, nimble fingers practiced for surgery. And of course, Tuck wore the black robes of a Hospitaller – Carter in the white of a Templar. But each of them wore identical expressions of discomfort at their surroundings.       

Tuck in particular looked around mistrustfully at the attendants who stood at each doorway, dressed in pale yellow robes and floppy hats.

“Are you sure about this, my Lady?” he asked in undertone, although his lips barely moved.

“Yes,” she replied, not taking care to lower her voice. “He was a great friend to us once, in Nottingham.”

Tuck almost smiled. “You certainly seemed at have picked up your share of strays in the forest,” he added, sending a sidelong glance at Carter, whose mouth twitched in response, either with annoyance or amusement, Marian wasn’t sure.

“I am not the uninvited member of this party,” Carter murmured back.

While she was certain that Tuck and Carter respected one another, there seemed to be a kind of rivalry between them. Perhaps it was the natural tension between their orders, or the nature of their crusade. Cater fought for the King and peace, while Tuck had openly declared that he fought for God alone, and His cause, whatever he believed that to be. It was an attitude which had not endeared Tuck to Djaq, and Marian was sure that the feeling was mutual. More than once Marian felt she may have made a mistake allowing Tuck to accompany them, and if either Carter, Djaq or Will had asked her to revoke her acceptance to Tuck’s request, she would have done so. But none of them had, and any animosity within the group was minimal.  Tuck, for the most part, kept to himself. Marian wasn’t quite sure why, but she found his presence comforting when he sat with them by the fire, rarely speaking, just listening to all of them, as if he felt he needed to know their hearts and minds before he would attempt an inroad into their circle. And she knew that they needed all of the help they could get, if they were going to rescue the King.

They continued to stand in silence until the far entrance to the hall was flung open and in strode a familiar face. He raised his arms, palms outward, then clasped them to his heart.

“Ah, my Lady Marian!” he cried out in English, his Germanic accent unmistakable. He hurried forward to embrace her, and placed two kisses to her cheeks. “What a wonderful surprise!”

“It is lovely to see you again, Count Frederich,” she replied warmly, unable to keep the grin off her face. “May I introduce my companions,” she gestured towards them. “This is Tuck, and Carter, Knights of King Richard’s Crusade.” She watched with amusement as her two guards took in the sight of the Count, from his pointed, high-heeled boots, to his bright blue tunic, right to the peacock feathers in his hat, and gave identical grimaces.

The Count, however either did not notice or did not care. He shook both their hands vigorously in turn. “Welcome to Bavaria, gentlemen. Any friend of Lady Marian’s is a friend of mine,” he said before turning back to her with an impish smile. “And what brings you here, my Lady?” he asked, taking her hand and placing a kiss to her knuckles. “I sincerely hope it is to say that you have abandoned your Outlaw and come to marry me.”

She faltered slightly, but immediately covered it with a winning smile and withdrew her hand from his grasp, wagging her index finger at him playfully.

Carter, who had not met the Count before and obviously indignant at the apparent jibe at his friend, cut in frostily; “She is no longer Lady Marian, sir Count. She is the Countess of Huntington.”

The Count was undeterred by Carter’s harsh tone. “So you married your rogue, eh?” he pinched her cheek playfully and grinned. “Congratulations, my dear. Is this a honeymoon, then? Where is Robin?” He looked around her playfully and she saw Carter roll his eyes.

“I am afraid Robin is not here,” she put a stilling hand on the Count’s arm to stop his theatrics. “But we do require your assistance. Our king has been taken hostage, and we have reason to believe he is being kept in a castle not far from here, at least for the moment.”

Frederich immediately stopped his showing off and became more serious, his brow furrowing in thought. “My goodness, this is serious news. And you are intending to rescue him?”

“If possible,” she answered. “Will and Djaq are there now, gathering intelligence.”

“I will surely help you in any way I can,” Frederich answered solemnly. “You must all stay here – my servants will prepare rooms.” His face brightened and he smiled again, linking Marian’s arm in his and leading them towards the entrance to the hall. “But first you must tell me everything, and I will give you a tour of the grounds. A Count and a Countess, it is fitting, yes?” He laughed heartily.

Marian smiled as well, her heart lighter than it had been in months. She allowed the Count to lead her, Carter and Tuck following closely behind.

Sherwood Forest

Robin’s heart beat wildly as he ran swiftly through the woods, dodging trees and branches with practiced ease. He heard the heavy footsteps of the castle guards behind him, and Gisborne’s behind them.

“Get the Nightwatchman!” he heard Gisborne shout hoarsely.

But Robin was too quick for them, and he knew Sherwood too well. He ran until he was out of their sight, then hid beneath the roots of one of Sherwood’s oaks. He waited there for perhaps an hour, until he was sure that they had given up and headed back to Nottingham.

Robin pulled himself to his feet, shaking out the cramp in his legs from being crouched near the ground for so long, and pulled off the Nightwatchman’s mask. The damn thing itched, but wore it nonetheless. Allan had mentioned in passing where he’d hidden the Nightwatchman’s costume and Robin had retrieved it, often making night runs to the villages.  They did not know that the real Nightwatchman was dead and buried in the Holy Land, and Robin intended to keep it that way.  

It made him feel closer to her – and it comforted him to still hear the Nightwatchman’s name around the villages, even if it meant he rarely slept.     

Instead Robin devoted his time to the poor, to his gang, and to his mourning. He had thought, before, that those had always been his three priorities – his people, his men, and Marian. But with the clarity of hindsight, he saw that his thoughts had been for the King, his cause, and for himself. He could not deny that he abandoned the poor, just as Richard had. He had been so consumed with the Sheriff’s plot that he had lost sight of the people he had sworn to protect. Little John had been right about that.

And he remembered his words to Allan when they’d been strung up in the desert – it’s not the King’s fault – and he had willed himself to believe those words even if he had almost choked on them.  To keep faith in Richard who had flattered and praised him, who had given him his love, respect and trust – everything he had never received from his cold, distant father.

But he’d seen Richard in a new light, the last time they had parted. Oh, he was still Robin’s sovereign lord, and he intended to continue to serve his king as required by his conscience, his birth, and his moral code. But he no longer saw Richard as God incarnate – His representative on Earth who he’d followed blindly to the Holy Land seeking glory. There was no glory in a King who did not trust his servants, he saw that now. Robin’s faith had been shattered, not only in Richard, but in himself.

For had he not also disparaged his men, ignored their advice, abandoned them when they had needed his help and support? He had not forgotten the looks on their faces, that night in the barn when Much had broken his heart – you still treat me like a servant, you don’t treat me like your friend. How those words had haunted him. Much had been right, Robin had realised with sickening clarity. He had been just like Richard – the high lord without a thought for the people who had supported and loved him. And Marian – she’d tried to tell him so many times, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. He hadn’t wanted to listen to any of them.

And so his life in Sherwood had become one of atonement. He sought the advice of John, Allan and Much on every decision, and had discovered, to his surprise, that they were more than up to the challenge. They had avoided Nottingham for the most part. Vaisey had been quiet and they’d been unable to discover his plans, if any. And the Sheriff’s men, in turn, had left them alone unless provoked – perhaps no longer thought them worth worrying about – four men in Sherwood, no spy in the castle.   

He tried often to think of Marian and almost relished the pain her memories caused him, as if it was part of his penance. He remembered her sweet laugh, her cunning and bravery, and the way she would look at him in anger and it would be the most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen. And he remembered her lying in the sands of the Holy Land, where he had killed so many men. The sight of it was forever burned into his memory. There had not been so much blood – it had almost looked at if she had been sleeping. But the wound in her belly and her stillness had indicated otherwise.

He had left his cheer, his charm and his laughter in those harsh desert sands, and his promise to her to keep fighting sometimes the only thing that kept him going. 

Nottingham Castle

Guy seethed to himself as he ransacked Marian’s old rooms. If his guards had not also seen the Nightwatchman, if they had not sworn on the lives of their children that the villagers often spoke of the Nightwatchman’s recent activities, he would have believed it to be an apparition or a ghost.

But it had been real. He threw aside parchment still lying on desks, shattered ornaments and jewellery, upturned the mattress from the bed and ripped all of her clothes from the wardrobe. The Nightwatchman’s costume was not there. He’d already searched Allan’s old room, and it was nowhere to be found.

He roughly removed a drawer from the wooden writing desk and shook its contents onto the floor. Out fluttered parchment, ink, various trinket and a small piece of cloth. Guy stopped, reached to the floor and gently picked up the cloth, working its soft fabric between his fingers. It was the embroidery piece Marian had been working on her last day in the castle; it could have been a handkerchief or the making of a small scarf. He brought it to his face and inhaled her sweet scent, still clinging to the fabric.

But something caught his eye, and he examined the embroidery patterns at the edge of the trim. They were small symbols which would have been unnoticed to the normal eye, but clear enough on close examination. He recognised the circular symbol and wavy lines – it was the symbol which had once hung in the hall of Locksley Manor, the symbol he had seen carved into the imbecilic tags of Robin Hood’s men.

Even from the grave, she was taunting him. He clutched the cloth in his fist, remembering angrily how she’d brazenly been sewing it right in front of him – how she had poorly concealed the fact she already knew it was Hood’s birthday. Guy felt sick – she’d been making a gift for her lover even as he had stood there, trying to protect her. Hate burned in his heart, although he did not know if it was directed at Marian or fuel for his own self-loathing. Perhaps both.

Clenching his jaw, Guy took three paces across the room and flung the cloth into the fire. The same fire he had demanded always remained lit, as if she somehow she would reappear in the room one day. He leaned against the mantle and watched the cloth burn until nothing remained of it but ash.

Guy heard someone enter the room, but he did not take his eyes off the fire. It could only be Vaisey, choosing his moment as always.  It was almost as if he could sense when Guy was vulnerable and in pain, always ready and willing to make him feel worse.  He should kill him, Guy thought to himself.  He should fulfill Marian's final request of him, make it so that Vaisey could never made him feel insignificant again.  But then Guy would truly be alone. 

“But what is this?” he heard Vaisey’s mocking tone. “What has happened to the shrine?”

Guy heard him picking through the debris he’d left on the floor, kicking aside various items. Something shattered and crunched, as if it had been trodden on.    

“It was all a lie,” Guy said, his voice rough, almost to himself. “Every look she ever gave me, they were really for him.” The words felt bitter on his tongue. Guy didn’t mention that he’d seen the Nightwatchman – he still couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it had only looked like her. In the end, all outlaws were the same. 

“Oh, Gisborne, Gisborne, Gisborne.” There was no pity in Vaisey’s voice, just the old mockery that made Guy wonder again why he had not taken Marian up on her offer of marriage. He had thought, then, that he had wanted her with no strings attached – now he didn’t care how many strings her acquiescence had come with, if only she was still alive.

“Forget about her,” Vaisey continued. “I never understood what you saw in the preachy harpy, anyway. They’ll be plenty of distractions in London that will no doubt be more willing and not quite so....moral,” he said, the word sounding acidic, as if his tongue had been burned by it.

Guy turned around, confused. “London, my Lord?”

“Yes,” Vaisey clapped him on the shoulder. “I want you to tell Prince John the good news about his dear brother Richard.”

“You have heard, then?”  Guy's interest piqued, since he'd been sceptical of Vaisey's plan. Not that he had said so openly, of course.   

“The King is in safe hands,” Vaisey told him, grinning, the firelight glinting on his false tooth, now gold. “He should be on route now, and in a few days will be enjoying the hospitality of Duke Leopold in Austria.” He rubbed his hands together in obvious glee.

“And what if Hood discovers your plot?” Guy asked.

“He won’t” Vaisey replied with confidence. “At least not until it’s too late. And then what a conundrum he will be in, stealing the funds raised to pay for poor Richard’s ransom. Why, that’s akin to treason.” Vaisey let out a low laugh.

“I don’t think that will stop him,” Guy countered.

“Of course it won’t, Gisborne,” Vaisey snapped in that tone which never failed to make Guy feel completely stupid. “But it will hurt his conscience. And besides,” he added, “Hood is of no consequence now. Do you think I care about four measly men in the forest? A clue...” Vaisey shook his head.

Guy suddenly felt very tired. “Very well, my lord,” he said dully. “I shall leave at first light.”

"Good man." Vaisey gave Guy another pat on the shoulder and left the room without another word.

Guy breathed a sigh of relief. While before, he would have given anything for such an honour, now the victory felt hollow. He’d once longed for advice, tutelage and trust from Vaisey, everything he’d never received from his own gruff, violent father, but now that faith sat uneasily on him.

But his thoughts turned to London, and brightened. He’d long awaited an audience with Prince John, the chance to make himself indispensible so that when John was King, Guy would surely reclaim his family’s land and honour. He would look back and think Marian a fool for turning against him – for rejecting the love, wealth and power he could bestow upon her. And, finally, his heart would be too full of pride to grieve her loss any more.

Guy squared his shoulders, feeling as if a large weight had been lifted from them. He stalked out of Marian’s room and did not look back. He passed a castle guard in the hallway, and stopped him purposefully.

“Make sure that junk in there is thrown away,” he ordered, indicating the carnage in Marian’s room. “And put out that fire.” 

Chapter Text

Wittelsbach Castle, Bavaria

The feast their first night at Count Frederick’s castle was excellent, for it had been a long time since any of their party had eaten so well. Heart light and belly full, Marian was in good spirits as they discussed their plans. 

“I have invited the Baron and his retinue for an evening of gambling tomorrow night,” Frederich, seated at Marian’s side, was telling them. “The castle will have less guards – he takes great care with his personal safety and always has his security detail with him.”

“There will still be guards there, though,” Djaq interjected from Frederich’s other side, where she and Will were seated. “It may be very difficult to get past them.”

“I know,” Marian agreed. “That’s why our best chance is for you and I to sneak in as servants – you said he is brought his food by the kitchenmaids?”

Djaq nodded. “I have located two we are able to bribe and exchange places with for the night.”

“But it is not the getting in I am worried about,” Marian told them.

“It is getting the King out,” Will agreed with a grimace. “Even with the reduced security, he is watched all day, every day. We could never remove him from the cell without them noticing.”

“If we can just get in to see him,” Marian told him, “let him know of our plans. Then we can think of how to get him out.” She turned to Carter and Tuck for reassurance. They both seemed happy enough with the plan, although they seemed even more pleased with the food before them. Marian could imagine they were relieved to be eating anything other than the soldier’s rations they had been surviving on for the past few years.  Whilst Marian had enjoyed the spicy and unfamiliar food Amineh had prepared for her, the roast partridge, salted pork and sweetmeats at Frederich's feast made her feel closer to home. 

“I still think it is risky,” Will pressed. “We don’t know if he is going to be moved – or when.”

“My discreet enquiries tell me that the Baron is in league with Duke Leopold,” Frederich told them. “It is likely that they will take your King to Austria.”

Marian sighed. “I know that if Robin was planning this we’d be charging in swords drawn, to liberate the King on the first attempt or die trying,” she gave a small smile. “But I think it is better to be cautious, to know what we’re up against.”

“I agree,” Tuck interceded evenly. “We need intelligence.”

Djaq and Carter nodded, clearly also in agreement. After a few moment’s thought, Will gave an nod of acquiescence.

“Well, now that our reconnoiter is over, let us have some music.” The Count gestured for a nearby musician, who walked towards the centre of the room, bowed, and began to play a cheerful tune on his lute. 

Frederich took advantage of the additional noise to lean in close to Marian, his voice soft so that the others would not hear him. “Now, Marian, my dear,” he said seriously, “I am worried for you.”

“I will be fine, Frederich,” she reassured him, patting his arm and smiling. “I’m sure you remember I am used to such dangers.”

“I do not mean your plan,” he told her. “I mean your marriage – forgive me,” he added quickly, “but you did not seem pleased when Carter referred to you by your title.”

Marian bit her lip. She disliked such personal questions. “I...I am not used to it,” she answered softly. “It was in the Holy Land and I...I thought we were going to die.”

Frederich caught her eye, clearly surprised. “You regret your marriage?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “No. I just...” she trailed off, and looked down at the table, unsure of what to say. She resented Frederich slightly, for intruding on her thoughts in this way.

“You are unsure of whether you would have married him, had you not been on the verge of death,” Frederich finished for her. 

“I don’t know,” Marian replied softly, her eyes still downcast. “I do love him – I realised just how much then and that has not changed. I just...I don’t know how things will be when I see him again.”

“You miss him,” Frederich observed. 

Marian sighed, and met his gaze again. “Yes.”

“Then do not think of yourself as a wife,” he advised her. “You will be lovers reunited – that is all that matters.” He patted her hand again.

She smiled ruefully. “The last time I lived in the forest,” she paused, her lip twitching at the memory. “It did not go as smoothly as it could have.” All too well she remembered their bitter disagreements, which, while they always reconciled, were never truly resolved. 

Frederich chuckled. “”My dear, love is never smooth. But that is what makes it exciting, eh?”

Marian smiled, despite herself. She could not deny that that had always been the thrill of her and Robin’s relationship, the push-pull of their arguments, the verbal sparring and passion simmering just beneath their harsh words.  

“He cares about you deeply, Marian, that much was obvious,” Frederich continued, his tone serious again. “I am sure you will work out any differences you have.”

Marian felt her smile become somewhat forced, but looked at Frederich in a way that looked thankful, and did not betray her doubts. “I hope so.”

Warwickshire, England

Eve had never been so content. Her small cottage, although sparsely furnished, was delightfully warm from the boldly flickering fire, and she sat comfortably on her bed, her legs folded beneath her. The main source of happiness however was the man sprawled on the bed beside her, his head resting on the folds of her skirt in her lap, gazing up her with adoration.

Much had been visiting her since soon after his return from the Holy Land - at least as often as he could get away from Nottinghamshire and make the journey. It was more than a day’s ride to the village she had settled in, far enough from the Sheriff’s reach, but too taxing a journey for him to make regularly.

He had simply appeared at her door one day, soaked through from the rain outside, looking like a lost soul. He had told her of their journey to the Holy Land, the attempt on the King’s life, the death of Lady Marian, and she had held him while he poured out his soul to her, relieved, for once, it seemed, to share the burden.   

She’d never asked how he’d found her, she’d just been relieved that he had. Her life was quiet and simple, but his visits made her forget any dull moments. It was only when he came to her that she allowed herself to dream, to imagine that her small cottage was theirs, that he was her husband dozing so contentedly in her lap, and she could hear the laugh of honey-haired children outside.  

“I should be getting back soon,” Much spoke into the silence of the room, regret lacing his voice. “Allan is starting to get suspicious as to why I am absent so often.”

Eve felt her daydream fade, replaced with disappointment. The joy always ended, sooner or later, and Much returned to Sherwood. 

“Why have you not just told him?” she asked. 

“Because Allan has a big mouth” Much informed her. “He would never let me hear the end of it, and then Robin would know.”

“And you do not think he would approve?” Eve frowned. That was one aspect she still did not understand. 

“No, I’m sure he would, but I do not think that he could bear it.”

“Because of Lady Marian.” Eve found herself annoyed with the woman, who, even in death, seemed to come between her and Much. She had not particularly liked the woman when they’d met – had in fact resented her for the conversation she’d overheard with Much in Bonchurch. Lady Marian had all but called her a liar and a whore, accused her of playing with Much’s affections to gain information for the Sheriff. And of course, it had started out that way, but what right had Lady Marian had to judge her when Eve had come to learn that she was no better? She played the innocent maid for Guy of Gisborne and yet passed information to Robin Hood. 

But Eve said none of this. Instead, she let her frustration fall on Much’s master. “So he cannot let anyone else be happy?” she questioned. Truly, she thought, Robin Hood was a selfish man. 

“Yes...and no.” Much tilted his head, as if considering. “He would feign joy for me, but...he is still depressed, Eve. I think it comforts him to know that we are all in the same position, missing those we love. Were I no longer his equal in that he would withdraw.” He shook his head and cast his eyes downward, a sadness crossing his visage. “That is what he does. I saw it in the Holy Land – the first time. He hates himself, and so he tries not to be so human. He becomes a soldier, a warrior, and nothing more.”

Eve gently pushed the hair back from his brow, her fingers lightly caressing the golden strands that glinted in the firelight. She knew that he had seen horrible things in the Holy Land – things he could not tell her about. But, as ever, she was willing to listen whenever he did open up, silently reassuring him that she would not think less of him to speak of it, or allow the tears to fall unkissed upon his face. 

Much blinked hard, as if to wipe the memories away. “And it would not be good for him – or us – should be become like that again. He's already halfway there.”

Eve did not speak further, content to stroke his hair and gaze into the fire. She knew Much also enjoyed the quietness they could share - that all too often he felt as if he had to be the one to fill the silence, which, she supposed, was where is reputation for speaking nonsense came from. She had assured him that he did not have to keep up appearances with her, that his mere presence was enough to ensure her happiness. 

It was a long time before she spoke again, remembering what she’d been wondering at ever since he had returned to her. “Can I ask you something, Much?”

“Of course.” He looked up at her again, and she felt warm under his loving gaze. 

“It is something I have wanted to ask for a long time,” she began cautiously.

He looked up at her quizzically, but urged her to continue.   

Eve steeled herself, waiting a few moments to brush a speck of dirt of his tunic before continuing. “You once said that when there was justice again, you would come and find me,” she said,her heart warming at the remembrance. “And yet you have found me but there seems to be less justice now than there was then. What made you change your mind?”

Sighing, Much shifted off of her lap, and stood, wandering aimlessly around her small cottage for several long minutes before turning back to her.

“I suppose I was scared that I would be waiting forever,” he told her sadly. “There seems so little hope, now. The King is aware of the atrocities here in England – about the treachery of his own brother, and yet he does not return.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “Gisborne was at least right in that, as much as I hate to admit it – the King cares more about his wars in the Holy Land than he does about his own people.”  

Much leaned against the mantelpiece with both hands, hiding his face from her. “And....well, Robin and Marian were waiting until there was justice before they would allow themselves to marry. But now she is gone and there will never be justice for Robin – not really.”

She rose and moved towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder and sharing an impish smile to try and lighten the mood. “But you have not asked me to marry you.”

“I would,” he turned his head towards her, his tone earnest. “If I thought you would accept.”

“I would,” she echoed him, her smile fading somewhat. “If I thought that you would stay with me.”

That was the impasse. Much would not desert his fellow outlaws, he was much too loyal for that. And it seemed they needed him now more than ever – especially Robin, who would crumble without his loyal friend. One day, Eve told herself, if and when this was all over, she would tell Robin Hood exactly what she thought of him. And it would not be kind.         

“Come back with me,” he asked her suddenly, turning towards her fully and taking both of her hands in his own. “Come live in the forest.”

She looked at him with a sort of pity. “Not five minutes ago you said the mere knowledge of me would drive Robin into even deeper pits of despair,” she pointed out. “Now you want me to go with you and flaunt our happiness in his face?”

Much sighed. “You’re right,” he said sadly, dropping her hands and moving to sit back on the bed, head in his hands. “I would never do that to him.”   

She sat beside him, resting gentle hands on his arm. “He does not deserve you.”

“I know.” Much nodded. Eve knew that it was not an understanding he had come to lightly – after all, his upbringing had told him that such a thing was not possible. But Eve also understood that Robin knew that now, too, knew how little he deserved Much's friendship and loyalty, and yet Much still offered it unreservedly. She wondered how the legendary Robin Hood dealt with that.

Much spoke again, thoughtfully; “But sometimes we want to give those we love more than they deserve.”

His innate goodness never failed to kindle her heart. Truly, she had never met a person so giving of himself, so willing to sacrifice his own happiness for others. He would lay down his life for any of his friends, for her, in an instant and die happy that he had been of service. 

“That is why I will wait for you, my Much,” she replied sweetly, shifting onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close. “However long it takes.”

His fingers stroked her jaw tenderly. “I love you, Eve,” he whispered, and kissed her gently. “And one day we will be together for good. But now...” his seriousness gave way a charming smile. “I thought perhaps...a bath?”

“Of course, my Lord.” She cooed playfully, and kissed his nose. “I trust you will not object if I join you this time?”

He stood, sweeping her into his arms as she laughed in delight.

“Not at all,” he told her.  

Straubing Castle, Bavaria

Marian walked down the long, dark hallway, careful not to let fear betray her, and slightly reassured by Djaq’s firm presence beside her. They both wore the plain clothes of the castle kitchenmaids, caps covering their hair and pulled low to hide their faces in the shadows. She hoped that the guards they passed would take no notice of them and not realise that they were not the usual staff. But luckily, they seemed unconcerned by their presence and, finally, she and Djaq reached the final cell of the dungeon where they knew Richard was being held. 

The guard who stood watch over Richard’s cell regarded them only briefly, glancing at the tray in Marian’s hands and the pitcher of water in Djaq’s. He unlocked the door behind him and nodded them in. The two women went inside, the heavy door closing firmly behind them, and Marian heard the unmistakable click of the key in the lock. Based on Will and Djaq’s reconnaissance, she knew they would only be afforded a few minutes alone with the King, to ensure that he ate and drank. 

Marian peered into the darkness, her eyes adjusting as she noticed a huddled, stirring form in the corner of the cell. She hurried towards it, falling to her knees beside him and placing the tray to one side. Placing a tentative hand on the pile of dirty blankets, she asked; “Sire?” Her voice sounded painfully thin, even to her own ears. 

Richard turned towards her, and Marian stifled a gasp. His face was hollowed, his skin sallow, and his once broad shoulders sagged in defeat. Marian was only glad Robin could not see his king so degraded. In this dungeon, Richard was no longer the Lionheart, but merely another prisoner covered in filth. 

“My Lord?” Marian prodded again when Richard said nothing. “It is I, Lady Marian.”

Recognition seemed to dawn on Richard, and his face cracked into a smile. “Marian, my dear,” he rasped, clearly not having spoken in quite some time. “Have you come to rescue me?” He chuckled softly to himself, but it soon gave way to hacking coughs. 

Marian looked helplessly at Djaq, who came to their side instantly, placing bracing hands on Richard’s back and sternum.

When his coughing subsided, Marian continued, acutely aware they could not linger. “We are working on it, Sire,” she told him. “We will get you out of here.” 

Richard lifted himself into a seated position, Djaq assisting him to lean against the stone wall. “Marian speaks the truth, King Richard.”

He laughed again, and Marian thought perhaps his capture, however brief, had already begun to addle his mind. “The wife of Robin Hood and a Saracen woman have come to rescue their King,” he chuckled to himself.

Djaq visibly bristled at both implications, and retreated to the door, clearly conscious of the guard outside. “We must hurry, Marian,” she urged. 

“My Lord you are well guarded,” Marian said quickly, “but we have come to tell you not give up hope, for we will rescue you. We will find a way, and if they move you, we will follow. I promise you I will not give up until you are free and we can take you back to England.”

“Or die trying.” Richard looked back at her, and blinked. For the first time, he seemed to really see her beside him in the dark. “My dear,” he said softly, his voice still carrying a slight rasp, “your loyalty is commendable. I have seen that same determination in your husband’s face many times. Truly, you are well matched.” He reached out and took her hand, looking into her eyes earnestly. “You must return to him.”

“No,” Marian shook her head. “No, I must bring you back to England, so you can set everything right again.” 

“There is no way out of here,” he told her. “You must leave me to my fate.”

“But you are sick, my Lord,” she insisted. "You are a King, how can they treat you this way?"  Marian was appalled at their audacity.

"I seem to have offended them," Richard joked weakly.

Marian shook her head. "It is Vaisey," she said with surety. "This reeks of his hand." But Richard regarded her statement indifferently, as if he could not remember who she was speaking of. 

“Surely you realise that the Sheriff of Nottingham is behind this?" she pressed. "And behind him, your brother, Prince John? You cannot leave England in their hands.”

“Yes, I know.” Richard said softly, and suddenly seemed very old. “But you must leave me all the same.” He patted her arm fondly. “Believe me, my dear, I am leaving England in the best possible hands. Your husband needs you.”

“No,” she repeated. “No.” She could not, in all conscience, leave Richard without at least trying to save him. How could they possibly fight against Prince John with no hope that Richard would return to depose him?

“Robin was my most trusted and best warrior,” Richard ignored her protests. “But he buried his heart in the Holy Land, when he thought you lost to him.”

Marian bowed her head, not wishing to meet Richard’s gaze. She felt discomforted every time someone spoke of Robin’s grief for her. 

“You saved my life, once, Marian, my child,” he continued. “I must return the favour, and save yours by sending you back to him.”

“But - ”

“Marian,” Djaq hissed urgently. They had stayed too long already.

“Leave,” Richard commanded. “That is an order from your King.”

Marian had never been blindly loyal, as Robin had, in fact she had criticised the King’s actions and decisions more than once. But even she could not refuse a direct order from her sovereign. She nodded once, firmly, and rose to her feet.

“I leave the safeguarding of England to you both,” he said finally, sinking back into the shadows. “Please keep her safe.”

“I will,” she promised. 

“Marian!” Djaq tugged at her arm urgently. “We must leave.”

Nodding, Marian harshly brushed away the tears that had half-formed with the back of her hand. She leaned down and emptied the tray she had carried in of food to take back out with her. And she left the cell with Djaq, her heart heavy with failure, and yet, with the anticipation that finally, she could go home.  

Chapter Text

Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest

It was dawn; unwelcome light streamed in through the gaps in the tree canopy of Sherwood and slowly roused Robin from sleep. He was quite unwilling to wake, because with gaining consciousness, he lost Marian once again. 

Robin never dreamed of her, for she did not belong in the dark. But sometimes, when the morning sun penetrated his slumber and he was surrounded by the beautiful red-gold of sunrise, she was there. In the few precious moments between asleep and awake, Marian was beside him, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders and a small smile on her face that was adoration and mockery in equal measure. Robin reached out to her but, as always, she disappeared just before their fingertips touched. And as always, Robin opened his eyes, blinked twice and tried to banish the image from his mind. 

He rose from his bunk and took a seat just outside the camp to take in the fresh morning air before Much appeared, as he did every day.

“Morning,” Much greeted him, and Robin noticed that he appeared somewhat nervous.

“Mornin’” Robin replied without feeling. 

“Breakfast?”

Robin shook his head. That was Much’s cue in their morning ritual to leave, but instead he hesitated. 

“What is it, Much?” Robin asked after a few moments of uneasy silence.

“Nothing,” Much said a little too quickly.  He seemed flustered. “I just wanted to say…well.”  He took a deep breath.  “Happy Birthday, Mas-” Much visibly caught himself, and cleared his throat.  “Robin.” 

He didn’t keep track of dates, but if Much said it was his birthday, then it must be so. It was no wonder his friend had been somewhat anxious, clearly he had been debating whether to not to mention it case Robin was reminded of the last celebration.    

Had it really been a whole year since they had been caught by those mercenaries in Nettlestone?  Only one day less than that since they had begun the journey to the Holy Land, and all of the horror that found them there? One year since they had been stuck in that barn overnight, Robin thinking he had only hours to live, hearing Much tell him what an terrible friend he had been, seeing the truth of it in Will, Djaq and John’s faces as they had been unable to meet his dismissive gaze. 

It had been the third worst day of his life.    

Surely it had not been so long ago, but Robin could not deny that summer was indeed over. He saw it in the leaves of Sherwood which had begun to turn brown and brittle and fall to the ground with increasing speed. He felt it in the crisp morning air that awoke him from his dreams and forced him to face the day. He heard it in the birdsong which grew less frequent and would soon turn to the silence of winter. He realised with clarity that it was October, and autumn was well and truly upon them. 

“Robin?” Much looked concerned by his lack of response and was clearly regretting saying anything. Robin, once again, felt guilty that his friends still felt the need to tip-toe around him, as if anything they said may set him off. 

He forced a smile.  “Thank you, Much.”

Much clearly did not expect anything better, and satisfied enough, he went about his morning routine of fixing breakfast. He, Allan and John settled down around the campfire and chatted quietly as they ate, but Robin made no move to join them. 

It dawned on him that as of that morning, he was twenty eight years old. A good enough age for an outlaw, he supposed, although still young for someone of his birth and health. But Robin felt like an old man. Eight and twenty, and his wife was dead, he had no heir, no lands, his King had disappointed him and his only friends in the world were afraid to speak to him. 

It was no way to live. Robin had been so consumed by his grief and sorrow that he had lost track of the time he had lost, of the rest of his life which was passing him by. Summer had come and gone, and he had not even noticed. He had thought he had been focusing his attention on his cause, but they had not made a large haul for longer than he cared to remember.  

He was suddenly reminded of his father, who to Robin had always seemed an ancient creature.  Much had once told him that he remembered a Robert of Locksley who had been bright and full of life, who used to pat Much on the head and give him sweets, even though he was only the miller’s son.  Such a man was a stranger to Robin – he had only ever known a dour, grey-haired old Earl who had spent hours sitting by the fire pretending his son did not exist.  Most of Robin’s childhood exploits had been desperate plays for his father’s attention, but it seemed the more he misbehaved, the more Lord Robert ignored him. 

It had been a selfish grief, because it had meant that Robin had never been able to be part of it; to miss the mother he had never known by being allowed to share in her memory with the person who had loved her the most.           

And yet he had made all of the same mistakes and become the man who, as a child, he swore he never would be. Lord Robert was cold and distant and loved his people from afar – Robin had been determined to be full of mirth and laughter and be one of his people. But instead Robin had withdrawn and allowed his sadness to suck the joy from his men’s hearts and the meaning from their cause. 

Marian would be ashamed of him, he realised with sickening clarity. 

Rising, Robin moved towards his men by the fire, resolving not to let any more time pass him by.  The difference between him and his father would be that he would change his fate and not allow himself to waste away consumed by sorrow.    

“Right, lads,” he addressed them, with something of his former style. He helped himself to the porridge which was left in the cooking pot, his levity clearly bemusing Allan, John and Much. “The Sheriff has been quiet for a while and we still don’t know why,” he continued with a determination he had not felt for what seemed like an age. 

“So it’s time we took the fight back to them,” he grinned.  “Let’s plan a raid.”     

Road to Calais, France

It was late afternoon as Marian led their small band on the road which would lead them back to England. They had been riding all day, but no one had suggested that they stop - even just to rest the horses Tuck had acquired for them. Marian keenly felt the ache in her side where Guy’s sword had pierced her, as it always did after the long hours of travelling. It was one thing to acknowledge that the injury would always trouble her, but quite another to face that it may be a significant weakness. 

But she refused to accept that, and so she led her horse at the front of their pack, Tuck less than a length behind her as if her bodyguard, Will and Djaq riding side by side a few lengths behind him, and Carter bringing up the rear, cautious of the road behind them.   

They had kept to the main roads to avoid bandits, although Carter and Tuck still wore their Crusader robes which she hoped instilled fear in any would-be attackers, and all of them carried visible swords. Marian also wore a Saracen bow she had acquired in Acre, the recurve pressed against her back and the string digging into her breastbone. She much preferred the English longbow she had carried as the Nightwatchman, and looked forward to obtaining another one. Or perhaps her old bow was still safe where Allan had hidden her costume, wherever than had been.  He’d refused to tell her in case she’d been tempted to seek it out. She missed the feel of it in her hands – the recurve bows were smaller and perhaps better suited to her physique, but she’d spent years practicing with the longbow, building her strength in order to draw it properly and shoot better than any man, save Robin of course. Using a more compact bow felt like a backwards step.      

Her thoughts turned to Richard also, and she wondered if he was in Austria by now, guest of Duke Leopold who was no doubt in league with Vaisey. She’d enquired after the Duke with Frederich, who’d told her that by reputation he was an ambitious man not to be crossed, and had also quarrelled with King Richard on Crusade, when the latter had removed Leopold’s standard during the Battle of Acre. A deep offence, apparently, although Marian continued to believe men no better than squabbling children when it came to war.  

Marian had remained concerned for Richard’s safety, lingering at Frederich’s castle for a day or so despite her King’s orders to return home. Frederich had assured her that Richard was far more valuable to his captors alive and healthy, and the mistreatment was merely a momentary revenge for the slight Leopold had received on the battlefield, and likely suggested by Vaisey.  

“The natural order will reassert itself,” Frederich had told her.  “Once Leopold has made his point I have no doubt your king will be treated in a manner his rank deserves. After all, they wish to obtain a ransom, not incite a war.”

His words were a comfort to her, and she was grateful for friends such as the Count - for Carter and Tuck who had also assured her that the correct path was following the King’s instruction, and especially for Djaq and Will, who she trusted most out of their small party.  

Marian turned to see the latter appear in her peripheral vision, within a few moments drawing his horse level with hers.   

“We’ll be in England in a few days,” Will said without preamble, as was his way. “And in Nottingham a few days after that.”

She smiled thinly and kept her eyes on the road ahead. “I know.” The thought both thrilled and scared her.

“Djaq and I were thinking that perhaps we should let the others know that we are coming,” Will pressed on. “We still have Lardner, and can send a message.”

Marian bit her lip and pondered for a moment. She had been worried about how Robin may react if she simply showed up in Sherwood, alive. It would perhaps help if he was prepared.

“I know you didn’t want to send a message from the Holy Land,” Will continued, obviously taking her silence as disagreement. “But we’re almost home, it wouldn’t be worth it to Robin to come charging off to find us. He’ll wait.”

“This is assuming that they’re still alive at all,” Marian said softly. In truth, they didn’t know what had happened in the past year – whether they’d even made it back to England. Given Robin’s propensity for trouble and the danger of their outlaw status, they could have been captured or killed any number of times. They could naturally suspect that the Sheriff was still alive, since who else would have been behind the King’s capture? Or it could have been Guy, she supposed. Yet another complication.

“They’re alive,” Will reassured her, ever the optimist. “I’m sure of it.”

“Very well then,” she turned to Will, finally a genuine smile on her face. “You don’t need my permission to send your pigeon.”

Will ducked his head and seemed almost embarrassed. “I know,” he replied. “But I still wanted to…check.”

The fact that he had inflated Marian’s pride slightly. She had become extremely close to Will and Djaq, in a way she never had when they’d been part of Robin’s gang. Marian had found a kindred spirit in Djaq, someone who understood the particular challenges faced by being a women trying to step outside the roles the world expected them to fill. But it was more than that – she found it easy to talk to Djaq about anything, for she was extremely intelligent, well-read and insightful.  The long weeks of Marian’s recovery passed quickly in part due to their long conversations, and she found that whilst their views differed on a number of topics, they could always find a common ground, or at the very least, get the other to understand their position.

It was not that Marian didn’t also enjoy talking to Will, but it was stimulating to discuss and debate with Djaq – much as she had once done with Robin, who had always been more than willing to engage in conversation about societal issues. Of course with Robin the discussions had often turned to arguments, which was perhaps why Marian enjoyed Djaq’s firm and passionate but always respectful and courteous manner, even if they disagreed. 

Her friendship with Will was different, but no less deep. Will made her smile, made her heart feel full when he spoke of the old days when they were still children. When her father was still the Sheriff, when she and Robin were young and in love and thought that carefree existence would last forever, when Will himself was little more than a child but had been shy and thoughtful, and watched everything and everyone. It helped them both to speak of Dan and Luke Scarlett, of Robert of Locksley – of her own father. To remember long summers and May Day celebrations and fairs, when the only trouble in the world was when Robin would get them all into mischief. She cared deeply about Will, because he was honest and good and valued loyalty. Because he now treated her as if she was the leader of their small band of travellers, and deferred to her decisions. 

In fact, quite unexpectedly, they all did. Even Carter looked to her for guidance and approval. She suspected it was because she had spoken directly to the King and heard his orders, and she had no doubt such deference would change once they returned to Sherwood and once again under Robin’s leadership. Tuck remained enigmatic, but seemed genuine enough in his devotion to her, following what he had no doubt considered the path God had laid before him. 

Marian shook herself back to reality, and realised that Will had moved away, back to Djaq’s side following her approval of his plan. They spoke quietly to one another, no doubt discussing the message they were going to send. Looking up, Marian realised that the afternoon was fading, and that they would have to make camp soon. She could at least then blame the darkening sky and perhaps, the rest would alleviate the pain in her side. 

Djaq stared at the empty parchment in her hands; the quill was poised to write, but as yet had failed to do so. 

Will sat next to her around the campfire, deep in thought. “How about: Marian alive, we will be home within a week?”

“That sounds too confusing,” Carter spoke up from his place across the fire.  “I can’t imagine how Robin would react to that.”

Will seemed a bit put out. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Should we mention Marian at all?” Carter replied. “Robin may think it is a trick.”

“He will recognise my handwriting,” Djaq told him firmly. Robin would know that the note came from her.

“What if your pigeon is intercepted?” Tuck asked, the first time he had spoken to any of them all day. “It would not be advantageous for your enemy to know that she is alive.”

Djaq gave him a hard look. “Even if Lardner is…intercepted…I do not think it would be damning intelligence,” she told him. “Surely they will find out she is alive sooner or later, once we return.”

Carter scoffed. “Maybe not,” he said with some levity. “Robin probably won’t let her leave the camp.”

Will gave a very small laugh beside her, and Djaq gave him a harsh look, not finding the implication amusing at all.

“You know what he’s like,” he shrugged.

Djaq certainly did, and remembered how protective Robin had been of her the first time Marian had been in the camp. But that was when her identity had been a secret – now that it was compromised, there was surely no need to keep her hidden. 

“I cannot imagine the Lady Marian allowing herself to be kept from her cause, even by her husband,” Tuck added.

Rather than appreciating his support, Djaq was irritated. “You give your opinion very freely, Tuck, considering you have known Marian for all of a few weeks.” 

She found Tuck extremely unsettling. He seemed to be a religious fanatic, and Djaq had seen so many of them in her time of slavery. She didn’t like to be reminded of those days and as a consequence she found Tuck to be an unwelcome imposition. She sometimes found him watching her when she was performing her morning prayers, and such rudeness aside, his study of her was intimidating. She didn’t know if he was trying to learn from her, or was seeking a way to convert her. Either way, it irritated her no end.   

Tuck, however, did not seem offended by her sharp words. “I only mean that the Lady Marian has far greater work to do and I foresee that she cannot be contained within an outlaw’s camp.” 

“Greater work?” Djaq questioned him. Belief was one thing, but Tuck acted as if he was a sage or prophet.   

“She is a warrior of God,” Tuck replied simply. 

“You seem very certain of that,” Djaq said shortly. She had seen too many so-called warriors of God, and Tuck, his pale face illuminated in the firelight, seemed just as dangerous as any of them. 

“Why should I not be?” Tuck asked, grinning. 

Djaq gave him a hard look. “I do not think so highly of myself that I would presume to know the will of Allah,” she told him. “And anyone who does think that way of their god seeks not to be a servant but a master.”

“You are wise, mistress Djaq,” Tuck seemed pleased rather than offended by her insinuation. “It would indeed be a fool who seeks to dictate the Lord’s will. I am a follower only, but I do have faith in the signs He has left for us.”

“Signs.” Djaq gave Will a sceptical look, and he shrugged in response. He had often said that he was no scholar. He had his opinions, but only spoke them when he felt they were needed, and only those he felt the most passionate about. The poor. Friendship. Loyalty. Djaq knew that theology didn’t give him much trouble.

“You are sceptical,” Tuck continued, the same enigmatic smile on his face. “But consider this: the Lady Marian was fatally wounded once, and made a miraculous recovery. She then appeared to die once more, only to be brought back again. What else would you call that if not a miracle?”

“A coincidence,” Marian cut in before Djaq could reply, appearing by the campfire, bow slung over her shoulder and clearly none too impressed that they were discussing her. She took a seat and whilst Will and Carter had the decency to look abashed, even though they had not been involved in the conversation, Tuck seemed unconcerned and Djaq refused to look away. 

“Marian…” Djaq began to explain, but stopped herself when she realised Marian clearly did not wish to discuss it. 

“Marian, we’re writing the note to Robin,” Will spoke up beside her.“What do you think we should say?”

But she simply stared into the fire, poking the logs with a stick.  “I don’t know, Will,” she answered softly. “I just don’t know.”    

Marian waited until Will, Djaq and Carter had gone to sleep and only she and Tuck were left seated around the dying fire. 

“I would appreciate it Tuck,” she said, careful to keep her tone light, “if you would not talk about me when I am not there.”

He regarded her for several moments before answering. “Would you like me to talk about you now that you are here?”  

Her brow creased and she gave him an exasperated look. “No.”

“I only ask because you seem burdened,” he continued heedless to her disapproval. “I am a priest, my lady,” he reminded her. “If you wish for me to take your confession.”

“No, thank you.” They sat in silence for several minutes, until Marian could not help herself. “I just do not understand you, Tuck.” 

“How so, my lady?”

“You speak of me as if I were a soldier, when your own religious order would brand me a heretic, or at the very least, a lowly woman unworthy of a great destiny.”

“I have told you before, I answer only to God,” he said. “And if God has put his faith in you, who am I to question it? After all, was it not the women who were the most faithful following the death of our Lord – were they not the first to believe in His resurrection?”

Marian was silent for several moments, and studied his face to see if there was any hint of mockery. But there was none – only passion and belief. Marian knew all too well that such faith could be immensely useful, or incredibly dangerous. She sincerely hoped it was the former, and she had not made a terrible mistake by allowing him to accompany them back to Sherwood. 

“You are a strange man, Tuck.”

“I know that my...religious fervour makes you uneasy, my Lady,” Tuck continued, inclining his head slightly. “But do you not believe that you are an instrument of God, as are we all?”

“No.”

He smiled. “But do you not act according to His will?”

“I act according to my conscience...”

“It is the same thing.”

Marian suddenly felt very tired. “Then God is just another man who is making decisions for me. Will I never to be allowed to make them myself?”

Tuck regarded her for a moment before replying. “If you were – do you know what those decisions would be?”

“No,” Marian replied honestly. “But at least they would be my own.”

“I see such sadness in you, my Lady,” Tuck told her softly. “You have been through so much for one so young. But it is adversity and struggle that makes us who we truly are, and who God intended us to be. You have a great strength within you,” he added with admiration. “The world tells you that such strength is unnatural and unwomanly - but it is because of that strength that you are here now, alive, not despite it. You could be a leader of men, a beacon which inspires others in their despair.”

“You place great expectations on me,” she told him carefully, flattered by his praise, but fearful of it as well. “I do not know if I can live up to them,” she admitted. “In the past I have worked in secret, helped others the best I could whilst keeping my identity unknown.” She shook her head slowly and stared into the fire. “I never wanted to be a leader, or a symbol or a hero. That’s Robin’s area.”

Tuck regarded her for several long moments, and she could feel him seeking to penetrate her very soul, to look past the barriers she had built and replied upon for so many years.  

“One may stare into the light,” he told her, “until one becomes the light.” 

Marian sighed and looked away. “You speak in proverbs and riddles, Tuck,” she told him. “I do not like it.”

“It is easy to work alone, when it is only your own life you are risking,” he continued, ignoring her irritated words. “It is much harder to lead, to make the decisions over the lives of others – that is why you do not want it.”

Marian did not say anything, for it was the truth. And yet she had felt a slight exhilaration, even pride, at the leadership role she seemed to have taken on. But she did not wish to share such thoughts with anyone, let alone Tuck, even with the sanctity of the confessional. Sometimes, Marian thought she could not even share the secrets of her heart with God.   

Tuck rose, and gave her a small bow before retreating to the darkness to say his lengthy prayers before sleep.  Marian remained by the fire, staring into the flames in contemplation, her fingers resting on the handle of the Saracen sword which was always at her side.  Wondering.     

Chapter Text

Westminster Palace, London

Guy’s boots echoed loudly against the cobbled stone floor of the palace. A servant had led him to the cloisters that surrounded one of the palace gardens, but had not ventured outside themselves. He had been summoned by Prince John himself, his first audience even though he had been in London for many weeks. Guy felt extremely foolish walking aimlessly through the covered walkways that edged the carefully tended gardens, and whilst he could see several servants meticulously attending to them, collecting leaves, examining branches, gauging the temperature of the earth, he could not see the Prince. 

Eventually, after it seemed like he had almost done a full rotation of the cloister, Guy saw him, gazing out at the gardens through one of the arcades, his face half in shadow from the arch above.   

The Prince was of average height but very lean, his slim shoulders and build perhaps making the man seemed shorter than he actually was. He had an angular, sharp nose and what seemed to be rather small eyes which darted about taking in everything and everyone around him, including each and every servant and Guy himself. John also had a crop of fine golden curls which framed his face and seemed to pick up the light when he moved his head. Guy was of course no judge of male beauty, but he had heard the servant girls speak of John with admiration – whether this had to do with his appearance or his power as Regent he did not know – but they had seemed to like those curls.  

It was with some trepidation that Guy approached - all he knew was that Vaisey had sent him to London to provide the Prince with an update regarding Richard’s capture, but he simply couldn’t shake the feeling that he may have been offered up as a sacrificial lamb, should the Prince not be mollified by the action. After all, Vaisey had promised to kill Richard, not imprison him. 

But Guy put any fear aside and bowed deeply. “Your Royal Highness,” he addressed him, trying to neutralise his Northern accent. Londoners sounded somewhat different to those in Nottinghamshire, and Guy had found he’d immediately singled himself out as from the North the moment he opened his mouth. There had been some snide remarks flung his way in the taverns, not that Guy cared for the opinions of drunken fools, and regardless he’d made them rethink trifling with him further. But Guy couldn’t very well shove the Prince’s face in a bowl of soup or punch him in the gut if he impugned him, so he tried to keep his accent mellow, just in case.

“Guy of Gisborne,” he introduced himself when the Prince did not reply. “You sent for me?”

Prince John seemed to remain in deep contemplation for several moments, before turning to Guy and starting ever so slightly, as if he had not noticed him standing there. If it was a feint to put Guy ill at ease, it worked. 

“Sir Guy of Gisborne,” Prince John said finally, and smiled with what appeared to be some warmth. “You come at last.”

“Sire?” Guy was confused and somewhat anxious. “Your servants have only just summoned me…”

Prince John smiled again, wider this time, his lips parting to reveal very straight teeth. “Do not be concerned, Sir Guy,” he told him. “I meant only that I have been thinking for quite some time that we should meet. You are after all, the man who has twice failed to kill my dear brother.”

Guy found himself holding his breath, unsure of how to respond. The Prince’s tone had been light, almost conversational, and the comment did not seem like an accusation. 

“Sire, I…”

Prince John waved a dismissive hand. “I told you not to worry – I am not about to order your death, Sir Guy.”

Guy allowed himself to breathe again, although he did not fully relax.

“It is true you have failed me,” the Prince continued in the same light tone. “But it is no easy task, to kill a King, and it would not be advisable on my part to surround myself with men so comfortable with regicide. Do you not agree?”

“I’m sure you are correct.” Guy was able, somehow, to formulate a response.

“Naturally, there is your Sheriff,” the Prince continued, “he would have no such qualms about dispatching his sovereign. That is why you are here, Sir Guy, and he is in Nottingham.”

“Why am I here, your Grace?” Guy asked. 

“To tell me of the progress in the North, naturally,” John replied. He began walking away from Guy, down the walkway and Guy obediently followed, a few paces behind. “The tax collections in the northern shires seem to have been more successful lately,” the Prince continued. “So long as they do not take the route directly through Sherwood.”

“There has not been a direct attack on Nottingham Castle for some time,” Guy informed him. Of course, he could not take credit for that, because the Outlaws seemed to confine themselves to picking off travellers in the woods, rather than venture in the town itself. Ever since – but Guy clamped down on that thought before it could jump into its mind. He’d promised himself that he would close the door on that particular event, and move on. Of course, putting that into practice was proving somewhat more difficult.                  

“I have heard the people saying that Robin Hood has lost his heart,” Prince John said casually. “He is no longer the hero he once was.”

Guy felt his own heart constrict in panic, and wondered briefly if Prince John knew the reason why Hood seemed to have lost his will, or he had read something his own expression. But studying Prince John quickly, he sensed no accusation, no knowing tone – it remained light and casual.

“He is…not as active as he once was,” Guy spoke very carefully, conscious of each word. “His gang have barely been sighted in Nottingham, in fact.” He paused for a moment, and then curiosity got the better of him. “If you don’t mind me asking, Sire, what else have you heard the people say?”

Prince John laughed, a thin, dangerous sound which Guy couldn’t help but compare to a snake’s hiss. “Vaisey told me that you were brawn over brains,” he said, clearly amused. “It is a figure of speech, Sir Guy,” Prince John explained when Guy made no answer. “I have not heard the people say anything. I have people to do my listening for me.”

Guy felt his cheeks burn with shame. “Of course, Sire, forgive me.”

“You need not apologise for amusing your king,” Prince John told him. “Now tell me of my dear brother,” he changed to subject. 

Guy complied, explaining their plot in detail, the pact with the Duke Leopold in Austria, and his promise that Richard would be kept under heavy guard to discourage any rescue attempts.

“Is that all?” Prince John questioned, looking at Guy even as he walked half a step behind him, perhaps correctly sensing that his report was slightly incomplete. 

Guy felt he could not possibly lie to the Prince, not when he would be the next King with the power to grant title and lands and, naturally, the right to take them all away. 

“Duke Leopold informed us that your mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, has written to him demanding the release of her son.”

The Prince’s mouth twitched unpleasantly. “That is not unexpected.”

Guy took a deep breath. “She also wrote to warn him that if Richard’s continued imprisonment was in any way connected with or condoned by your Highness, then she intended to disown you. She…she indicated that he should exercise caution when choosing allies.”       

Prince John stopped his ambling, sighing as he leaned against the nearest arcade, once again gazing out into the garden in contemplation. 

“Mother always did like Richard best.” There was a barely-concealed hate in his tone. “Such was my misfortune of not being the first-born,” he added with clear longing, turning to Guy in what seemed like a conspiratorial pose. “The second son is the spare, never expected to actually accomplish anything. To have all the promise of power and greatness so close, and yet prevented from grasping it. And I was not even that, with four brothers before me.”  

“I imagine being a younger son is something like being a dispossessed lord,” Prince John continued after a brief pause, gazing back out at the garden again. “But the cards have fallen in our favour, haven’t they, Sir Guy?” he added. “We have taken the inheritance that fate wished to deny us.  Whether we shall keep a hold of that bequest remains to be seen.”

“I would give my life to ensure that you do keep it, Sire,” Guy told him. He wasn’t sure if that was the truth, but it sounded like the sort of thing that should please a Prince. 

But to Guy’s surprise John looked back at him, his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Loyalty,” he shook his head and appraised Guy with derision.  “It is a repulsive thing.”

“My Lord?”

“The illusion of loyalty, I mean,” the Prince continued. “You will be loyal to me because of what I can give you in return – Vaisey a least, understands this. Were another to offer him better terms, or more power, he would take it in an instant.”

“You do not want my allegiance, Sire?  My devotion to you as my King?” Guy was confused. 

“Of course. But I know the way the world works, Sir Guy,” Prince John spoke to him as if he were a child. “It is better to understand that than place your trust in promises alone.  My brother is foolish– he believes he is anointed by God and therefore all shall love and devote themselves to him. That is why he will never see betrayal coming.”

Guy couldn’t find fault with the Prince’s reasoning, and yet...Hood’s men were loyal to him, had followed him when there was no benefit, and often great cost. Of course one had turned against him, even if he had later returned to the fold, and while the peasants loved him, Guy wondered how long that would last if he was unable to support them with stolen coin.  

“I know that people all have a price,” John continued. “That they all reach a point where they would sell their own family to achieve some selfish goal.” That seemed to amuse the Prince, and he smiled the same unsettling smile. “Loyalty is a falsehood – a contract which can  - and will - be broken as soon as one party stops being of use to the other.”

“And Vaisey is still of use to you?” Guy couldn’t help but ask, for the question had been forming in the back of his mind for some time. 

“For now,” Prince John told him, his amused smile clearly indicting that he knew exactly what was on Guy’s mind. “As you know, I have made a pact with him to ensure that he retains control over the northern shires. And he in return, although he has failed to kill my brother, he has at least gotten him out of the way. In fact, the situation will give me a legitimate excuse to raise taxes that not even Richard’s supporters can argue with.”  

“And what can I do for you, my Lord?” Guy asked, desperate to prove his worth.

“Wait,” Prince John told him.  “And when I have use for you, I will call on you.”

“I am yours to command.”

“Good.” Prince John nodded. 

Guy knew when he was being dismissed, and so gave Prince John a deep bow and began to walk back down the corridor, footsteps echoing on the stones.     

“Know this, Sir Guy,” Prince John called after him, and Guy turned back to see the man’s face hard and his eyes cold. “I would raze Nottingham to the ground if it gave me pleasure – pact or no pact.” The Prince blinked at looked away, in an instant serene once again. “Remember that.”

“Yes, Sire.” Guy bowed again, and took his leave. 

Trip to Jerusalem Inn, Nottingham

Allan sat alone at his usual table in the corner of the ‘Trip, experimentally plucking stings on the lute he had just purchased from a passing trader. He’d bargained him down, but it had still cost Allan a month’s pay. Now he wouldn’t be able to afford those new boots he wanted, but on seeing the simple but fine craftsmanship of the instrument, he knew he had to have it.

It had been Robin’s idea for them each to take a small portion of the money they collected from their efforts each week. In the past he’d been adamant that they give all of that they acquired to the poor and live entirely off the land. To do otherwise, he argued, made them little more than common thieves. But while Robin had seemed to sustain himself off of the worship from the people, it had never made Allan’s belly feel less empty or fix the holes in his socks.   

But a change had taken place on their return from the Holy Land – Robin had all but stepped down as the leader of their gang, claiming that they should all make the decisions as a true team. How much of Robin’s change of heart was a true desire to improve morale and how much had to do with the time he seemed to need to wallow in his grief was unclear. But Allan felt on the whole it had been a positive change. They discussed their plans in detail and when there was disagreement, the opinion of the majority carried the day, rather than Robin handing out orders without explanation as he’d once been prone to do.

And each outlaw took a very small amount from the haul each week to spend as he wished. Robin never spent his share and Allan suspected he put it back into the store, Little John sent almost all of his to his family and Much seemed to devote his to those mysterious trips he kept taking. Only Allan seemed be at a loss of what to do with his, which he found somewhat comic considering it was the lack of coin which in part had contributed to his betrayal of the gang. But now he would rather die than turn on them again, and had their trust as well as money in his pocket and yet sometimes he felt more miserable now than he had then.       

Allan plucked a light tune on the lute, the memory in his fingers from what seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d grown up in the house of the Earl of Guildford and had been taught the instrument by his mother, a kitchenmaid who’d been the daughter of a minstrel herself. By the age of five he’d learned to play several tunes and sing, much to the delight of the household and when he was eight he was permitted to entertain the Earl and his family. Afterwards, the Earl patted him on the head and told him what a good job he’d done, the pleased look in his lord’s bright blue eyes forever imprinted on Allan’s mind. When he’d returned to his mother, she had cried with happiness and pride and held him tightly.   

But she’d died less than a year later bringing Tom into the world, and Allan lost the will to recite tales of legend and romance and happy endings. The Earl himself died when Allan was thirteen and the widowed lady of the house threw him and his brother out without a second thought and he’d had to leave his beautiful lute behind. 

They’d moved to London and gotten by on pickpocketing and the occasional con, although when Tom was old enough he’d taken off with his band of lads. It had been a hard run after that, trying to get used to being a single conman when most of his repertoire was directed to a double act. He ended up relieving a local craftsman of a lute and found a job of sorts playing at a local pub in Cheapside. It didn’t pay, but the patrons often made requests and gave him a few coins to recite their favourite ballad. One of the barmaids took a particular shine to him, and he lived with her for some time.

Thinking back, Allan couldn’t quite remember her name, although he had been quite infatuated with her. He remembered her dark green eyes and wavy blonde hair, her buxom figure and warm smile which was so different to the false, flirtatious grin she gave the customers – her true smile she reserved for Allan alone. He often played for her in their small room above the pub, singing a sweet tune of love and devotion as she rested her head against his shoulder.  But one day Tom had come back begging for his help with a new scheme in the West Country and Allan couldn’t say no to the prospect. But he’d left the lute with her as a parting gift, and had played her favourite song one last time.

It was that tune of love he played now. “Do you like that, eh, Bash?” he addressed the small pigeon on the table before him, pecking at a small pile of grains he had placed there for her. 

Bashirah was Lardner’s mate; the one treasure from the Holy Land Allan had. Djaq had given him the cage before they’d left, telling him the birds name and how to care for her. If ever there was an emergency, Djaq had said, they could use the pigeons to send one message. Bashirah came with them to England as she would easily be able to find her way back to Acre, and Lardner stayed with Will and Djaq in the hopes that he would be able to find the outlaws camp once again, having flown the journey before.  

But mostly, she was a comfort to Allan, a reminder of people who loved him, even though they were far away. Bashirah cocked her head from one side to the other and cooed. 

“Ah, see, it’s pretty isn’t it?” he addressed her, playing a few more notes. “Bet it reminds you of Lardner, eh?” He smiled wistfully. “Bet you miss ‘im – well, I know how you feel old girl.”       

Bashirah hopped forward and nipped Allan’s finger. “Ow, alrigh’ – I’ll stop.” He put down the lute on the table.

“You shouldn’t take orders from a bird, Allan-a-Dale.” Susie, the Trip’s barmaid, appeared at his side, flipping her blonde hair. “It’s strange.”

“Been taking orders from birds all me life,” he told her. “Including you,” he swatted at her behind playfully and she giggled, pushed his hand away and putting a pint of ale in front of him. 

“Spent my last penny on this thing,” he indicated the lute. 

“Compliments of the house,” Susie told him, and sat down on the seat opposite. “Father is grateful for your lot catching those thieves from last week.”

“All part of the service,” he said dismissively. For a moment, her hair glinting in the firelight, Susie reminded Allan of his London barmaid – she had the same smile.

“He’s not going to be too happy about that bird,” Susie continued, giving Bashirah a distasteful look. “If you weren’t one of Robin Hood’s men…”

“But I am, so he can lay off,” Allan leant back in his chair. “Plus, she’s harmless, aren’t you Bash?”

Susie laughed again and shook her head. “Why do you bring her in here, anyway?”

Allan shrugged. “Just in case, I suppose.” It was more a comfort than anything – someone to talk to, as if just by speaking to the bird she could relay the message to Will and Djaq. 

“And you were playing her music,” Susie continued, still amused. “I tell you Allan – it’s strange. You should be playing music for me!”

Allan gave her a crafty grin. “Would you like me to?”

She shrugged. “If you wanted to, I wouldn’t object. I certainly wouldn’t bite your hand,” she added saucily.  

Laughing, Allan was about to pick up the lute again when he heard a commotion from the other side of the room. Several patrons near the door were swearing loudly and swatting at something in the air. Susie stood and rushed over, trying to calm them down. 

“It’s a ruddy bird!” one man exclaimed, and sure enough, there was a small grey pigeon flapping around, darting between hands that were trying to shoo it back out the door. Allan rose immediately. 

“Don’t hurt ‘im!” he cried, dimly aware that Bashirah was fluttering behind. He reached out his hands, and as if sensing a friend, the bird landed on his outstretched palms. Allan felt his heart beat wildly; it was Lardner. And sure enough, there was a small piece of parchment tied to the bird’s leg. He undid the string with shaking fingers, but felt the eyes of the entire pub on him. As friendly to the outlaws as the Trip was, he couldn’t afford to draw to much attention to himself.    

Lardner clasped in one hand, and the small scrap of parchment in the other, Allan ran as fast as he could back to the camp in Sherwood. Robin, Much and John were all there, discussing the plans for their upcoming raid when Allan arrived, almost crashing into the cooking pot in his excitement.    

But he was out of breath from the run it took several moments for him to speak, gesturing with Lardner until the bird grew upset with the treatment and forced himself free from Allan’s grip. Bashirah, who had followed him back to camp like always, perched herself beside Lardner on a nearby tree.   

“Lardner….” Allan tried to explain between lungfuls of air as he all but collapsed on a nearby bunk.  “Message…can’t….” Eventually he just held out the note to Robin who took it from him, eyes scanning the words. He blinked twice and then seemed to read it again, holding the edges of the small parchment between each thumb and forefinger. 

“What does it say?” Much finally asked.

Robin cleared his throat but did not look up. “It’s from Will and Djaq,” he told them. “They’re coming home.”

Allan grinned from ear to ear – he’d figured that much. Much let out a whoop of delight and John banged his staff against the ground in celebration. Only Robin did not seem filled with joy, in fact he had gone very pale, his eyes darting back and forth as he appeared to read the short message over and over. 

“What is it Robin?” Allan asked. “Bad news?” For the first time, he wondered whether Will and Djaq were returning because something terrible had happened.

“No,” Robin answered, his voice catching with emotion, his hands holding the small sheet of parchment taut until it could not withstand the pressure and ripped in half. 

“Marian’s alive,” he said finally. “She…she’s coming home with them.”

The camp immediately fell silent. Allan looked at Much, his mouth agape and for once in his life clearly at a loss for words, at Little John, whose entire face lit up with happiness even as he shook his head in wonder, and Robin, whose fists were still clenched around the now two pieces of parchment, his knuckles white, a faraway look in his eyes.

Only Allan found a voice to speak; the only word suitable for such a situation. 

“Blimey.”

Chapter Text

English Channel

Carter inhaled the sea air deeply, revelling in the crisp wind blowing through his hair and whistling around his ears. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it tasted like home; it tasted like England. The cliffs that stood tall in the distance were certainly not his imagination, the white chalk unmistakable even though he had never before lain eyes upon them. 

None of them had sailed from Dover, for the route to the Holy Land left from Portsmouth, stopping briefly in Italy before crossing the Mediterranean to Palestine. Their return journey, however, had included the detour to Bavaria, and so their path back to England had been through France and across the Channel from Calais.  They had briefly considered visiting Aquitaine with the hopes of an audience with Queen Eleanor, to give her firsthand the news of her son.  Marian, particularly, had seemed torn on the subject, but had eventually told them that it was too far out of their way, that they had delayed long enough and needed to return to England to further the cause there.  And as had become their habit, they acquiesced to Marian’s decision.   

She was beside him on the deck of the merchant ship on which they had purchased passage, her eyes too on the white cliffs of Dover. Carter was never quite sure of what Marian was thinking, as she hid her emotions well, but her sheer joy and relief at the first glimpse of England was plain upon her face.  He thought that she may weep a little (Carter certainly felt like doing do) but her eyes remained dry even as they fixed themselves on the horizon. 

Will and Djaq stood next to Marian and they also did not speak, although Carter saw Will take Djaq’s hand and squeeze it tightly. Tuck was below, and Carter was at least pleased that he was for once not imposing himself on their party.   

“I never thought I’d see home again,” Carter said to break the silence, for he needed to share his joy with them. After the Sheriff had stabbed him and Carter had felt his life bleed away as his blood soaked into the sand, he had faced the reality of his own death, alone and so far from home. When Djaq had found him, he had been so far gone he’d thought she was Saint Michael, her short hair silhouetted by the setting sun.   

“None of us did,” Marian replied softly, and Carter thought perhaps her thoughts were aligned with his. “They are beautiful,” she added, her eyes on the cliffs which grew closer with the cresting of each wave which was broken by the bow of the ship.    

“I imagine Sherwood will look even more beautiful,” Carter said, a smile forming as he thought of the dense green trees, the flowing streams and the dark brown earth of the forest which he had missed so much amid the sand and dry, hot air of the Holy Land. During his weeks of convalescence, he’d dreamed of the woods where he’d found a reason to live again, where Robin had helped him unbury his heart. He found that will once more in his sickbed, and now at the sight of his homeland he ached with happiness.      

“Yes,” Marian agreed, but she seemed less certain about it. “I hope so.”     

Carter surmised she must be anxious about returning to a land where those in power thought her dead and would no doubt try to rectify the situation when they found out she was not.

“At least you won’t have to worry about Gisborne,” he said, trying to comfort her. 

Marian looked at him quizzically. “Why is that?”

Carter blinked. “Well...” he began, “I would assume Robin has...taken care of him.”

Marian visibly bristled. “I hope not.” 

Carter looked over at Will and Djaq, but they seemed unsurprised by this information. They knew Marian better than Carter did, who still found the lady an enigma. At times she seemed serene and level-headed, but he still remembered the fierceness of her right hook.

“Robin believes him to be your murderer,” he reminded her. 

“Robin doesn’t believe in killing,” she replied somewhat shortly. “You know that. I would hate to think he would abandon his principles to avenge me.”

He saw Will and Djaq exchange a very brief, knowing look, which did not go unnoticed by Marian. 

“What?” she asked them. "What is it?"

Will turned away and cleared his throat, but Djaq kept her eyes on Marian, something like pity in her gaze. Carter leaned forward slightly, eager himself to hear what she had to say. Robin, after all, had been the one who preached against revenge, and had himself helped Carter realise that it was not the correct way to remember his slain brother. But his blame had been misdirected at Robin – Gisborne was actually guilty and so to Carter his death would be justice, not revenge.    

“In the cave, after Gisborne stabbed you…the first time,” Djaq began after a long silence, “we thought you were dead.”

Marian frowned, but made no comment and allowed Djaq to speak. 

“The traitor Pitt had led the Sheriff right to us,” she continued evenly. “And there were dozens of guards who had us surrounded. Will and Allan were…not yet back to camp.” 

Will cleared his throat again and looked slightly ashamed, but Djaq ignored him.

“It was only myself, John and Much…we thought we were making a last stand,” her voice shook slightly. “And then Robin came out of the cave and he…he lost control.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clearly distressed by the memory. “He slaughtered them, Marian – we all did,” she added.  “I had never seen him like that – like a soldier, like he had no soul, or conscience. As if he didn’t care if he died, too.”

“Oh.” Marian was clearly troubled by the information. 

“He wasn’t like that in the Holy Land,” Will spoke up, clearly trying to reassure her. “When he thought you had died. He was determined to keep fighting.”

"I do not think he would have killed Gisborne,” Djaq added.

Carter was more confused than ever. “I do not understand why you are so concerned about Gisborne,” he said, exasperated, turning to Maria . “Don’t you want the man who has almost killed you – twice – to be brought to justice?” 

“Murder isn’t justice,” Marian said very quietly. She looked more disturbed than ever, small frown marring her face and her eyes glassy as she looked straight ahead, still fixed on the cliffs which drew ever closer. 

“You have a forgiving heart, Marian,” he said finally, astounded by her kindness towards a man who had taken so much from her. 

She was silent for several long moments, and did not seem pleased by the compliment. “Not really,” she said finally, before retreating back into the hold of the ship. 

Carter looked to Will and Djaq for an explanation, but found none. 

London

The streets of the city were dark, but that seemed to suit Guy. He knew he cut an imposing figure and so did not fear the bandits and thieves who lurked in the narrow alleyways as he passed by.  The stench of the city still bothered him and despite many weeks he had not gotten used to the cramped housing, the human and animal waste in the streets and the bustle of people who seemed not to care about their surroundings.  He was not inexperienced in human suffering or the underbelly of society, but London unnerved him.  Guy found himself thinking fondly of Locksley with its mere dozens of small but clean homes, and the vague smell of birch and oak from the woods that bordered the village.

It was strange, as he had always thought of Locksley as a mere patch of earth, a prize, something to possess. He never really thought he would find a home there, at least not without…

But putting that aside, he realised that he’d been at Locksley almost seven years, longer than he had ever lived anywhere. It meant something more to him than just a part of Hood’s heart that he had taken for his own – it was the only stability in his entire life. He was not sleeping in another man’s bed, eating his food, looking after his servants; all of those things were Guy’s, now. He had the claim of time upon them.   

Lost in thought as wandered the streets, Guy found himself once again at Westminster Palace. It had been days since he’d met with Prince John, and his presence had not been requested again.  And yet Guy couldn’t bring himself to leave. As much as he disliked London and missed Nottinghamshire, there was a freedom in the city he had not felt for a long while. To be out from under Vaisey’s thumb had been quite a relief, given him time to clear his head.

The Abbey was across the street, lit dimly by torches around the tall walls and Guy paused momentarily. He imagined the monks inside, attending to their prayers, doing the Lord’s work by simple candlelight. Guy had not been inside a church since his aborted wedding day, although he longed to have the courage to cross the threshold, to have a priest hear his sins and grant absolution. But he knew that it would not be enough – not after all he had done.

He turned away from the Abbey and walked down to the riverbank, until the waters of the Thames lapped quietly against the toes of his boots. It was foolish to think of forgiveness when he had come to the city with murder on his mind. 

Prince John had all but forbidden him from killing Vaisey, although how he had known that was Guy’s intent he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he considered it inevitable, given his speech on loyalty, that the lieutenant would always turn on the captain if given enough time. In fact, the Prince’s words had reinforced the turn of Guy’s own mind in the recent months.

Loyalty is a falsehood which will be broken as soon as one party stops being of use to the other the Prince had said. And what use had Vaisey been to him? He’d given him Locksley, and power to a certain extent, membership among the Black Knights. But he had also belittled him, made him look foolish in front of others and forced him to go against his instincts and conscience more than once.  Vaisey was a means to an end, and he felt as if he had finally reached that end. 

Guy wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if he’d killed the Sheriff when Marian had asked him to. Would he be in the Vaisey’s position now, in control of the North, Marian as his bride? But of course, that had been a trick, a ruse to get Guy to do what she could not. 

He’d buried his grief and guilt at Marian’s death deep within him in an effort not to feel – all that he allowed himself was bitter resentment. He could have saved her – saved them both, if she had made a different choice. If she had chosen him. Instead he was no better off than before, still Vaisey’s lackey with no real power of his own, except over the serfs of Locksley who did not need or ask for his help or guidance as their lord. Their love also belonged to another - a selfish, conceited man who played the hero and yet brought destruction upon everyone he met. 

Everything, Guy concluded, that had happened could ultimately be lain at Hood’s door. He had seduced Marian with his charm and smiles and clever words, had preyed upon her good nature, had twisted her kindness and sympathy for the poor into serving his own ends. Guy was angry at Marian for rejecting him, for betraying him, for not loving him, but he hated Hood for corrupting her.      

When he’d first returned from the Holy Land, Guy’s grief and guilt had been palpable, and he would have let Hood kill him, to put him out of his misery. But the months had passed and Guy had replaced his grief with anger, with a drive to obtain the power he’d sacrificed so much for and had not yet been able to achieve. If he had the chance to kill Hood, to exact revenge upon him for turning Marian into a weapon against him, for putting her in the situation where she’d faced Guy down in Acre, he would take it, and hope that it would be enough. 

That’s all he had left. That, and the hope of becoming more than just a lord of a small northern shire, more than just a Sheriff’s man.      

For Prince John had called him Sir Guy, almost with respect, and even when he had laughed at him it was not with derision. John’s laugh had almost seemed like a reward for amusing him, an encouragement to further elicit his good grace. If Guy was to find true power and influence, it would be through Prince John, in ensuring that he became King and knew Guy’s part in helping him to the throne.   

It was almost – almost - with pleasure that Guy gazed out across the dark water before him. If one stood by the river for long enough, he reflected, it may change its course. And he was intent that it would change in his direction. 

Sherwood Forest

Their gang of five walked through Sherwood in silence, keenly aware that they had no knowledge of the state of affairs in Nottingham or the forest. It was Robin Hood’s turf, so to speak, but that did not eliminate the danger of running foul of some less than savoury outlaws or even the Sheriff’s patrol guards who occasionally raided the woods.

Will knew Sherwood better than any of them, and so he led the party, Djaq at his side. Marian was behind them, flanked by Tuck and Carter, both of whom, he noticed, already had their swords drawn, just in case. Marian herself seemed agitated, fingers running across the string of her bow which was slung across her shoulder, eyes darting into the trees. Will could feel Djaq’s excitement which matched his own, the anticipation that they would be home amongst their friends again, with Robin, Much and John and most especially Allan. 

And yet he and Djaq were returning together. He glanced sideways, but as ever, she seemed determined and focused. If she was apprehensive about the upcoming reunion, she did not show it. 

“It feels good to be back in the forest again,” he murmured to her, noting her smile even as she kept her eyes on the path ahead.

“Sometimes I feel as if it could not have been a whole year since we last saw it,” she replied just as softly. “And yet other times it feels like a lifetime.”

“A year.” Sometimes Will didn’t quite believe it himself. “It was the 14^th of October last week,” he added after a moment. 

Djaq glanced very quickly at him, smiled again, and then looked away. “I noted the date.”

“You didn’t say anything?” But Will was pleased, not accusatory. It had been one of the happiest days of his life; hearing Djaq tell him that she loved him. But he’d felt foolish to bring the anniversary of the date up as they were not, after all, married. It was something that they never discussed, content just to be together with no expectations or restrictions of a standard courtship.  They were not a standard couple. That, and to be married under either one of their religions one of them would likely need to convert. Will would never ask that of Djaq and in truth he did not know enough about her faith to make the decision for himself. 

“I do not need a date to remind me of that night,” Djaq answered after a brief silence. 

Will smiled. “Neither do I.”

The rustling of leaves silenced them both and Will halted, drawing his axe and holding it ready in his hand. Beside him, Djaq silently drew her sword and pointed to the dense bushes to the north-east of their position. Will glanced behind him and saw both Carter and Tuck creep towards the direction Djaq indicated as Marian notched an arrow in her bow. 

There was another noise from the opposite direction and Will spun around, placing himself between it and Marian. They were still a way from the camp and so could not be sure who was lurking in the bushes. But it appeared they had them surrounded, and Will heard one final noise from the dense branches of a nearby oak tree. 

“Show yourselves!” Tuck called out, brandishing his sword. 

“If you insist!” came a familiar-sounding voice, and in an instant Robin had dropped from the oak tree, drawn back an arrow in his bow and pointed it directly at Tuck’s head. 

By the time Will had turned back around, Little John, Allan, and Much had appeared from the surrounding shrubbery, each carrying their own weapons, ready to strike. 

Allan was the first to lower his bow. “It’s you!” he exclaimed. “Bloody hell, we thought you were the Sheriff’s men!”

“What gave us away?” Djaq asked wryly, sheathing her sword.  

“We’ve been tracking them,” Much explained, looking at them one by one in what only could be described as wonder. “They can’t have been more than a few miles away and we couldn’t exactly see clearly in those bushes.”

“It’s you!” Allan exclaimed again, and before Will knew it he pushed roughly past Carter and ran to them, almost knocking both he and Djaq over in a fierce embrace. “We got the message from Lardner, but…”

Will returned the hug with affection, patting Allan on the back. “It’s us,” he confirmed. 

He looked over at the rest of the group, however, and saw that they were all standing around awkwardly, as if they did not have Allan’s courage. And then Will realised they were looking at Marian; all waiting to embrace her but not daring to do so until Robin had the chance. 

The man himself had lowered his bow, although it was still grasped in his hand. Will noticed that his knuckles gripped the curve very tightly, and his face was pale. He was staring at Marian as if he was seeing a ghost, and perhaps in his mind, she was. Tuck stepped away to clear the path, although Robin did not acknowledge the action nor move at all. Much’s eyes flickered between Robin and Marian and Will and Djaq, his feet making small contradictory movements, as if he wanted to go to all of them at once. Little John leaned against his staff and shot a quizzical glance at Tuck. Carter brushed at his robes from where Allan had pushed him in the dirt and looked annoyed. Will sought Djaq’s hand and it found his immediately, squeezing his fingers tightly.

They were all silent as they waited for something to happen, unable or unwilling to intervene. But Robin stared at Marian, and Marian, who had put the arrow back in her quiver and strung the bow across her back, stared back at him, as if neither of them were capable of making the first move. 

Eventually, Robin swallowed heavily and took the slow steps over to where she stood, stopping less than a foot away from her, eyes darting over her face. Marian looked up at him and smiled ever so slightly but Robin did not return it. He brought up his free hand and hesitantly traced her cheek, as if checking to make sure she wasn’t an apparition. 

Marian’s smile widened. “Hello, Robin,” she said softly. 

And quite suddenly it was as if the dam broke. Robin’s bow dropped to the ground and he all but collapsed into her arms, his face burying itself in her shoulder, hands folding tightly around her and his body visibly shaking with what could only be assumed were sobs of happiness and relief. Marian closed her eyes and returned his embrace, hands moving up to cradle Robin’s head and stroke the hair at the base of his neck.   

The whole thing suddenly felt very voyeuristic. Will cleared his throat and looked away. “We should go,” he told Djaq softly, and she nodded although he noticed her eyes were very bright and she blinked several times rapidly. 

“Yes…yes,” Much spoke up as he saw Will, Djaq and Allan begin to move off. “Come on, you lot, back to camp.” He nudged Carter along. “Oh, it’s you Carter,” he said to him, halting momentarily to give him a pat on the back and a handshake before nudging him again. “And who are you?” he asked Tuck accusingly. “Oh, never mind,” he said before Tuck had the chance to answer. “These two need their privacy, camp is that way.” And he gave Tuck the same nudge, herding them all in the direction of the camp. 

Little John followed them, and waited a discreet distance before enveloping first Will in a firm embrace, and then Djaq, clearly unable to keep the grin off his face.

“It hasn’t been the same without you,” he told them earnestly, and held one of each of their hands in his for a long moment before Much appeared beside them. 

“Alright, John,” he said with exasperation. “Don’t crush them.” And he removed John’s hands, and although he had been squeezing Will’s fingers a bit tightly, Will didn’t care in the slightest. Much gave Djaq a very long, fierce hug and whispered something to her in Arabic, to which she laughed softly.

“Will,” Much hugged him next, patting him heartily on the back, “so good to see you.”

“Miss us, did you?” Djaq asked.

“You have no idea,” Allan joined them, breaking away from his conversation with Carter and putting one arm around each of them. “The gang is back together, just as it should be.”

“With some new additions, I see,” Much again looked at Tuck suspiciously and Tuck, true to his way, smiled and said nothing.

“It’s a long story,” Will told them. “We’ll tell you back at camp.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Allan, still with his arms around them, urged them on. “I don’t think we’ll see Robin and Marian for a while.” He chuckled to himself. “I guess we’ll have to wait to say ‘ello.”

Will smiled and chanced a glance behind them. He could still see Robin and Marian in the distance between the trees, locked in the same tight embrace. He turned and left them to their reunion, allowing Allan to lead them back to camp, listening to his comforting chatter. A sense of peace and utter contentment filled him as everything seemed to be as it should.    

They were home. 

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Sherwood was different. The crisp air of late autumn had a bite to it; the few leaves which stubbornly clung to branches were brittle and shades of dull brown, and their numerous brothers carpeted the forest floor. It was not the same greenwood Marian had left, with birdsong in every tree and warm afternoon light filtering through the canopy tinting everything a rich, warm gold.      

And of course, the man beside her, a year older – he was different, too.   

And yet, it felt right to be with Robin again. Marian was relieved, for she’d been dreading the moment of their reunion ever since they had arrived back in England. If she was honest with herself, she had been dreading the moment ever since leaving the Holy Land. So many things could have happened in her absence; Robin could have been captured, or killed, or moved on. Marian wouldn’t begrudge him finding solace in another, thinking her dead – but she certainly did not want to be confronted by it, or be required to deal with it. Perhaps most of all, she worried that such time and distance would have changed things between them. Had his heart cooled in the year between marriage and reunion – had her own?

But then they had met in the forest, and she had felt her heart leap at the sound of his voice, at the sight of him; disheveled, thinner, but unmistakeably Robin. He had stared at her for what had felt like a lifetime and she had wanted to run into his arms and tell him how much she had missed him, but had been stopped by his haunted expression. Marian had also been keenly aware of everyone else watching and she wasn’t too pleased about their reunion having an audience. But then Robin had made the first move, crushing her into his embrace, tears wet on her shoulder as his hands clutched the fabric of her cloak and pressed into her back. She had held him in return, moved by such a show of emotion which was so rare for him, as the rest of the gang, thankfully, had moved away. 

Eventually, Robin had raised his head, cupped her face in his hands, spoken her name as if it was a prayer, and kissed her soundly. It was not a soft, romantic kiss like they’d often shared in the past, but rather passionate, demanding – almost desperate - the kind of kiss he had only ever given her in the throes of his deepest embrace, when he’d let his desire overwhelm his carefully constructed control. She’d returned the kiss with fervour, feeling truly alive for the first time since she had first awoken in Acre. 

He’d led her deeper into the woods, to one of the gang’s back-up hideouts, where they kept supplies and funds in case their first camp was compromised. Marian had been there a few times before; it had been their rendezvous point when she’d been able to break away from the castle, to spend a few quiet hours in his arms, both of them desperately trying to forget the world that was conspiring to keep them apart. 

As he had done on those occasions, Robin had concealed the entrance to the small hideaway and lain his cloak down over the dried leaves that covered the earthen floor. When he kissed her again, longing hit Marian deep in her gut, as she realised just how much she had missed him; his touch, his long, nimble fingers, the heat of his skin which almost burned when pressed against her own, the taste of him that was like earth and birch and glory – even the scratch of his beard against her neck. Marian had not allowed herself to feel any longing during their separation, but with his nearness and her lips still burning she suddenly realised how desperately she wanted to be with him. 

So she’d drawn him closer and removed his tunic in between kisses, casting it forcefully aside.  Usually she had let him take the lead, but she had no desire for romantic preliminaries, not this time, not after an entire year.

Marian pulled him down to the ground with her as she undid the laces of his breeches and he, sensing her intent, pushed up her skirts and ran his hands over remembered pathways. When he touched her it felt like coming home; like all of her fears and anxieties melted away as she gave herself over to the skill of his caress. She’d forgotten what it was like, to feel his lips taste hers, coming back to her like a dying man drawing from a well, and the pressure of his fingers between her legs, warmth spreading through her veins so quickly after so long. Too quickly - Marian cupped his face in her hands, looking deep into his eyes and once again he understood without her needing to say anything, shifting his weight to settle above her.

Robin pressed his lips to her neck and she splayed her hands over the tensing muscles in his back as they joined together, and she cried out with joyful relief. He whispered love into her ear and Marian simply held him tighter, giving herself over to the pleasure as they moved and merged together, carried to the pinnacle of exquisite joy.

Afterwards, Marian had allowed him to hold her, something she’d rarely permitted, having always been conscious of time and the need to get back to the castle lest she be missed. She’d told him the story of her survival, Amineh nursing her back to health, finding Will, Djaq and Carter again and coming back to England. She’d left out the part about Richard, thinking it best to wait before burdening him with such news.   

Robin lay on his side, head propped up with one arm as he listened to her story intently and, to his credit, did not interrupt. Marian lay on her back, and tilted her head towards him as she recounted her tale, his other hand clasped in hers and their fingers intertwined. 

“And your new friend, Tuck?” Robin queried once she’d finished, and added with a grimace, “He’s a Hospitaller.” 

“A man of God, yes,” she confirmed, surprised by his wariness.

“I have known many who have claimed to be men of God,” Robin told her, squeezing her fingers slightly. “Few truly were.”

“Tuck is a little strange,” she admitted. “But I do not doubt his piety, or conviction.”

“If you’re sure,” he added, then chuckled to himself. “Perhaps some spiritual guidance is just what the lads need.”

Marian did not tell him about Tuck’s strange faith in her. She half believed that Robin would laugh off the idea and whilst she herself did not put any stock in Tuck’s belief that she had some destiny to fulfill, she had no desire to see Robin dismiss it either, for despite herself she would be angry with him and she didn’t want to argue so soon after their reunion. 

“It is a miracle you are alive,” Robin was suddenly very serious, and Marian wondered if he was half-reading her thoughts. He unclasped his hand from hers and then rested his palm on her stomach for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths as if trying to build up courage. Then he pushed up the fabric of her blouse to reveal the ugly red scar which ran diagonally several inches across her belly. 

“Are you really alright?” he asked, his voice sounding very small as his fingers traced the puckered skin. 

“Yes,” she assured him. Robin pushed her blouse up further to reveal the other scar higher up on her torso, smaller and white, but still noticeable against her pale skin.

“Djaq says neither of them will ever heal completely,” Marian told Robin softly, looking at him as his gaze was fixed on the visual sign of their separation. “But perhaps it’s meant to be that way,” she continued when he did not answer. “As a reminder.”   

She lifted her hand to his bare chest and ran her fingers over his own scar, stark against his side even after three years. It made her feel closer to him, their matching pair of wounds both received saving the life of the King, a visible sign of their sacrifice. 

But Robin brushed her hand away and covered his scar with his palm. He had never liked her seeing it, and in fact had always tried to keep it covered when they’d been together. Marian knew that it was because he also saw his scars as a reminder, but one of failure. Robin had never been content with simply being the best at anything he did, he demanded perfection. Success over others was of little consequence to him; it was success over himself that he cared about. And so for an enemy to get close enough to wound him, penetrate his skin, was galling, with a scar being a permanent reminder of that perceived failure.

Marian, on the other hand, wore her scars proudly. 

“Tell me what has been happening here,” she changed the subject purposefully and smoothed her blouse back down.  

This seemed to work, as Robin shook off his melancholy and proceeded to enthusiastically tell her about the changes the gang had implemented in her absence. She was surprised, but pleased, to learn of their new brand of collective leadership. 

“Every man has his say,” he explained with obvious pride, “and each voice is worth the same as another.”

“I never thought I would see Robin Hood deferring authority,” she teased him, her heart feeling light to do so again.          

“I’ve changed, Marian,” he told her earnestly. “You would be proud of me.”

She smiled, touched that he would even admit such a thing. “I am glad that things are going well here.” 

They lay without speaking for a few minutes, Robin seemingly content as he gazed at her, softly stroking her hair that fell about her shoulders, every so often twining his fingers around the loose curls. Marian used the comfortable silence to build up the courage to say perhaps the one thing she knew would dampen his mood. 

“Robin, I have to ask,” she said eventually, taking his hand and squeezed it gently. “You didn’t….have you….” She cleared her throat. “Is Gisborne still alive?”

The effect was instant - Robin withdrew his hand and frowned down at her. “And if he wasn’t?” he asked her shortly. “Would it trouble you?”

Marian felt uneasy; Guy had always been a sore spot with Robin, and he had never really understood that she had seen something good in him. Robin saw only a murderer when he looked at Guy – Marian saw a tormented soul that had desperately reached out to hers. And she had lied to him, deceived him and used him for her own ends. There was a certain amount of guilt she felt about Guy, and she could never absolve herself of it knowing that Robin had killed him in her name. 

She shifted onto her side so that she could face him better, and reached up to tenderly brush the hair back from his eyes. “You do not kill, Robin,” he told him softly. “So yes, I would be troubled.” 

Robin looked at her for a few long moments, as if searching for something in her eyes. He had given her the same look before, whenever he had been particularly jealous, or anxious about her feelings. Almost as if he expected her to announce a sudden passionate love for Guy at any moment and abandon him. Perhaps before, she had understood such uneasiness, but now felt as if they had moved beyond that. Hadn’t she married him, twice, in the Holy Land, hadn’t she travelled hundreds of miles to return to him? But she didn’t voice those thoughts and instead held his gaze, trying to convey the security of her love.      

“He’s alive,” Robin said eventually, breaking eye contact and casting his gaze downward. Marian breathed a sigh of relief, something which clearly did not escape Robin’s notice. “But it’s not just my soul you’re concerned about,” he questioned, searching her face again. “Is it?”          

She gave no answer, which he took as confirmation, and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “The man ran you through with a sword, Marian,” he reminded her bitterly. “You were between him and the King, and so he disposed of you.”

“That’s not what happened,” she insisted. “I taunted him,” she tried to explain, wanting him to understand. “I knew I couldn’t challenge him physically, I had no weapon - so I had to improvise.”

Robin furrowed his brow, looking perturbed. “What did you say?”

“I…” she paused, but decided that the truth was the only option. “I told him…that I would rather die than be with him. That I was going to marry you.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “That I loved you.”

Robin seemed somewhat mollified, and visibly clamped down on a smile. “Why in the King’s name did you tell him that?” he asked, but his tone was lighter. 

Marian shrugged, although she had replayed the events in her mind many times and had no doubt about her motivations.  

“Because I knew that’s what would hurt him the most,” she said eventually. That had been her main goal, to disarm him with painful words if she could not disarm him physically. And yet she also remembered the exhilaration knowing, for the first time and without doubts, her own mind. 

“But also because it is the truth,” Marian added and took his face in both of her hands. “I do love you, Robin.”

Robin smiled with visible joy and perhaps a bit of relief. “I love you, too,” he told her, then leaned forward and kissed her gently. 

He pulled her closer and her arms went around his neck, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace. It was just like she remembered; warmth blossoming in her heart like the first day of spring after a cold and bitter winter. She had been so aware of herself on the journey back to England, feeling the scrutiny of the others keenly. It was such a relief to simply let go of any pretence, to lose herself in Robin’s arms.  

He began to kiss her neck, and she arched into him, wanting to be as close as possible. His grip on her was so tight it was as if he felt she would slip away, but she didn’t protest. 

“I love you so much,” he murmured, breath hot against her skin. 

She lifted his head again, not willing to settle for just his embrace. “Show me,” she demanded, and pressed her lips to his. 

Later, she lay with her head resting on his chest, listening to his even breathing and the rhythmic beating of his heart. Sooner or later they would have to return to the gang, but for one brief moment she could pretend that she was simply a woman in the arms of her lover, without the worry of feeding the poor and fighting the Sheriff. One moment, she would allow herself, and no more.    

“It was a stupid thing to tell him,” Robin’s voice broke through her reverie. 

“What?” Marian asked. She was slightly drowsy and had in fact thought Robin was asleep himself. But it appeared he had been running their earlier conversation over in his mind. 

“Gisborne,” he clarified. “Telling him what you did.”

She shifted slightly in his arms, turning over and resting one arm across his chest and then perching her chin atop her wrist. “Why?”

“Why?” he mimicked her. “Because he stabbed you, that’s why!”

“It worked though, didn’t it,” she shrugged. “He didn’t kill Richard.”

“He killed you!”

She sighed and sat up, irritated, tossing her hair over her shoulder and regarding him for several moments. “I had to do something. How many times have you put yourself in danger, thrown yourself into almost certain death to save another’s life?”

“That’s different.” He sat up, scowling. 

“I see,” she replied with sarcasm. “Because you’re Robin Hood.”

“Because I didn’t die,” he insisted.

Suddenly she found the situation rather amusing. “Neither did I,” she reminded him, almost laughing. “And you’ve just been lucky that there’s always someone there to save you with a distraction.” She poked him playfully in the ribs, hoping that he would see how ridiculous he was being and laugh about it with her.    

But he remained stony-faced. “No you didn’t die,” he agreed. “But you certainly gave a very good impression of it this past year.”

Marian was somewhat taken aback. “You’re…angry at me for not returning sooner?” she asked him incredulously. 

He lowered his gaze, and his hair fell into his eyes. “No, of course not.” But his tone was not convincing. 

She retreated from him slightly, rearranging her skirts under her legs in irritation. “It is not as if I just picked myself up, dusted myself off and carried on, Robin,” she told him sharply. “It was weeks before I’d even regained consciousness. And after that my recovery was very slow. I was not fit to travel.”

He nodded but did not reply and did not again raise his eyes to meet hers. 

“And I was trying to further the cause for peace,” she continued, somewhat peeved at him for making her explain, and at herself for feeling as if she needed to. “You of all people should understand that.”

“I do,” he said very quietly. She almost informed him that she had, in fact, been able to persuade the King to return when he had not, but stopped herself when he finally looked up at her. His eyes were shadowed, and for the first time she noticed the dark rims under them, the lines of worry and stress that had not been present a year earlier. Clearly her absence had had a profound effect on him, far more than she had realised. 

Robin shifted closer to her and cupped her face with one hand, his thumb stroking her cheek tenderly. “I have just missed you,” he told her, his voice pained. “I haven’t felt like myself without you.”

She was touched by his honesty and his plain, open emotion. Very rarely had he been so with her, his true feelings always hidden in jest or playful metaphors. He had always known how to charm women, and in her youth she had been no exception, but it had mostly been bravado. Fine, passionate words came easily to him when it was all for show; his true thoughts he had always kept to himself. 

And even after they’d found a way back to each other, declarations of love had always been forced out of him in an emotionally fuelled moment; her asking him to spare Allan’s life, his apprehensive proposal over a freshly-dug grave, those harrowing moments in the tree with Sheriff’s men below them. 

But the raw pain she saw plainly etched across his face was new to her; like a glimpse into his soul that he had never been truly willing to show her before. She had known that he would grieve for her, miss her, but she hadn’t realised to what extent. His anguished words in the sands of the Holy Land came back to her – I can’t fight without you. Marian had never considered them to be anything more than an exaggeration in a moment of distress, but it seemed clear there was at least some truth in them. 

“I’m here now,” Marian told him, and took his hand from her check, holding it in both of hers. “I’m here.” She knew that she could not put off her bad news any longer. “And I need to tell you something – about the King.”

Marian proceeded to fill him in on all the details, the peace accord, the King’s capture and their visit to Bavaria, her suspicion that it was all the Sheriff’s doing. He listened intently, but without reaction. When she finally finished she waited with trepidation for him to become impassioned, begin making plans to travel to Austria and rescue the King at any cost. Now that she was back in England she had no desire to leave again, but knew how dearly Robin loved Richard and how seriously he took his role as his protector.   

Instead Robin was silent for a long time, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the information. 

“This is troubling news,” he said finally. “No doubt the Sheriff plans to announce it with the next tax increase – we must be ready to increase our deliveries.”

It was certainly not the reaction she had been expecting. “You…you don’t want to mount a rescue attempt?” she queried after a few stunned moments. 

Robin was silent for a few more moments, clearly having trouble with his decision, but eventually sighed in resignation. “Richard must look to God for protection, now,” he replied, albeit with obvious discomfort. “We need to focus on the people we can help here.”

She apprised him thoughtfully. “You have changed.”

“He strung us up in the desert, Marian,” his voice was pained. “After all of my love and service, he just…left us to die.” He shook his head slightly, as if he still could not believe it. 

“He is my King and I have sworn to serve him unto death” he added. “If he asked it of me, of course I would go.” Robin paused and took her hand again, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “But he sent you back to me. Our place is here – together.”

Outlaw’s Camp

“I think we’re going to need a bigger camp.” 

Much looked around their small abode and counted the bunks. Six, although two were currently unoccupied. Next he counted the people around the camp; himself sitting on his own top bunk, Will and Djaq settling their belongings back in their old places while Allan hovered around them excitedly, Little John and Carter warming themselves by the fire and Tuck examining the hidden lever in the rockface with interest. Plus Robin and Marian, wherever they were enjoying their reunion. 

Nine. 

They’d lived in close enough quarters with six people, and Much remembered how crowded it had seemed those few weeks Marian had lived with them the last time. Although, most of the discomfort was due to Robin and Marian’s constant bickering, which had made all of them uneasy and looking to escape the confines of camp. Still, three extra people on top of that was going to be a challenge. Robin and Marian could share a bunk, he decided, as they had done before, and probably Will and Djaq, but in any event they would need more room. 

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Will spoke up and looked around the camp himself. Much could almost see his mind turning, examining the space and dimensions with his carpenter’s mind. “I have a few ideas.”

“Until then, as they newest member of your band I am happy to sleep on the floor,” Tuck spoke up in dulcet tones. Other than his initial thanks when Much had greeted him, they were the first words he had spoken. 

“Steady on, mate,” Allan said with a chuckle. “Who exactly are you again? I don’t remember anyone inviting you into the gang.”

Much noticed Djaq purse her lips ever so slightly, and took note of the fact that she did not particularly care for this Tuck person. As for Tuck himself, he seemed unperturbed.  

“The Lady Marian has invited me,” he replied simply. 

“Did she now?” Allan asked sceptically. “Well, Marian’s not exactly part of the gang either, is she?”

“Shut up, Allan,” Much told him crossly. “Of course Marian’s part of the gang!” A year earlier, Much had barely been able to admit that Marian was “sort of” a member of the gang. But her return changed everything and Much would not allow a word against her.    

“Blimey, and so it starts,” Allan rolled his eyes dramatically. “She gets to invite whoever she wants, now? Don’t I get a veto power or somethin’?”

“Do you object to my being here?” Tuck queried. 

“No offence, mate,” Allan shrugged. “But we all know each other. Who are you? No idea.” 

“I can vouch for Tuck,” Carter spoke up calmly. “He can be trusted.”

“Says the man who once tried to kill Robin,” Allan pointed out. “And you’re not part of the gang, either, you don’t get a say.”

“Robin asked me to join last time,” Carter responded with a smirk. “You would know that had you been there, instead of in the employ of the Sheriff.”

Allan’s expression turned sour, and he did not respond. Will gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“There is no need to argue,” Little John spoke up from his place by the fire. “We do not deny anyone offering help.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Robin’s voice cut through the air, and Much turned to see that he and Marian had appeared, holding hands, by the treeline. “We could use all the help we can get.”

Much noted that the pair seemed calm and content, and Robin was smiling in a way he had not seen for a long time. Marian was smiling also, but seemed somewhat apprehensive, as if she was unsure of what their reaction to her reappearance would be, although Will and Djaq had explained the circumstances of her survival. Or perhaps, depending on how much they had heard of the recent conversation, she was concerned that she was creating discord between the gang – he was never quite sure what Marian was thinking.

But if that was the reason she needn’t have worried, for as soon as she was close enough Little John drew her into a fatherly hug, patting her on the head affectionately. Robin moved towards Will and Djaq, embracing them both and exchanging warm words with each of them. 

“So, you’re alive then,” Allan said to Marian, once she’d freed herself from Little John. 

She took a step towards him and smiled. “That’s right,” she replied simply.

“Hmph.” Allan looked her up and down and then poked her in the shoulder. Much rolled his eyes, but Marian laughed, kissed Allan’s cheek and gave him a hug.

“Satisfied I’m real?”

Allan shrugged, although he seemed genuinely relieved. “Suppose.”

Much climbed down the ladder of his bunk and shifted from one foot to the other anxiously as Marian, finally, approached him. He looked over her shoulder and saw that Robin was engrossed in conversation with Carter and wasn’t paying attention to them. 

“Welcome back, Marian,” he told her, unsure of what else he could say – all he could think of was the image of her falling backwards into the sands of Acre, Gisborne’s sword lodged in her belly; of Robin holding her lifeless form in his arms as he wept. It was hard to reconcile that with the woman before him, obviously alive and with no apparent ill-effects from the ordeal. 

Much gave her a very brief, awkward hug and then stepped away just as quickly. She gave him a quizzical smile, but then turned around to face the rest of the gang. 

“It is good to see you all,” she told them with genuine warmth. “I gather you have met Brother Tuck,” she continued, and the man in question gave a nod of his blond head.      

“Marian has told me all about you,” Robin said, stepping forward and shaking Tuck’s hand enthusiastically. “You are most welcome, Tuck.” He turned around to face the rest of them.  “Although of course,” he made a sweeping gesture in their direction. “It is up to the whole gang.”

Allan, for all of his earlier blustering, simply shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. Djaq visibly forced a smile and no one else made any protest. 

“Excellent.” Robin gave Tuck a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Our ranks have more than doubled,” he added, clearly pleased and Much could see he had that look in his eye which meant he was working on a plan. “That means we can double our efforts against the Sheriff.”

Robin rubbed his hands together in obvious glee. “We have a raid planned for a few day’s time - small scale with just the four of us, but maybe now we can do something better.” A wide grin spread on his face. “Something bigger.”

Much had already heard enough. “Robin, they’ve only just arrived,” he reminded him, “and they’ve probably been travelling for weeks. Shouldn’t we at least eat first before we go planning anything?”

The glint in Robin’s eye disappeared and he looked suitably cowed, although his grin did not fade.  “Of course you are right, Much.” He went to Marian’s side and took her hand again. “We should celebrate.” He raised it, placing a kiss to her knuckles and Marian, rather uncharacteristically, blushed.

“That’s more like it,” Allan chimed in, clapping his hands and visibly cheering up. “I’ll make a run to the ‘Trip, get us some supplies.” He turned to Will and winked. “Susie owes me a favour.” Will laughed quietly, and Djaq rolled her eyes but was smiling.   

“I can check the stores,” Much spoke up, not about to be shown up by Allan. “And the villages - we’ll have a right feast!” 

He wasted no time in gathering his pack and setting off – Robin offered to accompany him, but Much could see the way he tightly clasped Marian’s hand and wouldn’t be the one to separate them so soon. Allan set off in the other direction towards Nottingham town with Will, and Much made his way towards their eastern store where he knew he’d stashed some cured pork. 

But at the treeline, Much paused and allowed himself a glance back at the camp where the gang and their new members sat around the fire. The sight made him smile, and Much decided he could live with crowded – it was preferable to the emptiness and silence of their camp the past year. 

Much felt a surge of hope, as if with her return Marian had brought the promise of justice again, and he made his way through Sherwood happily, singing softly to himself.

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Night had fallen, and Marian had excused herself from the camp and taken a short walk, anxious for some solitude. While she had been pleased to be with her friends again, she was also grateful to escape for a few moments, to breathe in the cool night air and be alone with her thoughts. A few minutes was all she needed, and she relished the silence of the forest, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of owls roused to begin the night’s hunt.  

It wasn’t long before she heard the crunch of boots against the leaves of the forest floor, and opened her eyes to see Much approaching, laden down with several bulging sacks. 

“Marian,” he greeted her as he approached, and, with a small grunt, put down the sacks on the ground beside him. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“Alone?” she repeated and laughed. “I am not a hundred yards from Camp. No tragedy is going to befall me here.”

Much looked down, and kicked at the ground with his boot sheepishly. “You are right, of course,” he conceded. After several long moments, he looked up at her with a solemn expression on his face. 

“Marian, I didn’t say before, but I…I am so glad that you’ve returned.”

She thought back to the awkward hug they’d shared a few hours before and gave him an indulgent smile. Even though they’d grown up together, there had always been the comfort of Robin as the common element between them, and had never really had to relate to one another outside of that. And yet, when they’d been children, it had been Much who had tended to her the time she’d fallen badly from a tree, who had often brought her and her father fresh fish caught from the streams in Sherwood, that had (albeit begrudgingly) acted as chaperone once she and Robin were of age so they could still spend time together. And of course, it had been Much who had stopped her wedding to Guy, who had inspired her with his faith and devotion to see what had been truly important. 

Marian had never really noticed nor appreciated the impact he’d had on her life before, but looking back she realised he had always been there, on the periphery, looking out for her as he had looked out for Robin. He was her superior in age, in goodness, in humility – in perhaps everything except birth and yet he felt bound to her. In a way, Marian realised, she was as much his charge as Robin was, except perhaps she seemed like more of a burden to him.    

Much visibly hesitated for a few more moments, then took a step towards her. “I am going to hug you now,” he announced. 

She looked at him quizzically. “Alright.”

“I’m just warning you,” he told her. “I don’t want to get stabbed in the eye by some concealed dagger or something. And I know, you and I…” he trailed off, clearly unable to articulate his point properly, but she ignored that. “So. Prepare yourself.”

“Alright,” she repeated, amused. 

He stepped forward and put his arms around her. She was expecting a very brief hug as he had given her back at camp, but he held her tightly for several moments. Marian smiled and accepted it; she couldn’t remember the last time Much had embraced her at all, let alone with so much affection. At least, not since she had been a child, before (at least in his mind) they became rivals for Robin’s attention. She returned his brotherly embrace with an unexpected relief.     

“I have to tell you something,” he said, still holding onto her tightly. “Ask you for something.”

“What’s that?” 

“Your forgiveness.”

Marian pulled back to arm’s length. “Whatever for, Much?” she asked, confused.

Much took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell her about Robin’s surprise birthday party the year before in Nettlestone, that he’d concealing the plans from her even when she’d asked. She waited, puzzled, while he recounted the story with visible shame, eyes downcast. 

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” she said once he’d finished. “I don’t see why it matters.”  

“I needed you to know,” Much told her, and then looked up, resolute. “I promise, I will never lie to you again, Marian. Never,” he added emphatically. “Robin has forgiven me, but I can’t ever forgive myself – I’ve stolen a year from you both.”

She found his sincerity touching, but his guilt unnecessary and slightly ridiculous. But obviously it was weighing on his conscience and she wished only to alleviate that, rather than offend it. 

“Look at it this way,” she told him, thinking quickly. “If you hadn’t lied to me, then I would have been there in Nettlestone. I never would have tried to kill the Sheriff, he wouldn’t have felt to need to gloat to me about Robin’s imminent death, Allan would never have found out about it and come back and rescue you all. We probably would have all died in that barn.”

She smiled at Much’s befuddled expression as he was working what she had said over in his mind. “So you see, perhaps your lie saved us all.”

“Well, yes, perhaps,” Much furrowed his brow, clearly unconvinced. “But still, my promise stands, I will not lie to you. Lying is wrong.”

Sometimes, Marian envied the simplicity of his convictions. For Much, there was good and evil, right actions and wrong ones, and he did not understand people like herself who knew from experience that sometimes, one needed to commit small sins in order to achieve a greater good.  

“Let’s go back to camp,” she suggested, and Much thankfully did not press the subject so they walked the short distance together in companionable silence. As they entered the camp, she could see that Allan and Will had already returned from their foraging mission at the Trip to Jerusalem Inn. Allan, lounging his bunk, noticed them first. 

“Here comes the party,” he called out to them. 

Much retrieved several wineskins from his sacks and held them up. “I liberated these from Locksley,” he announced, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Well done, Much,” Robin said, breaking from his quiet discussion with Carter. “Just what we need for a celebration.”

“Oh, do me a favour,” Allan spoke up. “Gisborne’s still in London, so by ‘liberated’ you mean you walked up to the kitchens and asked for them, right?”

Marian smiled, but Much scowled in obvious displeasure. “Isn’t that just what you did at the ‘Trip?”

But Allan laughed and indicated the bread, pies and cheeses which lay beside him in a heap, and the barrel in the centre of the camp, which she assumed contained ale, that he and Will had somehow managed to procure. 

“This? Took all of me charm to convince Susie to part with.”

“So not very much charm, then?” Djaq added with a smile. 

Allan only laughed again. “I think the spoils speak for themselves,” he continued. “That takes skill, mate.”

He and Much continued to bicker over who had acquired the better quality produce, while Robin located some silver goblets from their stash, filled them with wine and passed them around, except to Djaq, for whom he prepared rose syrup and water. He moved to Marian’s side, passing the last goblet to her and rested his other hand on her shoulder.

“To my dear friends,” Robin said, raising his goblet as the rest of them followed suit. Marian waited for him to continue with a speech, but he took only took a drink, squeezing her shoulder gently as he did so. The rest of them solemnly drank from their own goblets, and Marian noticed that the only Allan, John and Much did not seem surprised by Robin’s brevity. Marian looked up at him curiously, but after a few moments he gave her a wide grin and laughed as he remembered something. 

“Come on then,” he addressed everyone jovially. “Let’s celebrate!”    

Allan helped himself to his umpteenth goblet of ale (having always been more partial to it than wine), and leaned against the barrel to drink it. It had been a feat for him and Will to get the thing to the camp from Nottingham, but when Susie had offered it to them as a joke if they could carry it, he couldn’t let the challenge pass. Will had of course come up with a pulling mechanism using some rope and a wheelbarrow borrowed from a neighbouring stable – he was clever like that. Allan had used his charm to talk Susie into letting them take it, promising he’d make it up to her. She’d also returned his lute, which he’d left there after Lardner had shown up. It was currently resting on his bunk, but Allan hadn’t quite felt up to playing it yet. 

Instead, he enjoyed watching the camp – Robin and Marian tucked away in a corner, sharing a wineskin between them, for once being opening affectionate with one another; Much and Carter loudly talking over one another and from the looks of their ridiculous pantomime, discussing old war stories; Will and Djaq chatting and laughing with Little John. And Tuck – Tuck was talking to no one, but appearing to be listening and watching everyone. Allan filled up his goblet again, grabbed some food and crossed the camp to take a seat beside him. 

“Allan A-Dale,” Tuck greeted him. 

“Tuck,” Allan replied. “What kind of name is that anyway?” 

Tuck smiled enigmatically. “It is my name before God,” he said simply. 

Allan tried to stop a laugh, and it came out as a snort. “Alright, Brother,” he told Tuck, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.” Then Allan regarded him for a few moments. “Is that your game then?” he asked. “Here to save our souls?”

“To say that a soul needs saving implies that it has been lost,” Tuck said, holding Allan’s gaze. “And if that happens, I believe that a man is responsible for saving his own soul. Although this does not mean he cannot seek help and guidance from others.”

It was not in Allan’s nature to think on such matters – he lived in the real world where there was not the time nor the place for them. But he just couldn’t help himself.

“So what are you ‘ere for?” he questioned. “To provide guidance… or to save your own soul?”

Tuck looked away, and gazed into the fire. “Perhaps both,” he answered thoughtfully.

“Cheer up, mate,” Allan told him, “we ‘ave food and wine – this is no night for navel-gazing!” He picked up the pie he’d brought over and divided it into two, offering Tuck a half. The older man nodded in thanks, took the portion and bit into it.             

“That’s it,” Allan roughly patted him on the back as he stood. “Tuck in!” he added, then laughed heartily at his own joke, took a bite of his own half and then moved to take a seat in his empty bunk.   

He sat there for several moments, enjoying his food and drink, until Will appeared at his side and took a seat on the bunk next to him. 

“Good night, eh?” Allan greeted him. “Good food, good ale, good friends.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “It’s good to be back. I wasn’t sure I would ever see England again. Not that I didn’t like it in Acre,” he added quickly. “I was with Djaq.”

Allan nodded but did not reply. He had wanted Will and Djaq to be happy, and so had never questioned their decision to stay in the Holy Land, but if he was honest with himself it had felt almost like a betrayal – like they had abandoned him. As much as he cared about Robin, John, and Much, it hadn’t been the same – they were his friends, but they’d never understood him quite like Will and Djaq both had.  

“I need to ask you, Allan,” Will said solemnly after a few moments. “And I’d like you to be honest. Are you really alright with me and Djaq?”

Allan shrugged. “Course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I know that you liked her…” Will seemed uneasy. 

Allan shrugged again and took a gulp of ale before answering. “Yeah,” he began. “I do like her, ‘course I do. But you love her, don’t ya?”

Will smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

“Then that’s all there is to it,” Allan said, smiling as Djaq appeared at Will’s shoulder and took a seat next to him. “Me two best mates,” he continued, raising his goblet to them. “What could be more perfect than that?”

“We’ve missed you, Allan,” Djaq said earnestly. “More than you probably know.”

Allan chuckled. “Everyone wants to be serious tonight,” he observed, “where’s the fun in that?” He picked up his lute from beside him on the bunk. “We need some music.” 

“I didn’t know Allan was a musician.”

“Hmmm?” Robin’s attention until that point had been directed at nuzzling Marian’s neck, and he looked up to see hers was elsewhere. 

“Allan is playing the lute,” she said, nodding her head towards the other side of the camp where Allan was indeed strumming a tune. “Didn’t you hear the music?”

Robin grinned at her, fortified by the wine and Marian’s presence. “I thought that was just my heart singing.”

Marian burst out laughing, which soon dissolved into amused sniggers. “Of all of the ridiculous things you’ve ever said to me…”

“What, it wasn’t that bad!” he argued. “Alright, it was pretty bad,” he agreed at her raised eyebrows. She giggled and did not seem to be able to stop herself – Robin could tell was not used to drinking so much wine and it had gone to her head. In fact, he had more often than not abstained in the past year, unwilling to be drawn into revelry, and found that he was feeling somewhat lightheaded. And bold. 

He rose to his feet and held out his hands to her, but she looked at him quizzically and took another sip from her goblet. “There is music and wine,” he explained. “There should be dancing.”     

“You can’t dance,” Marian teased him. “You never wanted to learn.”

Robin shrugged in return. “But tonight is a night for miracles.”

She took his hands and he pulled her up and into his embrace. She laughed again, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Robin spun her around a little clumsily, knocking several pans out of the larder in the process. But he didn’t care, because his friends were back together, there was music in his ears and Marian was in his arms. All was right with the world. 

The sound of Marian’s laugh and the clang of pots tumbling to the floor cut through the camp. John looked up from his conversation with Carter and Much, and the sight of Marian laughing brought a smile to his face. Much rose from his seat by the fire next to John and he expected an indignant comment regarding the state of the larder, but instead crossed the camp and offered a hand to Djaq. She smiled and took it, allowing Much to lead her in a friendly dance. Allan started playing a livelier tune on his lute, and Will began to clap in time with the music. 

Carter grinned as he watched the dancing couples navigating the small space around the camp.  “This is certainly an improvement over the Crusader camp,” he told John. “There was plenty of wine there also, but it did not always keep the men in the best of spirits.”

John nodded. He couldn’t speak to that, having avoided those in the King’s company as much as possible – he only knew that he had never seen so much joy in the camp. 

“It is good to see Robin and Marian so happy,” he said, looking in the couple fondly. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Marian smile so much – she had always seemed a lonely creature to John, a woman raised by and around men but never fully able to enter their realm. He knew that kind of loneliness, the feeling that you inhabited a world that existed alongside the world of others, but never truly met. It was heartening to see Marian seem so easy and free, and not withdrawn as she had been prone to do the last time she lived in the camp. 

“And Will and Djaq,” John added, seeing that Will had taken over Much’s position as Djaq’s dance partner. He noticed she wore that small secretive smile which was only present when Will was, and John was glad to see that their affection for one another had not diminished.

He was so happy for the two young couples, and yet the sight of them opened up the old, barely healed wounds in his heart. John wished, not for the first time, that he’d had the courage of any of his young friends, to fight to stay together with the person you loved despite all obstacles. With Alice, he had run, had chosen the easy way out by convincing himself she was better off without him. 

“Everyone seemed happy,” Carter’s voice cut through his reverie. “It makes a nice change.”

John again looked across the camp at Robin, Marian, Much, Will and Djaq, who had now formed a circle around Allan, still strumming on his lute as he appeared to be performing a jig of some kind. Laughter mixed with the sound of clapping hands, words of encouragement and appreciation, singing and a beat kept by Much banging a wooden spoon against the cooking pot.     

“Yes,” John agreed with a smile.  “Yes it does.”  

Djaq woke up early, as was her habit. Everyone else was still asleep, even Will, based on his even breathing and the slack arm that rested across their shared bunk. She rose, careful not to wake anyone, although she realised that many of them were not so much asleep as passed out - Allan still had a goblet gripped in his hand. Although Djaq herself did not consume alcohol, she did not begrudge it of her friends, and was in fact rather amused by their drunken behaviour. At least, in the past, she had often enjoyed informing them of the things they had said and done under the influence which they had blocked from their memories.

She carefully picked up her pack from her designated cubbyhole and quietly left the camp, walking a few hundred metres into the forest until she came across a small clearing. This was her part of Sherwood; her small glade where she had always gone for a bit of privacy, which was much needed when sharing an outlaw’s camp with half a dozen dirty, shameless men. 

With practiced ease, Djaq removed a mat from her pack, laid it down on the soft grass and knelt to begin her morning prayers. She took the small compass from the pack which had been a gift from Bassam. Djaq had always been able to judge the direction from the sun and stars, however Bassam had pressed it into her hand, telling her it was to always help her find the way home. 

It comforted her to use it - some small keepsake of Palestine that she hadn’t had the last time, when she’d been brought to England in chains. But now she had returned of her own free will, and had been able to bring some small items with her to ease the loss of her homeland. The compass rested on true north, and she judged the approximate direction of Mecca, and began her morning prayers.        

When finished, she became acutely aware of a figure by the treeline. She rose and saw that it was Tuck, causing anger to bristle inside her. 

“My apologies for intruding,” Tuck began in that disconcertingly mild tone of his. 

“There would be no need to apologise had you simply not intruded in the first place.” 

Tuck gave her a strange sort of bow by ducking his head, and she had come to believe that it was his way of conceding the point, or at least choosing not to challenge it further. 

“I confess that whilst I have fought against your people for many years, I do esteem the frequency of your prayers,” Tuck told her. “It is a devotion many in our faith are lacking.” 

Djaq sighed. She supposed it was only a matter of time before Tuck started preaching to her – to be honest she was surprised he had waited so long. Perhaps it was because he had been officially accepted into their band of outlaws, and so no longer needed to hold his tongue. 

“It is not my concern what Christians may be lacking in their devotions,” she said. “Or what your opinions are about my religion.”

“My observation was favourable to your faith, and kindly meant,” Tuck responded in that same even tone. He paused for a few moments, regarding her. “I think we have more in common than you realise, Mistress Djaq.”

She bristled at the title. Tuck never seemed to allow himself the familiarity of addressing someone only by their name. It was always Mistress Djaq and Master Will and Captain Carter. Even with Marian, with whom he seemed to have formed the closest bond, he never deigned to address her informally, and more often than not simply called her My Lady.  

“How much in common can a warrior priest have with a Turk?” she questioned, using the name his kind used to refer to her people. 

“I believe it was your Prophet who wrote that we have a great deal in common,” he told her.  “Would it surprise you to learn that I have read your holy texts?” Tuck asked when she did not reply. 

“Yes,” she replied curtly. “It would.”

“Say, People of the Book,” he recited, “let us arrive at a statement that is common to us all: we worship God alone.”

“Reading is one thing,” she said shortly. “Comprehension is another.”

“This is true,” he agreed. “Yet surely we can agree that if there is one thing our people both share, is our devotion to our God.”  

“Robin has also read the Qu’ran” Djaq told him. “He interprets such passages as proof that your God and mine are one in the same.”

Tuck tilted his head, openly studying her. “And you do not agree.”

“Robin is idealistic,” she told him. “He believes that we can all live together in harmony. That we are all…children of Abraham, regardless of denomination or race.”

“And so we are,” Tuck agreed. “But as Cain and Abel have taught us, children do not always get along.” He paused and studied her openly. “I sense you do not share Robin Hood’s view.”

“I am a realist,” she said shortly. “I have seen the hatred your people have for mine – I have seen the anger my people have for yours. If they were the same God, I cannot see how He could allow us to fight each other in His name. How He could allow us to remain on different sides.” 

Djaq’s mind went back, as it often did, to those days on the battlefield after she had assumed her brother’s identity. To the death and suffering she had seen there which time and distance could not erase. 

“At least if Allah and your God are different – if they are warring Gods as we are warring races… then at least it does not seem so futile.”

“And yet you align yourself with Englishmen and their cause,” Tuck pointed out. “With young Master Will.”

“I think you’ll find we are the exception rather than the rule,” she noted. “I hope for peace of course,” she added quickly. “But peace is most easily achieved by an invading army returning home.”

“And yet this work is done,” he reminded her. “The Crusade is all but over, and yet here you are in an English forest.”

Briefly, she recalled the Queen of Aquitaine making the same point and although time had passed, the answer had not changed. If anything, it was more true now than it had been then, for she had chosen to return. 

“In an English forest,” she agreed, “but doing good work, and alongside those I trust.”

“I hope one day, Mistress Djaq, that you will trust me.” With that Tuck gave another one of his small courteous bows and left the clearing without waiting for a response. 

But Djaq knew that courtesy did not equal trustworthiness – only actions could prove that, and she had seen nothing from Tuck which had indicated he was worth her confidence.  Robin and the rest of his men had earned such respect in less than a day – Marian over the long night when she had tended to her first stabbing wound – Carter in his resolve to atone for the anger in his heart. 

Djaq decided she would reserve judgement on Tuck until he had proved himself the equal to them.

Chapter Text

Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest

Marian groaned as she rolled over in her bunk, roused unwillingly from sleep by a great pounding in her head. She opened her eyes tentatively, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the forest canopy and into the camp was blinding and she quickly closed them again. Her mouth was dry, and she desperately needed some water, but did not feel as if she had the strength to rise. 

She thought back to the previous night and found that her memories were muddled – she remembered their celebratory feast, but struggled to remember exactly how many goblets of wine she had consumed. Marian had never been drunk before, always afraid that she would say or do something she would regret, or which would reveal her true allegiances. Even with the outlaws, she had always been careful. She disliked the lightheaded feeling alcohol could induce, as if she was divorced from her mind and body in a way which made her uncomfortable. The previous night had been the exception, and if this was the aftermath, Marian thought to herself, she had been right to steer clear from it in the past and intended to do so in the future.

She lay in the bunk for several minutes, trying to find the will to get up. Robin was not there beside her, and she heard voices from the other side of the camp – the others were already awake, and she cringed over sleeping late when everyone else had risen. 

“I think what Robin’s saying is that we need to send the Sheriff a message,” she heard someone – perhaps Will – say.

“We could send something with Larder,” a voice she identified as Much’s suggested, to indications of amusement or frustration from the others.

“Not a literal message, Much,” a female voice which could only be Djaq spoke up. “Something symbolic.”

“I know that,” Much spluttered. “I know – I just thought that Vaisey thinks he killed Lardner, right? So sending him a message with him has to make him concerned.”

She heard Allan’s distinctive laugh. “Right, and what’s the message; ‘ello Sheriff, I’m back from the dead and gonna peck your eyes out?’ Come on.”

“I do not think the Sheriff would recognise him in any case,” Djaq pointed out. “A bird is just another bird to him.”

“Well I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas,” Much replied, voice raising in volume.

“Keep it down, will you,” she heard Robin hiss. “Marian is still asleep.”   

Marian sighed and willed herself to open her eyes. She slowly pulled herself up and out of the bunk and made her way over to where the outlaws were seated around the fire. All except for Tuck, who was set back from the group and stood leaning against a tree, and Allan, who was half-lying on the ground, propped up by his elbows and looking tired and a bit sickly. Marian imagined she looked much the same and smoothed her hair down self-consciously.   

Their attention turned her way and a few of them exchanged sheepish expressions. Robin smiled and held out his hand and she approached, and she allowed him to guide her to take a place by his side around the fire. 

“Sorry, Marian,” Much spoke up from Robin’s other side. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You looked like you needed the rest,” Robin said to her quietly, squeezing her hand gently. “You should rest.”

In truth Marian felt a little embarrassed that she had slept through their discussion up until that point. “I have rested enough,” she told him quietly, thinking about her convalescence in Acre. “I want to know what we’re planning.” 

Robin smiled and nodded. “I mentioned yesterday that we had a raid on Nottingham Castle planned for tomorrow,” he began. “Standard, really – sneak in, steal some money and make a quick escape. But,” he added, “now we have more men I was suggesting something on a bigger scale to really make trouble for the Sherriff.”

“We were just trying to think of what,” Much added a little unhappily. 

“And yours was a good idea, Much,” Robin told him. “It was – but we don’t only need to send a message to the Sheriff,” he continued, “but to the people as well. Vaisey is going to make the announcement about the King’s capture any day now, and when that happens the people need to have faith that we’re going to be there to help them, because their lives are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”

Marian nodded. “Alright, so we need something showy – something obvious….that’s really your area of expertise, Robin,” she teased him lightly. 

He laughed. “I suppose I should be offended, but I’m not,” he said with good humour and a grin on his face. “And as a matter of fact, something has come to me…”

He proceeded to outline his idea, and the thoughts seemed so well reasoned and considered that Marian surmised they had been formulated prior to the discussion, and that needing assistance to come up with a plan had been a mere pretence to allow his gang to come up with their own, and only supply his if none could be achieved. She was again struck by his change in nature, as she had been the previous day, but as she had then, chose not to think about its possible cause. 

Robin’s plan was met with enthusiasm, and the discussion turned to each person’s role in the offence, Djaq and Will both slipped back easily into the planning, and Carter, ever the good solider, was happy with whatever task assigned to him. Only Tuck declined to take part, a declaration which was met with confusion and scepticism from the others. 

“The Hospitallers are soldiers as any others on the Crusade,” Robin observed, brow furrowed. 

“Indeed,” Tuck agreed, bowing his head slightly in deference. “I am not opposed to violence, if necessary,” he added. “But I feel perhaps I can serve your cause better another way.”

“Do enlighten us, then,” Djaq spoke up, displeasure clearly written across her face. 

“I was my intention to service the populace of the county,” Tuck continued temperately. “You have provided the people of Nottinghamshire with food and shelter, enough to feed their bodies, but not perhaps their souls. I suspect that they are lacking spiritual nourishment.”

Robin shrugged and did not seem concerned. “If that is what you wish,” he said, “but I need to know that we can rely on you, should the need arise.”

“Of course,” Tuck answered. “My sword is at your service as well as my cross.”

Marian saw Djaq look away, her mouth in a firm line, and Allan roll his eyes. 

“So what is my role tomorrow?” she addressed Robin, changing the subject.   

“Marian…” he looked at her entreatingly, and she did not like the tone of his voice.     

“What?” she asked curtly.

“I was thinking,” he began evenly, “that it might not be a good idea for the Sheriff or Gisborne to know that you’re alive.”

“Oh.” Marian was silent for a few more moments, trying to evaluate his full meaning. “I’m not staying behind,” she told him firmly, trying to ignore the rest of the gang listening intently. 

Robin grimaced. “You’re the reason that Shar’mat failed,” he tried again. “I just think it is too dangerous…”

“It is dangerous for any one of us,” she pointed out, her temper flaring and her face flushing with embarrassment at the presence of the rest of the gang. “The Sheriff hates us all, and would gladly see any one of us dead.” Robin looked like he was going to argue further, so Marian cut him off. “I’ll go as the Nightwatchman if my identity is the concern.” She looked at Allan. “You remember where the costume is hidden?”

“Uhh,” Allan looked uncomfortable at having been drawn into the discussion. He shot Robin an uncertain glance and she noticed Robin shake his head almost imperceptivity in reply. “I don’t think I altogether exactly….quite remember…”

“Fine,” she cut his uncharacteristic stammering off shortly. “Any hood and scarf will do to conceal my face.” She turned back to Robin. “Satisfied?”

He clearly was not, but nodded his head slowly. “Alright.”   

Robin awoke early, but did not immediately rise from his bunk as he was wont to do in recent weeks. Instead, he allowed himself a few minutes to relish Marian’s presence beside him. He shifted close to her, his arm tightening slightly around her waist where it had rested as they’d slept. It was almost as if he needed to keep physical contact with her, even at night, lest she slip away from him again. 

Marian shifted slightly in her sleep, and Robin smiled, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder between her neck and the edge of her tunic. He never thought to be able to do that again, expect in his dreams. 

When Allan had returned with Lardner and the message of Marian’s survival, Robin hadn’t the heart to believe it. He’d prowled around the woods for days after, unwilling to leave Sherwood on the chance that it was true, and they would miss the returning party. And then he had seen her – heavily tanned and a bit fatigued, but unmistakeably his wife.

Robin closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, wishing, not for the first time, that he could run away with her – find a small cottage where they could live, and raise children and grow old together – where he could spend every morning like they were now, where they could enjoy the solitude and have no reason to rise until he had made love to her thoroughly. But he knew that was but a foolish dream – the camp was not private, and there were preparations to be made, battles to be fought, and people to save. And if he was completely honest with himself, there was also the thrill of adventure which such a quiet, idealised quiet life could perhaps never satisfy. 

But, he considered, as long as Marian was by his side – alive – he could handle anything. 

Robin lightly kissed her shoulder again before rolling over and out of their bunk, ready to start the day. It was close to dawn, and they needed to make an early start if they wanted to make it to Nottingham in time for their assault to be covered by the gloom of the early morning. It was perhaps the coldest day they’d had so far, but that was to be expected – it was the end of October, and winter would soon be upon them. 

He prodded the others awake, and took the initiative to fix the morning breakfast himself, although technically it was Allan’s turn according to the roster Much had devised. But Robin was eager to further prove to Marian how much he had changed, and that he had taken into account much of the criticism she had levied against him in the past regarding his treatment of his men.          

However Marian didn’t seem to notice as he doled out the porridge to his gang. She was awake and upright, but still seated in their bunk, legs hanging over the side and obviously uncomfortable. He didn’t fail to notice one hand pressed, palm down, against her belly, where her injury had been. Robin spooned some porridge into a bowl and crossed the camp, taking a seat by her side. Marian took the bowl and gave him a bright, but unconvincing, smile.   

“Are you alright?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Marian smiled again and shrugged, and seemed ready to answer in the affirmative, but something in his expression must have stopped her. She looked down. 

“I am a little…stiff this morning,” she replied quietly so only he could hear. “I think it is the cold weather,” she added. “I knew that…it may give me trouble sometimes.” She met his gaze again, determined. “But I am fine.”

He did not say anything, for fear it would be the wrong thing, and they would fall into the same arguments as last time she’d lived in the camp. She’d been grieving then, angry with the world and he knew how that affected someone’s judgement – he’d seen enough soldiers slaughtered because of it. And Robin had been conscious of her role as spy in the castle and had not wanted to lose that source of intelligence, should it be needed. That avenue was closed to them now, but even so, he did not want to risk what would happen if the Sheriff – or Gisborne – knew she was alive. Not until they’d had time to prepare, or find a way they could use it to their advantage.  

Robin told himself that Marian was as capable as any of his men, and he would gladly put his life in her hands and trust her to equip herself in battle, but that did not decrease the anxiety he felt knowing that every time they went to Nottingham they courted discovery or death. 

“I am not staying behind,” Marin told him firmly when he did not speak further. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“Marian…” he began taking her hand. “I wouldn’t.” He paused momentarily, marshalling his arguments. “You’ve always said that I should treat you as any other member of the gang – like any other soldier.”

Marian nodded. “Yes, and would you order any of them to stay for a mild discomfort?”

“No,” Robin admitted. “But I would ask them to use their own judgement as to whether any infliction – even a mild discomfort – may compromise their ability to serve. Sometimes it is better to rest and recover, in order to be capable of fighting another day – particularly when there is no desperate need for more men on the mission.”    

Marian did not look convinced, glancing around at the others who were preparing for the day’s mission, taking no notice of their discussion. She removed her hand from his and reached for her sword which hung at the end of their bunk, but audibly winced as she moved. She pressed her palm to her belly again, looked at her sword and then back at him with a grim expression.

“Don’t think this is going to be a regular occurrence,” she told him firmly. “It is just for today.”

He nodded, relived. “Thank you.”   

Nottingham Town

It was bitterly cold in Nottingham, and Much cupped his hands together and blew into them to try and keep himself warm. The sun had risen, but it was still low in the sky and was not yet strong enough to dispel the mist that clung to the town. It was a perfect morning to sneak into Nottingham Castle, but they had stopped in the lower town first. 

“I wish he’d hurry up,” Much grumbled, and stamped his feet to ward off the frost. “What is he doing in there?” Robin had gone into the seamstresses’ house to pick up the items they needed for the plan, but was certainly taking his time. 

“You know how he is,” Allan, leaning against the wall next to him, shrugged. “Probably asking after her mother’s cousin’s best friend or somethin'.”

Much grumbled to himself for a few more moments, but stood to attention when Robin emerged from the house with lengths of green fabric in his arms. Much took one roll from him, and Allan took the other one.

“Alright then,” Allan gave them a wink. “Good luck gents.” Then he headed off towards the castle to join Will who was already in position. The plan was to assault the castle in groups – that way it would be easier to sneak in than all of them together. Once inside, Much and Robin would search the Sheriff’s quarters and safe, Allan and Will the upper levels, and John, Carter and Djaq would attack the strongroom. 

Much shifted the heavy material to his side and under one arm so he could match Robin’s pace as they headed towards the castle gates. He cleared his throat nervously and said; “So, Marian…”

Robin gave him a look. “What about her.”

Much shrugged. “Never expected her to stay behind.”

“She told you why,” Robin told him, and quickened his pace. “Her injury is acting up. She’ll come next time.”

Much was sceptical. “Will she?” In his opinion, Marian hadn’t appeared very happy at all about being left behind and he wondered what Robin had said to persuade her. 

Robin stopped abruptly and turned to Much, giving a sigh of frustration. “Is this really the time to discuss this?” he asked. “We need to focus.” Then he resumed his pace towards the castle gates with a determined expression. 

“Yes,” he added after a few moments. “She will.” 

Knighton

Marian had been anxious to return to her home village ever since she’d stepped foot on English soil, so when Tuck had suggested she accompany him to the villages whilst the others were in Nottingham, she’d suggested they visit Knighton first.  

Robin had told her that when he’d first returned from the Holy Land to Locksley, it had been one of the happiest moments of his life, and had described it as like a drink of cool water after a long trek in the desert. But on sighting her own village, Marian felt no such relief, and instead there was a pang of deep sadness. But of course Locksley village was still full of life, whereas she quickly discovered that the Knighton before her was worlds away from the one she’d left. 

With no manor house and no Lord to maintain order and provide security, the village had all but emptied. It pained her to see the abandoned homes and gardens of the people she had once known so well, and wondered what had become of them. Knighton was small in comparison to Locksley or Nottingham town, but it had been her home, and its people had been her charge. She was no longer Marian of Knighton, for Knighton was gone – as dead as her father was. 

Marian walked to the edge of the village where Knighton Hall had once been. A mere two years had almost erased the estate from existence, and the only indication of the home were parts of the original foundation, fire-blackened stones now overgrown by grass, weeds and a few wildflowers which had not yet died off for the season. It was life renewing itself, she knew, but it was also a part of herself that had irrevocably slipped away, and her heart ached from the loss of it. 

All avenues were closed to her – she could not return to the castle or to Knighton, she had no family elsewhere. Marian had pledged her life to the outlaw’s cause, and accepted that the forest would be her home for perhaps many years to come, but the bitter finality of knowing she had nowhere else to go was somewhat disheartening. 

Tuck appeared at her side. “You must miss your father.”

Tears fell on her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe them away. Her father had taught her to ride a horse on these grounds, and she could almost still hear his encouraging words, his pride in how quickly she had improved, his half-hearted calls for her to come inside when she rode past sundown.   

“Very much,” she answered, unable to express anything further in words. “Do you have a family, Tuck?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

“I did,” he told her. “A long time ago.”

She did not probe him further, because some things were better left unsaid, and a grief shared was always more comfortable with fewer words. They stood there for some while, neither looking on one another or speaking, but listening to the Autumn wind that ran across the meadow in silent solidarity. 

Great Hall, Nottingham Castle

Vaisey sat in his desk, drafting the formal announcement of the King’s capture with glee. It was near perfect – even if he did say so himself – the right mixture of pathos and guilt over poor Richard’s situation that the easily-led populace would be lining up to do their patriotic duty and hand over their coins for his ransom. Not that Richard would see a penny of it, of course. Vaisey laughed to himself at the irony that the money meant to be allocated to the ransom fund to secure Richard’s release was instead going to fill the coffers of the very people responsible for his capture.    

His moment of levity was broken by the doors of the Great Hall being flung open, and Vaisey looked up to see Sir Jasper stride down the steps with purpose and cross the empty hall to take a seat without waiting for an invitation. 

“Sir Jasper.” Vaisey forced a toothy smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“My Lord Sheriff,” Jasper nodded. He crossed one leg over the other and then removed his gloves. “I am here to inform you that Prince John has made the announcement in London regarding his brother’s capture in Austria. I presume you are also prepared to do so here.”

“Of course,” Vaisey answered, gesturing to the parchment before him with his quill. 

“The Prince also wants your assurance that the announcement will not result in reprisals from outlaws,” Jasper continued. “I do believe he is concerned about incitement of insurrection.”   

“He need have no concern about that,” Vaisey said through gritted teeth, livid that he needed to answer to a trumped-up popinjay like Jasper. “The Hood problem has been contained.” 

“Yes, so your man has been telling Prince John in London,” Jasper continued nonchalantly, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. “I understand the Prince is quite impressed by him.”

Vaisey wasn’t concerned by Jasper’s insinuation – he had complete control over Guy. Since killing that twit-willow Marian, Guy had been more malleable than ever, and Vaisey had no concerns about his loyalty. He had nothing else to live for other than what Vaisey could give him.

“I’m sure Gisborne is enjoying London hospitality,” he said with a sardonic smile. 

“I’m sure he is, but no doubt you require him to be present for the announcement?” Japser asked. “He is certainly no scholar, but I imagine his presence may…dissuade any adverse reaction from the populace.”

“There will be no reaction,” Vaisey responded tersely, fed up with Jasper. The man was nothing more than an glorified clerk who had done little to earn royal favour except count coin. “Only compliance.”

But Jasper only seemed amused. “Well then,” he said. “I look forward to your speech.”

Locksley

It was mid-morning when they visited Robin’s village, and Marian was able to see Tuck at work.  He was wearing his Hospitaller robes, which naturally drew people to him out of curiosity or respect, while Marian hung back, hood drawn to shadow her eyes, thankful that few seemed to pay attention to her while Tuck was there. 

Will had carved a new tag with the Locksley symbol that morning so Tuck could use it to convince the villagers he could be trusted. Marian had argued that her presence should have been sufficient, but Robin had asked her not to reveal herself to anyone just yet, as they could not be sure the information would not find its way back to Vaisey. 

She didn’t really see the need to conceal her survival from anyone, but Marian was unwilling to start an argument over something so trivial. She had been prepared to argue over Robin’s seeming desire to prevent her from joining the mission, but he had surprisingly relented on first confrontation. Of course, he’d gotten his way in the end, although Marian had to concede the point that the stiffness in her side, most likely brought on by the cold weather, had not been conducive to physical exertion, and it would have been difficult to swing her sword or draw a bow with ease if the situation had warranted it. 

It had also given her the opportunity to see the villages again as she had longed to, and Tuck, with his respectful silence, made that easier on her. And yet he came alive when speaking to the villagers, showing them the tag with the Locksley crest, explaining that he had joined Robin Hood, and that he was at their service. There had not been a priest in residence at Locksley for some years, and of course Robin had killed the Canon the previous year. Marian could never forget that, for it had been the same day her father died.

It was clear that the people distrusted any men of the cloth, fearing that they may be in the employ of Vaisey and would be all too willing to break the seal of the confessional and betray any information which may be of worth to him. Tuck, it seemed, was very welcome. 

Marian slipped away to the Locksley chapel, removing her hood as she crossed the threshold. She walked down the aisle towards the altar, mirroring the steps she had taken the last time she’d been there, in her almost-wedding to Guy. How much had changed since that day, she reflected - then it had been a funeral march, and now her life stretched out ahead of her with renewed hope.

To the left of the altar, in the corner of the chapel was the familiar statue of the Virgin Mary, several unlit candles placed around her feet. Marian heard footsteps behind her, and looked back to see Tuck approach. He genuflected to the altar and made the sign of the cross, then looked towards the statue in the corner, bowed his head and began speaking so softly Marian almost couldn’t hear him. It took her a few second to realise he was reciting the Hail Mary, holding the rosary that hung from his belt. When completed, he looked up again and smiled at her. 

“I am not surprised you would take inspiration from our Holy Mother,” Tuck said. “She was a woman not unlike yourself, after all.”

Marian had thought she was beyond being surprised at Tuck. “Why would you say that?” 

“What I say is not intended to be blasphemous,” he told her genially. “Our Lady was an ordinary woman,” he nodded towards the statue, “and she was given a great burden…but she did not deny it, or shirk from it. She gave all that she had to protect those that she loved, and showed true bravery in the face of hardship. That is why people love her – why they ask for her guidance and protection. As people ask it of you and your friends.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Will you do me a favour Tuck?” Marian asked.

“I am at your service.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Save the preaching for the pulpit.”

But Tuck was not offended, and simply gave a low laugh in that strange way of his. “As you wish.”

There as a crash behind them, and Marian whipped around to see a woman by the entrance to the chapel, hands over her mouth in shock and a broken bowl of wildflowers at her feet. Marian took no pains to hide her appearance, and instead took a few steps towards her.

“Lady Marian,” the woman said, curtseying clumsily. “How can this be?”

“Sarah?” Marian asked, immediately placing the face of her former maid.

“Oh, my Lady,” Sarah began to sob. “They said you were dead!”

Marian stepped forward and placed her hands on Sarah’s shoulders in comfort. “It’s all right,” she told her. “I’m alive.”

“Oh, praise the Lord,” Sarah cried out and embraced Marian tightly. “I lit a candle for you every week, my Lady, and here you have returned!”

Marian smiled into Sarah’s embrace, fond memories of those same comforting hands who had nursed her when she had been unwell – it felt like a touch of home. 

“Sarah worked for my family,” she explained to Tuck as she pulled back, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“It is more than that,” Sarah told him eagerly. “The Lady Marian saved my daughter’s life!” She recounted the tale briefly, to Marian’s discomfort and Tuck’s obvious delight.

“Why are you in Locksley?” Marian asked, changing the subject. The last time she had seen Sarah had been in the Pitt Street quarantine - soon afterwards she’d had all her maidservants taken away as punishment by Vaisey, who thought it was the height of indignity to force her to dress herself.

“I have married Tom the Thatcher,” Sarah explained, and Marian congratulated her. “He has provided a good home for me and Jess,” she continued, blushing. “And it is easier in Locksley these days.”

“What do you mean?” Marian asked, curious. 

“Well, Master Guy,” Sarah began. “He is away in London now, but when he is here you barely notice it. He collects the Sheriff’s taxes but does not demand any other payment or additional work as he used to.”

“Does he treat you well?” Marian asked. She knew that Guy had been hard on the people of Locksley in the past, and had the capacity for cruelty, but she had always believed that he had an equal capacity for kindness.

“I would not say that, my Lady,” Sarah answered hesitantly. “Not as Master Robin does,” she continued firmly. “But he leaves us alone.”

Marian was curious as to his change of heart. She had often wondered what had become of Guy, and other than receiving confirmation from Robin that he was alive, hadn’t enquired further since the subject had made him so uncomfortable. And yet here was her opportunity for unbiased intelligence. Ignoring Tuck’s knowing look, she asked Sarah for more information on what had been happening in Locksley the past year. 

Nottingham Castle

Getting into the castle had been easy – although Allan was more than willing to put that down to his own skill, he had to admit that the security had been rather lax. But then, they had not snuck into the castle or even made their presence known in Nottingham town for some time and perhaps the Sheriff had become complacent. 

Allan and Will had worked their way through the rooms on the upper levels and west wing of the castle, until they reached their final destination. Although at first glance it looked like the room had already been searched – furniture was overturned and broken, dresses ripped and strewn on the floor, glass and parchment underfoot. There was even an excessive amount of ashes in the fireplace which indicated some of the items had been burnt. 

“This was Marian’s old room, wasn’t it?” Will asked, assessing the room as Allan had done. “Do you think Gisborne did this?"

Allan shrugged, but wouldn’t have been surprised if Guy had flown into a rage and destroyed all of Marian’s belongings. And yet…that time he’d met him in the forest hunting that pig, Guy had not seemed capable of such action – instead he’d seemed solemn, remorseful. Empty.

“I’m glad she isn’t here to see this,” Will said softly. 

“Let’s get on with it,” Allan suggested. “Remember, grab anything valuable and wait for Robin’s signal.”

Sheriff’s Strongroom

There had been booby-traps on the door, but it appeared the majority of them were obsolete, about which John had mixed feelings. On one hand, the absence of hot lead and dogs meant their task was easier, but it also signified that the Sheriff no longer feared them. John blamed himself for not shaking Robin out of his stupor earlier – they had given the Sheriff an entire year within which to collect unfair taxes from the people of Nottingham, for the most part unbothered by their gang. Oh, they still raided the transports in the forest, but they had not assaulted the castle or the Sheriff directly for some time. 

And yet, for all their failure to properly fleece the Sheriff, there was no evidence of the funds in the strongroom like he had expected.  

“There’s not much here,” Carter commented quietly, echoing John’s thoughts and sifting through the small piles coins and valuables.  It certainly was not enough to justify the taxes that were being collected. 

John grimaced. “Take it anyway,” he said, filling his own pack with coins. “Hopefully the others have better luck.” He turned to Djaq. “Last time there was a hidden panel.”

“I remember,” Djaq nodded, and moved to the back of the room, careful to avoid the triggering stones. “Nothing,” she said with frustration after carefully examining the wall.

John was bewildered. “So where is it all?”

Locksley 

Marian had allowed Tuck to speak to Sarah alone to hear her confession, and the pair sat in the first row of pews while she kept watch at the entrance of the church. It did not escape her notice that Sarah kept glancing over at her with happiness and a bit of reverence.    

Before long, however, there was movement throughout the village, and Marian saw Thornton exit from Locksley Manor, calling out orders to the servants who scurried to obey. 

A black horse rode up to the house, and a familiar rider dismounted. Marian felt her stomach drop as she saw it was Guy – his hair longer than she remembered, and even from the distance he seemed thinner, almost fragile, although he still cut an imposing figure in black. The last time she had seen him, she had been held in his arms, his sword through her belly. As long as she lived she would never forget his face in that moment, his expression of bitter rage and disbelief fading into shock as he’d realised what he’d done. Nor would she forget the pain of his sword slide through her, the breath forced from her lungs and the darkness which had followed.

Marian took a few steps forward towards Guy’s direction, but soon found herself halted by Tuck. “My Lady, do not,” he said, holding her back. 

“Let me go, Tuck,” she demanded. “I want to speak to him.”

“Is that all?” Tuck asked, and looked pointedly down to her side. Marian followed his gaze and saw that one hand was resting on her scabbard and the other on the handle of her sword, ready to be drawn. She released them both immediately with shock. 

“Come,” Tuck told her, tugging on her arm as Guy disappeared inside Locksley Manor. “We must go before we are noticed.”

They ran to the edge of Sherwood and slowed to a brisk walk as they disappeared into the trees, confidant they had not been seen. Marian fumed inwardly on the way back to camp, until she could no longer contain her annoyance.

“What do you think you were doing?” she asked Tuck shortly, refusing to look at him as they walked. “You had no right to stop me.”

“Forgive me, my Lady,” Tuck answered in that infuriatingly calm tone of his. “You appeared to be drawing your weapon, and I thought it best to prevent any action you would later come to regret.”

“I certainly wasn’t going to try to fight him,” she replied dismissively. “I wished to speak to him. If I was reaching for my sword…well, it was a defensive act, only.” 

“It is natural, Marian,” Tuck continued calmly, hands still on her arms holding her back. “To be angry, to react instinctively on seeing the man who tried to kill you.”

“I am not angry with him,” she insisted.

“And yet without thinking, your reaction is to confront him…whether physically or not,” he cut off her unspoken objection. “My Lady, I do not pretend to understand the situation fully, but from what I do know, you tried to reach out to this man – you had a level of trust and expectation for him. And you are disappointed and angry that he breached that trust and did not meet those expectations. The Bible speaks of an eye for an eye, and that is an instinctive reaction, one you could not prevent yourself from feeling.”     

Marian did not answer, knowing he was right. Guy had professed to love her, had claimed to want to protect her, and his actions felt like the deepest kind of betrayal. Of course she knew that Guy had killed men in cold blood before, had committed unspeakable crimes, and yet she had never expected him to turn into that man against her. She had cared about him, tried to encourage the goodness in him, and he instead had chosen the Sheriff – had chosen the way of hate and anger. Marian was well aware in her own culpability, that she had deliberately taunted him with her love for Robin to distract and break him, but she had not expected him to take such a drastic leap backwards and physically lash out at her. 

The truth was, he had disappointed her. She was angry with him, bitterly so. What concerned her was that she simply didn’t know what to do about it. 

Sheriff’s Quarters, Nottingham Castle

Robin searched through the contents of Vaisey’s private safe, disappointment lacing through him. There were some papers and coins which he pocketed, but nothing like he had expected. He had assumed that the Sheriff would have acquired more of a hoard whilst they had been less than active, but there was little of importance to be taken. 

“Anything in the desk, Much?”

Much looked up from the ransacked drawers and shook his head. “I don’t understand it.”

“It may all be in the strongroom,” Robin suggested. “We don’t have time to think about that now, let’s get our signal ready.”

Much smiled back at him, once again exuberant, and walked over to the open window. There he fixed the short end of the rolled-up fabric they had acquired in town to the window so that when unrolled and released, it would form a banner which would be visible for miles around.  

“Once they see these they’ll know we’re here,” Much reminded him. “We’ll have a time getting out.”

“I know,” Robin nodded. “It’ll be alright Much, we still have the element of surprise.”

He poked his head out the window and to the left, whistling in the signal they had decided upon. After a few moments Will’s head poked out of the window at the other end of the castle, parallel to the Sheriff’s rooms. He whistled in return and nodded that they were ready.   

Robin waved his hand to signal Will to proceed. “Now!” he told Much, and they both pushed the fabric out of the window, where is cascaded down beautifully to cover the length of the castle wall.  He allowed himself another look out the window to see an identical banner now hanging down from the room Will and Allan had searched. But he also saw the guards below looking up and pointing. 

“Time to go,” he urged Much, and they both ran from the room to meet up with the rest of the gang in the courtyard as planned. Robin felt giddy – the pure joy of the raid, the danger, the success all coming back to him like an old friend – he was finally himself again.

Great Hall

Vaisey was unwilling to waste anymore wine on Sir Jasper, but the man simply refused to leave.  He really was the most vile leech, and Vaisey usually found such a person useful, but when he was the one being sucked dry his tolerance tended to wane. If Jasper did not have the ear of the Prince and Vaisey’s own position had not been so tenuous, despite his success with Richard’s capture, he would have dealt with Jasper like he had so many other annoying, trumped-up knights in his time. 

He was contemplating risking Prince John’s wrath when one of the castle guards burst in through the door of the Hall. 

“My Lord Sheriff!” the guard called, out of breath, and Vaisey stood, hearing the sound of clashing swords and yells from the courtyard. “My Lord – it’s Robin Hood and his men, they’re here!”

“WHAT?!?” Vaisey shouted with a mixed rage and disbelief. 

Jasper tutted. “Oh, dear.”

“Shut up!” Vaisey yelled and ran out of the Hall, following the sounds of the fighting to the outer courtyard. But it was too late, and even as Vaisey bounded down the castle steps shouting orders at his guards, he saw Hood and his gang were already on the other side of the closed portcullis.  All of the men, save Robin, wore hoods and scarves that concealed their faces, and Vaisey filed that detail away for consideration later. Now, he was too full of rage.

Hood caught sight of him, sheathed his sword and gave a theatrical bow. Then he laughed and turned to follow the rest of his men through the town, disappearing into the crowd. Vaisey barely noticed Jasper appear at his side, and instead demanded answers from the Captain of the Guards who stood nearby. 

However, the captain was staring, open-mouthed at the castle behind him. “Answer me, you fool,” Vaisey forcefully removed the man’s helmet and slapped him across the face. “Don’t just stand there!”

“It would appear, Vaisey,” Jasper spoke up with a sneer. “That you have not contained the Hood problem at all.” He pointed back towards the castle where the guard had also been looking, and Vaisey whipped around, fuming. 

Hanging from each window of the castle were long banners unfurled almost all of the way to the castle steps below – Hood and his men had obviously hung them there before escaping. More troubling, however, in a challenge to his authority and a clear message to the people, was the familiar symbol sewn into the green cloth of each banner and large enough to be seen from the edge of Nottingham Town. 

The Locksley crest. 

“They’ve hit you where you live, old boy,” Jasper continued with a smirk and he began to put on his gloves. “I must report this to Prince John of course,” he added and ordered a servant to prepare his carriage and made ready to return to London. 

“The ground beneath you is crumbling, Vaisey,” Jasper told him lowly before leaving, as Vaisey seethed inwardly, too angry to speak. “One of you must fall,” he added with a dark look. “You better make sure it is Hood who takes the tumble.”

Chapter Text

Outlaw’s Camp, Sherwood Forest

It had been three weeks since Marian, Djaq and Will had returned, and to Much at least, the camp was beginning to feel crowded. Whereas before it had been engulfed in an empty silence, now every bunk was filled and the place was bustling with movement and raised voices. That in itself did not bother him; rather Marian’s return had reopened wounds Much had long thought healed.

He found that the only thing worse than being around Robin and Marian when they were arguing was being around them when they weren’t. At least their bickering when she was in the camp the first time had provided some amusement, except when Marian had taken out some of her frustrations on their crockery. But she’d always apologised to him later and tried to help him repair them, so no lasting damage had been done. The arguing he could handle well enough.

Now that they were reunited and feeling more inclined to one another than they had last time, they had become almost unbearable. Not that he begrudged them their happiness – no, he was relieved to see Robin himself again, and Marian seemed to be thriving in the forest, making an effort to become part of the gang that she hadn’t made the last time. It was just the way that they went about things – stealing food off one another’s plates, sharing kisses they incorrectly assumed were discreet, sparring playfully over practically anything – it drove him mad. At least Will and Djaq were modest, to the point where an outsider would not guess that they were a couple.

But reserve was not a skill Robin had ever mastered, and Marian seemed to have lost. All too often Marian would announce that she was going to collect some firewood, and then only a few minutes later Robin would make some kind of flimsy excuse, like he was going for target practice. They would both return much later than the task required, Marian with leaves in her hair and Robin carrying a pitiful bundle of sticks.

Target practice indeed.

It made him lonelier than he had ever felt and eventually, he had to escape. One morning over breakfast, he announced that he was going away for a few days, pack already slung over his shoulder. However, Marian was the only one who seemed interested.

“Where?” she asked, looking up from her porridge.

“It’s no use asking Marian, he won’t tell anyone,” Allan informed her. “Been running off for months, he has, all secret like.”

That seemed to pique Marian’s curiosity even more. “You’ll tell me, won’t you Much,” she demanded teasingly. “Didn’t you say that you would never lie to me?”

“Yes,” he agreed slowly. “But, you see…er…” He couldn’t come up with anything that would be the truth and still conceal his destination.

“He’s going on reconnaissance.” Robin spoke up without looking up from his bowl of porridge. “We need information from the nearby counties – Lincolnshire, Warwickshire – Much has been investigating at my request.”

“Why didn’t you just say that then?” Allan asked, rolling his eyes. “Christ, that’s boring,” he added in between mouthfuls, earning him a glare from Little John, probably for blaspheming.

Much shrugged, but everyone else seemed to lose interest - everyone expect Marian, who was clearly not fooled and watched him with increased scrutiny. He said nothing, and took the opportunity to leave the camp as quickly as possible and avoid any further questions.

“Reconnaissance?” Marian cornered Robin in the forest, where he was shooting at rabbits for dinner. “What tripe,” she announced. “Where’s Much really off to?”

Robin put down his bow, turning to face her and leaning nonchalantly against a nearby tree. “Do you remember Eve?” he asked.

“Eve?” Marian searched her memory. “From Bonchurch?” She furrowed her brow in disquiet. “She was working for the Sheriff.”

“She was,” Robin smiled. “But she had a change of heart – in Much’s direction.”

“I see.” Marian wondered by she hadn’t heard about this before, but she supposed she’d never really taken much of an interest in the personal lives of the outlaws. Since returning she had made a promise to herself change that, to truly become one of the gang and not be seen as aloof or disinterested. She tried to be more openly affectionate with Robin, to join in the gang’s playful banter, take an interest in their day-to-day duties, to speak up and give her opinion freely in planning sessions rather than reserving counsel for Robin alone, as she had once done.

“Eve had to leave for her own safety,” Robin explained. “Much has been visiting her in secret for months.”

That didn’t seem so shocking, but Much had been clearly unaware of Robin’s knowledge of the matter - he had a face of glass, unable to conceal his surprise when Robin had covered for him.

“How did you know if Much didn’t confide in you?” 

Robin gave her a familiar smirk. “I know what goes on in my own camp, Marian.”

“But he didn’t tell you,” she pressed. “Obviously you don’t have a problem with him visiting her,” Marian added, still trying to work things out in her head. “Why would he keep it from you?”

The smirk faded and Robin sighed softly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the tree. “Maybe he thought it would hurt me.”

Not for the first time, Marian wondered just what he had been like in her absence – from those words she could only assume he’d been in a delicate state, if Much was concerned that the knowledge of his own happiness would affect Robin adversely. But it was Much, she considered, maybe he had just been overly cautious.

“Why not just tell him that you knew?” 

Robin looked down at his feet. “Maybe it did hurt me a little,” he said softly.

She couldn’t think of anything to say, being so used to Robin deflecting any true emotion with a quip. This new, forthright Robin took some getting used to, and all she could do was take his hand in hers with a silent promise that such hurt was behind them.    

Nottingham Castle

Djaq worked her way silently through the gathered crowd in the castle courtyard, hood pulled low over her forehead. A few people recognised her with small smiles and nods, but it was not their attention she wished to avoid – the Sheriff and Gisborne stood at the top of the castle steps, flanked by a dozen guards. Djaq saw Will on the other side of the courtyard, similarly hooded, although due to his height he had more difficulty concealing himself than Djaq did. She could tell by his tensed shoulders that he was worried – they’d come to hear the Sheriff’s announcement and they had a pretty good idea what it would be.

“…and so,” Vaisey was saying with his usual theatricality, “it is my sad duty to inform you that our good and noble King Richard has been captured and is being held hostage in Austria.” He paused, clearly expecting a gasp of shock from the crowd. But he was disappointed, as he was met only by silence.

Vaisey cleared his throat and looked at Gisborne, but he seemed similarly surprised and unable to offer an explanation.

“What, no tears of sorrow, no wails or prayers for our poor King?” His mocking words echoed off the stone walls and was met with no reaction.

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased with the lack of response from the crowd. Djaq smiled at his irritation and knew he must be questioning the reasons why. Thanks to the information she and Marian had been able to provide, the gang had been prepared for this very announcement. Their forest network had worked well – they’d met with their closes allies in each village and throughout Sherwood, informing them of the King’s capture and assuring them that Robin Hood would ensure that they were fed and protected. Each messenger in turn had informed others until the news had spread throughout Nottinghamshire, depriving the Sheriff of the grandeur of his announcement.  

Vaisey audibly let out a breath that sounded like a hiss. “This is treasonous,” he barked petulantly. “I should have you all arrested for your lack of loyalty to our dear sovereign.”

Djaq knew that it was not an empty threat – for all Vaisey would love for the people to lose faith in Richard and exploit that sentiment, he could likely tell that was not the case.

“Long live King Richard!” a strong, clear voice called out from the crowd. Djaq didn’t need to turn her head to know that it had been Will. “Long Live King Richard!” he called out again, and the third time the rest of the crowd began to join in the chant. Every repetition of the refrain infuriated Vaisey further, for he could do nothing against such a reaction – he could not openly punish the people wishing their sovereign long life, especially after his announcement.

Djaq smiled with relief and a bit of amusement at the Sheriff’s displeasure, although she could not bring herself to join in with the crowd and say the words.

Great Hall

Guy watched Vaisey pace back and forth, clearly seething with rage. His speech to the populace had not gone well, and was clearly at a loss to explain why.

“Perhaps they do not care,” Guy suggested. “Peasants do not have mind for politics, and Richard has been gone for many years.”

“They should have at least cared about the raise in taxes to pay his ransom!” Vaisey seethed. “But not a gasp of shock among them. This is Hood’s doing, I know it!” he banged his fist down on the table. “He must have gotten the news out first.”

“But how?” Guy questioned. “How could he have even known about it, let alone get word to the whole county?”

“I don’t know how, Gisborne,” Vaisey practically spat through gritted teeth, “but he’s done it. And we need to do something about him.”

Guy agreed – he’d only just told Prince John in London that Hood was no longer a problem and did not want to be made a liar. It had been enough of an embarrassment that Hood and his men had broken into the castle and hung flags with the Outlaw’s crest. True, they hadn’t been able to steal much, but after their dormancy of the past months it was a clear message; that Robin Hood had returned. Guy knew he had to make himself useful to Prince John, who had made it clear that meant continuing to serve Vaisey.  

“So we send in tracking dogs to find their camp,” Guy suggested. “And if that doesn’t work we raze the forest until they are forced out.”

Vaisey stopped his pacing and shook his head. “Oh, Gisborne,” he said with his usual condescension. “Strategy still isn’t your strong point is it?”

“Hood has openly challenged our authority,” Guy argued, irritated at the Sheriff’s tone. “We have to be seen to strike back.”

Vaisey tutted him. “You still don’t understand these peasants. Hood is inciting rebellion all over the county,” he continued, speaking slowly as if to a child. “And when you kill the leader of a movement it only galvanises the forces. Like chopping the head off a hydra only to see three grow in its place. No, no no,” Vaisey shook his head. “We need Hood dead, but he cannot become a martyr.”

Guy quashed his annoyance, reminding himself that he could be patient. “So what are we to do?” he asked.

Vaisey waved a dismissive hand and sunk back into his chair. “Well, I am going to have to think of something very clever.”

Locksley Manor

Marian kept herself to the shadows as she crept around the front of the Manor house, knowing that she was taking a dangerous risk and took care that she should not be seen. She’d convinced Allan to come with her to Locksley, but he had clearly found somewhere else in the darkness to hide so at present, she was alone.  

She stopped at the window which looked over on the dining table and fireplace on the ground floor, and peeked inside. Guy sat at the table, leaning back into his chair and staring into the dying fire. The room’s only other occupant was Thornton, the old steward, who stood near the centre of the room waiting for instruction.

“Do you know where Robin Hood’s camp is?” Guy asked abruptly.

Thornton seemed surprised, but composed himself in an instant. “No, Master Guy,” he answered. “Of course not.”

“If you did know,” Guy pressed him. “Would you tell me?”

“Master Guy, you are the Lord of Locksley, and it is my duty to serve you,” Thornton told him evenly. “If you asked me a question and I knew the answer, I would be honour-bound to tell you.”

Guy looked up at the older man. “Even if you knew I would go there and kill Robin.”

Thornton swallowed heavily. “Yes.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Guy countered, but without threat. “You’ve been steward since Robin was a boy.”

Thornton nodded. “And to Lord Robert before him. I was here when Robin was born and when his mother was taken that same day. I was here when Lord Robert himself passed, Robin only a child and not ready for the burdens of his estate and title. I…I will not deny that I have a great love for him.”

“And yet you claim you would betray him?” This time, there was an accusation in Guy’s tone. “That you have no loyalty to him?”

“My loyalty must be for this estate and its master,” Thornton answered, clearly pained. “My personal feelings cannot matter.”

Guy nodded, and from Marian’s position she could not tell what his reaction was to Thornton’s words. After a few moments he merely asked that his horse be saddled for him promptly in the morning, then exited the room. Thornton looked troubled, but promptly followed him.

Marian waited until they’d had enough time to get up the stairs, then moved away from the window. But she forgot the old floorboard that had always creaked, right in front of the Manor entrance. She froze with fear, but heard no sounds from within, and so began to creep down the side of the house to locate Allan. But she’d only taken a few steps before a strong hand grasped her, turning her around, the force of the motion pushing back the hood from her face.

It was Thornton, his mouth a firm line and eyes hard, no doubt thinking he’d caught a thief. But when he saw her face, lit up from the torch he carried in his other hand, he gasped and dropped his grip.

“Lady Marian!” Thornton whispered, moving quickly to close the front door behind him. “Is that you?”

Marian cursed herself inwardly. She should have left before they’d finished speaking – she should never have come.

“Yes, it’s me,” she confirmed.

Thornton was very pale. “They said that you were dead, they said…” He stopped himself and looked away. “What are you doing here?”

Marian had been asking herself the same question. “Please, do not tell Guy that I was here,” she asked him, ignoring the scene she had just witnessed which indicated that he would make no such promise. “He cannot know that I am alive.”

Thornton studied her for a few moments, clearly cataloguing her different appearance in the light from the torch he was carrying. Since they’d been back in Sherwood, both Marian and Djaq had acquired more appropriate clothes for such a life – breeches, boots that ended just before the knee, gloves and warm woollen tunics suitable for winter and of course cloaks with hoods to conceal their identities if required. Her hair was no longer styled but hung loose about her shoulders, and she knew that her skin was still browned from their long journey from Acre.

“You are with Master Robin,” Thornton said finally, and then nodded, smiling. “I am happy for you both.” He took a step towards her but maintained a respectful distance, his smile fading slightly. “My Lady, I would never presume to tell you what to do, but please know that Master Guy has been deeply troubled since his return from the Holy Land, and feels a great sorrow regarding your loss.”

“Do you know,” Marian responded carefully, “that this sorrow is because of his own actions?”

“Yes,” Thornton replied, without judgement. “Master Guy has committed grave sins, and perhaps he does not deserve your forgiveness. But that should not prevent you from granting it, if you feel it right.”

Marian glanced back towards the window, but the room remained dark and even the soft glow of the embers in the fire were slowly fading. “I’ve heard that his treatment of the people in Locksley has improved.”

“That is true, my Lady,” Thornton confirmed. “If you spoke to him, I think you would find him much changed.”

“We are all much changed,” she observed quietly. “I take it from your talk with Guy inside we shouldn’t trust you with any information?” she asked, a hard edge to her voice.

Thornton looked stricken and slightly guilty. “My Lady, you must understand my position. Of course I want to help Master Robin, but if Master Guy questions me about it, I cannot lie to him. It would be against my honour.”

Marian titled her chin. “I believe honour is doing what is right, not what is expected of us.”

Thornton looked at her with sad eyes, and she wondered exactly how old he was, for in that moment he seemed tired and ancient.

“I do not know about that, my Lady,” he answered deferentially, bowing his head. “I only know my place, and my position. That is all I’ve ever known.”

At that moment Allan appeared from whichever hiding spot he’d found. “Are we going to stand out in the cold all night, or what?” he grumbled quietly, pulling his cloak around him. He nodded a greeting to Thornton, but the older man merely grimaced with obvious disapproval.

“I will keep your secret if I can, my Lady,” Thornton told her. “I highly doubt that Master Guy would ask such a question.” He bowed his head again before disappearing back into the Manor.    

“Stuck-up old coot,” grumbled Allan. He tugged on Marian’s arm. “Quick, let’s go,” he pulled her down the steps of the Manor and into the forest.       

Marian eyed Allan thoughtfully as they walked back through Sherwood in silence. Her talk with Thornton had unsettled her and so she had remained silent, but Allan also seemed uncharacteristically subdued. In fact, Marian couldn’t remember the last time they had properly spoken.  

“You’ve been avoiding me, Allan,” she realised.

“What? I came here with ya, didn’t I?” he said dismissively, and quickened his pace.

“Under duress,” she reminded him. It had taken quite a while to convince him to accompany her, but she knew she needed backup and she didn’t think any of the others would be quite so happy with her going to Locksley. Tuck had kept quiet about their earlier visit, and she intended to keep it that way. But Allan had known Guy in a way that the others hadn’t and couldn’t understand. Although Marian was sure he would deny it with his dying breath, she knew Allan had seen the potential in Guy that she had. And yet he seemed uncomfortable in her presence.    

Marian matched his hurried strides. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since we got back from the Holy Land,” she observed. “Is it Will and Djaq?”

Allan shrugged again and looked cagey. “Why would I have a problem with them?”

“Robin told me that you liked her,” she answered simply.

Allan threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “When are people going to stop bringing that up? Yeah, I like her, we’re mates, that’s all.”

“So it’s me then,” she pressed him.

He pursed his lips and didn’t reply. They walked in silence for several minutes, before Allan, without looking at her, spoke up.

“It just doesn’t seem right,” he said, eyes fixed on the treeline ahead. Marian waited patiently for him to continue.

“I mean, I’m glad you’re alive Marian, don’t get me wrong.” He turned to her, and he was uncharacteristically serious. “But you’ve cheated death twice now – not a close shave, not a narrow escape like the rest of us. It was a cheat. You’ve died twice, and yet here you are,” he gestured towards her, and then turned his gaze back to the forest. “Not many people get that chance.”

Marian was surprised by his reasoning. She never took him as the suspicious type, and certainly not one to think there was anything sinister about her survival. Which meant that he thought it was unfair that she had survived when so many others they had known had not.

“True,” she agreed carefully. “But that’s not my fault.”

“I know that,” he said shortly. “Still doesn’t seem right, though.”

Marian sighed deeply. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few years, it’s that very few things in life are truly right or fair…if anything.”

“Know that too,” was his clipped retort. “Know that better than anyone.”

Marian wasn’t sure how to respond, so shelved the conversation for consideration later, and they walked the rest of the way to camp in silence.

However they soon found they were not the only ones recently returned. Much stood by the fire, and next to him was a tall blonde woman, her hand grasping his.

“What’s all this then?” Allan asked as they approached, clearly baffled.

“Oh, hello you two,” Much addressed them, looking nervous. “This is Eve.”

Although she did not precisely remember the face, Marian realised it was the woman from Bonchurch Robin had told her about. She cast a glance to where Robin was seated by the fire, and although outwardly he seemed happy and welcoming, Marian could sense he was out of sorts.

Much, however, continued introductions. “Eve, this is Allan,” he told her, but shooed the man away when he went towards them. “Just ignore him,” he added lightly. “And you remember Marian?”

Eve’s expression shifted only slightly, with a slight twist of her mouth and the hardening of her eyes, but it did not escape Marian’s notice.

“Of course,” she nodded to her, although her voice was cold. “Lady Marian.”

“You can just call me Marian,” she told her, wary of Eve’s reaction. But, she supposed, the last time they’d been in contact Marian had dismissed her as a common spy – which she had been at the time. She had no need to feel guilty about her past assessment of Eve’s character - she had obviously changed, and Marian was happy to accept her.    

“Yes, well,” Much stammered nervously, picking up on the change in atmosphere. ”Let’s get you settled in,” he addressed Eve.

“What, she’s joining the gang now?” Allan spoke up, clearly put out. “Says who?”

“Says me,” Much shot back. “No one objected.”

“Do you object, Allan?” Robin spoke up evenly. “Marian?”

Marian shook her head, and Allan pouted.

“I ’spose not,” he grumbled. “But still need to be asked, don’t we?”

“And you have been,” John spoke up, and eyed Allan suspiciously. “You didn’t bring back any game.”

Allan shrugged. “It’s gettin’ cold,” he covered smoothly. “Not much around.” When everyone went back to work, he caught Marian’s eye and gave her a small smile and a nod, and she knew he would keep her confidences.

Much couldn’t remember a time when he had been so happy. He’d gone to visit Eve as planned, telling her the wonderful news of the return of Marian, Djaq and Will, and the addition of Tuck and Carter to their gang. She’d cautiously pointed out that since they had already acquired new gang members, and no longer needed to be concerned about Robin’s reaction, there was nothing left to stop them from being together. Eve’s mother had died of a fever earlier that year and she had no other family she needed to care for – except him. Much had enthusiastically agreed, and the two of them had returned to Sherwood as soon as they could gather Eve’s belongings.

Everyone had reacted pleasingly, even if Much had borne a few jokes from Allan about Eve, in fact, being real and not a figment of his imagination. There had been that tense moment with Marian, but Much knew that once Eve realised she was a kind person and not the woman who’d coldly called him a fool for being taken in by Eve’s deception, they could be friends. For his part, Robin had welcomed Eve warmly, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, telling her it was an honour for her to join their gang.

And yet when the rest of the camp had gone to bed – Eve tucked up in Much’s own top bunk – he took a place by Robin, still seated at the fire.

“You knew,” Much confirmed. “You knew that I was going to visit Eve. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Robin shrugged, but there was a tight smile on his face when he looked up. “How could I, when you obviously wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I just didn’t want to upset you,” Much confessed. “With everything that had happened…”

“Much,” Robin placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him intently. “I know it is your nature to put everyone else’s needs before your own, and my needs before everyone else’s, and I have appreciated that. I have loved you it. But I can no longer take advantage of your good nature, your kindness, and your love for me.”

He sighed and turned back to the fire. “You are right - I should have said something, I should have told you to go and bring her here the second I realised where you were going. I was being selfish.”

Much was about to deny that, but stopped himself. It was instinct, to absolve Robin of anything, but he’d learned to let him apologise instead.

“I’ll marry you as soon as you like,” Robin offered with a smile. “I know we have Tuck now, he’s probably more suited, but…I’d like to do it.”

It was the other reason why he could not ask Eve to marry him before – in addition to not wanting to cause Robin further grief by flaunting his happiness, Much had desperately wanted his friend to officiate the union between himself and his bride. It wouldn’t have felt right, otherwise, and Much could not have asked that of Robin in the state he’d been in. It just might have broken him.    

“I would like that,” Much answered, his heart fit to burst, for he knew that the offer was not as a lord to his serf, but as his true friend, comrade and brother. And suddenly the camp did not seem so crowded, but rather everything was in the place it was meant to be.  

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Frost clung to the forest trees and there were not enough leaves left to form a canopy, but the couple who stood at the base of a tall oak didn’t seem to mind. They were far more concerned with staring into each other’s eyes.

Much and Eve held hands; she in a fine blue gown she’d made for the occasion, and he in a new tunic he had purchased from their friend the seamstress in Nottingham town. It was the same green cloth they’d used to mark their symbol on the castle walls, and Much had never looked finer.

Robin stood before the couple and administered the marriage rights, while Tuck stood off to the side holding his rosary and seemed to be following the ceremony in silent prayer. If he was put out that he was not the celebrant, he did not show it. John had been watching the priest closely since his arrival at their camp, and thus far Tuck seemed to be a good sort, although quiet. But John understood that impulse. He himself had accompanied Tuck on one of his visits to the villages, and it had been a most companionable, silent journey. John also agreed with his plans to administer directly to the people, and his intention to hold Mass in Locksley Church. If they could manage to get rid of Gisborne on a Sunday morning, that was.

The rest of the Gang stood nearby and watched the ceremony. It warmed John’s heart not only for them all to be together again, but to see Much finally begin to make his own life. Eve seemed like a lovely woman, and their mutual affection was clear. But there was sadness also, as there always was. Robin and Marian had been given a second chance, Will and Djaq were still obviously in love, and now Much and Eve were committing themselves to one another. John had ruined his own marriage and given up his own family firstly because of his own cowardice, and then due to the cause he had pledged his life to. The couples before him were all young, all eager to serve the same cause and in a position to do so. Alice had a child to look after; he could not ask them to live in the forest.

“And so, as the rightful lord of Locksley and Earl of Huntingdon,” Robin was saying, and John snapped back to attention. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Much gently rested his hands on Eve’s arms and leaned in, but the bride was not as demure, grabbing her new husband by the face, pulling him in and kissing him soundly.

Robin laughed heartily and clapped his hands in approval, Allan whistled and yelled; “Go on son!” and the others all joined in the revelry. They all advanced on the couple, hugging Much, kissing Eve’s cheeks, giving their congratulations, filling goblets of wine and preparing for that night’s celebrations.

John had never felt lonelier in all his life.

Outlaw’s Camp

Much looked happier than Will had ever seen him, his broad smile all the evidence of his love for Eve that was required. She, too, radiated with happiness, her arm in Much’s as they chatted with Robin by the fire.  

Will sought out Djaq’s hand and held it gently, gratified when he felt her squeeze back lightly and saw the corner of her mouth flicker into an almost-smile. If he was a man like Robin or Allan, he would have kissed her there, in front of everyone, but he was not. He was Will Scarlett, and his relationship with Djaq was something he kept close. It was not as if he was embarrassed or didn’t want them to see, but their relationship had begun before an audience, and he preferred the privacy now. He and Djaq would not be topics of conversation like Robin and Marian were, because it seemed too sacred to be open to the scrutiny of others.

“I’m going to go speak with Marian,” Djaq told him softly, and Will followed her gaze to where Marian sat alone. She appeared to be watching the celebrations with quiet contemplation, if not quite interest. Djaq crossed the camp and took a seat beside her, and the two women soon fell into easy conversation. They were similar in many ways, and had formed a deep bond during Marian’s convalescence in Acre and their subsequent journey back to England. Will wondered if they were each other’s first true female friend, having both been raised in a world of men.

This thought was interrupted by Allan plonking himself beside Will, ale sloshing slightly over the rim of his mug as he did so. Allan followed Will’s gaze to where Marian and Djaq sat, and chucked to himself. Then he put down his drink and rummaged through the bunk behind them and pulled out his lute.

“You really are in deep, my friend,” he said amiably. “So, are you two going to get married?”

Will disliked such questions, and Allan knew that, so he must be genuinely curious.

“I don’t see how we can,” Will answered simply. “No Christian priest would marry us without insisting she convert, and that’s not going to happen.” He had never broached the topic with her, because he did not want her to be put in such a position when her faith and culture was so important to her. He could never ask her to pay lip service to a God she did not believe in. “And there aren’t any clerics here.”

Allan cocked his head. “So you’d go Turk, would you?”

Will shrugged. He believed in the goodness of people on their own terms, and needed no approval from a higher power. There were the traditions under which he had been raised – praise God, obey your Lord and honour your parents – but any actions based on that were mere rote. His parents were gone, he didn’t consider himself Robin’s serf and he hadn’t felt any particular connection to God in some time.

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you ask Robin, if you wanted to do it?” Allan pressed. “He doesn’t care which God it’s under – he thinks they’re the same one, anyway.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was concerned about living in sin,” Will teased.

Allan laughed. “I’m not,” he responded with a wink and strumming a note on his lute. “Thought you might be, though.”

Will did not answer. He could ask Robin, of course, but his power to grant such a union was based on his nobility and his title, which was vested in him by the Crown in whose name war was being fought against Djaq’s people. That was not a basis for a union of souls, in Will’s opinion. And if Djaq felt any differently, she did not share it with him and so for the time being Will was content for things to remain as they were. Djaq loved him – that was all that mattered.

Clearly knowing that he would get no further details, Allan began to play his lute, slender fingers tugging softly at the strings. “I should write a song about you two,” he teased and began to sing.

“A maiden fair of Sherwood green – that’s you Will,” he added with a laugh. “found love across the seas…”

Marian sipped slowly on her first goblet of wine, mindful not to drink too much and repeat the state of affairs that had followed her last experience. Allan was playing a lively tune on his lute and singing some kind of love song – she was surprised to learn he had a very pleasant voice. Much and Eve were dancing, laughing together as Much lost his place and Eve led him smoothly into the next steps.

“He looks very happy,” Djaq said. “If there is anyone who deserves happiness, it is Much.”

Marian smiled and nodded in agreement. “They make it look so simple,” she added wistfully.

Djaq regarded her curiously. “I believe Much would say that love is the simplest thing in the world.”

“He probably would,” Marian agreed. “I,” she hesitated briefly, “I haven’t always found it so.”

“I suppose we all walk different paths,” Djaq said philosophically. “And sometimes,” she glanced over at Will and smiled, “different destinations.” Will caught her eye and returned her smile, getting up from his place. Djaq stood as well, but before she went to meet him she said; “All you can do is follow your heart, Marian, and not worry about the path or destination. At least that’s what I’ve learned.”

Marian watched them wander off into the forest with a smile, but she wasn’t alone for long.

Robin plopped himself down beside her, half-empty wineskin cradled under one arm. It appeared he’d given up using a goblet entirely.

“Hullo, Marian,” he beamed at her.

“Hello, Robin,” she echoed, unable to keep from returning his smile.

“It was a good day, wasn’t it?” He pulled the stopper from the wineskin and took a swig.

“I certainly enjoyed it a great deal more than our wedding,” she told him playfully as he re-filled her goblet of wine.

He laughed. “It has been a good day,” Robin repeated with a grin, the one that always made her feel warm inside, and suddenly she thought that perhaps things were simple after all. He put down his wineskin, took her hand and kissed it.

“Our wedding was more exciting though,” he pointed out. “That surely counts for something.”

Marian laughed at his competitiveness. “You are a fool, Robin Hood,” she told him with affection.     

“Maybe you’re right,” he agreed, still grinning. “But who is more foolish, the fool or she who loves him?”

She leaned in close to him until their noses were almost touching. “Perhaps both equally,” she said, and kissed him. “But almost certainly you,” she added as she pulled away, patting him fondly on the cheek. He caught her hand again and held it in both of his.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“Where?”

He shrugged. “We have allies in other parts of the forest,” he explained. “I like to meet with them every now and then.”

“Of course,” she told him happily – pleased that he now seemed to be open to the idea of her being more actively involved in their work. They’d all been lying low for the past few days, after the Sheriff’s announcement – still making food drops, of course, but not actively engaging Vaisey or Guy’s guards if they could help it. In truth, Marian was desperate to do more. They had the Sheriff on the back foot by stealing the glory of the King’s capture from him, and she thought it best to press the advantage while they had it.   

To Much, all seemed right with the world. The gang was all together again, they’d struck a major blow against Vaisey, and Eve was in his arms, his wife before man and God.

He heard Allan begin to play a slower tune on his lute, and Much pulled Eve closer to him, heedless to the fact they were the only ones dancing. She rested her head against his shoulder, her arms went around his neck, and he breathed the soft scent of her hair that reminded him of honeysuckle and long summer days. With Eve as his wife, Much was certain that it would forever be summer in his heart.

“I think I am going to like it here,” Eve spoke up softly.

“Are you sure?” Much had to ask. “If you wanted, we could leave,” he whispered lest they be overhead. “We could find a place where there is no danger – I could till a field and we could raise children and I would be happy simply to wake up in your arms everyday.”

“Maybe someday, I would want that,” she answered, her arms tightening around him. “But I would never ask that of you now, I would never want that, now.” She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes bright and the corner of her mouth curling into a smile.

“I want to be part of this,” she told him firmly. “I cannot fight like Djaq and Lady Marian can, but I am a good spy. I can help.”

Much had never loved her more.    

The following day Robin took Marian deep into Sherwood, much further than she had ever been, even on the lengthy horse rides she’d once enjoyed. Eventually, the thick trees parted into a small clearing that had obviously been well trod, and before them was an enormous oak tree, larger than any Marian had ever seen. The truck was several arm lengths wide and the branches seemed to reach all the way up to the sky. It was coming on winter, so the branches were near bare, but Marian could imagine how impressive it would look in the full bloom of spring.

“It makes a good meeting place, don’t you think?” Robin said, obviously pleased by her awe.

“Aren’t you afraid the Sheriff may think so too?” 

“Not really,” he shrugged. “The guards never come in this deep – and half of them think the place is bewitched.”

A loud whistle pierced the air, and Marian recognised it as the gang’s arrival signal. Robin cupped his hands around his mouth and whistled back, giving the all clear. Two men emerged from the trees; the first young, short, with brown hair and a crooked smile, and the second taller, older and almost bald. They ambled over and Robin welcomed them both with open arms, embracing each in turn.  

“Marian, you probably don’t remember Forrest or Hanton,” he turned back to her and pointed them out; Forrest was the younger, Hanton the older. “They were two of the founding members of Robin Hood’s gang.” He clapped Forrest on the shoulder and the man gave her a wide smile.

Marian didn’t remember, but she had not seen much of the gang in those early days.

“Milady,” Forrest gave her a nod of the head, but it was more sardonic than respectful, so she didn’t bother to correct him. Hanton nodded and also addressed her as “Milady,” albeit quietly.

“I’m happy to meet you both. Where are you from?” she asked politely.

“I was from Clun,” Forrest answered, “Hanton from Nettlestone. But now we live in Worksop, to the north of here, on the other side of Sherwood.”

“And they’re doing great work there,” Robin told her.

Forrest shrugged. “We do what we can, since we can’t be there with your boys, Robin.”

“Why not?” Marian enquired, still unable to place them.

“I had a wife in Clun,” he explained. “My Lucy. I hadn’t had contact with her since the Sheriff outlawed me. Thought it was better for her that way – and me I suppose. Didn’t think I could help her as a dead man.”

A common misconception among the former “dead men” Robin had revived, Marian thought to herself.

“Robin convinced me to reconcile with her,” Forrest continued, patting Robin on the back. “At least see her, let her know I was still alive, and that we could help her.”

“And from the results, the reconciliation was a great success,” Robin laughed and elbowed Forrest playfully.

Marian gave him a look for being crass, but Forrest was laughing also, and shrugged sheepishly.

“She got with child, see,” he explained in case Marian had not understood Robin’s joke. “And that changed things. I didn’t want to leave the gang, not with all the good work we were going to do, but Little John convinced me that Lucy and the baby needed me more – he was right.”

“They couldn’t stay, obviously” Robin added. “It wasn’t safe, but Forrest and Hanton have been helpful to us out here – we’ve managed to set up an entire network across Sherwood to get help to all the villages of the ‘shire.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t got much to report, Robin,” Forrest told him seriously. “There were rumours of work in Nottingham earlier this year, and a few men went there but none have returned yet. We don’t know if they’re still there, or if they’ve just run off.”

“Or if something else has happened to them,” Marian interjected. “The Sheriff often employed people in his schemes only to dispose of them when the job was done.” 

Robin pursed his lips and nodded. “You think the Sheriff’s building something?”

“This was months ago, Robin,” Forrest told him. “Back in the summer. Surely you’d have heard – or seen – something by now.”

“We’ll check it out, anyway,” Robin told him. “How are the northern villagers?”

Marian was contemplative, only half-listening to their conversation. Why had Robin brought her? It wasn’t necessary for her to hear Forrest’s report, although Robin had always suggested that no gang member should leave the camp alone. Had she just been companionship for the journey, backup in case they were ambushed, or had he wanted to show off his spy network since she’d always been critical of his recklessness and lack of forward thinking? Perhaps it was all of those things, although Marian had one other suspicion.

Once Forrest had imparted all of his information and Robin had provided him with a sack of coins to distribute through the northern villages, they said their goodbyes. Robin and Marian began the long walk back to the camp, and it was some time before she voiced her misgivings.  

“So I gather that was for my benefit?” she asked conversationally as they walked side by side.

“What?” he asked, not even slowing his step.

“Forrest and Hanton seem like fine men,” she told him as she matched his pace. “But I suspect that’s not why you wanted me to meet them.”

“I wanted to show you what we do,” he told her, eyes still on the treeline ahead. “I didn’t really get a chance to last time you were in the forest. You said you wanted to be involved.”

“Are you sure that’s all it was?” she asked. “I know how you think, Robin.”

Robin looked at her quizzically for a few moments, then sighed heavily and shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Marian.”

“Forrest and his good, obedient wife,” she laid it out for him. “Bearing children and staying out of danger like a woman should, allowing him to keep her secluded and protected.” She slowed her step, and then halted.

“Is that what you want from me?” she called after him.

He stopped and turned to her. “How can you say that?” he asked, face aghast. “Of course not.”

She wasn’t convinced, and crossed her arms. “Is it what you will want?”

“Marian, I haven’t a clue what you are talking about.” He ran a hand over his eyes in exasperation.

“When all of this is over – is it what you will want?” she repeated. “Will you expect me just to fall into the role of wife and mother, even after all we’ve been through?”

The question obviously threw him. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said dismissively and continued walking. “There’s no reason to discuss it now.”

“We should discuss it now, Robin,” she caught up with him and placed a hand on his arm. He stilled again and turned to her with consternation. 

“Because you should know that…Djaq told me….” She stalled and took a deep breath. “Djaq warned me that because of the injury, I likely wouldn’t even be able to…”

“Shhhh.” He came close to her, suddenly serious, and cupped her face in his hands, staring deeply into her eyes. “I know. And it doesn’t change anything.”

She tilted her chin at him and blinked. “Really?” The news had not really concerned her, or rather, she had not let it concern her, but she worried about Robin’s pride and expectations. Sometimes she feared that Robin accepted her actions as the Nightwatchman, spy and member of the gang as a wartime necessity, and that once it was over he would expect her to fill a role she knew she could not – and did not desire to.  

“You asked me what I want,” Robin told her softly. “That’s you.” His thumb stroked her cheek gently. “All I care about is your life, Marian - that you stay safe.”  

She placed her hands over his and drew them away from her face, clasping them in hers and pressing them against her heart. “There’s no guarantees in this life, Robin,” she told him softly. “There will always be some kind of danger.”

He nodded. “Yes, but there are ways to minimise risk,” he smiled, kissed her knuckles, and then started walking again.

She took a few more moments before following, wondering just what his idea of minimising risk was; a small feeling of unease forming in the pit of her stomach.  

Chapter Text

Outlaw’s Camp

It was a cool November morning when it was decided to begin with the expansion of the camp. Will had spent many days drawing up the plans with Djaq’s help; three separate hideaways all located within a hundred feet of the camp proper. They would be small, only enough for two to sleep comfortably and privately, but that was all that was required. They would dig into the ground and reinforce the “lover’s nests” - as Much had taken to calling them - and add hinges for the concealed doors, just like they had done with the main camp. That would remain as the central meeting, eating and storage area, and of course John, Allan, Carter and Tuck would continue to sleep in the existing bunks. Allan had christened it the “bachelor’s camp” with some glee.

Much, Carter and Allan began by shovelling dirt from the areas Will had chosen. It was hard work, and far more difficult than it had been to dig out the spot for their first camp. That had been one site, albeit larger, and they had started it at the beginning of summer, when the earth was soft. They were well into autumn now, and the ground had hardened enough that it felt like digging into ice. In many ways it would have been preferable to wait until spring, but the camp was simply too crowded with ten occupants, when it had been built for six.

On her first night at camp Eve, not used to sleeping in a top bunk like the one she now shared with Much, had almost fallen out of it. Tuck had lain too close to the fire embers one night and his robe had caught alight. They were all practically tripping over one another in the mornings and evenings climbing in an out of their bunks and around Carter and Tuck, who slept on the ground. Will had particularly noticed the effect on Marian, who was better acquainted with privacy than the rest of them, and she often took long walks in the woods and refused any company. Djaq had also expressed her displeasure privately and had been eager to assist Will in drawing up the plans.

From his vantage point on the ridge above the main camp, Will was able to direct the others where to dig, and the depth and width of the holes required. Like the main camp, the nests were being carved out of a slight hill which meant they could burrow the area out of the ground rather than have to dig straight down. Still, the work was taking its toll and Allan, of course, was grumbling.

“So when’s the shift change, eh?” he called up at Will from the spot he and Carter were working on. “We’ve been at this for hours!”

“You did volunteer,” Much reminded him.

“Not that we had much of a choice,” Allan complained. “And the girls are always saying they should be treated equally, why aren’t they here digging?”

“Eve and Djaq are making drop-offs in the villages,” Much told him with a reproving look, “as you well know. And Robin and John are doing their bit, they’re out getting the oak for us to use, would you rather be felling trees?”

“Hphmm.” Allan was not impressed. “And Tuck just needed to do one of his missionary runs today? And where’s Marian, huh? Disappeared again, hasn’t she.”

“Oh, shut up, Allan,” Much snapped at him, since these days would not hear a word against Marian. “There’s only three shovels, anyway.”

“Well I just don’t see why Carter and me have to help build these stupid nest things,” Allan grumbled, aggressively shovelling a mound of earth. “We’re not going to be using them.”

Carter looked up warily. “Don’t bring me into this.”

Will realised that perhaps Allan was feeling abandoned again – however practical the camp expansion was, the group was effectively splitting into couples, reminding the others that they were alone. Tuck of course was a man of the cloth, and Carter didn’t seem to mind, but Allan was different – he had been there since the beginning and likely would be feeling the situation keenly.

Will promised himself that he would speak to Allan later when he got the chance – he had been so distracted with the plans that he had neglected his friend.

“I think we’ve got the locations right,” he said, climbing down from the ridge above the camp. “I can take over, Allan.”

“Nah, s’alright,” Allan answered with a genuine smile. “Save your energy for Djaq, mate.” There was levity but no true laughter behind the words, and so wordlessly Will took the shovel from him and urged him to take some rest. From the dark circles under Allan’s eyes, he clearly needed it.

Sherwood Forest

Marian gently pressed her heels into the horse’s flank, urging it to run faster. Glorying in the sensation of riding again, she went as quickly as she dared. The rhythmic pounding of the horse’s hooves, the wind that burned against her face, the exhilaration of dodging trees and branches, of jumping brooks and other obstacles; it felt like the old days, it felt like freedom.

When she was a girl and first learning to ride, her father wouldn’t allow her to go into the forest, so that was all that she longed to do, spending many days dreaming of it as if it were a grand adventure. When she was older and there were no such restrictions, she rode to escape the confines of Nottingham and Knighton, of a father who expected much from her. She preferred the company of her horse to many of the people she knew, the ladies and girls who were respectful to her face, as the daughter of the Sheriff, but she knew to gossip behind her back and judge her every move, not to mention older men who either leered at her or dismissed her, and boys who tried to court her under orders from their fathers and were not skilled in concealing their motives.

Even Robin, who had been her only true friend, could often be obnoxious and so she would not let him ride alongside her, especially when he had annoyed her, as was most often the case. In later years, she had ridden to avoid Guy’s attentions and her father’s gloom which infected the entire household.

And now, it seemed, she was riding to escape the outlaw’s camp.

It had only been recently that she felt strong enough to let the horse run, and so took every opportunity she could to go riding. There were always plenty of horses to pilfer, and since there was no provisions at the camp to house them, Marian always returned them afterwards. The rides allowed her to clear her head and to be alone with only the animal and forest for company, the break sorely needed from the outlaw’s camp. She loved them all dearly, but that did not erase her desperate need for solitude.      

She slowed down eventually, knowing that in a few hundred feet she would be at the Great North Road. Patting the horse’s mane absently, Marian contemplated whether she should take the road, which would allow her to ride faster, but would increase the chances of her solitude being interrupted. The decision was soon made for her when she heard a whistle from a nearby tree.

Marian turned towards the sound, and was surprised to see Robin climb down from a branch and approach her.

“Hello, stranger,” he greeted her with a smile, and helped her to dismount from the horse.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he kept his hands on her waist and pulled her close to him, one hand sliding temptingly under the hem of her tunic.

“Hmmm?” he looked up from his study of her lips and smiled wickedly. “I’m trying to seduce my wife,” he told her, kissing the corner of her mouth playfully.

“No,” she corrected him. “What were you doing up in that tree?”

Robin shrugged and his hand moved to the small of her back, warm against the skin already flushed from riding. “Looking out for travellers.”

Her skin tingled pleasantly as his nimble fingers drew small circles on her back, but Marian liked to make him work for her reciprocation. “This far from the road?” she asked playfully. “You were having a nap up in that tree weren’t you, you lazy sod.”

He laughed heartily. “You wound me Marian,” he responded, his hand flush against the small of her back to pull her close. “If only I could do something to prove that I’m not lazy,” he whispered hotly into her ear.

“I may take some convincing,” she whispered back. “So I suggest you get started.”

Without needing further prompting, Robin kissed her soundly, and she smiled against his lips, her hands reaching around his neck to wind through the hair at the nape of his neck. She had discovered that Robin had become impetuously amorous, often finding an excuse for them to be alone so they could disappear to the back-up camp that had become their refuge. There they were only themselves, and she found a comfort and pleasure in his embrace that she hadn’t thought possible.  

Robin began to kiss her neck, and she arched into him – when he did that, she did not feel the need for solitude, and for a moment she wished that instead of leaving the camp that morning, she had suggested they go to their retreat. On the other hand, being alone made her appreciate the time she spent with Robin all the more – it allowed her the luxury of missing him and the happiness of reunion.

Marian felt herself being gently pushed until her back was pressed against the horse’s flank. Surprisingly, the horse did not run away, but simply twisted its head towards them, giving Robin a playful nudge on the shoulder.

Robin looked up and laughed, rubbing the animal’s nose affectionately. “It’s a fine horse,” he said, his attention drawn away from her. “Where did you get it?”

She shrugged and leaned in for another kiss. “I stole it,” she murmured against his lips, eager that Robin would not be distracted. He had started it – kissed her in the way that made her stomach leap in anticipation and she was not about to be forgotten for trivialities.

“It’s a Locksley horse.” Robin pulled away slightly. His tone was conversational, but she did not miss the veiled accusation.

Marian grimaced – how could be possibly know that? The horse was a chestnut gelding, but with no particular markings and much the same as any other horse. Her desire quickly cooled at his reaction.  

She often found herself drawn to Locksley on her walks. Sometimes Guy was there, and sometimes not, but she could not deny that she lingered if she saw him. The rational part of her mind told her that it was useful to keep an eye on him, to watch and wait to see if there was something she could glean from his actions, but often found her mind wandering to confronting him. She thought about what she would say to him, and how she would say it, a hundred different scenarios rushing through her mind. Marian imagined herself slapping him in anger, embracing him in forgiveness, demanding explanations, making her own explanations – she had yet to decide the best course of action, and so she dwelled in her indecision.

Robin looked to her for explanation, so she raised her chin in defiance. “The Locksley stables are easy to steal from.”

He was visibly troubled and exhaled harshly as he withdrew from her. “I’d feel more comfortable if you did not go there.”

Marian felt her ire rise. “Well, I’d feel more comfortable if you trusted me to take care of myself.”

“I do trust you, Marian,” Robin responded. “But what if Gisborne had seen you?”

“And what if he had?” she questioned him.

“Marian,” there was more than a bit of exasperation in his voice. “We decided that we would keep your survival a secret.”

“No,” she replied hotly. “You decided. I acquiesced. And the only reason I did is because you said we would figure out a way to use it to our advantage, but I am yet to hear any plan for that at all.”

“Marian,” he said again, but in a more conciliatory tone. He moved closer to her again, running his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. “We have to be patient. The right moment will present itself.”

Marian sighed, but let him take her hands. She wanted to believe that he was just thinking strategically, but couldn’t help feel that he wanted to keep her confined to his company. She had been lucky enough to slip away after breakfast without him noticing, and yet he had interrupted the only solitude she’d been able to find for days. A moment before she had been happy he had come across her, now she was suspicious.

She looked up at him accusingly. “How did you find me?” she asked, sure now that it had not been coincidence, as she had first thought.

Robin shrugged, but she could see the guilt on his face.

“Did you follow me?” She dropped his grasp and stepped away, appalled. The time in the forest riding was her own – for Robin to intrude upon it with such calculation was utterly violating.

“No,” he denied. “I tracked you,” he added after seeing the look on her face.

She felt sick. “How dare you,” she spat at him, and pushed him away when he tried to embrace her.

“I had to know that you were alright,” he responded calmly, as if that was an appropriate explanation. “When you disappeared this morning I was worried.”

“I didn’t disappear,” she told him hotly. “I left the camp, as anyone else does without comment or worry from you.” She grasped the horse’s saddle and mounted it, desperate to escape his company before she said or did something she knew she would regret.

“Marian,” he grabbed the horse’s harness to halt her escape. “Wait.”

She pulled the reins from his grasp and refused to respond or look at him, pressing her heels against the horse’s flank and urging it into a canter. She heard Robin continue to call after her, but she ignored him.

But then Marian heard a sound from the road ahead and stopped, dismounting again and approaching the road with caution, keeping herself hidden in the trees.

“What do we have?” a voice from beside her whispered, and she was startled to see that Robin had caught up with her. He was breathless from running, but his eyes were on the traveller, their argument forgotten as an opportunity presented itself.

The traveller’s cart was covered, but Marian noticed that he was well-dressed. In fact he looked familiar.

“It’s Blight,” she whispered to Robin. “The Sheriff’s physician.”

Robin grinned at her as he notched an arrow in his bow. “Well then it seems we’re in luck.” With precision, he fired two shots, one at the ground just in front of where the horse led the cart to startle it, and the second one by Blight’s hand, who yelped and looked around in fear.

Robin emerged from the trees with a swagger and a cocky grin. Marian rolled her eyes, but she could not deny that his showmanship achieved results. Blight leaped away so that the cart was between him and Robin, as if that would protect him. Marian smiled to herself as she pulled her hood on to conceal her face, and while Robin was busy toying with Blight and giving his usual speeches, she moved to a bend in the road just ahead, allowing her to cross to the other side unseen.

“I thought the Sheriff had you banished after the Henry of Lewes incident,” Robin was saying conversationally. An arrow was trained on Blight’s head, and he visibly gulped.

“I - I have been allowed to return,” he stuttered.

“And what gifts do you bring your master?” Robin enquired, indicating the cart.

“It is medicine, nothing more,” Blight answered. “It – it is almost winter, after all.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” However, Robin could not check the contents of the cart without lowering his bow and giving Blight the chance to escape. At that moment, Marian emerged from the trees behind Blight, drawing her sword and resting the metal tip against the side of his neck.

“Don’t move,” she told him, lowering her voice so that it was not recognisably female.

Robin nodded to her, lowering his bow so that he could remove the cloth which covered the cart. Inside were a few glass flasks and jars, filled with liquids and powders. There was food and wine as well, and medical instruments.

“You see,” Blight said somewhat more bravely. “Just as I said.”

“I do see,” Robin said as he looked back up, his eyes cold. “I see supplies that would save many lives this winter, but I doubt that is their intended purpose.” Alight with righteous anger, he approached Blight with slow menace. “The Sheriff cannot possibly need all of this medicine,” he continued, “and yet he will horde it for his use alone, and in doing so will allow good English men and women to die.”

Blight said nothing, which only simmered Robin’s anger further. With most travellers he was firm but polite as he robbed them, but on occasion when he felt their crimes were egregious he was a soldier again; glorious and vengeful in his wrath. Unfortunately, he was also unpredictable and unthinking, as Marian noticed he’d left his bow lying on the cart.

She tightened her grip on the sword, although she was not too concerned - Blight was a snivelling, weaselling coward.

“How can you call yourself a physician working for such a man?” Robin asked, pulling the knife from his belt and held it to the hollow of Blight’s throat. “You are meant to heal the sick,” he practically growled, his rage boiling over as he grabbed Blight by his collar. “Not help hasten their deaths!”

Blight made a small, strangled sound, but Robin was too far gone – he had seen too much sickness, too much death and too much waste, and he had evidently decided to hold Blight responsible. His dagger pressed slightly into the skin of Blight’s neck, and a ridge of blood appeared on the blade.

“Robin” Maria called to him calmly, trying to bring him back from that dark place – she had never seen him so far gone. They were there to rob Blight, not kill him. But Marian was almost immediately distracted as she realised Blight’s horse was trying to break free from its harness – it had clearly been more startled by Robin’s arrow than she had thought. Marian moved to secure it, as they could not risk losing the cart and all of its contents. She patted the horse’s neck to try and calm it, still trying to keep her sword pointed in Blight’s direction. Robin seemed to have returned to himself and while he still held Blight by the collar, he no longer radiated vengeful anger.

The horse would not be calmed, and so Marian reached to unhook the harness from the cart. But finally free the horse reared up, trapping her hand in the reins and pulling her with it. Desperately, Marian had to drop her sword so that she could pull her hand free, escaping a moment too late. She heard Robin call out and a scuffle as the horse descended, one of its hooves catching her in the shoulder and flinging her backwards.

She hit the ground hard, hood falling back and away from her face. Severely winded and momentarily stunned, all she could do was listen to the struggle between Robin and Blight and try and catch her breath. Robin had cried out in pain as she had fallen - Blight must have caught him by surprise when he had gone to help her. Marian managed to roll onto her good shoulder, drawing her hood back over her face as she did so. She could not yet rise, but from that position she could at least get her bearings.

Robin’s right forearm was bloody – Blight had drawn a dagger of his own which glimmered red. Despite his injury, Robin tackled Blight to the ground and punched him in the face, but Blight retaliated by swinging his dagger so that Robin had to dodge out of the way. The two men struggled on the ground near the cart as Marian tried to draw air into her lungs so that she could be of use.

Robin wrestled the dagger away from Blight, but he managed to grab hold of the wheel of the cart and pull himself up, kicking Robin in the face and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Marian saw her sword several feet away where it had fallen from her grip, and crawled to reach it, her shoulder throbbing.

Blight held onto the cart and rummaged through its contents as Robin’s grasped him by the shoulders, and held the dagger to his throat again. But Blight grasped a red flask from the cart and swung wildly around, hitting Robin forcefully across the face. It broke against his cheek and Robin coughed as he was covered in the liquid that escaped. Then Blight stabbed Robin in his injured arm with the broken end of the flask, forcing him release his grip on Blight’s shoulder. Still coughing, Robin fell to the ground, helpless.

Marian finally reached her sword and grasped it gratefully. Just as Blight advanced on Robin, sprawled in the dirt and clutching his injured arm, Marian appeared behind, pressing the tip of her sword against Blight's back with more pressure than when she had held it to his neck. That was a deterrent; this was a warning.

“Leave your gold and the cart,” he told him in the same low voice. “And run.” She ever so gently pressed the sword into his back, not hard enough to pierce skin, but enough to encourage his cooperation.

Blight immediately reached for his purse and dropped it on the ground, then turned and fled down the road without a backwards glance. When he was safely gone, Marian sighed with relief and sheathed her sword. Robin was still sprawled on the ground, and she kneeled next to him.

“Robin, are you alright?” she asked, gently prising away the hand covering his wound so she could examine it. Robin winced, and Marian saw there were still small bits of glass sticking out of his arm as well as a deep gash from Blight’s dagger. It was wet with blood and the liquid from the broken flask.

“I’ll live,” he rasped, and then began to cough again. “Ugh, I think that stuff went up my nose.” He wiped his face but only succeeded in smearing it with blood.

She chuckled lightly, gently removing the glass from his arm, then ripped the fabric from her tunic to bandage the still bleeding wound. Then she checked the gash on his face, but it was not deep.

“Let’s get you back to camp,” she said, helping him to stand.  

Outlaw’s Camp

“Do you know what was in these flasks?” Djaq enquired as she tended to Robin’s injuries. Marian had done an admirable job, for someone who was not trained in the art of healing. The wound on Robin’s arm had not caused any permanent damage, but Djaq was concerned about infection. She had already treated Marian’s shoulder, and other than a nasty bruise, she was unharmed.

“He said it was medicine,” Robin told her, not at all happy at Djaq’s ministrations. He had always been a lousy patient, and so Djaq took extra care to bandage his hand slowly. He had to learn to be tended to without complaint.

“I brought some back,” Marian said, offering her a flask of green worked glass with a cork stopper. They had also brought back food and medical supplies in the cart, which Djaq was keen to examine later. They could certainly use a few instruments, which would finally allow Djaq to administer in the villages, as they had never had the time nor the equipment to do before.

“Why would he be taking medicine to the Sheriff?” Little John asked.

“There is sickness in Nottingham,” Eve spoke up. “Not an outbreak yet, but I heard of a few cases when I was there today. The Sheriff had always been paranoid about illness – it is the one enemy he cannot outwit.”

Robin’s face darkened at Eve’s words, but he said nothing. Djaq looked to Marian, but she looked away pointedly, and Djaq wondered what she had left out of the story.

Dismissing that thought for another time, she examined the flask, sniffing the contents – she could detect the scent of rosemary but not much else. If she had to guess, it was not medicine at all, just a herbal tisane to soothe an anxious patient into believing it was..

“I’ve cleaned the wound,” she told Robin, putting the flask down. “But just in case we must check for infection in the next few days.”

He nodded, but was distracted, and it did not escape Djaq’s notice that he was unusually quiet. His gaze kept flitting to Marian, as if to make sure she was still there. Marian also seemed out of sorts, and the two did not speak all night. It made the camp very quiet – Will and Allan had gone to Nottingham for the evening so there was no music, as there had been most nights since their return.

When she and Eve had returned from town Will had explained Allan’s seeming melancholy, and she had suggested that they go to the ‘Trip, just the two of them as they used to do. For herself, Djaq promised that she would make some time to spend with Allan over the next few days – she sensed there was something deeper concerning him than loneliness.

That at least, she could help with. Whatever was wrong with Robin and Marian, they had to sort out for themselves.

Robin retired early, and Marian waited until the others had also gone to bed before climbing into the bunk beside him. Her anger of earlier that day had cooled, and although it still upset her that he had tracked her, his injury made the argument seem unimportant. She slipped her arm around Robin’s waist and kissed his shoulder blade.  

“Let’s not fight,” she said softly, knowing he was not asleep. She felt him sigh, and he was silent for a few moments before turning around to face her.

He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it gently. “I don’t want to,” he told her. “But you worry me, Marian – I worry that something is going to happen to you.”

“Do not worry,” she soothed him, reaching out to brush the hair back from his eyes. “All is well, Robin,” she said, stroking his forehead. “All will be well.” Her fingers traced his cheek and chin, and then came to rest on the hollow of his throat, where he had held his dagger against Blight.

“You lost yourself today,” she continued in the same soothing voice.

He ducked his head and bit his lip. Marian had never seen him as bad as that – he had become the man he was in the Holy Land, the man that Djaq had told her emerged when he thought she’d died in that cave. She had known about his demons, but had never seen them emerge so forcefully before.

“Most of the time I can stop it,” he said softly, eyes still downcast. “But sometimes I don’t want to. Sometimes it feels…right.” He took a deep breath and looked up at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears even in the dim light.

“It scares me sometimes,” he said, his voice a raw whisper. “How easy it has become for me to kill again.” He searched her face, as if for answers. “I could have killed him – would have killed him.”

But Marian had no answers for him, nothing that she could say that would fix his wounded soul. All she had was her comfort, and her love, so she pulled him into her embrace, ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder where the horse had kicked her. He sank into her gratefully, and although he did not cry, she could feel his ragged breathing against the crook of her neck and his body trembling as she rubbed her hand up and down his back.

“You didn’t kill him,” she whispered. “You always have a choice, Robin – trust yourself that you will make the right one. Because I trust you.”

She held him until his trembling subsided and his breaths became even. For a moment she thought he’d drifted off to sleep, but then he pulled back and he was the old Robin again – his melancholy forgotten. Or perhaps, she considered, simply pushed back below the surface.  

He cupped her face with his good hand and smiled. “I thought that we could keep the horse.”

Marian was surprised – the horse from the cart had run off when she’d released it from the harness, but they’d been pleased to discover the Locksley horse had remained in the trees where she’d left it. They had ridden it back to camp, but Marian assumed they would return it in the morning.

“I know we haven’t kept them before because they would require care, or even give away the location of the camp,” he continued seriously. “But we do need the transport from time to time.”

She squeezed his hand, urging him to continue so that she was sure of his meaning.

“And then if you wanted to ride, you would have your own horse,” he said.

Marian considered him carefully, searching for his ulterior motive. “Is this just to stop me from going to Locksley?”

“Partly,” he said, and she was grateful for his honesty. “But I know you love to ride,” he continued. “And I know that…we cannot be together all of the time.”

Robin did not understand her need for solitude – he hungered for human company, and thrived upon it. He was a man that could not be alone. Even as a child he had been so, always longing for his father’s attention, and when he did not get that, he revelled in the friendship with his servants and Marian herself. But the trait was even more pronounced now, and Marian wondered that he feared being alone with only the demons inside himself for company. Solitude for Robin meant that long buried memories of the Holy Land would surface and demand attention, and that was a cross he had not yet learned how to bear. The day’s events had proved that.  

And yet Marian was touched that while he did not understand her need for privacy, he was at least finally acknowledging it.

She kissed him gently in acceptance and gratitude.

“I’m sorry,” Robin whispered as she pulled away. “For tracking you today, I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

“As long as you don’t do it again,” she said firmly, and he nodded in acquiescence. Her fingers traced his face, coming to rest over the gash on his cheek. “I worry about you too, you know.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. “I’m glad,” he whispered as he kissed her more forcefully this time, pressing his good hand into the small of her back and drawing her closer. “Don’t ever stop.”

Marian felt at peace when she fell asleep in his arms, but awoke abruptly a few hours later. Robin’s arms were still around her in a tight embrace, and despite the chill of the air outside the camp, she felt overheated. Rolling over, she felt the cool air on her face, but that did not reduce her discomfort. Robin shifted closer to her in his sleep, chest pressing against her back and his arm tightening around her waist. She knew it was his unconscious desire to be close to her, and likely brought on by the events on the day. But Marian couldn’t help but feel slightly stifled, as if his arms around her were a vice rather than a show of affection.

Such thoughts troubled her deeply, and she dismissed them with some difficulty. It was natural for him to want to hold her in sleep – and she too found comfort in the knowledge that he would be there when she woke each morning.

And yet, even with his apology and promise, Marian could not shake the general feeling of unease that plagued her. It had begun that day by the Great Oak after they had met Forrest and Hanton, and what had at first been disquiet had blossomed into a foreboding and anxiety that settled heavily on her heart.

Chapter Text

Outlaw's Camp

It had been over a month since Carter had arrived back in England, and although he found the work he did with the outlaws fulfilling, his mind often dwelled on the King still in captivity, and of his remaining family in Oxford who didn't even know he had returned. He should visit them, let them know that he was alive, and fighting, but was reluctant to leave Robin's gang now that he had pledged fealty to them. Still, they occupied his thoughts, especially when alone.

The camp was unusually quiet that morning - both Marian and Robin and Much and Eve had disappeared, and Tuck was administering to the people of Nettlestone. Robin was strictly enforcing the rule that no one visit the villages alone, and they were taking turns accompanying Tuck in his ministry. All except Djaq – she had not made any objection of course, but when her turn came Will had gone with Tuck instead and no one said a word about it. Carter had accompanied him the previous day, and did not think it was a coincidence that they had gone to Clun, the scene of his initial meeting with the gang.

It had been sobering to see the village again and be faced with the destruction he had wrought as a pawn of the Sheriff. And yet no one in the village hated him, even Jane whose husband had been killed and left her child without a father. Tuck had prayed with her, while Carter had looked after her child, a year older and beginning to comprehend that his life was different from the other families in the village. Carter had talked to him – as much as you can talk to a toddler – and played games to make the boy laugh. There was a sorrow he could not describe, a guilt that could not be shaken, for he had caused this child a pain Carter knew all too well; the ache of loss and loneliness that would never fully subside. And he had done it for his own revenge, and misplaced revenge at that.

He had apologised to Jane, and assured her that he would make sure she and her son would always be taken care of. She had smiled and patted him fondly on the hand, surprising him with her easy forgiveness. It seemed that being one of Robin Hood's men carried a lot of weight with the people, and she accepted him as if he had not been the cause of so much pain.

Carter fed more wood into the campfire. It was getting colder and they found that they needed to keep the fire going for most of the day, which meant that someone always needed to be at camp. Eventually, he realised that he was not alone after all; Allan-a-Dale had propped himself up against a nearby tree and appeared to be dozing quietly. Carter wondered whether he had been there the whole time, unnoticed as he'd been musing, or had crept up like cat to take a kip while no one was looking.

Before long Djaq appeared as well, having returned from her hunt with three dead squirrels. She nodded to Carter in greeting, took a seat near him and began to skin the animals with speed and precision. She must have noticed he was out of sorts, because she looked up every now and then from her work. 

"Are you alright, Carter?" she asked eventually. "You seem troubled."

"I - I've just been thinking a lot about Thomas, lately," Carter told her, deciding that perhaps he should unburden himself. "My brother."

Djaq put down her knife and the squirrel, cleaned her hands on a rag and gave Carter her full attention. "Any reason in particular?" she asked, in that way she had which could elicit trust and encourage confidences.

"Today is the day they brought the news of his death back to us," he told her, the words bitter on his tongue. "It would be…four years ago, now."

Djaq looked at him in sympathy, a crease forming between her eyes. "I'm sure it feels like a lifetime, and yet…only a heartbeat.”

Carter nodded and gave a sigh. "Some days I can't remember ever living without him," he added. "He taught me how to swim, how to ride a horse and shoot a bow. He taught me to be a good man, and when he was gone, I…forgot how."

"You were always a good man, Carter," Djaq said kindly. "You just got a bit waylaid – we all do." She glanced at Allan for the briefest of moments, then turned back and took a deep breath, clasping her hands in front of her.

"My brother was killed in the Crusades," she told him. "And for a long time I hated you all – not just the soldiers he had fought against, but all Englishmen whether they supported the war or not.”

Her expression was grave, piercing him with her dark eyes. “I know what it is to hate. For it to consume you, until that is the only thing that keeps you going. When it really should be love – because that's stronger. Because becoming the person they would want you to be is more fulfilling than revenge on those who took them away from you."

Carter knew that, in his heart, but Djaq had articulated it so beautifully. "You are a wise woman, Djaq.”

She shrugged dismissively. "I just understand how you feel."

"I had a brother," Allan spoke up quietly, having apparently awoken, and Carter briefly wondered if he'd been asleep at all.

"His name was Tom, too." Allan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head back against the tree. "The Sheriff hung 'im," he added, his mouth twisting bitterly. "He wasn't a good man…he was a bad seed, really. I dunno the person he'd want me to be – don't think I want to know."

"He still loved you, Allan," Djaq said with feeling. "I am sure of it. He would want you to be happy."

Allan looked away, his mouth in a firm line. There was silence for several minutes, Carter wanting to speak further, but unsure how to do so delicately after what Allan had said.

"My brother wanted to be a cleric," Djaq said eventually, her soft voice filling the silence. "He had such a love of study. But the army needed soldiers, not holy men. I disguised myself as a medic so that I could be near him, but I could not save him." Her eyes were wet, and she blinked rapidly and clenched her hands together. Carter reached over and touched her arm lightly, and her grip loosened.

"I never found out where they buried Tom," Allan told them – as grave as Carter had ever seen him. "The Sheriff left him hangin' up there for three days. His mouth twisted again with distaste. "They took them down at night and no one knew what they did with him."

"I'm sorry." Carter had not known that, and took comfort in that fact that his brother's grave, if not his body, was in Oxford and well frequented, he hoped, by his mother and sisters. "But after that…how could you work for the Sheriff?" he asked delicately as he could.

Allan scratched his ear absently and looked away. "I dunno. It's a self-preservation thing, I guess," he said dismissively. "I never really liked Tom, but I promised me Mum that I would take care of him, see. We were a double act for a long time – the Brothers-a-Dale.” He gave a little flourish of his hands. “You should of seen us, we put on a right good show together.” 

“I guess he grew on me," he added sadly after a beat. "Yeah. Guess you can't help but love family."

There were a few moments of silence, and Carter wasn't sure what to say.

"Look at us, eh?" Allan said with forced levity, sniffing back whatever emotions had threatened to escape. "The Dead Brothers Club."

He whistled, and the pigeon Bashirah appeared from the trees, taking some of the grain Allan had produced from his pocket and then perching on his shoulder. Lardner flew in a few moments later and settled on the ground near his feet, pecking at the earth.

"But we are all brothers now, I think," Carter said cautiously. "And sisters," he smiled at Djaq. "None of us are alone."

Djaq smiled back - the first time Carter could remember her doing so at him, and she reached over to take his hand. It was a day of firsts, he thought to himself, pleased at the show of friendship.

"Yeah," Allan agreed, grinning. "Yeah, you can't help but love family," he repeated, shaking off some of his melancholy. "So, Carter," he said, after a few moments, back to his affable self. "Will and I are going to the 'Trip later, if you want to come."

Carter had never been invited to the 'Trip before. Allan and Will often went there, with Allan claiming they were gathering intel, but they often returning half drunk and in high spirits, with little by the way of actual information. 

“I would,” he said; it was indeed a day of firsts. “Thank you.”  

Eve rushed through the forest and towards the camp as quickly as she could, finding most of the gang chatting around the fire. Tuck was administering to the populace of Treeton, accompanied by Much, and Allan and Will were out on patrol, but the others were all there.

"What's the rush Eve?" Robin asked with a laugh.

"I have come from Locksley," she told him as she caught her breath. "From the house of Ralf – you know, the tailor?"

"Is everything alright?" Robin rose immediately, his levity gone. "They have a new baby."

"The baby is fine - it is his mother in law, Margery," Eve explained. "She is deathly ill, and has asked to see you."

"Of course," Robin nodded. "I'll go now – Djaq you should come, you may be able to help."

Marian rose, looking concerned. "I'll come too."

"No!" Robin cut her off a bit too strongly. He cleared his throat. "No,” he said again, this time more calmly. "Only Djaq and I should go," he added, "the more we are the greater the chance of being discovered."

Marian was clearly unable to come up with a counter-argument, or perhaps unwilling to delay their departure, and sat back down. "Very well," she said, although her displeasure was clear.

Robin and Djaq quickly gathered some food and medical supplies and set off for Locksley. Eve saw Marian's gaze follow them, and did not move even after they had disappeared into the trees. Carter and John took no notice when Marian excused herself some time later, gathered a small pack and set off herself in the opposite direction from Locksley. Eve noted that she did not take her horse.

A natural spy, she followed Marian through the woods, perhaps out of boredom, perhaps out of curiosity. Marian walked and Eve followed for some time before the trees parted, revealing a wide river. At its apex was a sheer cliff face with streams of clear water cascading onto the pool below. The light was feeble through the trees lining either side of the river, but enough cut through to reflect off the water and dance upon the rock. It was beautiful.

Marian took a deep breath and removed her bow and quiver, placing it on the bank of the river. Then she removed her scabbard, boots and socks.

"A little cold for a swim, Milday," Eve moved from her hiding place and into the light. Marian whipped around, eyes narrowed at the intrusion.

"Eve," she greeted her a little stiffly. "What are you doing here?"

Eve shrugged and smiled coyly. "I was just curious where you were off to."

Marin looked suspicious. "Robin didn't send you then?"

Eve laughed heartily. "I wouldn't let Robin send me anywhere," she said. "I am here for my husband – I do not take orders from Robin." She apprised Marian thoughtfully. "I do find it curious that you think he would get me to spy on you."

Marian looked away, towards the river. "I would not have been surprised."

So all was not well between the lovers. "He is your husband, is he not?" she pressed. "Why would he do such a thing?"

Marian did not turn around, and Eve could not see her face. But her shoulders tensed and Eve could tell that she had struck a nerve. She should not press further, but extracting information was one of her greatest skills and she never passed up the opportunity. 

But before she could respond, Marian turned back around, her face impassive as if the earlier exchange had not occurred. "I came here to bathe," she said simply. "That's all."

Eve looked pointedly at the river. "The water will be freezing."

"I do not mind the cold," Marian replied. "I would prefer to be clean."

Marian clearly expected her to leave, but Eve did not intend to do so. Now that she considered it, living in the outlaw's camp did have its disadvantages and she was acutely aware of the layer of grime that had collected on her person in her short time in the forest.

"It is perhaps our last chance before the river freezes over," Eve agreed and moved towards Marian. "Let me help you," she said, unbuckling the shoulder clasp on Marian's cloak.

Marian stepped back as if struck. "I would prefer to be alone."

"You forget Milady, I was once a house maid," Eve told her, finding her discomfort somewhat amusing.

"You are not anymore," Marian countered. "And please call me Marian – there are no titles in the forest."

"If that is true you cannot send me away," she replied slyly. "Please, it would be good to have some female company again – Marian."

Eve was pleased that she appeared to have applied to appropriate pressure, and Marian agreed without another word, turning away and removing her cloak, woollen tunic and breeches. She left on the long undergarments beneath her clothes, and Eve smiled inwardly at her modesty. She was quite comfortable with nudity herself - peasants were less particular about such things.

Eve removed her own boots, cloak and dress, but on getting closer to the water's edge, decided to leave on her chemise. Marian had slid into the water without a gasp of discomfort, but Eve was wary – there was already frost forming along the banks and she didn't want to catch her death. She dipped her toe into the river and immediately withdrew it – the water was freezing!

It was Marian's turn to smile at Eve's discomfort. She was deep into the river, treading water with ease as she arched one eyebrow.

"You'll never get clean up on the bank, Eve," Marian teased her, the earliest wariness melting away.

Eve steeled herself – she had grown up in freezing servant's quarters without any of the comforts the Lady Marian must have had. If the Sheriff's daughter whose home had always had fires burning bright in the hearth and a warming pan in her bed could do it, then Eve could do it too. But she decided to build a fire first, on the bank, so they could warm themselves immediately after bathing.

Eventually, she could delay no longer. She held her breath and jumped into the river, causing such a splash that Marian had to duck out of the way. Cold, so very cold – Eve felt as if the water was freezing the blood in her veins and constricting her chest. She fought her way to the surface, spluttering and trying not to drown. After a few moments she found her rhythm, moving her arms and legs alternately to keep herself afloat. Eve found that this warmed her slightly – in fact, the cold water felt rather refreshing.

Marian had swum back to the shallow pool near the bank so that she did not need to tread water to stay afloat. Eve moved closer to her, finding the mud beneath her feet.

"Here," Marian offered, holding out half a bar of soap, and Eve took it gratefully, lathering it between her hands and began to wash her hair.

"You don't like me much, do you Eve?" Marian said conversationally, as she used the other half of the soap.

"What makes you say that?" Eve asked, even though it was partly true.

"I can tell," Marian replied in the same conversational tone, and Eve could see that she was not offended. "I never really had any female friends growing up, I didn't know how to act around them.”

She gave Eve with a self-conscious smile. "I never had any friends, really," she added softly. "Except for Robin."

That surprised Eve greatly – Marian had always seemed very popular, although she had only observed her from afar, and as an adult. The first time she had ever really been near her was when she had visited Much at Bonchurch and urged him to betray her to the Sheriff. She had been right, of course, but it still wounded Eve's pride a bit.

"And was he as obnoxious as a boy as he is now?" Eve asked lightly.

"Maybe more," Marian laughed. She ducked her head below the water to rinse her hair and when she resurfaced she was somewhat sombre.

"He was a good friend though," she added quietly, attention on wringing the remaining soap from her hair. "He never cared that I wanted to climb trees or ride horses or practice shooting a bow. We used to go on so many adventures together." She looked up at the waterfall which loomed at the apex of the river and smiled sadly. "We found this place together."

Eve was ashamed at her earlier attempts to prise information from Marian – it had been somewhat of a game for her, to discover the secrets of the high and mighty lady. Now Eve saw that there was as much sadness in her heart as Eve herself carried – the disparity between their ranks made no difference in that regard.

They finished bathing in a companionable silence, but it did not escape Eve's notice that Marian scrubbed her face a little too hard, her cheeks red as she withdrew to the bank and pulled a blanket from her pack, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. Eve gave her hair a final rinse and joined her, surprised to see that Marian had lain out a second blanket for her.

"I usually bring a spare to sit on," she explained with a tentative smile.

"Thank you," Eve replied as she gratefully drew the blanket around her and sat down next to the fire, warming her hands.

Marian's mood seemed to have brightened, perhaps kindled from the warm glow of the flames. "Much used to build a fire for us," she said to Eve. "In the summer we would go swimming – it's beautiful here when it is warm, you can swim all day,” she continued with a bright smile, looking over again towards the waterfall.

"Robin and I would shoot our arrows at fish to see who could catch the most – and then Much would cook them for us on the fire. We would stay out late into the evening and tell stories. My father would yell at me when we got back, but I didn't care. I didn't have to care about anything back then." She poked the fire with a stick, lost in her memories.

"Much is a good man," Marian added finally, and her gaze rose to meet Eve's. "I understand you know that, but I know it too – even if in the past it hasn't seemed like it."

Eve was touched. "Thank you Marian," she smiled at her across the fire, for her words as well as her honesty, and they sat in silence for some time.

"What was it like?" Eve asked eventually, after working up the courage to ask.

"What?" Marian's expression became guarded.

"Dying." Eve bit her lip, almost regretting asking, but curiosity getting the better of her once again. "Or nearly dying," she clarified, "whatever happened to you."

Marian stared into the fire for a few long moments, drawing the blanket tightly around her shoulders. "It was painful," she said eventually. "Not in the way you would think, but I saw my life, saw all that I had done, good and bad, my victories and..." she closed her eyes, "all of my mistakes. It hurt."

"I'm sorry," Eve apologised, struck by her distress. "I should not have asked."

"It's alright," Marin said back, and lifted her gaze, bright with unshed tears. "I've been trying for so long to forget about it, but maybe I shouldn't. It was dark for so long – like a lifetime," she added. "I thought that I would never see the sun again." Marian looked up at the sky, the bright orb high above them now, although partly obscured by cloud.

"Is that why you no longer believe in God, my Lady?" Eve asked tentatively.

Marian looked taken aback. "What makes you say that?"

Eve shrugged. "Just the way it seems – and how you are with Tuck."

"He thinks I have some great purpose," Marian said derisively. "And that it why I survived."

"And you do not?" 

Marian sighed deeply, but finally smiled, pulling on her boots and putting out the remains of the fire. "If I do, I would rather not know about it."

Locksley

Djaq followed Robin swiftly through the village, and threw a wary glance at the manor house. There were guards on the porch – Gisborne was home, which meant they must not be seen. They should not even be there.

"Robin we should not stay long," she whispered as they reached the door of the tailor's hut, drawing her hood further over her face. Robin nodded curtly in agreement and knocked on the door. After a few moments Ralf appeared, his face drawn.

"Master Robin," he said with relief. "Djaq, thank you for coming, I am sorry to ask, but…"

"It's alright, Ralf," Robin clapped the man on the shoulder as they entered the house. In the back room the old woman lay on a single bed with only a thin blanket. She looked very ill indeed – tossing fitfully in her sleep, a sheen of sweat covering her face and neck. Lucy, her daughter and the tailor's wife sat on the far side, holding her mother's hand. She looked up as they entered and began to cry with joy.

"Oh, Master Robin," she said through her tears. "It is mother. She has been ill before and always come through it, but this morning she started to fade. It happened so quickly."

Robin knelt down beside the bed and stroked the old woman on the cheek, waking her gently. "Hello Margery," he said, smiling down at her.

"Master Robin." Margery's breathing was laboured, and she spoke with a deep rasp which indicated an infection in her throat – perhaps her lungs. But she looked up at Robin with such joy. "You are here. You used to – used to visit me when you were a boy, do you remember?"

"Of course I do," Robin assured her. "You let me play under your washing line."

"Yes," Margery nodded. "I used to kiss your cheeks, and you would laugh…and you would laugh," she repeated, seeming to have trouble focusing on the words. "I just…wanted to see you." She began to cough, a violent, hacking sound, and Robin indicated for Djaq to come closer as he stood to make room for her.

"Please just relax," Djaq told the old woman as she examined her. The first thing she noticed was the fever, far too high, but it was the sound of her cough and her glassy eyes that confirmed Djaq's suspicions. She was deteriorating quickly, and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

"I am so sorry," she told Lucy with regret. "The fever has caught her - there is nothing more we can do, except make her comfortable."

The hope faded from Lucy's face as she began to sob in earnest.

"Djaq," Robin motioned her to the other side of the room, where they could speak without the family overhearing. "Are you sure?" 

"She is too far gone," she explained. "If she were younger, or stronger she may have a chance." Djaq looked over to the old woman in sadness. "But I'm afraid her body is simply too weak to fight it off. Not in this cold weather."

Robin's jaw clenched noticeably. "What about the medicine we stole from Blight?" he asked after a few moments.

"I would prefer not to use an elixir of which I have no knowledge," Djaq told him. "I do not have the equipment to analyse it properly, and Eve has been unable to uncover any intelligence about its use. We do not know what disease it is meant to treat, or the dosage, or if it is even medicine at all. It could make things worse.”

"But what harm can it do now?" Robin argued, his gaze returning to the sickbed.

"I'm sorry, Robin," Djaq told him with a heavy heart. "I am truly sorry, but it is too late. It is better to keep working on finding out the purpose of the medicine so that we can use it in the future."

Robin gave her a hard look, but she kept her resolve. Djaq had administered to many in the field of battle, and she knew the importance of withholding supplies so that they could be used to treat those who may actually survive, not a last ditch effort to ease one's own conscience about those who were sure to die anyway. She knew that Robin must have made similar decisions before, and that they must not sit well with him. Djaq didn't like it either, but she firmly believed that numbers were important – that overall you saved more than you didn’t. Her suspicions were also that it was not medicine at all, but a concoction to give an anxious patient so they believed it was doing some good when in truth it was nothing but herbs and water. 

The old woman cried out, and immediately Robin went to her side, kneeling by the bed and taking her hand in both of his. Her breathing was shallow and fast, her gaze unfocused as she began to slip away. Lucy was sobbing uncontrollably; her face pressed against her mother's other hand on the bed while Ralf held her.

"Sleep now, sweet lady," Robin whispered, stroking the back of Margery's hand.

The old woman, wheezing, turned her gaze towards Robin and with visible effort, her lips puckered ever so slightly. Robin smiled and granted her final, unspoken request. Squeezing her hand, he bent down and kissed the last breath from her lips.

Lucy began to wail, pressing her face against the blanket and staining them with her tears. Robin crossed himself and appeared to say a short prayer.

After a few moments, Ralf looked up, grieved but grateful. "Thank you, Master Robin," he said. "For coming."

"I'm sorry I could not do more," Robin said, his voice catching. "If you had needed more food-"

"There are plenty in need, and we have the new baby" he replied. "My wife's mother knew that – she was a generous woman."

"Your son," Robin asked. "Is he alright? You must keep him away from the sickness."

Ralf nodded. "My sister is looking after him." 

"We'll send through some extra food to keep him strong.”

"Robin." Djaq placed a hand on Robin's shoulder. "We should not linger."

They departed without a further word, and did not speak on the way back to camp. In fact, Robin did not speak for the rest of the evening, but retreated behind a wall of stony silence and left her to make the explanations. Tuck disappeared almost immediately to visit the family and Djaq could see that Marian had wanted to accompany him, but Robin continued to stare off into what seemed like the abyss. Djaq watched Marian watch Robin, and neither of them missed the tremble that had developed in his right hand, indicating that he was close to the edge.

Marian took a seat beside Robin and took his hand, clasping it in both of hers until the trembling subsided, although his stare could not be broken. The others somberly prepared the evening meal, and Djaq was happy to see that Carter and Allan seemed to be getting along rather well, joking with each other quietly at the larder.

At sunset, Djaq escaped the confines of camp to perform maghrib in private. She unrolled her prayer mat onto the ground and poured water into a small bowl, cleaning her hands and face carefully. As she was doing so, she saw Tuck appear in her peripheral vision, apparently having just returned from Locksley.

"Can I pray with you, mistress Djaq?" he asked.

She turned and gave him a wry smile. "Only if you intend to pray to Allah."

Djaq had resigned herself to Tuck's presence and had decided to be amused, rather than threatened by him. Oh, she was still watching him carefully, yet to decide if he could be trusted.

"I do not," Tuck replied lightly. "I intend to pray to my own Lord, and I sense you would not wish me to do so in your presence."

Djaq inclined her head in agreement and began her prayers. Tuck did not leave, but instead waited until she had finished, settling himself down against the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Perhaps one day you will allow me to pray with you," Tuck said while she rolled up her prayer mat.

She did not reply, but sensing that he wanted to talk, Djaq knelt in the dried leaves and looked at him expectantly.

"About what happened in Locksley today," Tuck said. "Robin Hood seems to be deeply upset."

Djaq fought the urge to roll her eyes at the insight – even a blind man could have guessed Robin's distress. "It is very sad," she told him. "But Robin should prepare himself for more of the same – winter is almost upon us, and the old, the young and the infirm are always at risk." Djaq was not unsympathetic, but she had come to know the realities of an English winter.

"Robin Hood is angry with himself most of all, I believe," Tuck shared with her. "He and his men did not prepare properly for the season, and now they cannot help all that they wish to."

Djaq had suspected the same, of course. Their stores were low – too low now that the crops would not yield food for several months, and there was little in the forest by way of game. The outlaws should have been spending most of the autumn building up their supplies so they could distribute to the villages once the cold hit, and whilst the effort had been made, there had been no organisation, no strategy as there had been in previous years. Djaq had already discussed this very point with Little John, who had reluctantly admitted that Robin had all but been a ghost the past year. Without his bow and leadership, there had been fewer supplies than satisfactory.

"I have come to ask for guidance about how to help him," Tuck added.

"Perhaps you should leave that to Marian," Djaq said lightly. "Sometimes she is the only one who can reach him."

"So I have observed," Tuck nodded. "But I think I will ask, anyway."

Djaq stood, "Then I will leave you to your prayers." She had no intention of listening to them.

Locksley Manor

It was dark in Guy's bedroom, but he liked the dark. It surrounded him, enveloped him, made him strong. He had to light a candle to work at his desk, but the fire in the hearth remained unlit. He had never been troubled by the cold.

What he had been having trouble with was composing a letter to Prince John. He had been working on it for over an hour, rephrasing every sentence as soon as we wrote it. The floor was littered with the discarded drafts which weren't quite right; it had to be perfect, for he only had once chance at this.

Guy read over what he hoped was the final version.

Sire,

I pray for your Highnesses' good health and trust this letter finds you well.

I wish to express my concern regarding Sheriff Vaisey. As you would have heard, he has allowed Robin Hood to make a strike against us with no retaliation. I fear that Hood has grown far too bold, and the people no longer respect the Sheriff's authority.

I seek your orders to take care of the Hood problem once and for all, and I swear that if so instructed I will not fail you.

God bless you, my king.

Sir Guy of Gisborne

It was short, but to the point. Guy thought that Prince John would like that. Vaisey may have dismissed Guy's suggestion that brute force was required to deal with Hood and have his own plans, but all Guy needed was Prince John's authority. Then Vaisey and his schemes would not matter.

Guy rang the servant's bell, and sealed the letter with wax in the time it took for Thornton to appear at the door.

"Please arrange a messenger, Thornton," he told him, holding the letter out. "Someone you can trust to deliver it directly into the hands of Prince John."

"Yes, my Lord," Thornton and reached for the letter, but Guy did not immediately let go. If anyone was to discover the contents of the letter, then it would all be for nought.

"Can I trust you, Thornton?" He looked at the older man directly in the eyes.

"Yes, my Lord," Thornton repeated. Satisfied, Guy let go of the letter.

He only hoped that it had the desired effect.

Chapter Text

Great Hall, Nottingham Castle

Guy took a generous gulp of his wine and shrewdly watched the other men at the table. Vaisey was unusually uneasy, grimacing as he used a dagger to saw into his meat. The source of his displeasure sat across the table, clearly aware of the Sheriff's irritation as he smirked into his own goblet of wine. Sir Jasper had arrived, unannounced, earlier that day - ostensibly on his regular inspection - and yet he had not bothered to obtain Vaisey's seal and had seemed disinterested in the entire process. As a consequence the three men ate the evening meal in relative silence.

"You're a bit late this month, Sir Jasper," Vaisey said with false levity. "I was starting to think you weren't coming.”

"I do have other duties than ensuring the safety of your person, Vaisey," Jasper quipped between mouthfuls of chicken leg.

Guy watched the interaction with interest. Jasper had not acknowledged or addressed him, and Guy supposed that a direct message from Prince John was too much to ask for. Still, perhaps his actions were the message. Prince John himself had alluded to Guy that he would retract his promise to raze Nottingham on the event of Vaisey's death if he so wished, and now Jasper was late checking in with the state of the county. Could that mean that Vaisey had truly fallen from favour?

"Prince John has requested that you return with me to London," Jasper said as he finished his meal, wiping his hands on a cloth his manservant provided to him. "We will leave in the morning."

"What?" Vaisey asked, clearly surprised.

Jasper sighed with irritation. "I do not question Prince John's orders, Vaisey, and neither should you," he said. "I imagine he wants to hear firsthand about the situation here."

Vaisey's mouth twisted unpleasantly. "There is no situation."

"Well tell Prince John that yourself," Jasper snapped. "Be ready to leave at dawn," he added and stood to leave. As he did so, he caught Guy's eye – it was only for a moment and the movement almost imperceptible, but Guy thought he saw Jasper nod to him before turning and leaving the room.

Guy looked to Vaisey and was relieved to see that he had not appeared to notice anything. The Sheriff was fuming inwardly, muttering to himself for a few moments before calling for his servant and leaving the room himself.

This is it, Guy thought to himself. Vaisey was going to London because Prince John was giving him the chance to prove himself. And he did not intend to disappoint.

There was fire, so he must be in hell.

And yet it was not hell itself – just as close as was to be found on Earth. He was in the battlefields of the Holy Land, except the battles did not take place in fields, but in villages and towns across Palestine, in the homes of the innocent, in their town squares and libraries and mosques. The road to Jerusalem was long, and paved with the blood God's children.

The army had set fire to the town to force the Turks out of hiding, but all he could see were women and children fleeing their homes. They carried what they could, and escaped into the hills. Through the smoke he could see some of them being chased and cut down by crusaders. Not his men, thankfully, at least not the men under his command. Technically they were his men – Englishmen - those who fought under the banner of the Lionheart. But Robin could not stop the attack on civilians, because the enemy soldiers began to charge.

The sword became an extension of his arm as Robin ran through his opponents, one after the other. Once he had found pride in his skill, now there was only shame as he ended life after life. Later, he would pray for their souls and hope that they had been released into the waiting embrace of their God, but in the moment he could only think of the most effective killing stroke. Blood stained the white of his Templar robes but he did not notice, nor did he see the fallen littered around him in bits, the homes of the innocent that turned to embers, or the fear in Much's eyes as he saw what his Master had become. That is, until it was over, and then Robin saw all too clearly.

He thought that there must be much evil in a man who would come to a sacred land and cause such destruction. But Robin loved his King, so he hated himself instead. And there was so much to loathe in the selfish, headstrong boy who had chased glory but found only devastation.

He looked at himself through the eyes of his enemy, the eyes of his victims, and saw a monster. He was not a soldier of God, seeking to reclaim His holy places – he was a tool of demons, who sought bloodshed and war where there should be peace and brotherhood.

And knowing this, he still fought, because there was nothing else he could do. They said that God had given him a gift with the bow and the sword, but Robin knew that it was a shameful curse. He was too good at killing, too efficient, too useful. He would never be allowed to return home to the green rolling hills of England – he would remain forever in the dry sands of the Holy Land that had become anything but, locked in an endless cycle of death and fire, never to escape.

Marian had arisen earlier than usual, as it was her turn to prepare breakfast. Still half-asleep, she stirred the porridge and waited for it to thicken when her attention was drawn back to the bunk she shared with Robin. He slept fitfully, his breathing ragged as he tossed and turned, causing the blanket to twist around his body in a coil.

Unable to remain passive any longer, Marian crossed the camp and sat on the bunk next to Robin's sleeping form. There was a firm crease between his eyes, and Marian noticed that his hair was damp with sweat. She lay a hand against his chest and rubbed gently, trying to soothe him and chase away the nightmares that had plagued his sleep the past few nights.

His firm grasp closed around her wrist and he awoke with a start, his eyes like two glass slits. Her involuntary shiver had nothing to do with the frosty morning.

"Robin," she said gently. "It is me, Marian." She knew that sometimes his dreams were so strong that he still thought himself in the Holy Land when he awoke, and it took him a few moments to recognise her.

His grip slackened on her wrist as he came back to himself, his gaze softening. Marian leaned in and stroked his face gently, whispering soothing words and was gladdened when his breathing slowed. But his cheek felt unusually warm, and Marian pressed a palm to his forehead – it was hot to the touch.

"Robin, are you alright?" she asked gently.

"I'm fine," he answered with a slight rasp. "Now that you are here." He tried to smile, but failed.

"Are you unwell?" she pressed. "You are very warm."

"It was my dreams – there was a fire," he said somewhat inarticulately. He never said much about what he saw in his sleep, and Marian accepted that it was because he did not want to relive it.

"Alright." Marian wasn't convinced, but did not see a reason to press the issue. A slight fever or sickness was not uncommon in the outlaw's camp in wintertime, and she herself had once brought them broth and medicine when one of their number were ailing. The outlaws were healthy and strong, and illness always passed without any real danger.

She made to sit up and return to making breakfast, but Robin grabbed her wrist again, this time more gently. "Please," he said plaintively, "don't leave me."

It was not like Robin to ask, he was usually more creative with his words, but Marian could see that his dream had unsettled him. Her heart ached at his vulnerability and the sadness that was clear upon his face.

So she settled herself down in the bunk beside him, his arms immediately winding around her waist, his head pillowed against her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair, kissing his warm forehead and wishing that she could take his burdens away, or at least make him understand that he did not need to carry them alone.

The porridge in the breakfast pot began to burn, but she didn't notice nor care.

Locksley

Thornton scurried through the Manor with purpose, talking briskly with Sally the cook about the food order and the upbraiding the housemaids for their lack of attention to the linens. Sir Guy had given him very strict instructions about the intended event, and only two days to plan it. Apparently Sir Guy was to be acting Sheriff whilst Vaisey was in London, and so he wanted to hold a celebration at Locksley Manor to reward the loyalty of the local Lords and, Thornton supposed, curry favour with them. He was not blind to his Master's ambitions, and could only support them any way he was asked.

He had arranged for the delivery of Sir Guy's letter as he'd promised, even though there had been a part of him that had wanted to go into Sherwood, to find Robin and give the missive to him. It was what any other servant in Sir Guy's employ would have done, but no other servant was Steward of Locksley Manor. Thornton had served the lord of Locksley for his entire life, and while he would always consider Robin his Master, by law Locksley was Gisborne's now, and Thornton sworn to obey him.

With purpose he went outside to survey the Manor grounds – there were too many guests to house them inside, and so long tables and chairs had needed to be sourced from Nottingham. But it was not the time of year for an outside event, and Thornton noted that they would need multiple braziers to keep the guests warm. He would also need to get the pit for the spit roast dug the night before, and pray that it didn't rain.

Thornton began to approach a group of Locksley peasants gathered at the edge of the Manor grounds and give them explicit instructions regarding Sir Guy's expectations, but as he approached, noticed an interloper in the group. The young blonde woman was not from Locksley, her shrewd eyes taking in the preparations as she talked animatedly with the others who had gathered around her.

Thornton advanced quickly and grabbed the woman's hand, causing the others to scatter like pigeons.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, recognising her face despite the hood she wore. It was Eve, who once worked at the Bonchurch estate. Thornton recalled that she'd fled after Robin's manservant had been placed there by the Sheriff, and the rumour was that she was now working with the outlaws.

"Is it against the law to catch up with old friends?" Eve responded tartly. Thornton bristled, unused to such disrespect from a serf.

"Gisborne planning a party, is he?" she asked when Thornton did not respond, a sardonic smile on her face. "What for?"

"I will tell you nothing," Thornton said firmly. "I should take you to Master Guy," he added, his grip tightening on her wrist but she made no move to escape. Even as he said the words Thornton realised that he could do no such thing – he could not be responsible for the capture of one of Robin's disciples. He released his grip on Eve's wrist and turned away.

"Go," he said firmly. "I did not see you."

Eve narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. "You will allow me to leave, but will you not help me?" she said. "Tell me what Gisborne is planning so I can tell Robin."

"I cannot," Thornton answered, turning away. "I will not."

"No servant can serve two masters equally, Thornton," she said as he walked away. "And you are a fool if you think you can."

Thornton did his best to ignore her, and retreated into the Manor.

Outlaw's Camp

Eve fidgeted in her seat by the fire as Robin started up on one of his speeches. She had of course informed them all of the intelligence she'd gathered in Locksley. From what she'd heard from the women in the village, it was to be quite a lavish affair, which was what had set Robin off into a rant.

"The people of Locksley are close to starving," Robin was saying as he paced around the camp, refusing to sit down or eat the stew Allan had prepared. Eve was not eating either, but that was because Allan was a terrible cook. She had offered to take over all of the cooking duties for the camp, but Much had talked her out of it. Apparently the cooking roster had been something of a victory for him, and Eve, while bemused, had relented.

"There has been one death already in Locksley," Robin continued, "the people need all of the food they can spare for their families, and Gisborne demands that they go without so he can feed the fatuous Council of Nobles? It is not to be borne!"

"Robin," Marian spoke up – perhaps the only one who dared interrupt Robin in one of his moods. "We do not know that he is taking food from the people of Locksley."

"How else could he manage it in such hard times?" Robin countered. "It is shameful," he added angrily. "Men are made high by God so that they can protect those weaker. Not seek to rise higher by exploiting them!"

He continued in the same vein for a while, and Eve fought the urge to roll her eyes. Much was at her side, her hand grasped in his, but he looked up at Robin with concern. He had shared with her long ago his fears for Robin's mental state - scarred from the war, Much had told her, that the slightest injustice angered his very soul. Eve had questioned him, as Much had also been to war, and seen all the horrors Robin had. Much had surmised that whilst he had his own demons, he fought them off better than Robin did, for he did not carry Robin's guilt – he had been a soldier following orders of his Captain and King. Robin was the reason they had gone in the first place, and he was responsible for the lives of the men he had led into battle, and lost there. Much had also spent many hours in Eve's arms, sharing with her those burdens of his heart, where Robin carried his alone, as penance.

Eve looked over at Marian, who seemed to wear the same worried expression as Much. Nervous fingers played with the frayed hem of the scarf she wore, and she seemed to be trying to find an opening in Robin's ranting to break in and calm him down. But Much and Marian seemed to be the only ones worried. Little John and Will were watching intently and nodding every now and then in agreement, Djaq was grinding herbs in her pestle and mortar and only half listening, Carter was diligently polishing his sword without concern, Allan was shovelling stew into his mouth, and the Hospitaller Tuck was watching all of them intently in the unnerving, unblinking way he had.

Eve sighed, unwilling to listen to any more of Robin's theatrics. "I think we get the picture," she cut in loudly. "Gisborne is a terrible person. Now what are we going to do about it?"

Robin stopped pacing, and looked down at her, a firm crease between his eyes. There was silence for a few moments, and then his seriousness dissolved into a grin.

"What kind of party is it without Robin Hood and his gang?" he asked. "We'll just have to make an appearance."

The groundwork for their plans were quickly made, and they had each been given duties for the next day to carry out preparations. Marian waited until all of the others had gone to bed to approach Robin directly. He still stood by the fire, and his melancholy had seemed to return as he stared intently into the flames.

They had made their plans together, and Marian had half-expected him to protest her involvement, to request that she stay at the camp. But he had not, even though she had watched him closely when deciding upon her role in the ambush and the twitch in his jaw had not gone unnoticed.

Marian approached him by the fire. "You don't want me to go, do you?" she questioned him but without accusation.

"No." His voice was clipped, and he did not look at her. For some reason, it made her smile.

"Your restraint is admirable," she told him with good humour.

Robin sighed. "Is it."

"Or is it resignation?" 

"I am unhappy about the situation," he said bitterly, turning to her. "That should make you happy, at least."

She laughed at his pout, and poked him playfully in the side. "Don't be so grumpy."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he was clearly having trouble maintaining his frown. "Please be careful," he asked. "And keep your hood up."

Marian put her arms around his neck and kissed him – his lips were warm from the heat from the fire. "I promise."

Locksley

Marian pulled her hood tighter over her head, and adjusted the scarf around her nose and mouth. It reminded her of the Nightwatchman's costume, and she wore it easily. She glanced over at Allan and Djaq at her side and whilst they were similarly attired, they looked less comfortable. Allan, especially, did not seem to like having the cloth around his face, and Marian wondered if it reminded him of the hangman's hood.

It had been Robin's idea, and a good one, for everyone except him to wear masks and hoods, so that Marian would not distinguish herself by her attire. It kept the information of their return secret as well as gave them the illusion of numbers – or at least that was the desired effect.

But Marian's focus was on the task at hand – they were hidden behind the thatcher’s cottage, not far from the boundaries of Locksley Manor where the festivities were in full swing. There was music and laughter, the local nobility out in their finery and furs, warming their hands by the fires and chatting amicably. An entire pig was roasting on the spit, and there were breads, cheeses and roasted game on the long wooden tables which bridged the property.

And in the centre of it all was Guy of Gisborne, seated in the Sheriff's chair that he must have had brought from Nottingham. He looked exceedingly smug as his guests flattered and praised him, and Marian felt a bitter taste in her mouth. Robin had been right – it was shameful – and she could not help but be disappointed.

As if sensing her thoughts, Djaq placed a stilling hand on her arm. "Wait for the signal, Marian,” she reminded her softly.

Marian nodded and looked back towards the Manor. Little John and Will were likely already in position on either side of the house, Carter and Tuck behind the barn to the east, and Much in the trees to the west. Only Eve had not accompanied them, saying that she had done her part by gathering the information, and that she was no warrior. She was right, of course, not having the training that she or Djaq did, and Much had seemed especially relieved.

Marian notched an arrow in her bow in preparation, and looked towards the Manor for the signal. It came only a few moments later, as a figure appeared on the roof of the house, silhouetted by the afternoon sun.

As quick as lightening, Robin sent a rain of arrows down into the gathering, causing the guests to scream and look around for their assailant. His shots had been perfect and not hit a soul, but lodged themselves in the long table and the arms of Guy's chair. He rose, roaring in anger and searching for Robin.

"Look up, you swine!" Robin called down from his perch on the roof with bravado as he aimed an arrow directly at Guy's head. "Look up from your gluttony, from your feast prepared with the lives of the poor."

"Hood!" Guy seethed with rage and drew his sword.

That was their cue – the gang all revealed themselves, weapons drawn and closing in on the Manor grounds to pen in the guests and keep them from escaping. There were several shrieks of panic from the ladies, and loud protests from the men.

"You think yourselves so high," Robin continued. "You are nothing without those from whom you demand fealty, and yet here you gorge yourselves while they starve. My men and I say no more. We demand recompense."

Guy looked around wildly, probably searching for his guards. But Will and Little John would have taken care of them before Robin moved himself into position – Guy was on his own.

"Leave your purses and jewellery on the table," Robin continued. "And my men will allow you to leave unharmed."

"Do it," Guy snarled to his guests, lowering his sword slightly but still in a defensive position. One by one the nobles cast off their finery, some grumbling, some crying, but all complying. Their task was then to check each person as they passed to ensure they had nothing left, or worse, tried to attack them. Still, a feeling of dread settled in the bottom of Marian's stomach at the ease of it all. They had planned meticulously, but something did not seem right.

And sure enough, while Marian and the others were distracted with checking the guests and allowing them to leave, Guy called out, clearly and forcefully; "Now!"

Marian gasped as two dozen guards in the Gisborne livery charged out of the Manor, swords drawn. She pushed aside the noble she had been checking and ran into the grounds, Djaq and Allan on her heels. She let fly an arrow and hit a guard in the leg, before casting aside her bow and drawing her scimitar. It was the first occasion she'd had to use it in battle, and found that it served her well.

It was fluid in the air, following her commands as no sword had ever done, and yet they were vastly outnumbered. She was vaguely aware of Robin vaulting off the roof and into the fray, fighting his way over to her. They fought back to back momentarily, Robin calling out orders to her and the others.

But then Marian saw Guy locked in combat with Will by the steps of the Manor. Will was a good fighter, but his axe was not suited to battle against a sword. Fear mixed with adrenaline made her surge across the grounds and towards them.

She heard Robin yell hoarsely from behind for her, although he stopped himself from using her name. Marian didn't care, Will was in trouble, and she had a score to settle with Guy – it seemed right to meet him this way again, only this time she had her sword to protect her.

Will fell to the ground, scrambling backwards, clutching his arm where he'd been nicked as Guy advanced on him. Marian put herself bodily between them, the tip of her sword pointed at Guy, urging him to fight her. She didn't dare meet his eyes in case he recognised her, and so kept her focus on their crossed swords. It was exhilarating to fight him again, and Marian parried and thrust, knowing how to use his size against him. He grew frustrated and snarled, putting full weight behind his next swing and their blades clashed violently. Marian faltered a little under the force of it, but held firm.

What she didn't notice was Little John behind Guy, swinging his staff purposefully to catch him on the back of his head. Guy crumpled to the floor, passed out, and Marian almost felt disappointed. She looked at Guy's unconscious form in the dirt and heard Little John's warning – "Watch out!" a split-second too late. Someone had grabbed her from behind and pressed a knife to her throat. Marian struggled but her captor was strong, pinning her arms so that she could not swing her sword around.

Marian regained her footing and prepared herself to throw him over her head when the grip around her slacked. She heard a garbling sound and felt warm blood gush onto her shoulder and through her hair. She stepped away and turned, seeing Robin breathing heavily behind her, a bloody dagger in his hand. She glanced around and saw that they had been successful, with most of the guards still alive, but unconscious or in pain on the ground. Her captor, a burly guard she thought she recognised from her days in Nottingham Castle, lay dead at her feet.

Robin looked down at his victim, and then back up at her, his expression clouded. She noticed that his right sleeve had somehow been torn off at the shoulder, where there was an open wound. Marian wanted to step forward and take him in her arms, to comfort him in his distress at the life he had taken, but was acutely aware it was not the time. Robin seemed to realise this, because he sheathed his dagger and shook off his malaise.

"Grab your weapons," he ordered as he stalked across the grounds to retrieve his sword and bow. "And get as much to that," he pointed to the tables, littered with purses and jewels; "as you can carry, quickly," he added. "Let's get out of here."

Marian obeyed, glancing back momentarily at Guy, still unconscious in the grass, before following the other outlaws back into the forest.

Sherwood Forest

He felt hot, his head pounding in the aftermath of the battle. Robin had let the gang move on back to the camp, needing a few moments to himself, and no one had questioned him. Now he was alone with his forest, Robin allowed himself to lean against the trunk of a nearby oak, resting his eyes for a moment.

He had been so tired lately, and told himself it was a simple cold, nothing that could not be overcome within a few days. Perhaps he’d caught it from Margery, but she’d been old and weak, Robin would never expect such an illness to affect him unduly.

And yet it was lingering, his breath often short and a strange tingling in his lungs that caused him to cough occasionally – although he had hidden that from Marian. Perhaps he had a fever, perhaps it was the sickness addling his mind, but Robin knew he had to do something about Marian.

He had tried to do as she wanted, to allow her to accompany them on the mission. It had gone well at first, but then she had abandoned his side during the middle of battle and had not listened to his calls. Worse still, she had confronted Gisborne, and when Robin had tried to follow her he'd been distracted, allowing one of the guards to stab him in the shoulder. It had been a graze, catching more material than skin, but it had been enough to make him drop his sword, allowing the man to wrestle Robin to the ground. His sleeve had been torn off in the process, and while he had managed to land a well-placed punch which knocked the man out, it had unsettled him.

And then he had seen Marian fighting Guy and it was if he was back in Acre. He'd scrambled to his feet, but John got there first, dispatching Gisborne. Robin hadn't been able to keep his mind on the battle, on his other men, he was so fixated on Marian, who had been attacked by another. It had all been too much for him – the clash of swords, the smell of blood in the air, the cries of battle – Robin had forgotten his promise to himself not to kill anyone that day, and without thinking had plunged his dagger into the man's back. He had not been a Captain, a leader, or Robin Hood that day – his only thought and actions had been for Marian, and he knew such an attitude was dangerous.

He had seen the man he would become if she died – a ghost, an empty shell incapable of proper thought or action. It was not only his own suffering he was concerned about, but the impact on the people who relied on him to survive – they were the real victims of his sorrow. The months after the Holy Land had proved that. He had withdrawn into himself, and without him the gang had been unable to function properly, to build up their supplies and stores for the winter. His inaction had cost people their lives as they could not help them all.

And it was not only his will to fight which would be damaged, but Robin feared the battle for his soul which was waged inside of him every day. Marian helped to keep the demons as bay, and she only needed to take his face in her hands, to look into his eyes and to speak through to him when the dark part of him rose. Robin knew that a monster lived within him, and it was all too easy for it to take over his mind, for its bloodlust to rise, seeking to be quenched – but Marian subdued and soothed it. He feared that he could not keep it contained without her.

She would hate him – think that he did not trust her capabilities, that because she was a woman she could not protect himself. But it was not that – Marian was a good fighter, he did not deny that – but no one invincible, and if it was discovered she was alive she would become a target. Vaisey would make sure that Marian was taken from him again, that her life would be forfeit.

Robin was resolute as he made the decision in his mind. He could not lose her; Marian had to be kept safe, alive and protected.

No matter the cost.

Locksley Manor

Guy sat in the Manor, the fire burnt down to mere embers as the room was lit only by the last light of dusk. His head was pounding.

Of course Hood and his gang had ambushed them – it was to be expected. What he hadn't expected was the number of outlaws Hood had with him, far more than the three men who had returned from the Holy Land with him. It seemed he had been recruiting. Worse still, all of Hood's men had covered their faces, and Guy wondered if it was because there were men fighting for him who were not outlawed, and therefore did not want to be discovered. And one of the men he had fought against – the fighting style had seemed almost familiar, but Guy could not attribute it to any of Hood's men in particular. It made him uneasy.

The only comfort to Guy was the knowledge that whilst the day had been lost, he'd had the forethought to arrange a back-up plan.

Anders, one of his trusted guards, entered the room behind Guy, but he did not turn to look.

"Were you successful?" Guy asked in a tone that did not invite an admission of failure.

"I tussled with Hood myself," Anders answered as he approached. Only when he stood next to him did Guy raise his gaze expectantly. Anders wore a proud grin, and held out a torn sleeve.

Guy allowed himself a smile in return as he took the fabric. "Good."

Chapter Text

Outlaw’s Camp

When Robin returned he found his gang in high spirits, sorting through the collection of coins, jewellery and food they had managed to take from the Locksley gathering. Allan was playing his lute and the others sat around the fire, talking and laughing as if their ambush hadn’t almost been a complete disaster.  

With scant acknowledgement to his gang, Robin took a seat on his bunk, keeping a deliberate distance from the revelry. After a few moments, Djaq came over to him and silently examined the gash in his arm. It was only a graze; the blood already dry against his skin and it caused him no pain. The sleeve of his doublet had been the real victim, and after Djaq had cleaned the wound Robin removed the garment entirely. Luckily his long undershirt only had a tear and could still be worn, so Robin rooted around in his cubbyhole until he found his familiar hooded green tunic and pulled it on forcefully. It was old and wearing through in places, but reminded Robin of the old days, before he was plagued by fears and had witnessed his own decline into a man of inaction.    

It gave him a much-needed confidence, as he tried to build himself up to start a conversation he knew would be exceedingly difficult. Of course, it wasn’t long before his mood was noticed.

“Why so glum, Robin?” Carter called from his seat by the fire, where he was examining a collection of rings. “We made a pretty good haul today.”

Robin took a few moments to answer, and his silence had the desired effect – Allan stopped his mindless strumming and soon he had everyone’s attention.

“I should ask why everyone is so happy with themselves,” Robin spoke up evenly. “We could have all died today.”

Allan seemed supremely unconcerned. “But we didn’t,” he pointed out. “So Giz was smarter than we gave him credit for,” he shrugged. “It all turned out alright.”

“We got lucky.” Robin wasn’t prepared to be as flippant as Allan.

“Robin,” Much spoke up somewhat nervously. “You never had a problem relying on luck in the past.”

“Things are different now,” Robin retorted, and couldn’t stop his gaze from falling on Marian. Her brow was furrowed in confusion but she remained silent. “We should have known about those guards in the Manor,” he added.

Eve raised her chin at him. “No one knew about that,” she said snippily. “I gave you all the information I could.”

Robin sighed – this was not going well. “I’m not blaming you Eve,” he said, trying to soften his tone.

“I agree with Robin,” Little John spoke up in his defence, and Robin was grateful. “We should have checked inside.”

“So we will next time,” said Will evenly. “We learn from every battle – you taught us that, Robin.”

Robin nodded, he could not argue with his own teachings. “But we still have to be more careful.”

A light, clear laugh cut through the camp, and Robin turned his attention back to Marian. “It seems strange to hear you preaching caution, Robin,” she said. “It is hardly your strength.”

“It’s not strange to hear you dismissing it, Marian,” he responded, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Marian’s grin faded, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat by the fire. “What do you mean by that?” she asked quietly.

Robin took a deep breath to calm himself. What he was about to say was sure to anger her, and he regretted starting with poorly chosen words.

“I mean that I have given the matter a great deal of thought,” he began calmly. “And I believe that it would be better if you didn’t come on the raids anymore.” He couldn’t look her in the eyes as he spoke, and the silence that followed was weighty. When he forced himself to look up, Marian’s face was impassive.

“Why?” she asked, somewhat coolly. “It’s not my fault Gisborne was ready for us.”

“No,” Robin said evenly. “But you almost got the both of us killed.” She looked at him incredulously, and for a moment he wondered whether it would have been better to approach the matter when they were alone, but decided against it. It was better to do it out in the open, so everyone was aware.

“I needed you to watch my back,” he continued when it was clear she did not understand. “But you saw Gisborne and charged over to confront him.”

“I was helping Will,” she protested.

“You weren’t thinking, or watching,” Robin said angrily. “If you had been you would have seen Little John there. Where he was supposed to be. It’s important to be adaptable in battle, but you also need to play your part, not pick and choose your opponents.”

“I know how to fight, Robin,” she protested, looking offended. “I don’t need to be schooled by you.”

“You’re a good fighter, Marian,” he agreed. “Of course you are. You're just not a very good soldier.”

“You mean I don’t follow your every order?” she countered, standing up and folding her arms. Robin was reminded of a similar argument when she’d first lived in the camp. He had thought they had resolved those issues long ago, but he had been blind, too willing to overlook old problems because of her miraculous survival.

“You told me things had changed Robin,” she continued, and there was a note of hurt in her tone. “I thought that everyone was meant to have their say.”

Robin sighed – she simply didn’t comprehend the nature of war. “That’s fine for here at the camp,” he answered, rising to his feet as well. “For planning. But in the heat of battle there has to be a place for everyone, and a single point of command.”

“Fine,” Marian responded somewhat petulantly. “I accept my error. From now on I will follow your lead in battle.”

“The trouble is, Marian, I don’t think you can,” he told her. “And I can’t fight properly and watch you every second. When you ran off, I had to follow you, and that guard got the jump on me. I almost didn’t get there in time to save you from the other one.”

“I had it under control,” Marian protested. “And if you can’t concentrate, Robin, maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t be fighting.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Robin spluttered, shocked.

“How is it any more ridiculous than what you’re saying?” she answered, her voice rising in pitch. “What do you propose I do, just sit around here at the camp? Do some embroidery?” she practically spat the words at him.

“Of course not,” Robin huffed in frustration. “There’s plenty you can do – reconnaissance, food drops. Look at Eve,” he gestured to the woman at Much’s side. “She does invaluable work, and doesn’t insist on fighting.”

“Eve doesn’t know how to fight,” Marian shot back. “If she did I’m sure she wouldn’t be content to stay behind.”

Eve opened her mouth as if to speak, but Much took her hand and shook his head slightly. Marian had turned to her, probably expecting support, and sighed heavily when none was forthcoming.

“Does no one else have an opinion?” she addressed the gang, before turning back to Robin in defiance. “Perhaps we should put my fate to a vote,” she added sarcastically.

But the other members of the gang did not speak up, as both Robin and Marian looked to them for comment. They were met with gazes cast aside, uncomfortable shifting in seats and a deafening, unhelpful silence.

“I see,” Marian said as her gaze passed over the other members of the gang, clearly hurt by their inaction. Even Tuck, her erstwhile champion, said nothing, although he was the only one not to turn away from her silent plea.      

“Sometimes I think you all forget that this was my cause before it was any of yours,” she accused them, her voice wavering. “I was helping the people of Nottingham while you were a dead man here in the forest,” he addressed Little John. “While you were getting caught stealing flour,” she turned to Will. “While you were poaching deer and feeding no one but yourself,” she told Allan.

“And you,” she turned to Robin. “While you were off on some damn foolish crusade without a thought for the people you’re trying so hard to protect now.”

Robin felt a flush of anger – it was unfair of her to bring that up when she knew how ashamed he was of it - to use his regret against him.

“I am trying to protect them,” he said back, his ire rising. “I’m trying to protect you, too.”

“Don’t you dare try to tell me that this is for my own good,” Marian advanced a few paces towards him, a mix of rage and desperation. “Don’t you dare tell me how I should be fighting, Robin, I won’t do it, I won’t sit here and do nothing because you’re acting like a scared, selfish child!”

“Dammit, Marian, you’re my wife,” he practically shouted, his temper overloaded by her accusations. “You should obey when I ask something of you."  

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and Marian was visibly struck. He sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. “I did not mean that.”

“You can’t do that, Robin,” she spat back at him, her lower lip quivering with anger and her fists clenched. “You can’t say anything you like and then take it back.” She took another step towards him. “Because you would not say such things unless a part of you meant them.”

And with that parting blow she stalked off into the forest. Robin felt his face flush and he looked around the camp for support, but instead found the rest of the gang trying to busy themselves and unwilling to meet his eyes.

All except Eve, who gave him a hard look.

“What are you staring at?” he snarled at her before following Marian into the forest.

Marian had never been so angry with him – not when he had left for the Holy Land, not when he had returned, been captured and flippant about it, not even when they had argued about her engagement to Guy. She stalked through the woods, before stopping to lean against a tree and will the tears not to fall.

Obey. He had said it. It hadn’t been an offhand comment about her actions as the Nightwatchman, nor a hurtful jibe about embroidery or cooking, or pleading with her not to go back to the Castle and resume her act as spy. It was as she had always feared – that he saw her as his wife and therefore his subordinate, his lesser.

And not only that, he had done it in front of the entire gang, humiliated her beyond belief. Her discontent had been brewing for some time, and had now risen to the fore. She was sick of acquiescing, sick of arguing and compromising and trying not to upset anyone. She had not survived a sword in the belly to sit idly by while others fought in her cause. And there was nothing Robin could do or say that would convince her otherwise. And yet, she could not ignore the love she had for him that weakened her resolve. She wanted to relieve his suffering and assuage his fears, and he had given her the opportunity to do it. But at what cost to herself?    

She wasn’t surprised when Robin appeared behind her, but kept his distance. When Marian had sufficiently calmed herself down she turned around, pressing her back against the trunk of the tree and appraising him.

“I’m sorry, Marian,” he told her softly, expression riddled with guilt. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”

“But it is what you should have expected,” she responded, keeping her tone even. “Surely you did not think I would agree, no matter how you approached it.”

“I was hoping you would understand why I am asking it of you.”

“Well I don’t,” Marian looked at her feet.

“It’s not wholly selfish,” he said, taking a tentative step towards her, eyes searching her face. She raised an eyebrow, sceptical he could defend it as anything but.

“When you…died,” he looked away and seemed to have trouble forming the words. “You told me to keep fighting, Marian. But I couldn’t – there was nothing for me in this world without you.”

Robin swallowed heavily, and looked her in the eye. “And if I were to lose you again…I would not be able to bear it.” He blinked a few times, his eyes shining with unshed tears – bright in the moonlight which filtered between the trees overhead. “And I would not be able to lead my gang, to help my people – to be who I need to be. So you see it is not just your life or mine that I am thinking of. It’s everyone.”

She was not unmoved by his words, but they had also confirmed the fears she had been concealing since her return.

“You can’t burden me with that, Robin,” she said with an aching heart. “You can’t make me the sole reason for your happiness, it isn’t fair.”

“I know,” he said, crossing the distance between them. “But Marian,” he continued, cupping her face in his hands. “Do you realise how hard it is for me, how much it hurts – knowing that you don’t need me, when I need you so utterly?”

There was such pain in his eyes and voice that she did not doubt his words, it was clear how much they had cost him to say. She did not wish to cause him pain, but all she had to give was the truth. 

”I did need you once,” she practically whispered. “You were my entire world, Robin, and I would have done anything you asked. But then you left – you forced me to live without you, and I learned that not needing anyone was the only way to survive.”

She took a deep breath, and placed her hands on his chest in an entreaty. “I can’t promise you that no harm will ever come to me,” she told him softly. “It’s a chance we have to take – that is worth taking.”

He dropped his hands from her face and turned away, exhaling forcefully. Clearly it was not the answer he had wanted, and since assurance had not worked, she tried logic.

“Think about how I’ve felt all the times I thought you were dead, or about to die,” she pleaded, trying to make him see sense. “I remember you stuck in the castle dungeons ready to hang, I remember you dangling over a pit of snakes and fighting for your life over boiling tar. Do you think that was easy for me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “I could hardly bear it; I was so worried about losing you. But I would never try to use that to make you stop fighting.”

Robin was still turned away from her, his head bowed, and she could only hope that her words were sinking in.

“If you love me,” she added. “You will not ask this of me.”

She saw Robin’s shoulders tense, and he turned back around, his expression full of anger and frustration. “Oh, for God’s sake, Marian, stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop holding your love to ransom,” he said angrily. “It’s always, If I love you, I’ll spare a traitor’s life, if I love you, I’ll let you go back to the castle. If I love you, I’ll let you put your life in danger time and time again.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Make up your mind Marian, because I do love you. And either you love me, or you don’t.”

Marian suddenly felt very tired and took a moment before responding. “I do love you, Robin,” she told him with resignation. “I do. We can’t choose who we love.”

“You’ve always said that everything is a choice,” he challenged.

Marian sighed. “Everything we do is a choice,” she clarified. “Not everything we feel.”

Robin took a few moments to digest her meaning. “Are you saying that if you did have a choice…you wouldn’t choose me…” his voice faltered slightly. “You wouldn’t love me?”

Marian thought back to all of their arguments, her complete and utter heartbreak the first time he had left, the loneliness and sorrow which had forced her to become cold and closed-off, unwilling to feel such pain. To the relief mixed with bitter anger on his return, the treachery of her own heart as she had fallen for him all over again, the way he could always make her lose careful control over herself. She thought of utter joys tempered with painful words, and the knowledge that in loving him, she had allowed him to hurt her. It was loving him that had brought them to this.

Marian took another deep breath. “Yes,” she confirmed, meeting his gaze with resolve. “That is what I mean.”

He looked taken aback, and stared at her for several moments before blinking rapidly and looking away.

“Robin I don’t want to hurt you,” she said softly, although she had known her words would do so. “But I’m not sure if I can do this anymore.”

“What’s that,” he asked quietly, eyes on the trees to their left. She had clearly wounded him deeply, but knew she had to press on.

“Us,” she gestured between them. “Trying to be both your wife and a member of your gang – it’s not working. You’ve made it clear that I can’t be both. I can either take orders from you, or share my life with you, the choice is yours.”

He furrowed his brow and said nothing. It was clear he did not understand.  

“You can ask anything of me, Robin,” she continued for clarification. “You can order me to stay at camp, to never put myself in danger, and I will…obey.” She took another deep breath, a lump forming in her throat as she forced herself on. “But only as a soldier following orders from their Captain,” she added. “If you do that…we couldn’t be together. I can’t…be with you if you’ve forced me to give up everything else that is important.”

Robin was silent for several long moments, then looked back at her, his expression hard. “An ultimatum, then,” he said coldly. “How out of character, Marian.”

She held his gaze and felt hot tears prickle behind her eyes, but refused to let them fall. Robin turned away and leaned with both hands against a nearby tree, sighing deeply. She studied his back, rigid and unyielding, ignored his jibe and waited for his answer.

“So I would lose your heart,” he said finally, his back still to her. “But you would be safe.” Robin turned around, his face stripped of emotion. He put his hands on his hips in his familiar defensive pose, and stared at her resolutely. “I think I could live with that.”

It took a few moments for his meaning to penetrate. Marian searched his expression for any hint of jest, but he was more serious than perhaps she had ever seen him.

“Do you understand what I mean, Robin,” she asked, wanting to make sure. Her threat was not empty, but she hadn’t actually expected him to make such a choice. “I couldn’t be your wife – except in name.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched noticeably; cracks appearing around his stern countenance. With hesitation, he breached the distance between them and took her into his arms.

“I know what you mean,” he whispered against her hair. “All I care about is your life – I can’t lose you again.”

She drew back slightly and looked up at him. “But you will lose me,” she told him. “In all the ways that matter.”

Robin gave her a sad sort of smile and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering for a few more moments than was necessary. Then he released her and stalked away into the forest without so much as a backwards glance.      

When he didn’t return to the camp that night, no one seemed too perturbed. Perhaps they thought Robin just needed time to cool off, but she knew better. There was a finality to his absence, and she knew that neither of them were willing to change their minds.

Marian waited until everyone had gone to sleep in order to avoid an awkward situation – she could not share a bunk with Robin after such an argument. In fact she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to be close to him again. And yet her heart ached for him, and she cursed its traitorous longing as their argument ran over and over in her mind. It was well after midnight when she finally crawled into their empty bunk, drawing the blankets tight around her to try and ward off the chill. Despite herself, she felt cold without him, realising that she had become accustomed to his warm presence at her back and his arm around her waist.

No one had noticed her sad demeanour, or linked it to Robin’s absence except Much, who had been unable to rest until he was sure Marian had retired for the night. The others probably assumed that the couple were simply in the middle of one of their tiffs, and that it would all work itself out, as they had always done in the past. But Much knew that this time was different – it was serious. They had spoken to each other as no husband and wife ever should, and Much wasn’t sure how they could be reconciled.   

He lay awake in case Marian needed him, ready to spring into action should she wish to unburden her heart. But all he heard were small, muffled sobs from the bunk below, that continued long into the night.

Locksley

A new day was dawning, and for the first time in a long while, Guy welcomed the rising sun. Rather than carrying the sting of bitter regret and resignation that he would have to face another day, the sunrise now glistened with opportunity and promise.

Anders approached with three of Guy’s personal guard, his best and most trusted men. Each of them held the reigns of several large hounds and Guy appraised them.

“Here they are, Sir Guy,” Anders said, pride evident on his face. “I acquired the very best.”

“Good,” Guy nodded with approvingl and began to walk to the edge of Sherwood Forest, beckoning them to follow him. He stopped at the treeline, realising that he didn’t know the way that Hood and his gang had fled the previous day. Hood’s men had all concealed their faces, but Guy had been able to recognise the near-giant with whom he had fought and who had knocked him into unconsciousness. It had meant that he hadn’t seen their escape.    

Anders appeared at his side. “I believe they went that way, my Lord,” he said deferentially, and pointed to the north east. “We should be thankful it didn’t rain last night,” he added. “The hounds should still be able to pick up the scent.”

“Well get on with it then,” Guy snapped and handed him the sleeve they had retrieved from Hood’s doublet.

Anders nodded and was seemingly unconcerned with Guy’s brusque manner, which was one of the reasons he had stayed so long in his employ. He held the sleeve to the snout of each of the hounds, allowing them to familiarise themselves with the scent. Then they stood back while the hounds sniffed the forest floor and nearby trees, searching for its counterpart. It only took a few minutes for them to find the path, tugging their handlers behind them, and Guy followed with a mixture of relief and anticipation.

He had to show Prince John that he was worthy of the Sheriff’s position, to give him a reason to usurp Vaisey. Guy had to demonstrate his control over the shire, and be granted official power over it in return. This was the best way he could think of not only to prove his loyalty, but his worth.  

He would capture Robin Hood himself.

Chapter Text

Outlaw’s Camp

It was mid-morning, and Robin still had not returned to camp. Marian had grown anxious, made even worse by Much’s flittering about her as the morning wore on. The others went about their usual duties, including work on the expanded camp without concern, although she could tell that they desperately wanted to know what had transpired between her and Robin in the woods.

Much kept trying to feed her, even offering her an egg and bacon at breakfast in violation of his own rationing rules. She had declined, for she had gorged herself on sorrow all night and had no thought left for food. However, Much persisted throughout the morning, even suggesting she eat the handful of walnuts he had been saving for a special occasion, insisting that it would help with whatever was troubling her. Marian was finally worn down by his fussing, and confessed the altered state of affairs between her and Robin, giving a highly edited version of their conversation the previous night.

Much was more supportive than she had expected, given his fierce loyalty to Robin that had served to come between them in the past. He took her hand gently and listened without judgement, which made things easier. Will and Allan stopped their work on the expansion of the camp to listen to her explanations; Allan leaned against the handle of his shovel and appraised her thoughtfully. Carter busied himself with polishing his sword and seemed uncomfortable, and Tuck, by the fire, was silently going through his rosary. Marian wished Djaq was there, but she and Little John had needed to complete the daily food drops.  

“It’s alright, Marian,” Will said kindly when she was finished. “We’re almost done with these, so you’ll soon have your own space.”

Marian tried to smile, knowing that it was an attempt to make her feel better, but in truth it made the situation worse. One of the new sections of the camp had been designed for her and Robin to share, and sleeping there alone would only isolate her further. But she thanked him, allowing them to go back to work. The space for the nooks had almost been completely dug and the planks of oak to line them prepared, but they would not be finished by that night, and Marian feared what would happen when Robin returned.

“Do not worry, Marian,” Much told her softly, sensing her unease. The other men had returned to their work, leaving her in quiet conversation with Much and Eve. “Robin will see sense eventually,” he added and patted her hand. “He just got himself all worked up and said things he did not mean – you mustn’t take his words to heart.”

But Marian remembered his anger, his pain and finally, his resignation. “No, I think he meant it this time,” she said sadly.

“He’s afraid of losing you again, is all,” Much tried to reassure her.

“Was he really that bad?” Marian asked plaintively. “When I wasn’t here,” she clarified. “He acts as if the world stopped.”

Much bit his lip and took a few moments before answering. “More like he stopped,” he told her. “He…went through the motions, but he took no joy in life. And as much as I hate to admit it, I could not help him. None of us could.”

Sometime the depth of Robin’s love for her was unsettling. It was not as if she did not return his love – of course she did – but his utter need for her was troubling. She’d spent a great deal of her life – ever since he’d first left for the Holy Land, in fact – learning not to need anyone. To be needed herself was another shackle from which she thought she’d broken free.

“And I can?” she asked, suddenly irritated. “What do you suggest? Just let him push me around, like you do?” 

“That’s unfair, Marian.” Much pulled back from her, looking wounded and Eve gave her a hard look.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Marian rubbed her temple, regretting her harsh words when Much was only trying to help her. “He’s just being so unreasonable.” A lump formed in her throat and Marian pushed it back down. She had cried her tears, and would not allow any more, especially in front of the others.

“But that’s the thing – he’s not reasonable, is he?” Much continued in that same gentle voice, as if he was trying to calm a bucking horse. “Not when it comes to people he loves.”

Much was right, of course, but it only served to irritate Marian further. Why was Robin’s behaviour excused and allowed by others? Why were his needs always catered to? Not anymore, Marian decided. She would not acquiesce, not this time. Not ever.

Much eventually went to help the others, and Eve took a seat beside her, leaning in conspiratorially. “You did the right thing, Marian,” she said. “Don’t feel guilty for it.”

She was warmed by Eve’s support – Much would play the mediator, and the others would likely not want to get involved, but Eve seemed to be on her side.

“But I do,” Marian told her, quietly so the others couldn’t hear. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

Eve put an arm around her shoulders, and although Marian’s instinct was to shirk away, she allowed the gesture and discovered there was comfort in it.

“It may not be what you wanted,” Eve told her, squeezing her shoulder gently. “But maybe it’s what had to happen.”

When Robin didn’t return by nightfall, Marian grew worried. The others set off to look for him, Allan and Much in the forest to the east and to Nottingham, Little John and Carter to the backup camps, Will and Djaq to the western villages and Eve to the south and Locksley. Marian remained at the camp in case he returned, and Tuck insisted on staying with her.

“Could you talk to Robin?” she asked him after a long silence. “You are a man of God, he will listen to you.” She had often seen Robin and Tuck talking quietly together – philosophising, for the most part. Robin considered the Hospitaller a true man of faith, and was often swayed by his opinion when there were discussions at camp. But Tuck had always been her ally, sure of her destiny even when Marian was not.

But he looked at her with regret. “I am sorry, my Lady,” he said. “It is not my place to do so. Some battles, I’m afraid, we must fight alone.”

“That seems to be the story of my life,” she observed sadly. “But surely,” she pressed, “you do not agree with him?”

“No,” was Tuck’s measured answer. “Your place is on the front lines, to do whatever work the Lord brought you back for.”

“And if I can’t do that here?” she asked, watching Tuck carefully for his reaction. “What if I were to leave?”

But Tuck was inscrutable as always. “Then I would ask to accompany you.” He regarded her for a few moments, and Marian felt exposed. “Do you wish to leave?”

It had crossed her mind – to set off on her own and become the Nightwatchman again. There were places in Sherwood she could hide, and good she could do without chafing under Robin’s authority. She could even leave the shire – go to London, perhaps, where she was not known and could use her anonymity to her advantage. And yet she did not want to leave the gang – they were her family now, too.

“No,” she told him, although she suspected Tuck had known the answer before he’d even asked the question. “But I don’t know what to do,” she added hopelessly.

“Do not fear, my Lady,” Tuck took her hands and in his gaze was a surety she did not feel herself. “Your path may have twisted and you cannot see what is ahead,” he continued reassuringly. “But it will soon become clear, of that I am certain.”  

Marian could only hope that he did indeed have some divine insight, and that his words were true. 

Trip to Jerusalem Inn, Nottingham

“There he is,” Much muttered quietly as he and Allan entered the ‘Trip.

“Told ya,” Allan said triumphantly as they walked over to where Robin sat in the corner of the room, nursing an ale. His hood was drawn low over his face, and Much was thankful he’d had the presence of mind to do so. The staff and patrons of the pub had always been trustworthy, but Much preferred to err on the side of caution.

“Bought time you came for him.” A young blonde woman approached them.

“How long as he been ‘ere, Susie?” Allan asked.

“Most of the day,” the barmaid said disapprovingly. “He’s not a good state, but refuses to move.”

Much grimaced. “Why did you keep serving him?” he questioned her, for as they drew closer he could see that Robin was well past drunk.

Susie shot him an impertinent look. “Well, he’s Robin Hood, isn’t ‘e?” she said, clearly believing that was a sufficient excuse. “Gave me a whole bag of silver.”

Much sighed and took a seat next to Robin, nudging him gently. “Robin?” he asked quietly. “Are you alright?” Allan slipped onto the bench opposite, looking uncharacteristically concerned.  

Robin raised his head, and Much was disheartened to see his red-rimmed, tired eyes and defeated expression. “No,” he answered with a rasp that indicated exhaustion and alcohol.

“Cheer up, Robs,” Allan said with false levity. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

Robin blinked at him and swallowed heavily as if in disagreement, then pawed at the pocket of his vest with clumsy fingers. “Look,” he said as he produced a ring and lay it out on his upturned palm to show them. It was a simple band of gold, but finely crafted.

“It was my mother’s,” Robin explained, although Much had already known that. Being older than Robin, he remembered the late Countess well.

“My father wore it after she died, do you remember?” Robin asked, and Much nodded silently. “He thought it wasn’t fine enough for a Countess, but she liked simple things. Or so they told me,” he added bitterly. Of course, she had died in childbirth and so Robin had no memories of his own.

“I never wanted to give it to Marian,” Robin continued, and ran a finger over the ridge gently. “To me it always meant death – I saw my father wear it so he could remember, but he lost himself instead. So I found a new ring for Marian.”

Allan had taken it upon himself to finish Robin’s ale, but Much could see through his feigned indifference. He had never seen Robin defeated before, although for Much it brought back unpleasant memories of the Holy Land, where his master had occasionally fallen into despair.

“And then Marian came back from the dead, so I thought maybe I was wrong - she likes simple things, too.” Robin sighed deeply. “I didn’t give it to her, though. Was waiting for the right moment, I suppose.”

Allan put the now empty flagon down on the table and regarded Robin thoughtfully. “Or you were afraid she wouldn’t take it,” he suggested. Much shot him a silencing look, trying to indicate his displeasure with Allan’s lack of tact, but Robin did not seem offended. In fact, he looked past any emotion at all.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Robin let the ring slip through his fingers, and it landed on the table. He began to cough, a harsh, unnatural sound, and Much patted his back, throwing Allan a concerned look.

“That’s not the drink,” Allan observed with a furrowed brow.

“Robin,” Much turned his attention back to his master, who had put his head down on the table again. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

“No,” Robin rasped. “She doesn’t want me there.”

“Let’s take him to the woods,” Allan suggested. “Eh, Robin? You can sleep it off there.”

“It’s not safe here,” Much urged him to stand, and this time Robin did not resist. “Allan, help me.”

Allan obediently moved around the table and manoeuvred Robin’s arm around his shoulders so he could take the man’s weight. Robin sagged against him, and Allan put an arm around his waist to steady him. “Ugh, he’s heavier than he looks."

Much picked up the discarded ring from the table and pocketed it before taking Robin’s other arm. Together and with as much discretion as possible, they carried Robin out into the night.

Locksley Manor

In his private study, Guy poured over maps of Sherwood Forest, his fingers tracing lines over where they had searched that day for Hood’s camp. The hounds had picked up the scent, but the paths they followed had all been lost eventually. At first, the hound’s noses had been to the ground with no difficulty, but time and time again they would stop, raising their heads and sniffing the air trying desperately to find the scent again. Sometimes, they had succeeded, but eventually the trail went cold.

Hood had been too present in the Forest, to the point where the hounds had often tried to lead them in different directions, picking up on different paths Hood must have recently travelled.

But Guy was not deterred. It just meant he had to be smarter, so after they had returned and ordered that the hounds be well-fed and rested, he retreated to his study and maps. That day they had searched the woods near Locksley and the eastern forests to Nottingham town, as the outlaws had a major presence there. And yet he should have known that they would not make their camp so close the Sherwood’s edge. The outlaw’s needed the cover of the deep woods, a base that would allow them to reach any of the shire’s villages without too much effort.

Guy traced a path from Locksley due North and remembered that Allan had once led them in that direction. The outlaws had found them easily enough, then, so there was no telling how much deeper their camp had been. But it was a start.

And yet the Sheriff could return any day to spoil his plans, and Gisborne knew that he had to act quickly. He called for Anders, who appeared promptly but with a noticeable apprehension - perhaps he feared punishment as the day had not been successful.  But Guy had changed, he had seen that whilst fear was necessary to instil in his men, loyalty through fair dealing and opportunity also worked.

“Ensure that my men are ready to continue with the search in the morning,” Guy ordered, and Anders visibly relaxed. “Only leave those necessary to guard the Manor, I want the rest fully armed and prepared.

“Yes, Milord,” Anders replied.

“And go to Nottingham tonight,” Guy continued. “I want three units of their guards to accompany us, and horses if possible.”

“Yes, Milord.”

“That’s all,” Guy dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Anders bowed and left as Guy turned back to him maps with confidence. He hoped that Hood was enjoying his last night of freedom, because by the next evening he would be within Guy’s control. And he intended to make him suffer.

Sherwood Forest

Robin felt terrible. There was a pounding in his head, his mouth was parched and a strong sense of nausea pervaded his senses. And yet, it was more than a hangover, Robin realised as he woke up fully, hauling himself up with some difficulty to lean against the trunk of the tree that had sheltered him. Spending the night in the woods – again – had not been good for his health. For over a week he had been fighting off a winter sickness, but it was the first time it seemed to really affect him. Morning frost had formed on his clothes as he’d slept, and yet when he ran a hand through his hair it was damp with sweat. He felt warm despite the chill in the air, and flung off the long cloaks that someone had lain over him as blankets.

Robin took a deep breath, but the cool morning air disagreed with him, and he coughed, causing a dry, rough sound to emanate from his lungs. There was a water pouch beside where he’d been sleeping, and Robin grasped it gratefully, the cool liquid soothing his throat as he swallowed. He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, wishing to slip back into sleep. But he was soon interrupted by the loud crunching of boots in dried leaves, and opened his eyes to see Much and Djaq walking towards him.

“Ah, he’s awake, good,” Much said, looking very relieved. Djaq appeared less so, disapproval evident in her gaze.

“I will never understand you Englishman and your drink,” she said as they approached. “You want to lose yourselves and ease your immediate pain,” she continued with obvious distaste. “But you know that it will hurt even more once you stop, and you will still need to face whatever you were trying to avoid! It is madness.” She shook her head.

“Come on, Robin.” Much crouched beside him, resting a hand on his arm. “We’ll get you back to camp.”

Robin felt like a child being coaxed to go to Church, and shook his head. “No, I can’t.” He couldn’t face Marian yet, or the rest of his gang.

Djaq lay a comforting hand on his arm. “Marian is not there,” she said quietly. “And everyone else has set off for the day.”

Robin closed his eyes. “I just need to sit for a minute.” But he could not stop himself from coughing again, his lungs aching, and reached for more water.

“I told you,” Much said to Djaq. “I think he is unwell.”

Djaq pursed her lips. “Being out in the cold all night probably didn’t help."

“Allan and I gave him our cloaks!” Much protested. “And I watched him all night!”

Djaq pressed cool hands against Robin’s face, feeling his forehead, cheeks and neck. “Did he sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Robin said irritably, batting her hands away.

“I still think I should examine you Robin,” Djaq said in a tone that did not invite argument.

“Fine,” Robin agreed, if only because it would allow him to remain still for a while. “Much, go back to camp.”

Much spluttered for a few seconds, but Djaq shot him a look and he complied, grumbling as he went. Djaq started her examination, and Robin followed her instructions. She asked him to breathe deeply, which started his coughing again and he did not miss her grim expression.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, although his throat felt like sand. “I just need some rest.”

“Well then you should rest,” she shot him a hard look. “And not spend your nights at the tavern or sleeping out here in the freezing cold.”

Robin looked down at his hands to avoid her disapproving gaze. “I did not think it right to return yet.”

“You can’t delay the inevitable, Robin,” Djaq told him with more than a hint of scolding. “You’ve upset Marian deeply.”

“I know,” Robin admitted shamefully. “I don’t know what to do.” It dawned on him that Djaq was a better choice of confidant than Allan or Much, and looked back up at her with an entreaty. “I think I need a woman’s perspective.”

Djaq sighed. “That’s your problem, Robin,” she told him. “You have to stop thinking that everything Marian does is because she’s a woman.”

Robin pondered her words, tilting his head to the side in thought. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Djaq huffed in disapproval. “Think about how you would feel,” she prompted him, “if you were prevented from helping people. Say that Richard sent word praising you for your efforts here, but demanding that you let others fight in your stead because you were too important to lose.”

Robin pondered for a moment – he’d been the master of his own life and the lives of others since he was twelve years old, and no one had ever had the power to stop him from doing anything, save the King, and Richard had only ever encouraged him. He appreciated Djaq’s point, but that did not change his mind or assuage his fears.

“I – I’m just so afraid,” he admitted, his voice catching.

“I know,” Djaq said, softening. “But Robin, that is your burden to overcome, not Marian’s.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to her."

Robin sighed. “We tried talking.”

“You tried arguing,” she corrected him. “It’s not the same thing.”

The corner of Robin’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Arguing is how we’ve always done it.”

Djaq huffed again with exasperation. “You are not children anymore,” she upbraided him, rising to her feet. “And this is not a game.”

Robin returned to camp and tried to rest as Djaq had suggested, but found himself unable to. Marian had not taken her horse when she’d left the camp, but he was still a good enough tracker to find her general direction and follow it for some time until he found her in a small clearing. She was practicing her swordfighting and Robin winced at her skilled decimation of a nearby birch tree. She wielded her Saracen blade at least as well as he did his own, with a highly polished technique and balanced stance. In a tournament Robin believed she would be a match for any soldier in the King’s army, but there was a recklessness to her fighting style that went beyond improvisation. That was what worried him.

She noticed him eventually, sheathing her sword and crossing her arms expectantly.  

“Can we talk?” Robin asked her, stepping into the clearing.

Marian smiled without warmth. “I don’t know, can we?” She sighed and looked at him with resignation. “What is the point if neither of us is willing to change our minds?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Robin confirmed. “But we still need to…figure things out,” he added somewhat lamely. “We can’t simply avoid each other for the rest of our lives.” In truth, he was hoping that time would make her reconsider, but perhaps, he thought, she was hoping the same thing about him.

Marian seemed impassive, and fixed him with an even gaze. “I’m sorry if the things I said the other night hurt you,” she told him with more emotion than her face betrayed.

Robin’s heart constricted as he remembered – that she loved him against her will, and that if she had the choice, she wouldn't love him at all. 

"You were being honest with me," he managed to say, but he could not meet her eyes. "I suppose I should be grateful, because you have not always been so." There was a catch in his throat, making him cough - a dry, hacking sound - and Marian seemed startled.

“You are unwell,” she said carefully, ignoring his jab about her lack of honesty.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly.

“Robin…” She took a step towards him, but they were interrupted by the sound of dogs barking feverishly, and Robin whipped around. He remembered that sound from the early days in the forest, when Vaisey had his hounds pursue them endlessly, preventing them from making camp. It still struck fear into his heart.

“It’s Guy,” Marian breathed, taking an involuntary step backwards and drawing her hood over her face. Robin strained his eyes to see the figures that appeared a few hundred yards south of the clearing. There was indeed a figure in black mounted on a horse surrounded by his personal guard in yellow, and behind them, men clad in the blue livery of Nottingham on foot.  

“Run” he ordered hoarsely. Robin pulled his hood over his head and took Marian’s hand, urging her along as they fled into the trees.

“There he is, my Lord,” Anders called out and pointed towards the two figures in the distance, making a hasty retreat. The hounds were barking and straining at their leashes, sensing that their quarry was close.

The blood surged through Guy’s veins in anticipation as he recognised Robin’s distinctive green hooded tunic. There was another outlaw with him, dressed in black, but Guy was not concerned about him – Hood was the target.

“Release the hounds,” Guy ordered. Now that the dogs had the scent, Hood would not be able to run and hide. “You,” he ordered the castle guards. “They’re headed North, loop around and cut off their escape.” He kicked his horse into a gallop and followed the path the hounds led them on, directly to his prey.   

Robin and Marian ran swiftly through Sherwood, trying to put some distance between themselves and their pursuers. Robin’s lungs burned but he willed himself to keep going – the pain was not as bad as a sword in his gut would be.

They could easily outrun the guards, who were burdened down with armour, some on foot, and Robin knew that those on horses could not ride quickly through this part of the forest with the low branches and dense trees. If it had been any other day, they would have been safe. But they also had dogs, who had clearly picked up their trail and would soon catch up with them, no matter where they went.

Robin was exhausted and soon out of breath, the fatigue forcing him to stop and lean against the trunk of a large oak tree. He sucked in gulps of air but his lungs could not seem to take enough in. He coughed violently, and Marian was at his side, soft hands bracing his sternum and back through the fit. When it ended he brushed her off, ashamed that he had tired so easily from such a short run.

“Did we lose them?” he managed to rasp, righting himself and looking around. Almost as soon as he spoke, he heard voices in the distance. He peeked around the tree they were hidden behind, and soon caught sight of Gisborne’s guards to the east and west of them, and Gisborne himself, mounted in his black horse, in the distance to the south. He suspected that there were reinforcements travelling to cut them off from the north, since he had lost sight of the livery of the castle guards. They were further away than they had been before, but it was only a matter of time.    

“Damn,” Robin cursed, breathing heavily. “We’re surrounded.”

Marian looked around, and he followed her gaze to the exposed tree roots, anticipating her suggestion. “It’s no use,” he told her. “The dogs will find us.” She looked upwards at the tree branches above, and he cut her off again. “Don’t even think about it.”

Suddenly Robin felt very dizzy and closed his eyes – he couldn’t climb the tree even if he thought it would work. He pressed two fingers to his temples hoping the pressure would ease. “We have to keep running,” he said, trying desperately not to cough again. He opened his eyes and reached for Marian’s hand.

“You can’t Robin,” she told him, pulling away in clear distress. “You are unwell, we cannot possibly outrun them.”

He had to admit that she was right – he could barely keep himself upright, let alone continue the chase which could last for some hours.  Robin nodded, acutely aware that the guards were closing in, only a few hundred feet away from them, he surmised. While they were hidden for the moment, the guards would soon see their stopping place.

“Hide here,” he told her, gently pushing her towards the tree roots, “while I lead them away.”

“No, Robin,” Marian told him, her expression stricken. “You’ll be captured and they’ll kill you.”

“Better me than both of us!” he barked. “Now quickly, before they see.” He pressed a hand to her back and tried to manoeuvre her into the hiding place. But she turned to face him directly, a clear look of sadness and resignation in her eyes. Marian took his face in her hands and swallowed heavily.

“Robin, I love you,” she said and kissed him, only briefly, but desperately, and he was touched by her kindness.

He knew that he would never see her again.  

Guy forcefully cut through the low-hanging branches with his sword, yelling orders to his men to advance. Victory was so close he could almost taste it – Hood and his man were surrounded; they only needed to find them. The forest was eerily quiet save for the sound of boots crunching through the forest floor. Even the dogs had stopped their tracking, noses to the ground as they searched for the scent again.

“Where are you?” Guy whispered to himself, eyes darting around the treeline to the north. And suddenly from behind an oak he saw it – a figure with a distinctive green hood drawn over his face.

“There!” he yelled to his guards and pointing with the tip of his sword. “It’s Hood.”

He urged his horse forward and his guards ran after Hood, who was swiftly dodging trees and setting a fast pace.

“My Lord,” Anders pulled his horse in line with Guy’s, looking back to the trees from where Hood had sprung. “What of the other man?”

“The other outlaw does not matter,” Guy spat through clenched teeth. “Everyone go after Hood – he will not escape this time.”

Hood was agile and swift, but Guy was dogged in his pursuit, and he had close to fifty guards under his command. No matter how fast Hood was, not matter how well he knew Sherwood, he could not outrun them forever. It took some time, but eventually he was cut off by the contingent to the North, and while he fought valiantly with his Saracen blade, he was soon outnumbered.

Guy felt elated as he rode up, revelling in the sight of Hood surrounded by guards, his life in Guy’s hands. Hood was slowly turning in a circle, his blade still held in a defensive position, as if still daring the guards to challenge him.

“It’s no use, Hood,” Guy told him gleefully. “Throw down your sword.”

He was expecting a retort, but Hood was silent as he threw down his sword to the ground forcefully. Guy dismounted and picked it up, running his fingers over the jewelled handle. “I think I’ll keep this as a souvenir,” he said and handed the sword to his head guard. Again, no response was forthcoming.

“Nothing to say?” he sneered. “The second pleasant surprise of the day.” He nodded to the guards surrounding Hood, two of whom grasped the man’s arms to detain him, while another forcefully pulled back the hood to reveal the outlaw’s face.  

Guy felt all the breath go out of him and staggered backwards as if struck. There were gasps of shock and confusion among the guards, for they had not captured Robin Hood.

It was Marian.

Chapter Text

Nottingham Castle

Guy sat at the Sheriff's desk, busying himself with the tax reports and trying his best to ignore the woman standing before him. When she'd been unmasked in the forest, Guy had been so shocked that he'd simply ordered her brought back to Nottingham, turning his horse almost immediately in that direction rather than look her in the eye. Part of him still couldn't believe that it was her – that she wasn't an apparition, a vision sent to taunt him.

And yet it was Marian, he could no longer deny it. His Marian stood before him, alive, although she was unmistakably an outlaw – dressed in dark breeches and mud-splattered boots, her hair wild and tangled at the ends, her eyes bright even in the dim light, challenging him – hating him. She wore Hood's green hooded tunic, and it was only now, when his shock had subsided, that Guy realized why. She had fooled him again – traded clothes with Hood knowing that the dogs would follow his scent, that he would follow Hood and forget about his companion. A new surge of hatred rose within Guy at Hood's audacity and selfishness, to allow Marian to offer herself up for capture to protect his own worthless neck.

She had not spoken the entire time, instead choosing to watch him coolly, as if waiting for him to start the conversation. But Guy didn't know what to say. Of course he had dreamed of such a meeting, in those dark moments when he could almost wish his sorrow away with thoughts of what might have been. But those fantasies had usually involved him rescuing her in some way, or her coming to him in forgiveness and affection. They had not involved a Marian who was clearly a member of Hood's gang, challenging him with her cool silence and not a shred of compassion in her gaze.

Not that he deserved any, Guy reminded himself. He had stabbed her, almost killed her, and she had every right to hate him. He had no appropriate defence.

His trusted guard Anders stood to the left of Marian and cleared his throat. He had bound her hands as Guy had instructed and was awaiting his next order. Since none was forthcoming, he evidently felt appropriate to speak.

"Shall I take her to the dungeons, my Lord?" Anders asked.

Guy shuffled the parchment before him, dipping a quill in ink and making a few short notes on the report before him in an effort to appear unruffled.

"Not yet," Guy said without looking up. "Leave us."

Anders bowed his head and left the room. Guy and Marian were alone, and yet, he still found himself unable to look at her. What do you say to a ghost?

"Where is Vaisey?" Marian asked after a long silence.

Guy did not look up, concentrating on the papers before him without absorbing any of the information. They both knew it was for show, but he still hid behind the action.

"He is in London – I am acting Sheriff in his absence."

"So you're still working for him," Marian responded. "How disappointing."

Guy threw his quill down in frustration and finally looked back up at her. "What are you playing at, Marian?" he said angrily, avoiding addressing her statement. "Wearing Hood's clothes, carrying his sword?"

"It's my sword," she told him shortly.

"Yours?" He couldn't believe his ears. The scimitar he had taken from her lay on the table between them and he ran his eyes over the black handle embedded with red stones forming a flower and the curved blade of finely polished Damascus steel. Hood was the only Englishman Guy knew that used such a weapon, although he had to admit he had never examined it closely.

"It was made for me," Marian told him. "After I was…injured in the Holy Land."

Guy felt his throat constrict as he once again saw the vision of Marian in his arms, his sword in her belly. He swallowed heavily, trying to erase the image from his mind and replace it with the one in front of him; Marian alive, but hatred in her eyes. He wasn't sure which was worse. She was so different than he remembered – there had been a sharpness to her before, of course, and her spirit was one of the things that had made him fall for her in the first place. But her witty tongue and errant opinions had been tempered by a broad compassion and gentle disposition. When Guy looked at her now she was all hard edges, like the steel of the sword she had carried, an instrument of war without the softness of humanity which had once radiated from her. She had the severity and bearing of a solider, now.

And Guy had done that to her, he realised. Empathy had been drained out of her like her blood must have drained from the wound he'd inflicted. The wound from his sword, his anger and his lack of control. He had made her an outlaw, had turned her womanly compassion for the poor into a drive for insurrection.

"I'm sorry, Marian," Guy forced himself to say, and when he chanced a glance at her she did not react. "I never meant to hurt you. I - "

"I made my choice, and you made yours," she cut him off. But there was a crack in her stern countenance, and she looked away, biting her lip. She was not as unaffected by his presence as she wanted him to believe.

He didn't deserve her forgiveness, he knew. He didn't even deserve for her to hear his apology. And yet, that traitorous voice within him, the voice which whispered betrayals and urged violent response – the voice that always sounded too much like Vaisey – reminded him that she was the one who made her believe that she cared for him, she had had thrown her lot in with Hood and the outlaws, she had stepped in front of his sword and taunted him.

It had not all been him, Guy thought to himself, or even her. The true blame lay with Hood. Marian had always been kind-hearted and protective of the poor, she had always disliked and disapproved of Vaisey's methods, but even as the Nightwatchman she had not openly defied his regime. It was only when Hood had returned that the Nightwatchman had grown bolder, brave enough to flaunt her defiance in the light of day. It was Hood who had influenced Marian's transition from charitable citizen to insurgent, Hood who had used her to spy on him in the castle, Hood who had filled her head with rebellious fervor which had driven her to make an attempt on the Sheriff's life.

"It wasn't your choice, Marian," Guy told her with feeling, already regretting his misplaced blame. "Hood drew you into his web, he corrupted you. He never should have involved you in his plots.”

Marian laughed then, and looked back to him with something like pity. "You still don't understand, do you?" she shook her head and smiled with twisted disbelief.

"Robin didn't draw me into anything," she said vehemently. "I was already there. Our interests aligned, but I always fought for my own cause." She took a deep breath and met his gaze, unblinking. "I made my own decisions."

"But you were…with him," Guy said distastefully, and he remembered her final words to him in Acre. "You loved him."

He did not miss her discomfort. "Yes," she told him, and he felt his heart die again, just like it had the last time she had admitted her true feelings for Hood. "But that isn't the reason I did it."

"I thought he…took advantage of your feelings for him..." he was desperately clutching at hope now, and knew it. "He manipulated you into treason…"

"No, Guy," she told him sadly but firmly. "No."

So she had deceived him from the very beginning. In the past months Guy had taken comfort in the fact that perhaps Marian did have some genuine affection for him, but that Hood had poisoned her mind and manipulated her actions. It was with sickening clarity he realised the truth; that he was a pawn in her game, just as he had always been in Vaisey's. She had moved him around as she wanted, regardless of his love for her, to suit her own ends. Had she and Hood laughed together about it? How love-stricken he was with her that he would believe any lie she chose to tell him?

Guy clenched his fists in anger, rage bubbling within him. He looked back up at her, and saw that she could see his anger, his frustration and his jealousy. No wonder she had been able to deceive him, for she could read his every movement and expression. And he in turn could tell that she was disappointed in his reaction, her eyes becoming hard once again.

"If you're expecting an apology, you shall be disappointed," she told him coolly.

He involuntary rose out of his chair, his simmering rage barely held in check, as that Vaisey-voice urged him to take action, to avenge such a slight, the offence against his pride. But Guy forced himself to ignore that voice, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He would not lash out in anger, not this time.

Marian's gaze challenged him, but Guy sat back down calmly, forcing his attention back on the tax reports. He called to Anders to remove Marian from his presence, and did not look up as she was taken from the room.

Sherwood Forest

When Robin awoke it was evening, and there was a severe pounding in his head. He groaned as he rolled over, and became immediately aware that he wasn't at the camp. The strong smell of earth filled his nose, and he blinked, trying to make sense of things in the darkness. Robin brushed aside the canopy of branches and leaves that covered his hiding place and crawled out from under the exposed roots of an oak tree.

Robin stood and leaned against the tree, the pain in his head intensifying as he tried to orient himself. The last thing he remembered was running from Gisborne, and Marian – Marian had kissed him. He had been so touched that despite their estrangement, she had given him that final gift; one last kiss before he went off to face capture and likely death.

But then, he remembered, she had pulled away, and apologised. The last thing he could remember was her fist flying towards his face before everything went black. Robin prodded the skin around his eye and winced painfully. Damn her, he thought.

Robin suddenly realised that he was shivering, and looked down to see that his outer tunic and hood had been removed, leaving him only with a thin, long-sleeved undershirt. Mud had been smeared on his face and clothes, presumably to mask his scent from the hounds. Terror clutched at his heart as he realised what she'd done.

"Marian!" he called out hoarsely into the night, not caring who heard him. "Marian!" But he knew it was no use – he must have been passed out for hours, and they were long gone. Trying not to let fear overwhelm him, Robin thought the matter through. Marian was fast, and she knew the forest well – chances are she had been able to outrun them. But then why had she not come back for him? Robin tried to convince himself that it was because she feared his anger, but he knew her too well for that. If anything, she would have wanted to rub her success in his face.

The forest started to spin around him, but Robin clamped down on his panic and began the journey back to camp, knowing that he first had to check in there, in case Marian had returned. He did not want to think about the more likely option.

The walk back to camp took longer than expected; the cold night air made Robin cough frequently and his head was pounding - he was utterly exhausted. He grew more and more anxious, and when he finally arrived his suspicions were confirmed.

"Where's Marian?" he demanded of his men and women, who were enjoying the evening meal around the fire.

"Thought she was with you," Allan answered and shrugged.

"Robin, are you alright?" Much asked him. "You look terrible...and underdressed.”

Robin waved his hand in dismissal. "We were chased by Gisborne," he told him, panic overwhelming him. "Marian, she…I passed out and when I woke up she was gone."

"You think she's been captured?" Djaq asked.

"Yes, of course," Robin snapped. This was exactly what he had feared, and now she was in Gisborne's hands… "We have to, we have…" He felt dizzy, and could not focus on words.

Much was at his side to steady him. "Robin, you are not well, sit down and we'll figure things out."

Robin pushed him away. "We don't have time," he said urgently, all of his focus spent on standing upright. "We have to…"

But he could not maintain his control – the camp spun around him as Robin staggered and fainted, plunging into darkness once more.

Nottingham Castle

They did not take Marian to the castle dungeons that she knew. Instead, they went further below, down into the bowels of the castle and further still, to stairs and a corridor that she had never seen before, or even knew existed. There was no natural light, and the only torches were those held by the guard who directed her, casting flickering light through the long stone corridor. They passed many rooms and in some of them the light from the torches crept into the darkness. A torture chamber with the rack, which she was relieved they passed quickly, an armory and another room that seemed to be apothecary. That room was better lit and had a lone occupant, his face shadowed, bent over a table surrounded by flasks and scientific implements.

They passed through several locked doors, and finally reached a chamber at the end of the corridor with iron bars. It was here that the guard chained her to the wall. Only when the bars had been closed did Guy appear and approach the cell. He must have followed them down, Marian realised. He nodded to the guard, who left without a word, taking his torch with him. Now the only light was from the torch Guy held, illuminating his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks.

"Do you like our new accommodations?" he asked with something of his old smirk. "The Sheriff had it built in secret, no one knows about it. Hood and his outlaws will never find you here, and escape is impossible."

Marian tilted her chin, determined not to show fear. "So what is to be done with me?"

"That's for the Sheriff to decide when he returns," Guy said shortly. He looked troubled, but took pains to hide it. Still, she knew him well enough that he could not hope to conceal himself from her. He'd tried to apologise to her, and was clearly haunted by what he had done. She had observed that much from her visits to Locksley, but his reaction to her capture had confirmed it. But he didn't know what to do with her, so would tarry until Vaisey's return.

"He will kill me." She wanted that spoken aloud, so he could not hide from it. "Or use me as bait to kill the others."

Guy looked away and did not speak, his jaw clenching noticeably.

"Is this where all the money is?" she asked, trying a different avenue. "Robin said they didn't find what they should've in the strongroom," she continued, putting the pieces together in her head. The almost-empty strongroom from the last raid on the castle, the builders who'd come to Nottingham and never returned that Forrest had told them about, the thick, locked doors she'd passed on her way to her cell. "I suppose that had been compromised, just like the dungeons." She lifted her head and pierced him with her sharp gaze. "So you moved it down here."

"Were you there?" he asked gruffly, avoiding her question. "On the raid," he clarified.

"It was just after I returned but I wasn't there," Marian told him, her lips quirking into a smile. "I heard they hung the Locksley crest from the castle windows." She wished she had seen the Sheriff's face in that moment.

"Don't lie, Marian," he growled lowly. "I know you've been back for months. Gallivanting about as the Nightwatchman."

Marian furrowed her brow, confused. "No," she protested. "I only returned at the end of October. And I have not disguised myself as the Nightwatchman since that day in Locksley."

Guy studied her, perhaps searching for any hint of deception. Marian wasn't sure what he was talking about, and wondered whether her apparent death had addled his mind somewhat. He had certainly flittered between apologetic regret and angered blame since he had discovered her, although he had for now controlled himself.

"Whether you have been back for six weeks or six months it does not matter," he said in a clipped voice. "Don't bother to lie."

"I'm not lying," she protested, her raised voice echoing off the stone walls. They stared at each other for a few moments, but eventually Marian broke her gaze away and sighed heavily. "Believe what you want," she said petulantly. "I hope it gives you comfort when I'm dead."

She heard the shuffling of boots against the stone floor and the light around her dim. When she looked back up, Guy was gone, leaving her in darkness.

Guy returned to his quarters in the castle but did not bother to dress for bed. He knew that he would not be able to sleep. Not with Marian in the castle, her fate in his hands.

Confusion raged within him, uncertainty as to his next action, or even his own mood. He hated Marian's deceit, her love for another, her manipulations of his feelings that had been cultivated over many years and borne fruit as he had allowed her to influence his decisions and question his loyalties. And yet he still loved her, still yearned for her presence even with the knowledge that it had all been a lie. She was still lying to him, claiming that she was not still acting as the Nightwatchman, yet he had seen her months ago. He had given chase, a wild, desperate hope in his heart, but had lost her in Sherwood.

Guy shook his head at the memory – he'd thought it had been a ghost, or his mind playing tricks on him, but now he saw clearly that it had been Marian, all along. She was alive and well and continuing to steal from him while he mourned her and flagellated himself. Did she not think he deserved the courtesy of knowledge? He wondered how many times he had come across her in disguise, and not even noticed.

Guy searched his memory and his stomach dropped as he thought back to the feast a few days ago, and the man he had fought before being knocked out. His style had seemed so familiar, and looking back Guy could see it had clearly been Marian. Anger roiled within him at yet another of her deceptions. Had she been trying to kill him then? Had she enjoyed his suffering, continuing to think that he was her murderer?

Guy walked to the window and stared out into the dark night, where even the stars seemed dimmed. He had so many questions, so many doubts. It occurred to him that he had not asked how she had survived, but decided it hardly mattered. She probably would not even tell him the truth. He knew now that lying was as easy as breathing for Marian, and could not trust anything she said.

I hope it gives you comfort when I'm dead. Those were the words she'd used, and Guy felt sick at her implication. It was likely correct, of course, if the Sheriff returned he would either execute Marian immediately or use her to draw out Hood. And would he allow that? Simply wait for Vaisey's return so he could absolve himself of responsibility?

No. He could not allow himself to harm her, even indirectly. Her death had haunted him, and he had no desire to return to that depressive place. Whatever she had done to him, Guy had still been the one to react violently, to push his sword through her belly. The memory of it repulsed him, and he did not want to add to that hell with a vision of her on the scaffold.

So what was his other choice? The smart course of action would of course be for Guy to use Marian to capture Hood himself, and deliver on his promise to Prince John. But could Guy do that? Could he endanger her life again, only having just found out that he had not been responsible for her death? There was a small part of him, that insidious Vaisey-voice, that whispered she deserved it. Had she not lied to him, betrayed him, actively fought against him? Such a woman did not deserve his loyalty or compassion any more than any other outlaw. And yet, he could arrange it so her life was spared. He had no doubt that if he made it known publically that Marian had been captured, Hood would be willing to exchange his life for hers, if only to preserve his reputation.

It seemed like the perfect solution. Marian would be free, Hood would be dead, and his conscience would be clear.

Outlaw's Camp

Eve returned to the camp not long after midnight. She unwrapped the shawl from her head and revealed a grim expression mirrored by those around the fire.

"No one knew anything," she reported with regret. "Not in the town or my contacts in the castle. I even got into the dungeons – there's no one in there but an old man accused of stealing apples." Eve sighed heavily. Her self-appointed mission had been information, and she'd failed. "If Marian was captured, they are keeping it quiet, or have taken her somewhere."

"So perhaps she hasn't been captured after all," said Carter hopefully.

"Then why didn't she come back to camp?" Much asked, his distress evident. "I can't believe that she would have left Robin out there freezing to death if she had the choice, whatever their problems. She knew he was unwell." He glanced at Robin, unconscious in his bunk. Eve had noticed he'd had a cold, unable to completely conceal his cough and weariness, but she'd dismissed Much's worries. Men like Robin did not get struck down by illness. And yet, he had fainted right there in the camp and they'd been unable to wake him up.

"Maybe Marian's stuck somewhere," Will suggested. "Maybe she had to run too far away to escape the guards, and couldn't come all the way back tonight."

"Or maybe she's already dead," Allan offered grimly. "What?" he asked after a stern look from Much. "I'm just being realistic." Eve guessed that instead he was trying to cover his own fear with humour, as she had found he was wont to do.

"All we can do is wait until morning," was Tuck's counsel. "She is in God's hands, and in my opinion at least, they are favourable towards her."

"And Robin?" Much enquired worriedly, and Eve again followed his gaze to where Robin lay in his bunk, tossing fitfully. Djaq was tending to him, dabbing his face with a wet rag and Eve did not miss the deep-seated concern in her face.

"He must rest," Djaq told them simply, and turned her attention back to her charge. Eve knew from experience, from nursing her own mother through a long illness, that when a physician was quiet, they were worried.

"So we wait." Little John spoke up from the fire, and it was more an order than a suggestion. It seemed with Robin incapacitated and Marian gone, John was who the outlaws looked to for leadership.

Eve moved to Much's side and stroked his hair softly. "We wait," she confirmed in a soothing tone, knowing that none of them would sleep that night.

Nottingham Castle

The dungeons were so cold that Marian's breath misted in the darkness to which her eyes had adjusted. She didn't dare sleep, even though she guessed it was well past midnight – perhaps even close to dawn. Marian pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, shivering as the cold permeated her bones and the hopelessness of her situation weighed on her mind. It had been a split-second decision, to remove Robin from the situation, and although she regretted the manner of it, it had been the only way. Of the two of them, she had the better chance of escaping, and it had been the practical option.

But she wondered if there had been any part of her that had been willing to be captured in order to finally face Guy and confront him with her survival. She had been thinking about it ever since she'd returned to Sherwood. But what had she said to Guy when she'd been given the chance? Nothing of consequence.

Still, she comforted herself that at Robin was safe, at least for now. Marian was still furious with him, of course, in his obstinance and blind fear. They could never return to what they had been, Marian knew that. Although she loved him, although her heart still skipped a beat whenever she thought of him, she had bent so far trying to be what he wanted she had almost broken. And Marian would not allow anyone – not even Robin – to break her.

A flickering light appeared at the end of the stone corridor, and Marian lifted her head, fear gripping her. But Guy approached the cell alone, his face still troubled, securing his torch to the wall behind him. He unlocked the bars and stepped into the cell, although he did not unlock her chains. He stood before her nervously, and she looked up, waiting.

"I wish to apologise for what happened in the Holy Land," he said somewhat stiltedly. "Please believe that there has not been a day since when I have not regretted my actions. I once believed that I was not capable of harming you, but I was wrong." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I took your life from you, and I know there is nothing I can do to make up for that."

The apology seemed rote, and yet sincere, as if he had repeatedly practiced the words in order to get them right. Marian found herself somewhat moved by his speech, knowing that it must have cost his pride to say, and yet her mind was always considering, always analysing.

"You could let me go," she suggested, shifting her hands in her shackles so that the metal clinked together.

Guy looked pained. "I cannot do that."

"You feel so sorry for injuring me in the Holy Land," she responded sharply. "Yet you will hand me over to Vaisey? You know what he'll do."

"I won't do that," Guy said resolutely. "I won't let any harm come to you, Marian."

Marian leaned back against the stone wall and looked up at him, confused. "So what are you going to do?"

"Vaisey's days are numbered," Guy told her, his unease melting into satisfaction. "I will prove myself to Prince John, and then I will be the Sheriff."

"Capturing me isn't going to prove anything," Marian observed, but as she spoke Guy's intent became clear. "You need to give him Robin." Her heart sank and she closed her eyes, pained. "You're going to exchange me for him."

"You don't believe your lover will offer to take your place?" Guy asked, sneering at the word lover, which raised Marian's ire.

"He's my husband, actually," Marian corrected him, and was pleased to see that she had landed a blow. Whatever the problems between them, she and Robin were joined by vows, by the King's decree, by God. Even if it was only in name, it was still a marriage, and she wasn't about to let on that all was not well between them.

"And I'm sure he will," she added with resignation, knowing that Robin would sacrifice his life for hers a thousand times over.

"You tell me that you will not allow any harm to come to me," Marin said, raising her gaze back to meet Guy's. "And in the next breath admit that you plan to kill Robin. Do you not think that will hurt me?" her voice broke with emotion, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

Guy shifted uncomfortably. "You never spared a thought about hurting me," he responded softly. "You played your part so very well, Marian," he continued in a low voice. "How could I not fall in love with you? And yet you lied to me, betrayed me, manipulated me – made me believe that we could have a future together. Do you not feel any remorse for crushing my heart?"

Marian raised her chin in defiance and anger. "Well, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Guy," she said with derision. "But I was serving a greater good – I was saving people's lives, fighting for a better future with all the weapons I had.  But I didn't want you to be my enemy," she admitted, her anger dissipating as her guilt reasserted itself. She did feel remorse for deceiving him, even though it had been a necessary evil. "I cared about you."

Guy took a shaky breath at her admission and seemed even more troubled. There was even a hint of longing in his expression. "Did you?" he asked, his voice very small.

"Yes," she told him with feeling. "I always thought that you could be a good man. That you could find the right path. I think…a part of me wanted to save you."

"Well you didn't do a very good job of it." Guy's words were dismissive, but his tone was resigned and sad. There was no malice behind the accusation.

"No, I didn't," Marian admitted. "I was at cross purposes." Looking back, she saw clearly that she had tried to guide him with one hand, but used the other to damn him. It had been a zero-sum game, for she had urged him to break with the Sheriff, whilst she used his affections for favours and lenience which only meant he'd relied more heavily on his position. She had lied to him and told him that she cared for him in a single breath, and she could not blame him for his confusion.

"I do regret hurting you," Marian told him softly, counteracting her earlier harsh words. "And please know that I'm being honest with you now. I cared about you, wanted you to be better, to be your own man, free from the Sheriff's hold." She looked up again, into those dark eyes which held so much pain that she had so desperately wanted to soothe. And yet, she could give him no more comfortable lies, even to make things easier for him.

"But if I could go back, I wouldn't change what I did," she confessed. "Maybe I wouldn't do everything the same way, but I…I would make the same choices."

He took a few moments to digest her words, and for once she could not read the expression on his face. "I would have given you the world, Marian," Guy finally said in hushed tones. "Anything you asked for – I would have killed the Sheriff if I thought for a moment you would keep your end of the bargain."

"I would have," she insisted.

"Only because you thought Robin was dead," he snapped, clenching his fists.

Marian bit her lip, unable to deny it, although in truth she didn't know what she would have done, if she'd known Robin was alive and trying to rescue her.

"We could have been happy," Guy continued. "I would have loved you like no man has ever loved a woman." He paused, his brow furrowed as he appeared to work something out in his mind. "But you couldn't love me, could you?" he asked with clear agony. "Not when there was him."

Marian sighed deeply. "We can't choose who we love." The same words she had said to Robin, in a completely different context, although they caused the same pain. For Robin, it had been the knowledge that she loved him despite herself; for Guy it was that she couldn’t love him even if she had wanted to. It would have been much easier, Marian mused not for the first time, if she did love Guy and not Robin. Even now, it would be the logical solution, to marry Guy and try to love him, to make him happy, and spare Robin's life.

"Marian, you should have a full life," Guy continued passionately. "You deserve more than an outlaw, more than Hood can offer. You are a lady, you deserve a husband who can provide for you, give you children…"

"I can't have children," she cut him off, although she regretted the words and soon as they had left her mouth. Marian sighed but saw no reason to deny it now. "My…injury was too severe."

Guy gave her a stricken look. "Then I have stolen that from you as well," he said with obvious sorrow. "I have done you great wrong, Marian," he admitted. "I have taken so much from you I cannot return. I see that now."

He stepped further into the cell and knelt down before her, so that his gaze was level with hers. He lifted his hand with hesitation, then visibly steeled himself before touched her face, his fingers tracing her skin tenderly.

"I have to ask…" He halted and swallowed heavily. "If the circumstances had been different…could you ever have loved me?"

She took a long moment before she answered, allowing his thumb to caress her cheekbone. "I don't know," she answered truthfully, remembering that he had once stirred feeling within her. They had paled against her feelings for Robin, of course, but they had been there. They had existed.

“Who knows what might have happened in another life,” she told him. "But we are in this one."

She couldn't choose Guy by default, not even to save her own life. Marian had promised herself that she would be honest, and that was the only answer she could give.

Guy's hand dropped away from her face, down to the shackles around her wrists. He looked down at them for a long moment, and then retrieved a key from his pocket. Marian stared in shock as he undid the binding and her chains fell away. Guy stood up and helped her rise, his hands lingered on her wrists for a few moments before he turned.

"Come on," he called softly over his shoulder, and Marian followed him warily.

He led her down a long and dark passage, but not the one by which she had been taken into the dungeon. The only light was provided by the torch Guy had retrieved from the wall and held in front of him, but it was enough for Marian to take note that the narrow walls were made from earth and reinforced by timber, unlike the previous tunnels which had been lined with stone.

Eventually, the tunnel led to a vertical hole in the earth and a wooden ladder. Marian craned her neck as she climbed, but could not see the sky. Eventually, though, Guy stopped and passed her the torch, using another key to unlock a trapdoor, heaving his weight upwards until it opened. He helped her out of the tunnel and Marian took a deep breath of crisp morning air. The moon was still overhead, but there was the blue light of early dawn around them, Nottingham Castle in the distance to the east, Sherwood flanking them to the west.

"Go," Guy told her, retrieving his torch. "Go…wherever you want to go. I will not follow, and no one will know that you were here."

"Thank you," Marian breathed, scarcely believing his words.

"Do not thank me," he said brusquely. "I deserve no thanks."

Marian smiled. "You have mine regardless." She began to walk towards Sherwood with relief, rubbing her bruised wrists.

"Marian," Guy called after her, and when she turned back his face was hard. "If you go back to the outlaws, understand that you choosing to become one of them. If we are to be enemies, then so be it – I cannot afford to give such mercy again."

Marian frowned. Was he still hoping that she would stay with him? That she would chose comfort and security over her own conscience? Or perhaps it was simply fair warning, and acknowledgement that he still had his ambitions, and intended to pursue them.

"I understand," she said, even though she wasn't sure if she believed him. Then without another word, he turned back to the tunnel and she to the woods, and they disappeared from each others sight.

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Dawn was breaking as Marian walked back to camp, the forest a gloomy grey as the bitter morning chill permeated the trees. She was not looking forward to making explanations to Robin when she returned, and hoped that he had assumed she'd been able to escape Gisborne's guards and had made camp elsewhere for the night. But Robin was far more likely to fear the worst; that she had been captured. In fact, Marian thought, he had probably already organised some kind of rescue attempt and his relief at her return would likely be tempered by anger and blame.

But Marian refused to be drawn into another argument. She'd made the right choice. If Robin had been captured, he would already be dead. If they had tried to rescue her, at best they would have been unsuccessful because she had been held in dungeons unknown to them, and at worst they would have been caught and executed.

As Marian approached the line of trees which signalled the camp was not far away, she heard the unmistakable crunching of leaves under boots.

"It's me," she called out to whichever gang member was on guard duty. "It's Marian."

Much immediately popped out from behind an oak, an expression on surprise on his face and a hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Marian!" he breathed, eyes wide. "What happened to you?"

"I'll explain back at camp," she told him. "There's no point hearing a lecture from both you and Robin," she added with good humour.

Much's face became stony and he grimaced. "Robin's still unconscious."

"What?" Marian was confused. "I didn't hit him that hard," she added with a light chuckle.

"It's not funny!" Much said with rough desperation. "He is unwell, he…" Much paused and hurried over to her, tugging her by the arm brusquely to urge her along. "Come on."

They walked back to camp quickly, Much's demeanor making Marian anxious. The feeling worsened when they returned to camp and Marian saw the worried faces of the outlaws. For once, they were all present and Marian knew that if there was no one willing to leave to make food and money drops, to accompany Tuck on his ministries, or to gather intelligence, then the situation was serious.

The collective all began to question her, but when Marian's gaze fell on Robin, sleeping fitfully in their bunk all else seemed to pale into insignificance. She approached the bunk, unable to speak or move her eyes from Robin's prone form. He was deathly pale, with beads of sweat dotting his forehead and shivering even though he was under several blankets. Marian lay her hand on his cheek, which burned under her touch.

"Robin?" she asked in a very small voice but of course he could not answer. She had known that he was unwell of course, it had been the reason she had been forced to knock him out and prevent him from being captured. He'd had a slight fever, maybe, and a cough, nothing that was uncommon for those living in a forest in winter. Marian hadn't thought for a moment that it was anything serious.

"What happened?" she asked, her back still to the outlaws and her eyes on Robin.

"I asked you the same thing," Much said.

Marian turned to them and sighed harshly. "I was captured by Gisborne, but he let me go," she explained. "I will tell you all about it later, but please tell me what's happened to Robin."

"The sickness has taken hold of him," Djaq said calmly. "It appears to be the same illness that has appeared in Nottingham and Locksley the past few weeks."

"The one that killed Margery?" Marian asked, remembering the old woman's death which had so affected Robin.

Djaq nodded. "It is likely he caught it from her." She folded her hands in front of her and looked at them all seriously. "I am tending to Robin, but I suggest the rest of you keep your distance as a precaution. I don't want anyone else falling ill."

Marian gave Djaq a long, defiant look, and then returned to Robin's beside, perching on the side of the bunk and taking Robin's clammy hand in both of hers. She had been sleeping in the same bunk with Robin, had kissed him, had held him in her embrace. She did not fear the sickness.

Robin stirred, as if sensing her presence and opened his eyes. "Marian?" he rasped.

"Shh, Robin," she soothed him, brushing back the sweat-slicked hair that clung to his forehead. "It's alright."

"You were gone," he stumbled slightly over his words and blinked several times, as if he was having trouble focussing on her. "Gisborne. The guards…"

"I lost them in the forest," she lied smoothly, not wanting to upset him in such a state. "But I was too far from camp and it was dark, so I spent the night in the greenwood."

Her words seemed to placate him. "I thought…"

"I know," she whispered, running the backs of her fingers down his cheek soothingly. "I'm sorry. But I'm here now," she added. "Go to sleep, Robin. Rest."

As if by her command, his eyes fluttered closed again and he drifted off. She noted with relief that his breathing seemed more even than before.

Djaq knelt beside Robin's bedside and checked him over. "Never lie to a dying man, Marian," she said quietly, so the others couldn't hear.

Marian grimaced, and kept her eyes locked on Robin. "He is not going to die."

"Several have already died," Djaq pointed out. "In Locksley – and Nottingham as well."

"And they were old, or already infirm," Marian countered, thinking back to poor Margery who Robin had tended to personally. "Heathy men do not die from such a sickness."

"I do not wish to worry you," Djaq continued. "I just want you to know how serious this this," Djaq put a hand on her arm, and when Marian looked at her, she could not ignore the fear in the other woman's eyes. "This will get worse before it gets better. If it gets better," she added grimly.

"You think he is in that much danger?" Marian was confused - how could a sickness take hold of him so quickly?

"Yes," Djaq told her solemnly. "Although you are the only one I have told."

Marian nodded and turned back to Robin, tucking the blankets under his chin and smoothing them down. It would not do to worry the others prematurely. She needed to be strong for all of them, and would not allow panic to take hold.

Later that day, Marian sat cross-legged on the floor of the camp, leaning against her and Robin's bunk. She had asked Djaq to keep quiet about the seriousness of his condition, and she had agreed, leaving the camp with Will to collect medicinal herbs. Unfortunately, Mathilda the wise woman was visiting her daughter in Shrewsbury and they could not go to her for assistance. But Marian trusted Djaq – she had saved Marian from death before, why not Robin? It was a hope she needed to cling to.

Marian had sent Tuck, Little John, Eve and Carter out to make drops in the villages, so only her, Much and Allan remained at camp. Much sat like a guard on his top bunk above her, and Allan was by the fire, cooking the evening meal. They did not speak, although every now and then Allan shot her a curious look.

Eventually, Marian could take it no longer. "Do you have something to say, Allan?" he asked tiredly. She hadn't slept at all the previous night in the castle dungeons, and she refused to rest now, choosing to keep vigil over Robin.

Allan shrugged and looked back at the cooking pot, stirring it absently. "I was just thinking, it will be good when Robin's better," he said casually. "Everything will go back to normal."

Marian bristled. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you know," he answered. "This nonsense between the two of you." He looked up again, gaze shifting over where Robin was asleep in the bunk. "Puts that into perspective, don't it?"

Marian's mouth dropped open in surprise, and she was unable to form an immediate response. She looked up at Much in the bunk above, but he shrugged and looked away.

"Is that what you think it is, nonsense?" Marian queried, unsettled.

"Look, Marian," Allan said a little condescendingly. "I know how you feel. Robin's a right prat sometimes, and we've all wanted to tell him where to go. Most of us 'ave. And he was wrong to ask you to stay at camp, everyone knows that." Allan took a deep breath. "I just thought, with him bein' sick and all, you might get over it."

"Get over it?" she asked incredulously. "Because he's unwell I'm just supposed to forget everything he said? Agree to his demands to make him feel better?" She folded her arms over her chest. "That's not going to happen."

Allan was unfazed by her anger. "Well I figured he'd get over it too," he countered. "When he's better, he'll be thinkin' clearer."

Marian bit her lip at Allan's use of when rather than if. She forced herself to think the same – when Robin was better. But when he was better, she would still be angry with him; when he was better, all their problems would still be there.

"If he does it will be a relief," Marian said evenly. "But that doesn't change anything. He doesn't respect me, or my abilities. He doesn't understand that my cause is my own, not his, and that I need to fight for it." That was the truth she could not get over, the insult that could not be overcome with pretty words.

Allan stared at her for several seconds, uncharacteristically serious. "There's something you need to know, Marian," he told her and threw his spoon back into the cooking pot, stood and crossed the few paces over to Robin's cubbyhole. There he rummaged for a few moments and pulled out a small brown sack.

"Allan," Much said warningly. "Don't. It's none of your business."

"It's all of our business, Much," Allan turned back to them. "Both of 'em are too proud to actually be straight with each other." Allan tossed her the sack and it landed neatly in Marian's lap. "What do you think about that, eh?"

Marian opened the drawstrings and pulled out the contents: a grey cloak, a dark scarf, leather tunic, trousers and a familiar brown mask. The Nightwatchman costume. Marian looked at it for several moments without comprehension.

"You said you didn't remember where you hid it," she addressed Allan. "But Robin had it the whole time – why?" Her anger burned anew. "To keep me from using it?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you're dense sometimes, Marian." Allan rolled his eyes. "Robin was using it."

"I don't understand." She looked up to Much for answers, but he seemed reluctant.

"When we got back from the Holy Land," Allan told her, "Robin started going out at night – barely sleepin' – making extra food drops, keepin' an eye on things. Makin' people think that the Nightwatchman was still around – protecting ‘em."

"He didn't want any of us to know," Much added hastily, giving Allan a glare.

"Yeah, but we're not blind, are we?"

"Why would he do that?" Marian had never thought Robin had much respect for her activities as the Nightwatchman, except when it suited him. He called it reckless once day, and wonderful the next, whatever supported his viewpoint in the argument.

"He was keeping your cause alive, Marian," Allan continued. "Honourin' you – the only way he knew how, the only way he thinks matters – in the ‘earts and minds of people."

Marian ran her fingers along the ridges of the mask. It didn't change anything, didn't take away the past few weeks, but the gesture touched her deeply. To think that Robin had wanted to keep the Nightwatchman alive – that he chose to honour and remember her using the warrior she had armoured herself with – kindled her heart. And yet it confused her even more.

Returning the costume to the sack, Marian stood and left the camp without looking at Allan or Much. She walked until she could tell herself that her heavy breathing was from the exertion, and the tears in her eyes from the irritation of the sack against her skin as she clutched it against her chest. It began to rain and she took shelter under a nearby oak tree, leaning against the wide trunk. 

She remembered the first time she had lain with Robin, here in Sherwood, and given him her maidenhead. It was after the awful siege of Nottingham by Prince John's army, the day when they had all been so close to death. Guy had pressed her to marry him, first to save her own life, and then, after he had returned, before they died. The precariousness of her situation had struck home for her, that she may someday be put in a situation where she would have to make a choice, and marry Guy for the good of the cause.

She had gone to Robin to tell him that she loved him, and that her heart would always be bound to him, not matter what she did, but when she had seen him the words stuck in her throat. He had seemed sombre, for he had not considered the day a victory. Robin had held her close and stroked her hair, lamenting how close they had come to losing each other. Marian had said nothing, but pressed her lips to his with a desperation and passion she had never before allowed herself to feel. She had kissed away his protestations and drawn him to her, unwilling to go another night without pledging herself to him, even if she could not say the words.

Marian had gone to Djaq the next day, privately, and had asked if she knew of any remedy that would prevent conception of a child. Djaq had asked no questions, and provided her with instructions she followed to the letter, fearful of what may happen if she did not. She and Robin did not have many opportunities to meet after that, but they took advantage of those times, sequestered away on their private place of the backup camp.

Such concerns no longer mattered. Her blood came irregularly, if at all, and Djaq had told her that during her convalescence she had developed an infection, one which in all likelihood had made her barren. She did not accept any other possibility, and had even admitted the fact to Guy. Marian knew that bearing children was not part of her future, and so refused to allow herself sorrow over it. There was no use dwelling on what had been lost.

Was Robin lost to her as well? The thought struck her heart like ice. His life was not, she told herself, nor was his love. Marian knew that he still loved her, would always love her, just as she knew she would always love him. But there was such distance between them now, not only his illness, but a great chasm between their hearts that neither their mutual affection nor her recent discovery could breach.

It was well past dark when someone came looking for her, and Marian was not surprised to see that it was Tuck. The hospitaller approached her slowly, as if afraid he would frighten her off.

"My Lady," he began, "are you alright?"

She laughed bitterly and gave him a hard stare. Do I look alright? she was sure her expression said.

"You are cold," Tuck observed. "And very wet – come back to camp. You do not want to become ill yourself."

Marian looked away and did not answer him. But still she felt his intense gaze, that habit he had of looking at someone until he could figure out what he wanted to know. She saw him take in her wet hair and clothes, her shiver, and her white hands clutching the coarse sack to her chest.

"I understand that that it has been a difficult few days," Tuck continued. "Your falling-out with Robin Hood, being captured and finally facing Guy of Gisborne, and now your husband has fallen ill. I can hear your confession, my Lady," he suggested. "If you wish to unburden yourself."

She turned her gaze back to him, suddenly angry. "And what should I confess, Tuck?" she asked coldly. "What am I meant to be feeling? Regret for lying to him about being captured? Guilt that my actions may have accelerated his illness? Fear that Robin will not survive? Apprehension that even if he does, it will not mend the rift between us? I feel all of those things." She looked away again and took a shaky breath. "But I do not wish to speak about them."

"I understand, my Lady." Tuck nodded and gave her that strange, half-bow he often did. "I came to you and pledged my service, and yet I have asked of you what you are unwilling to give, without even offering it myself." He knelt down on the ground, his knees sinking slightly into the freshly formed mud. "You do not wish to speak, my Lady," he added, looking up at her. "But perhaps you would be willing to listen."

"I had a wife, once," Tuck told her softly, taking her silence as acquiescence. "I had a child, and lands, and a title. I grew up in wealth and privilege, in a small village in the Fylde – that is on the coast of Lancashire," he added.

Marian turned back to him curiously – he had never before spoken of his life before the Crusades.

"My father was a Baron," Tuck continued. "And so the title fell to me after he passed. I am ashamed to say that I was not a good landowner, I cared not for the work I was to oversee and held no respect for the people who relied on my goodwill. I had no interest in the tilling of fields, the growing of crops, the cultivation of animals. I was dutiful and mindful of my responsibilities, but did only what I needed to for the estates to sustain themselves, rather than thrive. I married the beautiful girl my father chose for me and grew to love her after a time, although I never cared to let her know it. Still, she gave me a child, a little girl, and promised me a son."

"I drifted through life caring about little. I travelled and gambled and whored and took pleasure where I could, because I believed I deserved it. And then I received word that a plague had ravaged my village, and that my wife and child had both been struck ill."

Tuck paused, swallowing heavily before continuing. "I prayed every second of the journey back. I promised God that if he would spare them, I would pledge myself to his service for the rest of my life. I swore that I would be a better husband and father, that I would treat my servants with more respect, and my serfs with kindness and compassion. But when I came home it was too late."

Tuck lowed his eyes to the ground, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. Marian knelt down in the mud before him, moved by his obvious distress, and rested her hand over his gently.

"I never got the chance to tell my wife that I loved her," Tuck continued, his eyes still downcast. "Nor my daughter. I never realised until she was gone how much light she had brought to my life. I had been unwilling to see it. I had selfishly taken their boundless love and given them nothing but silence in return." Tears spilled down Tuck's cheeks, and Marian's heart broke for him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he looked up at her with a haunted expression.

"My deep sorrow turned to anger - not at myself, where it should have been directed, but towards God," Tuck continued, as if he had not heard her words. "I was angry with Him," he said. "For had I not offered him everything I had? Devotion and loyalty?" Tuck shook his head sadly. "It was then I realised that I was at fault. I had tried to bargain for the lives of my wife and child by offering the Lord something that I already owed Him."

"So I sold my estates, renounced by title and pledged myself to God's service," Tuck added, one hand grasping the rosary around his neck. "I studied medicine and surgery to assist the sick. I went on Crusade in the pursuit of knowledge and absolution, and followed the path that the Lord has lain before me. To bring the wayward back to the light of the Lord's embrace, and to help those who do His work." Tuck closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Thank you for telling me," Marian said softly, feeling that she understood the man a bit better even if his reasoning was still unclear. "Although I'm not sure why you did," she admitted.

"My story is not a parable, my Lady," Tuck told her, his sorrow concealing itself once again. "Nor is it a lesson. I simply wanted you to know that my sins have been greater than any you may feel you have committed." He took her hands, then, grasping them gently. "And in that knowledge, I would hope that someday, you would share your burdens with me."

Tuck stayed out in the forest that night – to pray, he told her. Marian returned to camp wearily to see that everyone else had already turned in for the night. All except Much, who had taken her place on the floor by Robin. In his hands he held a full bowl of stew, and handed it to her wordlessly. Marian took it and began to eat, barely tasting anything

When she finished and had cleaned her bowl, Marian returned to Robin's side. "You can go to bed now, Much," she told him.

But Much looked up at her and shook his head. "No, Marian," he said firmly. "I'll watch over him tonight."

"Much-"

"You go to my bunk and sleep," Much ordered in a tone that didn't warrant argument. "You can barely stand upright, you're so exhausted."

Marian was about to argue, but her eyes were heavy and her head ached. So she dutifully climbed the ladder to Much's bunk and lay down next to Eve, whose arms immediately went around her.

"It will be alright, Marian," Eve whispered as she held her tightly. Marian allowed her eyes to drift close at Eve's soft, soothing voice and comforting, sisterly embrace. "Everything will be alright."

Chapter Text

Nottingham Castle

Guy sat at the Sheriff's desk, going over the tax reports as he had done every night since Vaisey had been away. He'd made copious notes on how he felt the system could be reworked, to raise the greatest possible amount with a minimum of manpower. It was getting difficult to recruit guards to man the Castle and enforce the law, since none of the young men in the villages wanted to risk going up against Hood and his gang.

Yet Guy's thoughts still dwelled on Marian, out there in Sherwood. He wondered what she was doing, whether she was happy, or perhaps if she was thinking of him as well. As unlikely as that was, Guy had to admit to himself. He wasn't sure what would happen if he came face to face with her again, and yet despite his words that they were enemies and he would treat her as any other outlaw, Guy knew that he could never bring himself to hurt her again. That made him vulnerable; a significant weakness which could be exploited if he wasn't careful.

"Well, well, well." A familiar voice cut through Guy's reverie, and he looked up to see Vaisey in the doorway, pulling off his riding gloves. "What have we here?"

Guy set his jaw and stared Vaisey down as his heart sank. With the Sheriff's return, Guy had lost his chance to prove to Prince John his superiority.

"Get out of my chair, Gisborne," Vaisey sneered. "It doesn't suit you."

Guy obliged, albeit with clenched fists. Vaisey settled into his chair, looking briefly at the parchment Guy had been perusing and the notes he'd made, before sweeping them away onto the floor. Guy exhaled harshly but did not otherwise react; he expected nothing less.

"How was London, my Lord?" Guy asked through gritted teeth, knowing he would have to play this game a while longer.

Vaisey pierced him with a dark stare. "More pertinent is how things are here in Nottingham, Gisborne," he said coldly. "It seems that you have not captured Robin Hood, or made any other progress to eliminate the outlaws," he added, his words dripping with derision. "Prince John will be so disappointed in you."

Fear struck Guy's heart as he realised Vaisey knew why he had been summoned to London, and Guy's part in it. Vaisey had trusted him once, and now all of Guy's advantage was lost with nothing to show for it. For a brief, wild moment, Guy's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and he considered drawing it, to eliminate Vaisey once and for all.

But Vaisey's knowing eyes were on his. "Why don't you do it," he goaded him, resting his palms on the desk to show that he was unarmed. "Go on."

Guy's hand clutched the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw. He screamed at himself to do it, certain that he could physically overcome Vaisey. But he simply could not force himself to act, for he had been penniless and alone before Vaisey had found him - the Sheriff had built him into a lord, and enforcer, a key player in his plans. There was still that niggling sense of loyalty within Guy that could not forget what had been done for him.

What was he, other than what Vaisey had made him? Guy realised that he could no more draw his sword against Vaisey than he could against Marian. They both had a hold over him, although one he loved and the other he hated. It was a miserable, confronting realisation, and Guy released his grip, feeling utterly defeated.

Without another glance Guy turned on one heel and strode out of the room, Vaisey's mocking laugh following him all the way.

Outlaw's Camp, Sherwood Forest

The camp was far too quiet for Little John's liking, and he was a man that relished silence. A depression had settled over their small band, and the cold winter weather seemed to reflect their collective mood. It would be Christmas soon but no one had mentioned it, not even Tuck, although John knew he was planning to hold Mass in Locksley if they could figure out a way to get rid of Gisborne for the day. In years past they had worked to ensure that all the families of the 'shire had at least a piece of meat to share, but this year their stores were lower than usual.

Work had been completed on the extension to the camp, and the small nooks had even been outfitted with bedding to accommodate the new occupants. And yet no one had taken up residence on them. Perhaps it was the bitter cold which kept them confined to the main camp, where the fire burned all day and hot stones were placed in the bunks to warm them up. But more likely it was the need to cleave together in these trying times, and John knew that no one would move into the nooks until Robin was better. He and Marian had been the main reason the extensions had been planned and implemented after all, to give them and the other couples some privacy as well as alleviate the crowding of the main camp.

And yet it seemed anything but crowded as they huddled together in the evenings, trying to make light and share stories and songs as they had done since the others had returned from the Holy Land. But Allan seemed to have run out of charming ballads and dances to play on his lute, instead strumming absently at mournful, slow tunes. There was only occasional chatter, for the spectre of Robin's illness hung over them like shroud.

John glanced over at where Robin lay sleeping in his bunk. Marian was sponging down his face with a wet cloth and a bowl of cool water to try and get his fever down, but it did not appear to be working. Robin had been awake and somewhat lucid earlier that day, trying first get out of the bunk until Djaq had pushed him back down and he clearly hadn't the strength to stop her. He’d tried to hold a strategy meeting but it had been obvious to everyone when he'd quickly tired, so they'd accepted his suggestions without argument; Much, Carter and Tuck heading off to Nottingham to investigate the Sheriff's return.

It hadn't been long before he'd drifted back to sleep, although it had not seemed to be a restful one. Even now, when John looked over he was concerned with the pallor of Robin's face and the way he tossed fitfully and muttered intelligible words every now and then. Marian caught his eye, and John's heart broke at the worry in her dark eyes she tried hard to conceal by shifting her gaze away again.

"He has nightmares," she said softly, pressing the wet cloth against Robin's forehead.

John nodded, unsure of what else to say. They all had bad dreams every now and then; episodes where they cried out into the night, but it had always been an unspoken rule to ignore them. If one was awoken in the night by heavy breathing, or a jolt upright, or a mournful cry of another outlaw, it was practice to simply lay still and pretend to be asleep. It had always seemed to happen to Robin the most, not that anyone would have known it from observing the young man in the morning.

Many times, John had considered asking Robin about them, but had never been able to find the appropriate words. Roy had been his voice, able to communicate everything that John wanted to say but found himself unable to express. The other outlaws were his brothers and dearest friends, but they had not been Roy – none of them could hear John grunt or growl and know exactly the words that needed to be spoken, none of them could know what John was feeling just by looking at his face.

But Roy was gone, and now Robin was in danger of being lost as well. It seemed impossible for his young, brash friend to be felled by a simple illness, and yet Roy had seemed invincible as well. Everyone in the camp acted as if Robin would simply need time to recover, but John could read into what Djaq was not saying as she gave them frequent reports on Robin's condition. He'd seen many taken by a fever, and knew that unless Robin improved quickly, he did not have much time left.

To distract himself, John refocused his attention on the parchment in his hands; a letter from his son. He was grateful that Djaq had once taught him to read well enough to decipher little Little John's missives, for they brought him great comfort and joy even on the darkest and coldest nights. He was still apprenticing with Luke Cooper, the boy had written, and mentioned with great pride that the local innkeeper had praised his work. John smiled to himself. That was the life he wanted for his son, safe and secure, learning a trade which would ensure his continued survival. Not an outlaw in the forest, who had been forced to learn to get by with his strength alone.

Little Little John always ended his letters the same way. Mother and I miss you very much, but I am proud that my father fights with Robin Hood. It was his son's way of supporting John's continued work in Nottinghamshire, despite the fact that it meant he could not be with them. Beside his name little Little John had drawn the Locksley crest, and rather than be heartened by his son's pride, John felt despair cling to him.

When he folded the letter away carefully, he saw that Marian was regarding him. It seemed Robin had calmed somewhat and was sleeping peacefully, but that did not seem to chase the sorrow from the young woman's face.

"Your family are doing well, I hope?" Marian asked lightly.

John nodded, reminding himself that his family were safe and alive, which was more than could be said for Marian's. Their small outlaw band was all she had now, and John felt very fatherly towards her, although he did not know a way to help or alleviate her abject misery, not only for Robin's illness, but for what had come before. When he got better, John promised himself that he would be more forceful with Robin, to tell him of how Marian had stayed at his bedside despite their estrangement, to urge the young man not to give into his fear and retreat into himself, as he himself had once done. John would beat that message into Robin if necessary, as the situation could not continue.

Marian was still watching him, her gaze kindly. "Why don't you visit them for Christmas?" she suggested. "It has been a great while since you've seen them."

John didn't need to be reminded of that, but he was afraid that if he visited them he would not be able to force himself to leave again. And how could he abandon the outlaws now, when Robin's life was in danger? They needed him.

"I am sending them some silver," John explained, withdrawing a small pouch from his coat and showing it to her. "What I've been saving from my cut these past few months."

Marian smiled. "I'm sure they will appreciate it," she said lightly, and her unspoken words seemed to be that surely they would appreciate his presence more. But she lapsed into silence, perhaps respecting that John did not try and breach her confidences and trying to do the same in return.

"Will you..write the letter for me?" John asked, for his writing skills was exceedingly poor even after many lessons from Djaq. The quill just did not seem to fit properly in his hand, so usually one of the other outlaws acted as scribe for him. He had never asked Marian before, though, and knew he'd done the right thing when a pleased blush spread across her pale cheeks.

"Of course," she said, leaving her cloth and bowl on the floor by Robin's bedside and moving to retrieve a parchment and quill from the store. Marian sat down at John's feet, and rested her head against his knee as a child would. John knew that she needed the distraction from Robin, and under the guise of helping him could break herself away from the sickbed. So he rested a large hand on Marian's head, and began to dictate.

Morning in the camp began as any other, as Marian rose from her bunk to eat the breakfast Carter had prepared. She had taken to sleeping beside Robin again, for her presence seemed to soothe his nightmares, and ignored Djaq's warnings that she may catch his sickness through such close proximity. Marian ate the porridge without tasting it, and then roused Robin so he could take some food and drink as well. She didn't miss that his forehead was even hotter than it had been the previous day, nor that he took longer than usual to wake. Robin could barely sit up, but she spooned the broth Djaq had made into his mouth despite his reluctance.

His mind seemed clouded, and despite Marian's repeated attempts to draw him into conversation Robin could not seem to form appropriates responses. Marian turned away and tried not to betray her worry as he lapsed back into sleep, and Djaq began to check him over.

"He seems worse today," Will opined, his brow furrowed. "Should we stay at camp?"

"No," Marian said with a confidence she didn't feel. "You heard him yesterday, he wants you to check the villages. The Sheriff is back, so we must make sure that everyone has a hiding place for what we have given them, in case he sends the guards to raid their homes."

They acquiesced without argument, and Marian watched Little John, Allan, Will and Carter leave the camp. Much and Eve had already left earlier that morning to gather firewood, and Tuck was somewhere in the greenwood at prayer.

When it was just Marian and Djaq left in the camp, she perched by Robin's bedside again. Then she took one of his hands in hers, kissing the back of it and trying not to be frightened by how hot the flesh was under her lips.

"Should I have let them stay, Djaq?" Marian asked in a half-whisper.

"Life must go on," Djaq nodded to herself. "Even if Robin dies."

"Robin is not going to die," Marian replied with utter conviction, putting Robin's hand back down on the blanket.

Djaq looked at her with pity and deep regret. "I'm not sure what else we can do for him. If he continues to decline…"

Marian took Djaq's hands in both of hers, much to the other woman's surprise at the uncharacteristic gesture.

"You have healed me twice with these hands, Djaq," Marian told her, squeezing her fingers slightly. "I know you can do the same for him."

Djaq was not unmoved, but she cast her gaze downward. "The circumstances were different, Marian," she said softly. "What you are looking for is a miracle, and that is not my area." She looked over the entrance to the camp, the corner of her mouth twisted distastefully. Tuck had reappeared, the knees of his robe muddy from prayer.

Still, Marian did not let go of Djaq's hands – Djaq who had called her brave only after she had witnessed an act of it herself, Djaq who had tended to her in the Holy Land, Djaq who reserved judgement but always spoke the direct, unambiguous truth. It was Djaq that she trusted with Robin's life.

But Djaq pulled away from her softly, and it felt like Marian's heart was tearing apart.

"I am sorry, Marian," Djaq said, and she took a seat by the fire to grind herbs in her mortar and pestle to make more broth. It was only then that Marian turned to Tuck, still standing impassively across the camp.

"My hands are practised for surgery, my Lady," Tuck said apologetically, holding them outwards and showing her his palms. "And prayer," he added, folding his hands together and threaded his fingers together. "I believe Mistress Djaq when she says she has done all she can for him."

Marian turned back to Robin, taking his hand in hers again as she resumed her vigil. It was over an hour later when Robin's eyes fluttered open again, but they were bloodshot and weary. He began to cough, turning on his side as dreadful shudders rocked through his slight frame; the rasping, barking sounds terrible to her ears. She rubbed Robin's back and held him through the fit, but gasped when tiny flecks of blood shot out of his mouth to stain the pillow beside his head. Djaq was by his side in an instant, her dark eyes wide and afraid as she pushed Marian away and hoarsely told her to give him room. Robin struggled for breath, his rasps shallow and panicked, and Marian backed away in fear, hot tears springing into her eyes. She felt Tuck's firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly in comfort.

Eventually Robin's coughs and shaking subsided, and he fell back into a state which seemed more like unconsciousness than sleep. Djaq stood, and in her hand was a cloth she had held to Robin's mouth through the fit. Marian swallowed heavily at seeing the dark red patch which stained the fabric.

"What does that mean?" she asked fearfully.

Djaq did not have the chance to answer, as they were interrupted by the fluttering of wings and sharp cooing as Bashirah the pigeon landed on the perch Will had built for her and Lardner. Djaq went over to it immediately, giving Bashirah a fond stroke of her feathers and untying a small roll of parchment from her leg.

"It's from Allan," Djaq's eyes scanned the note. "The sickness has spread to Nettlestone." She sighed and cast the parchment aside, moving to collect her instruments and satchel.

"But what about Robin?" Marian asked, trying to move forward but found Tuck's hand on her shoulder hold her firmly in place.

It was then that Much and Eve arrived back at camp, and Much looked around at them curiously while Djaq continued to pack her supplies and did not answer. Then he saw the blood on Robin's pillow, which had already dried into spots of a deep brownish-red. He began to take quick, panicked breaths as Eve put her hand over her mouth in distress.

"What's happened to him?" Much demanded, but Marian was unable to speak.

"The sickness has reached his lungs," Djaq said curtly. "Based on those I have already administered to, that is the final stage."

"Final stage of what?" Much asked, tears already falling on his face, and Eve stepped forward to put her arms around him.

"How long does he have?" Marian asked, feeling numb from Djaq's words.

Djaq's chin trembled, and she was visibly trying to hold herself together. "A day, perhaps, it's hard to tell."

"No!" Much protested. "No, that's not possible." He watched as Djaq fossicked around in her cubbyhole and withdrew a small flask of liquid, his eyes travelling to the pack on her shoulder. "And you're leaving him?"

"There is nothing else I can do," Djaq said a touch too sharply. "I must try and help those in Nettlestone - I believe that early treatment could help prevent the sickness from worsening."

"But-" Much tried to protest but was cut off by Djaq raising a shaking palm to silence him.

"Do not think this is an easy choice for me," Djaq's voice broke. "I love him too, but he would want me to try and save others, not waste time at his bedside when there is nothing else to be done." She raised her gaze, and Marian caught her eyes, giving Djaq a small nod of assent. "I will take Lardner," she said. "If his time seems near…"

Tuck's grip loosened on Marian's shoulder, and he went to retrieve the pigeon cage for Djaq to take with her. "I will stay, Mistress Djaq," she told her softly. "And administer to him in your absence."

Djaq nodded, her eyes still on Marian, stepping forward and handing her the small flask with shaking hands. Looking down at it, Marian recognised that it was one of the items she had retrieved from Blight's cart weeks ago.

"I've been unable to discover what it is," Djaq said softly. "In truth I think it a false remedy - those who have taken it died the same as those who have not.” She glanced over at Robin in the bunk, her eyes wet. "But maybe..."

Marian looked down at the flask in her hand, hope seeping out of her heart. Djaq squeezed her hand gently, and then left the camp.

Taking up her position by Robin's sickbed, Marian felt cold and numb. Much looked like he wanted to say something, but remained silent. Robin's skin was hot to the touch and he remained locked in his fever dreams, anxiety and pain clear upon his face as he tossed fitfully in his bunk. Marian watched as the minutes passed and another nightmare took hold of him, unable to do anything but lay her free hand over his. He settled slightly when she did that, his fingers shifting slightly to entwine with hers, but he did not wake.

The flask was still held in her other hand, and Marian stared at it for several moments. It was green - the colour of leaves in summer, the colour of Robin’s eyes. Was that a sign that salvation lay within? But she was struck by the memory of Blight smashing a flack from his cart across Robin’s face - the glass that had shattered against his cheek had been red, not green. She recalled picking the small scarlet flecks out of his skin, but had not given any thought to why the rest of the flasks in the cart were made from different coloured glass. There had been no reason to, but now the discrepancy seemed meaningful.

They'd found Blight on the Great North Road, heading towards Nottingham. But why had Blight taken that road, which he must have known the outlaws patrolled regularly? Unless it had been deliberate. Marian felt her pulse quicken as a sudden, wild idea struck her.

"What if this isn't a remedy for the sickness?" she asked, holding out the flask in her hand. "What if it's the cause?" She looked back up at the remaining gang members; Much who looked confused, Eve intrigued, and Tuck impassive.

"I dont understand what you mean, Marian," Much queried.

"This is no ordinary sickness," Marian declared. "It can't be, not to affect Robin in this way. This is the Sheriff's doing."

"How can you know?" Tuck asked.

"That day in the forest - Robin got it all over himself," she recalled. "He breathed some of it in, and Blight made sure to cut his hand. I know some of it got into that wound."

"You're saying that Blight allowed himself to be robbed so he could infect Robin with a disease?" Eve seemed to roll the possibility around in her mind. "It seems rather far-fetched."

"There is a precedent – remember Pitt Street?" she addressed Much, and he nodded uncertainly. "When I was in the dungeons below the castle, there were many rooms – one looked like a laboratory, perfect for creating such a disease." She took a deep, determined breath. "And if the Sheriff made it, he must have a cure."

"That's an awful lot of assumptions, Marian," Much pointed out.

"What is the alternative?" she asked desperately. "Just wait for Robin to die? I can't let that happen, not if there's a chance." Marian was resolved and determined. "Tuck, let's go."

Tuck stood immediately, retrieving his belt and sword and fastening it around his robes. Marian did the same with her own sword, then pulled on her quiver and slung her longbow across her chest. Finally, she retrieved her travelling pack from her cubbyhole.

"Wait," Much scrambled to his feet. "I'm coming with you."

"No, Much," Marian told him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Robin needs you here."

"Don't give me orders Marian," Much shucked off her grasp and raised himself to his full height and started her down, a hard edge to his voice she had never before heard. "Not when it comes to Robin."

Marian sighed, knowing it was a fight she could not win. "Eve, can you take care of him until we get back?"

Eve nodded gravely, and took up Marian's place by Robin's bedside as Marian, Much and Tuck headed out into the woods. Marian whistled a call into the air, praying that he was close by enough to hear. But she needn't have worried, for soon a chestnut gelding appeared from the trees and approached Marian eagerly.

"Good boy," she soothed him, rubbing his neck and produced a carrot from her pack. "Will you take me for a ride today?" she asked him sweetly. Although Robin had urged her to keep the horse they'd liberated from Blight's service, the weather had grown too cold to keep him at the camp. Marian had briefly considered housing him in one of the village stables, but she was concerned that a guard would recognise it and retribution would fall upon the populace. So Marian had led the animal to a nearby cave to provide him with shelter and lined the ground with straw.

She had given the animal his freedom - he was free to roam the woods and run and go where he pleased as Marian herself was not. She had not even given him a name, instead releasing him to Sherwood and away from all chattels of man. And yet, Marian understood that he was not a wild horse, at least not yet. She would check on him often, and brought him clean straw and food, and in return he allowed her to saddle and ride him. In those moments Marian felt free as well, with the cold winter wind whipping through her unbound hair as she traversed Sherwood and beyond. And yet those moments were fleeting, for duty always remained.

Much appeared with the animal's saddle and bridle, and the horse allowed it to be fastened to him whilst receiving affection and more treats.

"How are we going to get in?" Much asked her as he finished tying the saddle. "The castle security is tighter than ever." Briefly, Marian's thoughts turned to the tunnel Guy had led her down, allowing her to escape the dungeons. Yet she remembered the trapdoor had been thick, and locked from the inside, the cavern too deep to dig down into. But Marian had another idea.

"You two go to Nottingham," she instructed them. "I'll meet you by the gates."

"Where are you going, my Lady?" Tuck asked, holding the reins as she mounted her horse and then handled them to her.

"To find us a way inside the castle," she told them, then turned the horse south towards Locksley.

Chapter Text

Locksley

When she reached Locksley, Marian didn't bother exercising her habitual caution and keeping to the many shadows which would conceal her approach. Instead she walked directly through the village and up the steps of the Manor.

The door slammed against the wall as she thrust it open, making such a large bang that Thornton came running immediately. He gasped as she entered the room, clearly at a loss for words.

"Where's Guy?" she asked him urgently. Whatever he had said to her the last time they had met, Marian didn't believe he would harm her. She simply had to convince him that saving Robin's life was integral to keeping her from harm, to having the life he thought he'd taken from her in Acre.

"In Nottingham," Thornton said with a pained expression - it was clear he was unsettled by her appearance. "My Lady, I do not think it wise-"

"I need to find a way into the castle undetected," Marian cut him off, the plan reformulating instantly in her mind. "You're trusted, you could get me in."

"My Lady...I cannot do that," Thornton said, twisting his hands with obvious distress.

"I am Robin's wife," she countered, dismissing the accusatory pang that she would invoke that status when it suited her, just as she'd accused Robin of doing with his title. But the circumstances were dire, and she didn't have time for moral qualms. "I'm the true mistress of Locksley," she continued. "Will you not help me?"

"I wish it were so." Thornton looked down at the floor. "But Robin is outlawed, stripped of his title and lands, and I am honour-bound to serve Master Guy now."

"Robin is dying." Marian took a step towards him, challenging him. "The Sheriff has had some scheme to make him ill, and unless I can get to the castle and find the cure, he will be dead by nightfall."

Thornton looked stricken, one hand covered his mouth in shock and distress. He looked down at the floor again, shaking his head helplessly. "I…"

"You can't hide behind your position anymore, Thornton," she cut him off harshly, disappointed by his indecision. "You have to make your choice."

"I do not know anything." Thornton told her, and when he looked up there were tears in his eyes.

Marian huffed and began to walk away – she had no time to waste.

"Wait!" Thornton called, and Marian turned back. "I...do know that Sir Guy has been corresponding with Prince John," he told her. "And that he orchestrated the attack here to get a piece of Robin's clothing, so that he could send tracking dogs into the forest."

Marian rubbed her temple – that explained a few things.

"I do recall Sir Guy mentioning that the Sheriff had a plan of his own," Thornton continued, wringing his hands again. "One that the Master did not believe would work…or had not worked yet."

“So Guy was not involved in the plot - that as least was good news. "I need you to get me into the castle undetected," she repeated, not willing to be distracted.

Thornton hesitated. She knew that he loved Robin, but also knew that he took his position very seriously. Would love win out over duty? With someone like Thornton, it was difficult to tell.

"Either you help me or Robin will be dead in a few hours," Marian said angrily, stepping forward and shaking Thornton's shoulder. "What's your decision?"

Outlaw's Camp

Eve pressed a damp cloth to Robin's forehead, alarmed at how hot to the touch his skin had become, even in the past few hours. She had no love for him, but was dear to the two people she cared the most about. That alone was enough for her to pray for his recovery, and despite her own feelings she acknowledged that his actions had saved the lives of many since his return from the Holy Land three years ago.

Robin muttered to himself, but Eve did not understand the foreign words. His eyes were clenched tight and his head shook slightly, clearly distressed by his fever dreams. Eve pressed her palm to his forehead and his skin was searingly hot despite her ministrations. She had nursed her mother through a long illness, and could not deny that Robin's appearance and behaviour was very much like hers near the end.

The water in her bowl was lukewarm now, and Eve moved to refill it with cool liquid from the canteen outside. The winter air chilled her to the bone, and she looked up at the sky darkened with grey cloud, wondering if it might snow. She wasn't sure if that would help Robin's condition or not. If she could make a compress from snow it might help in bring down his fever, but she also knew the cold weather would only speed his decline. In any event she found that the water in the stores was rather icy, and she refilled the bowl hoping that it would be enough.

When she returned to Robin's bedside she found that he was awake, looking at her with a foggy gaze. He squinted, as if trying to place her.

"Eve?" he asked weakly, his voice a hideous rasp. "Where is Marian?"

"They went to find you a cure," she said as she sat by his side, dipping her rag into the icy water then wringing it out.

"Much?"

Eve pursed her lips as she applied to damp cloth to his forehead and cheek. "He went too."

Robin swallowed heavily, and with obvious difficulty. "Where did they go?"

Eve sighed, but saw no reason to lie to him. "The castle."

"No." Robin struggled to sit up, but feel quickly back down again, coughing and wheezing. "They should not have gone," he rasped.

"They love you," she told him simply. "I have no clue why, but they would do anything to save you."

Robin sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "I do not deserve them."

"No, you don't." Eve upbraided him, but then her heart softened at his obvious distress. "I said that to Much, once," she added, dipping the cloth back into the bowl of water and pressing it gently to his cheek. "He told me that sometimes you want to give the people you love more than they deserve."

Robin opened his eyes again, and smiled painfully. "Much loves you a great deal, Eve. You have made him very happy – I am so glad of that. Please…please look after him." He closed his eyes again and his breathing was deep, but difficult.

"Don't talk like that," she scolded him.

"I am dying," he laughed humourlessly. "I can feel it." He swallowed heavily and with obvious effort opened his eyes again, looking upward. "It is perhaps for the best. They will both be free from the burden of loving me."

Eve put her bowl and cloth aside, and took his hand gently in hers. "You are a fool, Robin Hood," she told him softly, but with no malice.

"Many have said so," he agreed with a small smile. "I suppose they were all right." His eyes began to flutter closed again.

"You still have a chance to prove them wrong," she urged him, and shook his shoulder to keep him awake. Robin shifted in the bunk in obvious discomfort, but appeared to be making an effort to keep his eyes open. He likely knew as well as she did that if he fell into sleep again he may not wake up.

"Can you write, Eve?" he asked, and she answered in the affirmative just to keep him talking and conscious. Her literacy was one of the reasons the Sheriff had first chosen her as his spy.

"There is parchment, quills and ink in the store," Robin indicated to the cupboard by the larder. "Please…please will you take a letter?"

Eve complied and fetched the equipment. She knew that the effort of dictating would tire him out more quickly and perhaps speed his decline, but also knew that he feared he would not last until the others returned, and had things to say to them.

"Alright," she said, dipping the quill into the ink.

"Write this," Robin instructed. "My...dearest Marian…"

His voice was hoarse and weak, and the gaze he had on her was cloudy and grey. He had to stop several times during his dictation, either to think through his words or rest. Eve copied them down faithfully, touched by his bare honesty.

When she was finished she helped Robin hold the quill in swollen fingers to clumsily sign his name. Then she put the parchment aside to dry, promising him that she would give it to Marian only if the worst happened. Eve added a silent prayer asking to be relieved of the task, for Robin to survive so she did not have to face the reality of bearing his final words to those she loved so dearly.

"Do you want to write anything to Much?" Eve asked, seeing that he was drifting again.

"No," Robin answered, eyelids heavy. "Just…tell him that I love him. That he is the best man I have ever known." He took a laboured breath. "And the gang," he continued with difficulty. "That I love them, too…all of them…"

He slipped into sleep, and Eve made sure to check his breathing. It remained difficult, but constant. She again wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and made sure his position was comfortable. When the ink on the letter was dry she folded it and tucked it into her skirts, before returning to Robin's side to continue her vigil.

Robin was in God's hands now, Eve told herself. And perhaps - Marian's.

Nottingham

It was surprisingly easy to get inside the castle with Thornton to guide her. She had borrowed a long cloak which concealed her outlaw clothes, and had drawn the hood low over her face. Luckily it was heavy and large enough to also accommodate her bow and quiver which she wore strung over her back, and she hoped they did not see the bulge over one shoulder. 

The two guards at the castle gates didn't even give her a second look, accepting Thornton's word that they had been ordered to bring a basket of onions from Locksley since the castle kitchens had run out. They simply inspected the merchandise Marian carried and then took one bulb each, on account that they were smaller than the others and the Nottingham cook didn't like small onions.

Thornton smiled in agreement, and Marian wondered if Guy or the Sheriff knew of such things, or whether Thornton remained silent about such filching. It had been a harsh winter, after all, and the guards had families as well.

Once inside the gates, Thornton led her down the servant's entrance to the kitchens, taking the basket of onions from her and striking up a conversation with the burly cook. Taking advantage of the distraction, Marian slipped past the scullery and kitchen maids who paid her no mind. At the steps leading up to the castle interior, Marian paused and looked back, nodding her thanks to Thornton. He glanced at her only a moment, then bit his lip and nodded his head twice in quick succession, urging her on.

She made her way through the castle, retracing the path the guards had led her down before until she reached the heavy wooden door concealed behind a tapestry. Marian made quick work of the lock with a pin she carried in her belt, and was thankful she'd made a point to have Allan teach her the art in the past month. It took several minutes, but eventually the lock gave way and Marian slipped into the hidden passageway, closing the door behind her and letting the tapestry fall back into place to conceal her entry.

The torches were unlit, and Marian had to feel her way down the stone steps, cautious not to fall in the darkness. Her heart raced as she methodically felt along the passageway at the bottom of the stairs, trying each of the heavy doors she came across. They were all locked, and Marian searched her memory for the room she'd seen before which had looked like some kind of laboratory. It was more than halfway down the passage, and Marian moved in that direction purposefully.

Finally, after she turned a corner she saw light emanating from a room near the dungeons she had been kept in the last time. She drew a dagger from her belt and paused at the entrance to the open room, her eyes adjusting to the firelight from torches inside.

It was indeed the laboratory she'd seen before, a collection of scientific instruments and various herbs, powders and liquids. An older man was bent over the equipment, studying a small, steaming mixture and making notes on a piece of parchment. Marian could see a collection of flasks which appeared to be in several different stages of progress - whatever was being created, it took time.

Holding her dagger in front of her and throwing back her hood, Marian stepped into the room. "Put your hands where I can see them."

When the occupant lifted his head, all of Marian's suspicions were confirmed when she saw it was indeed Blight, the Sheriff's physician who they had accosted in Sherwood. He gasped when he saw her, his eyes wide.

"Lady Marian!" he exclaimed, but dropped his quill and lifted his hands obediently.

"Your eyes don't deceive you, Blight," Marian said coldly. "I'm not a ghost." She stepped towards Blight and put the tip of her dagger to his throat. "In fact I was there in the forest that day, when you infected Robin with your sickness."

Blight gulped, backing up against the stone wall. "What sickness?"

"Don't play games with me, Blight," Marian said dangerously. "I've come for the cure."

Blight glanced involuntarily at the table to his right, and Marian saw a collection of three flasks of blue glass.

"So that's it," Marian said, keeping her dagger pointed at Blight as she backing towards the table, her free hand grasping the flasks and stowing them in her travelling pack.

"It's not a cure," Blight said, sniffing dismissively. "It's only a treatment - medicine."

"Why did the Sheriff have you make this?" Marian asked, looking around at the table where Blight had been working. There was a collection of red flasks, exactly the same as had infected Robin in the first place, but why would they need such a volume, and why create a treatment? It surely went beyond what they had done to one man.

"What's the scheme?" Marian asked, drawing menacingly closer to Blight, feeling her ire rise as it became clear to her. "You make the people sick and then sell them the medicine they can get nowhere else? That's despicable."

Blight didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "It's Hood's fault - his charity to the poor has caused them to hoard their coin," he said. "But they'll pay to stay alive - especially now that a few of them have died."

Incensed, Marian pressed the tip of her dagger to Blight's throat, enough to nick the skin. "What was Robin then?"

"A test case," was Blight's strangled reply. "We tried it on a few peasants, but we wanted to make sure it would work on someone strong. And it would get rid of him – quietly. He's no martyr if he dies out in the woods."

Marian didn't trust herself not to plunge her blade into neck, and so instead pushed him violently against the wall and held him there, her forearm pressing against his throat. If he remembered her as the good-hearted and peaceable Lady Marian, he was shocked to see her for what she truly was - his judge and potential executioner. But she didn't have time to weigh that decision, not when time was running out for Robin.

"How do I know that this is the real cure?" she demanded. Blight gave a strangled sound, and Marian eased the pressure on his throat so he could speak.

"It's not a cure," he repeated. "It's medicine."

"Either way."

Blight gave her a look of dismissal, and Marian's rage boiled over. She released Blight's neck and grasped his hand instead, slicing open his palm with her dagger. Blight let out a yell and fell back against the wall, clutching his hand as warm blood spilled from the wound. Marian sheathed her blade and then punched Blight in the face – not enough to knock him out, but enough so that he was incapacitated and he sunk to the floor. With calculation, she grasped a red flask from the main table, the one she as certain held the sickness, and pulled out the cork. Then Marian grasped Blight's injured hand and he was too weak to stop her or cover the bloody gash as she poured the liquid directly into it.

"No…" Blight said, trying to pull his arm away but Marian's grip was too strong. When she was satisfied that the wound was drenched in the sickness, she poured the remainder of the liquid onto Blight's face and into his mouth, since she couldn't be sure of the method of infection.

Casting the empty flask aside, Marian crouched down beside him, watching Blight whimpering and trying to wipe at the bloodflow with the sleeve of his tunic.

"Is what I have the only cure you've made?" she asked coolly. "Tell me the truth or you won't have to wait for the sickness to take hold of you, I will end it now."

Blight looked up at her with fear and nodded feverishly. "Yes - you have the medicine."

"And the rest is the sickness?" Marian asked, and Blight nodded again. “And the green?”

”Decoys,” Blight said piteously. She stood and surveyed the table with the collection of red flasks and their deadly contents,  ready to be unleashed onto the people of Nottinghamshire. She swept them to the floor with a fluid stroke, and they shattered on impact. Now the Sheriff could not infect anyone else, she told herself, and his scheme would not come to fruition.

"Please," Blight pleaded, grasping for her travelling pack. "Please leave me some - only a mouthful is required for each patient."

She turned back to him, unsympathetic. She had the cure, and hopefully it was enough to treat not only Robin but those sick in Locksley and Nettlestone as well.

"Make more.”

"It will take too long," he protested, his breathing heavy with desperation. "I won't have the next batch finished in time."

"That is unfortunate for you," Marian told him coldly. "Perhaps if Robin survives, I'll save you some. If not - you can join him."

Marian ran through the stone hallways of Nottingham Castle, trying to make her way back to the castle gates without being detected. And yet she heard the sound of shouting and the clash of swords in the distance, and knew the others must have found their way inside, creating a distraction for her.

She rounded a corner and ran directly into Much, who was breathing heavily and looked fresh from a fight.

"Marian!" he breathed. "Thank God - did you find it?"

"Yes," she passed her pack with the flasks of medicine to Much. "It's the cure, take it to Robin," she ordered him. "I'll find Tuck and follow you."

"Marian…"

"Go!" she pushed him away, and Much ran down the corridor, towards the castle entrance. She knew that nothing would stop him from getting to Robin - there was no force on the earth that would delay or distract him from that task. With Tuck occupying the guards, Much would be able to slip out easily enough. As for Marian, she had one other task to complete.

She crept into the quarters she knew Guy used in the castle, a bare, barren room with little adornment and with no care paid to it. It was more the room of a monk than a Lord, but Marian dismissed those thoughts, intent on her purpose. She was in luck, with a small chamber hidden behind a tapestry on the wall, a mirror of the one where she and Robin had found the Black Knight's pact in the Sheriff's room.

Guy's hidey-hole contained a coin purse that she pocketed, as well as a few letters and trinkets that she ignored. Her quarry was also there: the Saracen sword Guy had taken from her when she'd been captured in the forest. It was only a few days ago, and yet it seemed like lifetime.

Marian sheathed the scimitar in her empty scabbard, feeling slightly more whole again. A part of her knew it was foolish, to tarry in the castle when every moment brought her closer to discovery, but the sword was precious to her. Now that she had it back Marian felt as if her clarity returned as well, and she remembered Robin dying back in Sherwood, of her own precarious position - if she was captured again, Vaisey would make sure her execution was swift to ensure there was no hope of rescue.

She ran back through the hallways of the castle, towards the sound of clashing swords - Marian could hear the Sheriff's distant voice, calling for his guards, for Gisborne, for assistance. Tuck was fighting off half a dozen men in one corridor, where he'd created a bottleneck to better counter their numbers, and Marian called out to him.

"I'll take care of it, my Lady!" he called to her as he swung his sword and disarmed a guard. "Get to the gates before they close them."

Marian nodded, running back in the direction she'd come and down the stairs which would lead her to the main courtyard. He heard footsteps on stone, slightly heavier than hers, in the opposite direction - whoever it was, they were trying to head her off. With a final burst of speed, Marian ran through the main entrance to the castle, throwing open the doors and out onto the castle steps.

Vaisey stood in the centre of the courtyard, a long serrated dagger in his hand and a familiar smirk on his face. However his expression turned to shock as he took in her appearance, needing only a few seconds for comprehension to dawn.

"You," he hissed. "How?"

Marian squared her shoulder and looked at him with a cold amusement. "You look a little lonely, Sheriff."

"Guards!" he screamed, his face red and his eyes bulging.

"I believe my man is taking care of them," she said calmly, gratified by his impotence. Once, she had feared him - now she felt nothing but triumph. "Stand aside."

"Oh, I don't think so," Vaisey answered, taking a step towards her and brandishing his knife. "I should have known Gisborne was too sloppy to finish you off back in the Holy Land - he doesn't have the best track record with that kind of thing. I won't be so careless, I assure you."

His eyes drifted over her, the tip of his knife following his gaze as if he was deciding how he would gut her. But Marian was no longer cowed by his words - she held all the power now.

"Your scheme has failed, Vaisey," she told him, slowly making her way down the castle steps. "I've destroyed your sickness, and the cure is already on its way to Robin. So stand aside and let me pass."

"You're too late," Vaisey taunted her. "He's been infected too long – the medicine won't work. As for the rest, I can get Blight to make more."

Rage boiled under Marian's skin. "Maybe I killed him."

Vaisey let out a long, hearty laugh. "I don't think so."

Marian cast her cloak aside and drew an arrow from her quiver, notching it in her bow. She drew the string back forcfully and aimed it at Vaisey's chest.

"Stand aside," she repeated through gritted teeth.

"Oh please, missy," Vaisey waved his knife at her. "I know this old game."

"I will not ask again," she said through clenched teeth, pulling back the string of the bow even tighter.

"You are just like Hood," he laughed. "Weak."

"You underestimate me, Vaisey." Without hesitation, she altered her aim and released the arrow. It struck him in the thigh and he yelled in surprise and pain as he fell to the ground.

Marian cleared the rest of the stairs and then loaded another arrow in her bow. She knew she should leave, should make sure Tuck was following, should make sure Much had gotten out alright, but she burned with newfound purpose.

"You have brought about the death of every man who was truly important to me," she told Vaisey, her eyes locking on his own. He looked up at her contemptuously as he clutched his leg where the arrow was lodged.

"My father." Her voice faltered and she took a steely breath. "Robin." His words had struck her to heart with sickening fear that Vaisey was right, and they were too late. "And Guy," she added, surprising herself with the words. "Yes," she nodded. "You killed him too. He had a chance to be a good man, but you destroyed him."

She drew the string of her bow back taut and aimed directly at Vaisey's heart while he struggled and spluttered on the ground, pulling the arrow out of his thigh and yelling in pain. He threw the arrow aside to clatter on the courtyard stones, and pressed his hands against the wound. Then he looked up at her again, murderous and red and full of hate, and Marian realised that he would never stop hunting them, that his determination and desire for their destruction would never be sated, and if he could not hurt her, he would make it his life's mission to hurt the innocent in her stead. There was only one thing that would make him stop.

"I pray that God forgives me for taking your life," she told him with cold determination, taking aim with her bow. "But that he does not forgive you for taking theirs."

She released the second arrow and it struck Vaisey directly in the heart. He fell back against the courtyard stones, eyes and mouth open in a final expression of surprise.

"Marian!"

She looked up and saw Guy watching from the top of the castle steps. He had a bow and arrow in his hands, an expression of shock on his face as his gaze drifted from her to Vaisey's lifeless body. Tuck appeared from across the courtyard, blood-splattered but seemingly unhurt, and ran to her side.

"My Lady, we must go," he urged her, his gentle hands taking the bow from her.

Marian nodded and then looked back up at Guy. He had notched the arrow in his bow and had it pointed directly at her. She stared at him for several moments, remembering his last words to her when he'd let her go from the dungeons. And yet she noticed how his hand trembled against the curve of the bow, how his gaze caught hers and communicated shock and reticence. Her eyes met his one final time, those dark depths that had looked at her with love and anger and everything in between, that still silently pleaded for what she could not give.

Slowly, she turned and walked through the portcullis without a further look back. Tuck sliced through the rope and the gate closed behind her with finality, but Marian's eyes remained on Sherwood and the life she desperately hoped she had not been too late to save.

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Marian and Tuck did not speak as they ran back to the camp, and while she usually relished such silence, this time it felt oppressive. What did the holy man think of her, she wondered. She had committed murder - the most heinous crime against man and God possible. And even though Marian's faith in the divine had been shaken this past year, she still knew right from wrong and believed in mortal sin.

She had killed before, of course, but that had been in defence of herself or others - she had never struck in cold blood. But if Tuck disapproved of her actions he did not show it, or perhaps he was simply intent on returning to the camp as quickly as possible.

She'd left her horse for Much at the edge of the forest, and had been relieved to see he must have taken it to get back to the camp with the medicine for Robin. But a part of Marian was ashamed - not simply for her actions in killing the Sheriff, but in allowing herself to be distracted, first in retrieving her sword from Guy's quarters and then being waylaid by Vaisey, by making the choice to end his life rather than wound him and escape.

But Marian cast those thoughts from her mind, instead focusing on the treeline in front of them, on her legs thumping against the ground as she ran, of her heart racing and the frantic pace of her breath.

When they reached the camp she saw all the gang members gathered in varying states of distress. Robin was in his bunk and appeared to be in great pain, his face flushed as he thrashed about, with Djaq trying hopelessly to keep him calm. Turning to Much, who was sobbing in Eve's arms, Marian demanded answers.

"Did you give it to him?" she asked, discarding her bow and quiver onto the floor of the camp. "What's happening?"

"I administered the medicine," Djaq told her, trying to combat Robin's flailing arms. "And he started having a fit." Little John stepped forward to take over, pressing Robin back down into the bunk with a his large, strong hands. Yet Robin still struggled against him, awake but only barely, caught in the midst of a fever dream far more intense than Marian had ever seen.

"What if this has made him worse?" Much asked through his tears, and Eve soothed him, stroking his hair softly.

Djaq was examining the blue flasks Marian had procured. "We may have been too late," she murmurred. "The sickness had already taken hold of him."

"We're not too late," Marian said forcefully. When the Sheriff had been standing before her, gloating about his evil act, she had lost hope, and reconciled herself to Robin's death. That was what had given her the strength and righteousness to kill him. But now with him here before her, teetering on the edge of death, she would not accept it.

In the bunk Robin pushed against Little John's grip, babbling blindly about his sword, about someone he had to save. Little John's hands pressed harder down against his arms and chest, keeping him on the bed but making Robin groan in pain.

"Stop it, you're hurting him," Marian cried, crossing the camp and pulling on Little John's arm.

"There ain't nothing that can hurt him now, Marian," she heard Allan say from across the camp. Marian looked over to where he was seated by the fire, his knees pulled up to his chest and a mournful look on his face. Carter was next to him, his eyes watering as he stared into the fire and refused to return Marian's gaze. Tuck was where she'd left him by the entrance, holding his rosary and murmuring a soft prayer to himself. Djaq had put down the medicine and was standing by the store looking helpless, and Will came to put his arm around her shoulders and rest his head against hers. Much was still sobbing while Eve embraced him, and she shot Marian a look of sorrow and pity. Even Little John, still holding Robin down, looked as if he was simply waiting for the inevitable.

They had all given up, Marian realised. They all saw that this was the end, and that all they could do now was try to calm Robin down so they could say goodbye.

Putting a gentle hand on Little John's arm, Marian motioned for him to stand aside. He did so with only a half-second's hesitation, and allowed her to take a seat on the bunk. As soon he he was freed Robin began thrashing about again, his gaze cloudy and unfocused, his words almost unintelligible. Marian caught his flailing hands, firmly bringing them back down against his chest.

"Robin," she spoke gently, and at the sound of her voice his head turned towards her. "It's Marian."

He relaxed slightly, although his breathing was still heavy. "Marian?" His brow furrowed and his face creased in distress. "I need...I need my sword," he told her, pulling one arm from her grip and grasping at his side, where his scabbard would usually have hung. "I need to save them."

"Who?" Marian asked, happy that he was still conscious and talking, although it was clear he was still trapped in the midst of his fever dreams. "What do you see?"

"Fire," Robin rasped, his cloudy gaze seeming to look beyond her. "They're burning, I have to save them...I have to…" His eyes rolled back in his head as he began to slip away. But he was still breathing, his body still twitching in pain and distress. Marian felt hot tears spill onto her cheeks as she tried to shake him back awake. She heard Much's piteous moan from across the camp and the sniffling of tears from several others, but this only hardened her resolve. Let them give up, Marian told herself, she never would.

Then she felt Tuck's hand on her shoulder, trying to gently pull her away. "Marian, please," he said softly. "I must administer the last rights."

"No!" she shucked off his grip and pushed him away violently. "Get away from him," she snapped, standing to put her body between Tuck and Robin. They would have to go through her first, and she would hold her ground.

Tuck looked at her kindly, and held up his hands in, stepping forward with caution as one might approach a wild animal. "Robin would want to be absolved before he passes," he explained. "Whatever your doubts are about your creator, Marian, Robin did not share them. Do not take that from him."

"He doesn't need to be absolved," Marian said through gritted teeth. "Because he's not going anywhere." She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword and stared Tuck down, the message clear.

Tuck sighed deeply, but retreated. "As you wish, my Lady."

Marian turned back to Robin without even looking at the others - she knew they would not interfere. In the bunk Robin was shivering, his head thrashing about on the pillow, and Marian hoped that meant to the medicine was working, and not that he was in the final throes of life. He had told her that when Margery in Locksley had died from the sickness, it had been quite peaceful, and hoped Robin's distress was a sign that his body was still fighting.

His breathing quickened and his eyes opened again, but they were glassy and the pupils large and black. A desperate fear gripped Marian as she saw he was slipping away. She grasped his face in his hands and looked directly into his eyes.

"Robin, you listen to me, you're not going to die," she said, although he did not seem to hear or see her, his gaze unfocused. "You have to fight," she continued through tears. "You once told me that you never gave up on anyone. I'm not going to let you give up on yourself." She leaned down and kissed his lips, heedless of the gasps of horror behind her, of the threat of catching the sickness from him.

Marian covered his body with her own, as if she could wrap him in her protection, impart whatever divine immunity she had been afforded to him. "I love you, Robin," she whispered hoarsely into his ear. "I need you...please don't leave me." Her tears rained onto his cheek as she held him close, willing him to survive, for in that moment she realised just how desperately she did love him, and how much she wanted his love in return. Marian loved him beyond reason and hope, beyond any foul words or actions that had passed between them. At the core of her heart, Marian knew that she could live without him, but now understood that she would never want to.

"Marian." Djaq's voice cut through her thoughts, and she felt the woman's gentle hand on her back. Marian turned her head slightly to see that Djaq was crouching beside her, her dark eyes wet. "He is asleep now - will you let me examine him?"

Marian acquiesced, sitting up in the bunk and wiping the tears from her eyes. She saw that Robin had indeed fallen back into his dreaming state, although he seemed much calmer, his breathing slow and movements less erratic.

"Is that a good thing or not?" she asked.

"We'll have to wait and see," Djaq told her softly as she lifted one of Robin's eyelids to expose the white underneath. Then she felt the sides of his neck and checked his breathing. "His body will either accept the medicine and fight the disease, or he will succumb to it." She turned to Marian, and there was perhaps a glimpse of hope in her expression. "If he lives through the night, I believe he will come through it."

Marian nodded, her tongue feeling thick and her mouth dry. She took one of Robin's hand and pressed her lips to the knuckles before laying it back on the sheets. Then she slowly rose, knowing that she must allow the others their time with him. She avoided their gaze as she walked off into the forest, unable to bear witness to them bidding him farewell, just in case.

She would do no such thing.

Night had fallen over Sherwood Forest like a dark shroud, bringing a bitter chill that permeated the woods like an icy death. There were no sounds of nature to be heard, no hooting of owls on the hunt, no distant howling of wolves or whistling of the winter wind rustling the bare trees. It was almost as if Sherwood itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if Robin lived through the night.

Tuck's breath misted as he walked through the frost-covered trees, and he looked up at the dark sky, wondering if it would snow that night. The cold would not help Robin fight his sickness, although the camp fire had been built higher to keep him warm. Tuck had seen many a fever claim lives in the Holy Land, and a few hours earlier he had been sure that Robin was about to slip away.

But Marian had reached him somehow, had broken through his fever dreams and urged him to fight, and Tuck could only hope that it was not too late, as it had been for his wife and daughter. He did not presume to know the reason why God took some into his embrace and let others remain, but he firmly believed it was all for a purpose. Had his family not been lost to him, Tuck would never have renounced his title and taken up the Crusade. He never would have met Lady Marian or been able to offer her his protection and assistance.

How much he had truly helped her or exactly what he was supposed to do was still unclear. Marian allowed him to act as her sword but not her teacher - she saw Tuck as a representative of a God she no longer had any love for. But he remained convinced in the righteousness of Robin Hood's cause, and the vital part Marian still had to play. She had eliminated the Sheriff, after all, removing his wickedness from the earth and sending him to the much deserved judgement of the Lord. If nothing else, Tuck believed he had played a part in that good deed, and that Marian was as close as he would come to touching the divine.

He found her not far from the camp, sitting cross-legged on the ground and leaning against an oak tree. She had her scimitar still in its scabbard across her lap, the red jewels of the handle shining even in the dim moonlight.

"My Lady," Tuck greeted her. "Are you not cold?"

"Yes," Marian answered flatly.

Tuck moved forward, unwrapping the blanket he had brought from the camp and placing it around her shoulders. Still Marian did not move or acknowledge him, staring forward with eyes that did not seem to see anything.

Kneeling in front of her, Tuck rested one hand on the hilt of her sword. "This is a fine blade," he told her. "It is right that you reclaimed it."

For the first time Marian's gaze focused, and she looked down at the sword in her lap. "It was made for me," she said softly. "As a complement to Robin's sword - its equal."

"So it is," Tuck tilted her chin so that her eyes met his. "And so are you, my Lady."

"Am I?" she asked, her distress palpable. "I always thought so - it was so important to me, to believe that I could do anything as well as he could, or better. But how could I lead this gang, how could I capture the people's hope as he has? I cannot take his place."

"Nor will you need to," Tuck assured her. "Whatever happens, you have your own destiny, and will make your own way."

Marian scoffed and pulled away. "My destiny," she shook her head. "It always comes back to that."

"You cannot escape it, my Lady," Tuck said. "I would hope, after all this time, that you would have come to accept that."

"I didn't ask for any of this," Marian told him, her eyes bright with fresh tears. "I didn't ask to me brought back, so why? Why was I chosen when I didn't deserve to be saved?"

Tuck contemplated this for a moment - he had never questioned why Marian had been set on the path she had, only accepting that he needed to help her walk it. "Perhaps...He was answering the prayers of another."

Marian was silent for a long time, her grip tightening around her scabbard and the hilt of her sword. "So what should I do now?" she asked. "Pray that Robin's life will be spared? I thought you said that was your mistake with your own family?"

"There is no sin in seeking God's mercy," Tuck reminded her, the old pain and loss gripping at his heart. "Only in bargaining for it."

Drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders, Marian looked away, and Tuck could see that she desired his absence. Even so, he unclasped the rosary that hung from his belt and pressed it into her palm.

"If you have need of it, my Lady," he told her, and left before she could refuse it. Tuck knew that Marian was complicated, and her crisis of faith was ongoing. Yet he had not given up hope for her, nor for her husband who she was only now coming to accept was the key to her happiness.

Tuck did not return to camp however, since he knew Robin had more than enough gang members to sit by his sickbed. Instead he walked to the small clearing to the east of their woodland home, where he knew he would find Djaq performing her night prayers.

The young Saracen was indeed laying out her prayer mat in her usual place, and Tuck cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. Djaq did not turn around, but her back visibly stiffened.

"May I pray with you, Mistress Djaq?" Tuck asked. "I thought perhaps I would pray to my God and you to yours, in the hope that one of them will hear us."

Djaq huffed in annoyance. "You Christians do not understand. We do not pray to ask favours of Allah. We accept the will and mercy of Allah, nothing more."

"And if it is the will of Allah that Robin Hood should die?" Tuck asked carefully.

Djaq swallowed heavily, turning to him with a steely glare. "Then I will have to accept it with sorrow and regret."

Tuck bowed and turned to go.

"Wait," Djaq called after him with a hitch in her voice. "You...may pray here, if you like. And if you think it right, perhaps you could ask your God to spare Robin's life."

Tuck crossed the clearing to kneel beside her in the leaves, humbled and grateful for her invitation. He crossed himself and then folded his hands together. They began their prayers, Djaq in Arabic and Tuck in Latin, and soon their voices seemed in tandem, rhythmic in the darkness of night.

No one at the camp was inclined to sleep, the outlaws all busying themselves with various tasks. Eve had returned to her duties of sponging down Robin's face with a damp cloth, while Much talked to him as if he was awake and could answer, claiming that Robin could still hear him and would eventually wake just to tell Much to shut up.

Carter was constantly stoking the campfire, heating up stones and then wrapping them in cloth, placing them in the outlaw's bunks to warm their blankets. Djaq was off in the forest performing her nightly prayers, and no doubt Tuck was doing the same. Little John and Will were cleaning up the pots from the dinner no one had eaten, discussing whether it could be saved for the following day.

Only Allan found himself without a task to occupy him, and he sat on his bunk unable to draw his attention away from Robin's prone form. He'd been willingly blind the last few days, dismissing Robin's sickness as a winter fever and nothing more, certainly not anything to be concerned about. Even when he'd left that morning and noticed Djaq's unease, Allan hadn't thought much of it. Yet they'd found half a dozen ailing in Nettlestone, and when Djaq had arrived with her instruments she'd informed them that Robin had taken a turn for the worst.

Not quite able to believe it, Allan had run all the way back to camp, only to find Robin indeed very ill and Eve white-faced and troubled. He'd felt utterly impotent, unsure of how to help Robin or comfort the other outlaws when so distraught himself. A quip or a cunning plan wasn't about to help anyone in the situation, and Allan wished he'd stayed at camp that day so he'd been able to accompany Marian to Nottingham. So that he could feel useful.

Robin had saved his life once, after all, had shown him that there were things worth fighting for other than himself. And when Allan had betrayed him so deeply, had put all that Robin held dear in jeopardy, Robin had shown him forgiveness and had not once since then questioned his loyalty or motives. If he died, Allan wasn't quite sure what he would do - for all that Robin had proclaimed We Are Robin Hood, what would they be without him?

Unable to let those thoughts cloud his mind any longer, Allan got up and stalked out the the camp. The woods were cold and dark, but Allan had spent many a near-freezing night camping in the greenwood and to do so again would be no hardship. He had just found a nice spot under the large roots of a oak tree when he heard a light sobbing.

Marian was a few trees over, leaning against the trunk with a blanket around her shoulders. Despite this she was shivering, although Allan guessed it had little to do with the cold. Carefully, he crawled over to her tree, and touched her arm lightly.

"Marian - hey," he said. "Are you alright?" She looked at him, and he saw her tear streaked face in the moonlight. "Stupid question," Allan acknowledged, settling against the tree beside her. "Robin's going to be okay," he told her. "You said so yourself, and you're always right, eh?"

Through her tears, Marian gave a short laugh. "Tuck thinks I should pray," she told him bitterly. "As if that hasn't gotten us into enough mess."

"What do you mean?" Allan knew Marian didn't exactly enjoy Tuck's religious fervor, for all it amused Allan. But that day he'd helped her retrieve the medicine for Robin for Locksley, so there must be some other discord between them.

He saw in Marian's hands she held Tuck's rosary, and was fidgeting with the beads. "I keep thinking about what you once said," she told him. "About it not being fair that I survived when others had not been so lucky. That I had cheated death twice."

"Look, Marian, don't listen to what I said," Allan tried to reassure her, cursing himself for ever speaking those words. "I was talkin' rubbish."

"No, you were right," she said despondently. "It's not fair, but it still happened. And what if that was the point? What if I did survive for a reason?"

"Don't listen to Tuck either," Allan told her. "He talks even more rubbish than I do."

"I thought it was stupid, too, but what if he was right?" Fresh tears began to fall from Marian's eyes, and Allan's heart ached for her. "And what if there was a price?" she asked him earnestly, as if he could give her the answers. "What if my life was saved, but at the cost of another's? One who would have given anything for me to live?"

"You think Robin's life is being taken...in exchange for your own?" The concept seemed to foreign to Allan, but he perhaps understood why Marian could believe it. Her burden was the knowledge that she'd been saved twice from death, and was now watching Robin die with seemingly no divine intervention.

"I don't know," Marian said, throwing the rosary on the ground and turning away. "It just seems as if we're always just out of reach of one another. As if happiness is grasped for one fleeting moment before being pulled away. Maybe that's the way it's meant to be...no one ever accomplished great things by being happy."

"Hey now," Allan put his arm around her shoulders and drew her into an embrace. She was right, Allan knew that well enough from the ballads he'd sung, where great heroes were burdened with loss and sorrow, but such knowledge was unhelpful. "Don't talk like that," he added soothingly. "You and Robin are the stuff of legend, you know? Someday I'm gonna sing songs about all of us - the gang and the fight against the Sheriff and everythin'. But the best one, the one people will love and request and sing to their children at night? That's the story of Robin Hood and Lady Marian - who fought together and loved each other, and lived happily ever after. Alright? I promise."

Marian rested her head on his shoulder, and her tears seemed to stop. Allan held her tightly, his soft words soothing her long into the night as he began to compose a ballad for her. It didn't matter what happened, Allan decided, he was going to keep that promise, and write their story. Tragedy could tear Robin and Marian apart in life, but Allan knew he could make them live forever in song.

Through his words, they could be immortal.

Chapter Text

It was the coldest morning in Sherwood yet, and as she awoke Marian shifted uncomfortably on the floor of the camp. She only had a thin blanket for warmth, but had refused to leave Robin's side, resting her head against the bunk and keeping a tight hold of his hand. Stretching out the crick in her neck, Marian turned to see a pair of cloudy green eyes staring at her.

"Robin," she breathed, throwing off her blanket and scrambling up to his side, squeezing his hand tightly. He was alive, her heart sung with relief, her other hand cupping the side of his face. It was still warm, but no longer hot to the touch - his fever had broken. "Robin?" she said again, for although he was awake he did not seem lucid.

But his hand very slowly squeezed hers, his fingers moving with difficulty. But Marian didn't care how long his recovery would be, now that she knew he would indeed recover. His mouth worked and then he swallowed heavily, but it seemed to cause him pain.

"Don't try to speak," she shushed him, pressing her fingers softly against his lips. There was swift movement in her peripheral vision and then a loud crash as Much fell out of the top bunk and onto the floor of the camp. He jumped up immediately, and it felt so good to laugh again as he scrambled over.

"Robin!" he exclaimed, his face alight with happiness. "You're awake."

In the bunk, Robin blinked a few times, his lips curling up into a smile. "Of course I am," he said, his voice still raspy and weak. "It's morning."

Much began to sob with happiness, and Marian shifted away to allow him to embrace Robin. The other outlaws were waking up, Eve gracefully scaling the ladder down from the top bunk she shared with Much and placing a reassuring hand on Marian's shoulder. Allan, Carter and Will were slapping each other on the back and clapping their hands in glee, while Little John watched over the scene, nodding slightly with a tear in his eye. Tuck was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the camp, crossing himself and saying a short prayer.

"Alright," Djaq bustled over purposefully with her medicine bag. "Everyone calm down, and give him some air Much, please."

"Right, of course." Much stepped sheepishly away from Robin's bunk, and Eve was waiting to take him into her arms.

Djaq took a seat beside Robin and began to examine him. Marian took a step back as Robin's gaze landed on her, now clear. They stared at each other for several moments, and Marian felt fear grip her heart again - even though she had admitted to herself her love for him, she wasn't sure that it changed anything. In the cold, winter morning, they were still as unsuited to be husband and wife as they had been before he'd gotten ill. What would happen when he discovered that she'd given herself up to Gisborne? That she'd infiltrated the castle on a hunch she would find the cure there? He wouldn't care that she'd saved his life, he would only be angry that she'd risked her own.

Their shared gaze was broken when Djaq patted his cheek firmly to get him to look at her, and Marian breathed a sigh of relief. She backed up against the nearby bunk and leaned against it, happy to have it take her weight. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Djaq's prognosis.

"He'll be fine," she announced eventually, to the relief of the outlaws "But you need to rest, Robin," she added sternly and put her hand on his chest, as if anticipating he would try and rise immediately.

"Does this mean the medicine works?" Will was the next to speak up. "There's still sickness is Nettlestone and Locksley."

Marian found all eyes on her for instructions - including Robin's, strangely enough. "We should take the rest to the villages," she decreed, nodding at Djaq. She had of course told Blight she'd save some for him in Robin lived, but Marian felt no guilt in prioritising the innocent over him. "Djaq, Will and Carter you go to Nettlestone," she nodded to them. "I'll go to to Locksley with Little John, Eve and Carter." She knew that Much wouldn't be persuaded to leave Robin's side.

"And me, my Lady?" Tuck asked.

Marian still wasn't best pleased with Tuck, for all that he had tried to comfort her the previous night. "You stay here."

Cleared of most of the outlaws, the camp was very quiet, and Tuck watched over Robin's beside as he'd been instructed by Marian. The only other outlaw present was Much over at the fire cooking, although every now and then he shot glances over at Robin's bunk as if to remind himself that he was still there. But he'd tasked himself with cooking broth for Robin, and was dedicated to that purpose.

For now Robin was sleeping, and Tuck quite admired Marian's foresight in taking most of the outlaws to the villages with her. Such numbers were likely not needed, but she must have known Robin would not be able to find rest with his gang in attendance. As it was he'd pumped Tuck and Much for information about what he'd missed, and Much hadn't been able to keep anything from his master. The entire tale had spilled from his lips; of Marian allowing herself to be captured in Robin's stead, of Gisborne letting her go, Robin's sharp decline and their subsequent rush to the castle to find the cure, and of course the death of the Sheriff.

To his credit, Robin took the news well, although perhaps he was still too ill and tired to understand fully. He had drifted off to sleep very soon after that, and Tuck was grateful, for he was certain Djaq would interrogate him about it as soon as she returned. All that was left to do was watch over Robin through his rest, and Tuck was relieved to see that he seemed untroubled by the nightmares that had plagued his sleep for many days.

The camp was silent other than Much fussing over his soup, tasting it every now and then and providing a running commentary as to its flavour.

"It needs sage," Much declared after one such tasting. "That will help with his throat, surely?"

Tuck gave a slight shrug. "You would know better than I," he said. He'd been raised a Lord and then trained as a surgeon, he was not a peasant nor a herbalist and so he had little knowledge of such things.

"It does," Much declared as he stood. "I think there's a patch in the fields by Clun," he added, gathering a pack from his cubby-hole and slinging it over his shoulder. "Will you watch it while I'm gone?"

"Of course."

"Don't let it boil over," Much warned him. "It's meant to simmer, so don't let the fire get too high."

"I won't," Tuck smiled. Much lingered for a moment, as if uncertain to leave him with such a gargantuan task, but evidently decided that obtaining the sage was more important and left. Tuck took the silence as a good opportunity to run through his rosary, of course once he'd obtained a spare from his cubby-hole since he'd given his primary beads to Marian. He found much enlightenment in the ritual, the focus on speaking the words of his saviour and His trusted apostles. It was often in this method of prayer he felt closest to God, and most likely to hear His word.

Tuck was halfway through his second Hail Mary when he noticed that Robin was awake and staring at him, his eyes much brighter than the sheer grey they had been that morning. Finishing the chant, Tuck then set his rosary down in his lap.

"How may I assist you, Robin Hood?" he asked, since he could sense the man had something to ask of him.

Robin stared at him for some time, as if working up the courage to speak. "Will you take my confession?" he asked eventually, his voice small.

"Of course, my son." Tuck turned to Robin more fully. "What sins have you committed?"

"I have been selfish," Robin said in that same raspy voice. "I haven't treated those I love as they deserve."

"Many of us are guilty of that," Tuck told him, thinking of his own wife and child, lost to his arrogance and selfish pursuits. Many times he had told himself that if he had been a better husband and father, he would have stayed with them always, let them know how dear they were. Perhaps they wouldn't have fallen ill, or at least if they had Tuck would have been there with them in their final hours; perhaps even have had the privilege of following them into the Lord's embrace. But it had taken their deaths for Tuck to see himself for what he truly was, which had spurred him to change his life.

"It is a strength you can acknowledge it now," Tuck said, knowing better than most the truth of the words.

"Too late, perhaps," Robin said wistfully.

"It is never too late," Tuck told him. "For those who repent. Perhaps you will not reclaim what you have lost, but you may find comfort in the knowledge that in the future you will not make the same mistake."

Robin nodded to himself. "I knew I was wrong." he said. "About Marian - I knew she was right and I was wrong but I let myself be ruled by fear rather than reason. I suppose...in the end I've always gotten my own way, so why would this be any different? I still thought of myself as the high Lord who all should obey, for all I declared that there were no titles in the forest. I made all the same mistakes, when I promised myself I wouldn't."

Tuck could not disagree with his assessment, but his place was to counsel, not judge. "You fear that you will keep making those mistakes?"

"Yes," Robin nodded and looked away. "I was a fool - I tried to cage a lark, and thought that I could make it sing with only my company. How can I be sure that I won't cage her again, even if I do not want to?"

"You are in control of your own actions, Robin," Tuck told him firmly. "You can make mistakes, as all of us do. But do not let your fear stop you from trying again, just as you would not let a small failure in your work for the poor keep you from fighting for them."

His words seemed to comfort Robin, who clasped his hands and stared at the top of the bunk. "I have so many regrets, Tuck."

"As do we all." Tuck reached out and put a comforting hand on Robin's shoulder.

"I regret that I never saw Jerusalem," Robin said wistfully. Tuck was somewhat surprised by the admission, although he'd known Robin to have a deep and abiding faith. He nodded, urging the young man to continue.

"When I was on the Crusade, it was all I could think about," Robin continued, his voice soft with longing. "To have a Holy city to look to, as the Muslim does with Mecca, and know that such a place had my protection and loyalty - that was my deepest desire. But like all my other dreams, it turned to ash before my eyes."

"The King took notice of me because of my accomplishments on the battlefield. He praised me, rewarded me, made be Captain of his personal guards and I thought it was an honour, not realising that it was a shackle. My gift became my curse because I was too valuable to him. If I had not been injured I might still be there, fighting a pointless war in desert sands while my people here starved and died without me to protect them." Tears began to well in Robin's eyes, spilling down onto his cheeks. "Perhaps I should thank Gisborne for stabbing me after all, because it released me from that devil's snare."

"You should not blame yourself for doing your duty," Tuck said carefully. "Many of us found our dreams unfulfilled in the Holy Land."

"But I was so sure I would find my salvation there," Robin said, turning to Tuck with a deep sorrow. "I thought if I could stand in Jerusalem, walk where our Lord had lived and died, I would understand something deeper about this life and my purpose in it. But all I found there was death. It had once been this sacred, holy place and we corrupted it with our violence and hate."

Robin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "When I returned I realised that Locksley was my Jerusalem, and that it had always required my protection as the Holy City had not. I'd once thought that there was no glory or purpose to be found here, but I was so, so wrong. Protecting the people here is virtuous and worthy, and that's is my life's purpose, which I accept gladly."

"And that is why you fight against evil now," Tuck acknowledged. "You are trying to make up for all of the lives you took in Palestine?"

"No." Robin's eyes snapped open, and he reached out to grasp Tuck's arm. "I know nothing can ever make up for that. No matter what I do here - even if I save ten times as many lives as I took - what I did there will never be made right."

Tuck's heart ached for the young man and the burdens he bore, knowing that there was nothing he could do or say to change Robin's mind. But at least Tuck could provide him with with solidarity and comfort - better than most, he understood how it felt to sin against God by taking the life of a brother, even if the man whose life was lost called Him by another name.

"You carry many burdens and sorrows, Robin Hood," Tuck said gently, and pressed his rosary into Robin's palm, clasping his fingers around it. "Let the Lord lift them away from you, for whilst you may have committed sins, you have accepted them, and attempted to atone for them. That is all the Father asks, and all the penance that is required. Keep doing His work, Robin, by looking after His most lowly, and you will find the salvation you seek."

It was close to nightfall when his gang returned from the villages, after Much had forced on him two bowls of broth and checked the easing of his fever every hour or so. Robin had taken his attentions without complaint, simply grateful to be alive with his loyal friend beside him. It was humbling to be so loved when Robin knew he didn't deserve it, and had told Much so. Of course, the outlaw had blushed and shrugged of off the compliment, but Robin knew it had given him great joy, and resolved to do it more often.

Marian, however, posed more of a challenge. He had seen her face in his fever-dreams, felt her cool fingers and lips chasing away the hellfire that had grasped for his soul. But since he had awakened she had seemed so distant and unsure he dismissed the dreams as the wishful thinking of his own fevered mind. After dinner, when the rest of the outlaws were celebrating with the wine Allan had liberated from the house of a local Lord, Marian approached his bedside cautiously, perching upon the edge.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, reached forward and brushing away the hair from his forehead with soothing fingers. He was grateful for her kindness, especially after the way things had ended between them. After his talk with Tuck, Robin had resolved not to press or pressure her, but to let things take their course. He would do whatever she asked - even agree to an annulment if that was what she wanted - but he would let her broach the subject, if only to cling to the hope for a little while longer.

"Much better," he told her with what he hoped was a cheeky smile. "Well enough to ride into Nottingham tomorrow."

"You will do no such thing," she admonished him but smiled when she saw he was teasing.

"So, you killed Vaisey," he said carefully, for after his discussion with Much that act had been on his mind.

Marian sobered and swallowed heavily, nodding. "I shot him right where his heart would have been – if he'd had one."

"Are you...alright?" he asked, seeing her distress.

"It's just...I could have overpowered him," she said, her face crinkling with regret. "Or just left after I shot him in the leg, but I didn't. I chose to kill him in cold blood, and I feel..." she trailed off and looked away, taking a sharp intake of breath to keep from crying.

"I know," Robin said softly, seeking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "Trust me, Marian, I know. Every kill you make weighs on your conscience, and sits like a stone in your heart. But some…some are easier to live with than others."

Marian's expression softened, and he was struck by her beauty as the firelight played across the side of her face and her dark hair. It was the face that had kept him fighting through his fever, which had kissed him and told him not to give up - and now all he had to do was be the same for her.

"Think of all the lives you may have saved," he told her. "Not only the sick in Locksley and Nettlestone, but all those future victims of Vaisey's schemes. You did what I could not."

"Eve went to Nottingham," Marian told him softly, squeezing his hand in return. "As far as we know Guy has proclaimed himself Sheriff, but there has been no indication of retribution from Prince John. Vaisey was out of favour, so I doubt he'll send an army to avenge him."

"Good," Robin nodded. "Marian, I…"

But Marian cut him off with a small shake of her head. "You should rest, Robin," she said, patting his hand fondly, and then walking away to join the others by the fire. He noticed that Eve had been watching them with interest, and she soon picked up her skirts and made her way over to Robin's bunk with a sly smile.

"So you are going to live, then," she teased, and Robin felt his spirit lighten - it felt good to joke around again.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said dryly.

She laughed and shrugged. "Well, hope springs eternal."

But suddenly he remembered how she'd cared for him in the dark moments near the end, how he'd given her a task..."Eve," he grabbed her arm. "The letter."

"I burned it," she assured him. “Like you asked me to.”

"Good." He relaxed back into the bunk, feeling fatigued even though all he'd done all day was rest.

"Maybe...you should tell her those things you wrote about," Eve suggested. "It might help."

Robin shook his head, and looked wistfully over to where Marian was seated by the fire. "I don't think she wants to hear them."

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Much shivered as he drew his cloak tighter around him, stamping his feet into the cold, hard earth. He wished he was back in the relative warmth of the camp with the roaring, constant fire, the hot bricks placed in every bunk, and Eve's rabbit stew bubbling away. Instead, he was out in the woods watching Robin practice his archery, looking up at the sky every few minutes as the weather seemed to get worse.

"It looks like snow," Much said, hugging himself tighter and trying to give Robin a hint. He'd recovered well from his illness over the past few days, and that morning had declared himself fit enough to try his bow for the first time. When Much had argued that it was far too cold, Robin had declared that it was his life and he wasn't expecting anyone to accompany him. Much had looked to Marian to intervene but she'd been uncharacteristically silent - as she had been ever since he had recovered.

Not about to let Robin go out alone, Much had put on his thickest cloak and followed him out through the barren and frosty trees until they reached the clearing often used for target practice. But Robin's arm had grown weak from the sickness and inactivity, and he'd struggled to even pull the bow back, let alone hit the target when he let the arrow fly. Half the time it hadn't even come close, the arrows careering slowly into the trees and needing to be retrieved.

"Robin," Much called to him again, a little exasperated. "Snow." He pointed upward where the dark skies were looking threatening.

Robin followed his gaze and sighed with clear disappointment. "Alright, Much," he said with a smile. "Just one more?"

Much was reminded of when they both were children, and Robin would spend hours in the grounds of Locksley Manor shooting at his target. Thornton would stand on the front porch calling Robin in to get ready for supper, and Robin would demand "just one more" until he was satisfied that he'd made the perfect shot. Much knew that he didn't have the power to stop Robin now any more than he did then, but hoped that some part of the reckless boy had grown into a more measured man.

Robin pulled back the string of his bow, loaded with a fresh arrow. His technique was perfect, although Much noticed his bow arm trembled slightly, and his grip was not as strong as usual. The fever had weakened him severely, and Djaq had said bluntly that they couldn't be sure of the long term effects. She would not have been pleased that Robin had left camp and was out in the cold, but he'd planned it well, waiting until she and Tuck had left to administer to the sick still in the villages.

Much cupped his hands and blew into them, trying to warm his chilled fingers. Robin looked pale, his fingers that clutched the bow almost blue, and Much regretted not being more firm with him. He should have stopped him leaving the camp by any means necessary, and resolved that he would not accept any more claims of "just one more" if it came to that.

Robin released his arrow, but it did not have speed and wobbled precariously in the air. It weakly hit the outlier of the target and Robin exhaled harshly and threw aside his bow, swearing under his breath. Much retrieved it hastily, ready to refuse to return the bow should Robin insist, but it seemed that his friend had finally had enough.

"You are still recovering," Much reminded him as they walked back to camp and Robin dejectedly kicked at the undergrowth. "All will be well again, I'm sure of it."

Robin smiled sideways at him, his foul mood dissipating somewhat. "You're a good friend, Much," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I wish I had your optimism."

"I'll have enough for the both of us then," Much said, and meant it. It was a miracle in his eyes that Robin had survived, and Much told himself he  would never lose hope again.

When they returned to the camp it was almost dark, and all of the other outlaws had returned from their various duties. As soon as they stepped inside Much sighed with relief and headed straight to the fire to warm his cold hands. His heart lightened as Eve abandoned her cooking to fuss over him, kissing his chilled fingers and brushing the frost from his hair. He wondered if he would be able to be so positive without Eve's love and strength, and glanced over to Robin where Djaq was berating him for leaving the camp. He was taking it with good humour, but Much didn't miss the small glance over at Marian, polishing her sword by the larder. She was studiously avoiding the scene, and Much sighed to himself.

"What's wrong?" Eve whispered in his ear, leaning in close.

"Robin and Marian," Much said lowly back to her, turning his face to the fire so no one else could hear.

"Ah," Eve smiled knowingly. "Who else?"

"I just wish there was some way I could help," Much said wistfully. He hated seeing either of them in pain, and he wanted to knock their heads together and tell them how stubborn they both were being but he knew it wouldn't make any difference. The more you told either of them what to do, the more they railed against you and did the opposite. Perhaps, Much thought wryly to himself, he should tell them they were no good for each other and advise them to live on opposite sides of the country. Maybe then they'd reconcile out of defiance.

"Do not worry, my Much," Eve kissed him lightly on the neck. "As you often say, all will be well."

"I hope so," Much replied, and set about helping Eve finish cooking super. It was a hearty meal, and he was pleased to see that Robin ate more than he had in days. It seemed as if the camp had returned somewhat to normal, with stories and teasing laughter floating around the fire as they ate together. However when the meal ended Little John stood, his immense height dwarfing them all and the top of his head almost scraping the roof of the camp.

"I have something to say," John spoke up, although all eyes were already on him. Much threw a glance at Robin and could see that he knew what Little John was on about - and that he was unhappy about it.

Little John nervously wrung his hands, looking around at the gang. "I..have been thinking for a while about this," he began. "I was outlawed for selfish reasons, and never knew my son. I still don't know him. I'm his father, and I should be a father to him."

"You have been doing good work, John," Marian spoke up from her place by the fire. "Your sacrifice has allowed other families to stay together."

"Yes," John ducked his head. "But there are many of us now," he indicated around the camp which was indeed a tad crowded.

"What are you saying, John?" Will asked, looking a little hurt and Much realised that he had not been consulted about the big man's intention. "You're leaving us?" 

"I will stay for Christmastide," John told them. "Then go to my family."

"So soon?" Much couldn't stop himself blurting out, and then clamped one hand over his mouth when Robin shot him a look. Slowly, getting to his feet, Robin crossed the camp to clasp Little John by the arm.

"You will be missed, Little John," he said. "You will always be our true friend and greatest warrior. But now your family needs you more than we do."

"Thank you, Robin." Little John looked relieved, and then gave them a rare smile so wide it seemed to split his face. One by one the outlaws stood to embrace John, tease him, give him their good wishes and extract promises that he would visit, until they all dissolved into laughter once again.

And yet for Much it was bittersweet, a reminder that things could never go back to the way they were before. They would never be those few men in Sherwood, still believing that the King would return any day, confident and full of cheer, as if they were on an adventure - a camping expedition as he and Robin had once undertaken in their youth. But Much reminded himself that with the hard times and sorrows there had also been exquisite joys - he was a married man, had a beautiful wife who loved him and who he would be content to worship forever. Their ranks had swelled, Will and Djaq had returned. Marian was alive, and the Sheriff was dead.

Whatever lay ahead for them, Much was grateful for those victories.

The night was drawing to a close, and one by one the outlaws drifted off to bed. Will and Djaq were making use of one of the nooks that had finally been completed, and since Robin had awakened from his fever Marian had taken up residence in one of the others. She realised that it seemed strange, for she had refused to leave Robin's side during his sickness, and now she was avoiding him altogether.

But Marian simply wasn't sure how to broach things with him - how could they find common ground, when they never had before? Still, the forlorn look Robin had given her as he'd left the fireside towards his bunk - the one she pretended not to see - still made her heart ache. She'd desperately wanted to follow, to allow herself to be held in his arms and not give a damn about anything else. But she'd made that mistake too often before. No, Marian had planted her flag in the earth, and wasn't about to move it no matter how beautifully he looked at her. He was still the same old Robin, and come morning that warm feeling would fade and be replaced by bitter regret. His sweet promises would be broken, and she would feel her marriage close around her like a shroud.

"You're going to burn your eyes out," a sly voice shook Marian out of her reverie. "If you keep staring at the fire like that."

Marian blinked and looked up to see that only Eve remained seated around the campfire, a knowing smile gracing her lips.

"I was thinking," Marian said softly.

"What of?"

"Christmas," Marian lied, although she could see that Eve wasn't fooled. "Tuck wants to celebrate Mass in Locksley."

"It is a good idea," Eve said. "It's been many years since Locksley church saw a proper service. I know Robin is eager."

Marian nodded. During his convalescence he and Tuck seemed to have formed a close bond, and the priest would only tell her that he'd had the privilege of hearing Robin's confession. She knew how important Robin's faith was to him, and how bitterly he resented Locksley church being presided over by corrupt clergy on the Sheriff's payroll.

"I worry it will not be safe," Marian shared her doubts. "I fear that there will still be reprisals for the death of Vaisey."

Eve pierced her with a shrewd look. "Not by Gisborne, surely," she suggested. "He's taken up residence in Nottingham Castle - he should thank you for making him Sheriff, not seek retribution."

"Who knows what he is capable of," Marian said softly. He'd loved and despised the Sheriff in equal measure, coveted his position and yet feared it. She had been sure when she stood between him and the King in Acre that he would not hurt her, and yet he had struck. She had been sure in that dungeon that he would trade her life for Robin's, and yet he'd set her free. She once thought herself so clever, that Guy's mind could be easily forged by her will and yet she'd been proved wrong twice over.

"Are you worried about Prince John, then?" Eve asked. "His army?"

Marian shivered - she would never forget that day in Nottingham with the town surrounded by the Prince's men and a blood red sky behind them. The memory had kept her awake after Vaisey's death, that it would bring down the might of the Crown upon them and this time there would be no reprieve for the innocent in Nottingham town - and that it would be all her fault. But Allan had been in contact with his spies in London and there had been no news of Prince John's army being raised. Instead, he was spending lavishly for the upcoming Christmastide and had not even announced Vaisey's death.

"No," Marian told her.

"So it is Robin, then."

Marian looked up. "Robin is fine," she said a little too quickly. "He will be fine."

"He's alive, yes," Eve nodded. "But I mean your marriage. Are you just going to ignore him forever?"

"I just...don't see how it can work," Marian explained, her heart heavy. "We're both the same people we were before he got ill."

"Are you sure?" Eve asked. "You know better than anyone that almost dying can change a person."

Marian didn't answer, her gaze drifting back to the fire as if her answer was there in the flames. She loved Robin still, and she knew that a marriage bound by a King could not be torn asunder in the eyes of man or God. But the law and her heart were entirely separate.

"When Robin was dying, he had me write a letter for him," Eve spoke up as if it was something she'd been wanting to say for some time. "A letter for you."

"Oh?" Marian looked back up curiously.

"He told me to give it to you if he died, and burn it if he lived.” 

Marian understood what she was getting at. "But you didn't."

"I didn't." Eve withdrew a folded parchment from the pockets of her skirts and held it out. "It's up to you whether you want to read it, but I think you should."

With that, Eve stood and made her way across the camp, and Marian watched as she climbed the wood ladder that led to the top bunk where Much was already asleep and snoring. She lay down beside him, and Much instinctively wrapped his arms around her and gave a contented sigh. Marian could barely contain her longing as her gaze drifted down to the bunk below where Robin slept, where he used to hold her in his arms and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. She watched him breathe in and out, no longer struggling to draw air into his lungs, although every now and then he would twitch in his dream state. 

Marian tore her eyes away before she gave in and crawled into the bunk beside him, forcing her attention to the letter in her hand. She retrieved a candle from the larder and lit it from the fire, dampening the flames to embers which could be restoked in the morning. Then she cloistered herself away in her own sleeping nook, the one which had been designed for herself and Robin to share, drawing the cold blankets tight around her. She unfolded the parchment slowly, seeing Robin's words in Eve's sloping script and holding the candle close so she could read.

My dearest Marian,

This confession, such as it is, is not meant to excuse my actions, but perhaps explain them. I know now that I will die and I do not wish to leave you thinking ill of me, although perhaps I deserve it.

I have been selfish and unreasonable, and too full of pride to admit that I was wrong. But most of all, I have let my life be ruled by fear. Not of death, but of life. As you have so often said, I have thrown myself into danger so many times without regard for my own safety. Others see this as bravery or heroism, but I know in my heart, and can accept this now, at the end, that I am a coward.

I have always been afraid that my life would have no meaning, that I would leave this earth without making an impact upon it. I feared that I would live a life like my father; hold a title, run an estate, find a wife, have children, but that seemed so ordinary. I wanted glory – for the world to have truly changed because of the time I had spent upon it. You would no doubt think this selfish, and it is, I suppose. But, Marian, you of all people should understand the desire to make a difference.

It was this fear that led me to ask obedience from you – to demand what I should have always known you could not give me. I thought only of my own loneliness and despair after losing you in the Holy Land, and feared losing you again above all else, for I did not believe I could survive it.

If love is giving someone more than they deserve, I have failed to love you as you should be loved. You deserve to be respected as a warrior as well as a woman, as someone of courage and wisdom, and I have not even done that. I am truly sorry for this, and acknowledge my wrong. I hope that this gives you a small measure of comfort, and know that in my last hours, I understood my error and was truly sorry for the pain it caused you.

Please look after my gang. I can think of no one better suited to lead them in my absence, and they will follow you. They have understood your worth even though this fool did not. I know that you will continue the work you began as the Nightwatchman, the work that in my heart I always admired even if I did not show it. I hope that you will carry the legacy of Robin Hood with you, the legend who was faultless and true, and not the man who did not honour you.

Goodbye Marian, my love, my wife. I pray that you forgive me for all the wrong I have done you, and remember not my recent selfish actions, but instead the love and admiration I have always felt for you, that neither time nor death can erase.

Yours always,

Robin

Marian blew out the candle and set it down, then carefully folded the letter and held it to her heart. In the cold, dark night, she lay back in her bunk that had been built for two, keenly feeling the emptiness of the place beside her where Robin should have been. Once she started to weep, she could not stop, her tears soaking the letter until the ink ran.

Chapter Text

Outlaw's Camp, Sherwood Forest

It was mid-morning by the time the camp had been cleared of its occupants. It was the day before Christmas, with Tuck intent on holding Mass in Locksley and Much to assist him in conveying the message to the villagers. Allan, Will and Carter had been dispatched to Nottingham to watch Gisborne and ensure he had reason to stay in town, and the rest of the outlaws were making supply runs to the rest of the shire to ensure they all had enough for their own celebrations.

Marian had purposefully kept herself from volunteering to accompany any of them, hanging back until only she and Robin remained in the camp. He had insisted on heading out alone and no one had dared argue with him. He packed several bags of food, medical supplies and other sundries and ignored Marian's stare until she became exasperated.

"Where are you going?" she asked, and her words seemed to startle him. They'd not even spoken for days, Marian waiting for him to breach the gap between them first. But he had not relented, although she occasionally caught him looking wistfully at her, and she knew that this time it had to be the one to swallow her pride.

"Edwinstowe," he said without looking up from his packing. "The priest at St Mary's is an old friend, and his parishioners very poor."

"That's near the Great Oak, isn't it?" Marian said, remembering the day he'd taken her to meet Forrest and Hanton. "It's a fair journey," she added at his nod, and looked up at the sky already dark, with snow almost certain.

Robin sighed and looked up at her finally. She was struck by the sadness in his eyes - had he looked this way since coming out of his fever and she simply had not noticed? The thought rattled Marian; she'd been willfully blind, so focused on the troubles of her own heart she hadn't spared a thought for his. His letter burned a hole in her pocket, reminding her of his humility and remorse in the face of death, and she wondered if he still felt the same now that the danger had passed. He'd told Eve to burn the letter, after all, perhaps he was embarrassed by his words - perhaps they'd been induced by his fever and the fear of what he would face beyond.

"I am well enough now," Robin said, slinging the burlap sack over his shoulder and moving to stand.

"I'll come with you," Marian offered as she stood as well. "We can go by Clun and take my horse - it will make the journey easier."

Robin grimaced and looked away, his face pained. "You don't have to," he said softly. "You don't...owe me any obligations, Marian."

Her heart ached at the resignation and finality in his words, and how much it must have cost his pride to say. But wasn't this what she'd wanted? For him to leave her to make her own decisions without any pressure or argument? But somehow now that she'd gotten exactly what she wanted, the victory felt hollow.

"I want to," she said firmly, stepping forward and taking one of the sacks filled with food, transferring it to her own back.

The woods were bitterly cold as they made their way to Edwinstowe, Robin and Marian choosing to walk as her chestnut horse carried their load of food and supplies. They didn't have time to wait at the Great Oak, so left one of their sacks inside for Forrest and Hanton to collect later and made their way towards the village in silence.

Marian led her horse by the reigns, occasionally patting his neck in gratitude as he plodded over the cold ground. She glanced over at Robin occasionally but he had returned to ignoring her, his eyes on the woods ahead. They'd made stilted conversation during the journey and Marian had looked for an opening. Finally, she gathered up her courage, knowing she could put it off no longer.

"I read your letter."

Robin visibly stiffened and then ducked his head, running one hand through his hair. "Eve shouldn't have given that to you."

"Why?" Marian asked, doubts still plaguing her. "Because what you said wasn't true?"

"No," Robin turned to her. "I meant every word."

"Then why didn't you tell me before?" she asked. "Because it was beautiful, Robin. Everything you said meant so much to me."

Robin gave her a sad smile and looked away, and again her heart hurt to think of the carefree man he'd once been; the terrible yet endearing flirt, the tease, the man whose smile always cheered her up even in the dark hours. Had that part of him died during his fever, or even before, when she'd broken his heart?

"I told you once," she said wistfully as they walked. "That we had never spoken the truth to one another, both of us thinking it was a weakness. When I lay dying in that cave I promised myself that if I survived I would tell you how I felt. I wanted to tell you so badly, even after we knew you couldn't prove Guy's treason."

Robin's mouth twisted bitterly. "But you didn't," he pointed out. "You kept to your duty, I understand that now."

"You gave me every reason in the world not to marry him," Marian said, remembering the pain of that day, neither of them willing to admit that which should have been blindingly obvious. "Except the one I wanted to hear."

Robin looked down, kicking the leaves lightly with his boots as he walked. "Don't marry him because I love you," he said under his breath. When he looked up his expression was pained. "But it goes both ways Marian. You've always kept your heart guarded, never giving it to me fully as I have tried to give you mine. But I suppose I failed in that as well," he added, cocking his head in thought. "I let my fear push you away."

"And I ran far too easily." Marian sighed deeply, recognising her own fault in what had broken between them.

"I love you, Marian." He stopped, ducking around the horse so he could face her fully. "I should have told you that every day since you got back. But I was afraid that you would realise how utterly unworthy I am of you. That the evils I committed in the Holy Land can never be undone no matter how many people I save now. But mostly I was afraid of my own heart...afraid of yours."

"Robin," she whispered, reaching forward to cup his face in her hands. "I'm not afraid now. We've both stared death in the face, so what is there to fear from each other? I love you," she told him, her heart feeling light as the words were released.

He smiled again, and this time it was broader although there was still a hint of sadness. "I know," Robin said wryly as he pulled away. "Even if you don't want to."

Before she could contradict him there was a rustling in the trees ahead and a quartet of children emerged, shrieking in excitement and glee.

"Robin Hood!" they called out to them. "It's Robin Hood, it is!" The children ran over breathless, and Robin's face immediately lit up, kneeling down to their eye level, answering their questions, showing them his bow. Marian blinked and looked away with an unwelcome thought that Robin would make a wonderful father, and the resulting pang of longing and sorrow that followed all too much.

She felt a tug on her trouser leg, and Marian looked down to see a small girl looking up at her. Wide-eyed and mousy, the girl reminded Marian of herself so much - the girl desperate to keep up with the boys, but often overwhelmed by them.

"Hello," Marian smiled.

"Hello," the girl grinned back. "Who are you?"

"I'm Marian."

The girl furrowed her brow, and Marian reminded herself that she was not well known outside of Locksley or Nottingham Town. Her identity as the Nightwatchman was still a secret, or at least the subject had not come up since Allan had told her Robin himself had been using the costume to keep her memory alive.

"Do you fight with Robin Hood?" the girl asked, excitement in her eyes. Marian looked over at the three boys rough-housing with Robin and wondered if she was often left out of their games when they played outlaws. The girl could not possibly understand the complexities of Marian's feelings on the subject, since she felt she fought for herself alone, and was allied with Robin rather than being one of his men.

"Yes," Marian nodded, conceding the difference would matter little to the girl. "I shoot a bow too, and fight with a sword."

"Really?" The girl clapped her hands together excitedly. "Will you show me?"

"Another time, maybe," Marian said, glancing up at the sky. "It's getting dark, and we need to deliver supplies to Father Howl."

"Oh, that's right," the girl exclaimed. "He sent us to get you!"

"Well we better be off then," Robin cut in, giving the girl a wink. "If you'll lead the way."

The girl puffed out her chest and glared proudly at her three friends. "Come on then," she said, looking up at Marian and holding out her hand. "I'll take you."

Marian hesitated only a moment before taking the girl's hand and allowing herself to be lead, her heart feeling fuller with every step as the girl babbled on about how she knew Robin Hood let women fight for him, and how one day she would too.

When she glanced back, she saw Robin following them silently, leading the horse and smiling.

It was dark by the time they delivered their supplies to Father Howl, a portly man with kind eyes and a cheerful demeanor. The children of the village flocked around him, and he praised their good work in bringing Robin Hood safely to the doors of his church.

"It has been a hard winter," he said, embracing Robin and patting him fondly on the back. "But at least the children will have full bellies as well as hearts tomorrow."

"I hope it is enough," Robin said, as the children marvelled over the contents of the sacks.

"Hardly anything is in these perilous times," Howl said, but his look was kindly. "But your presence Robin, does far more to keep their spirits alive. Will you come to Midnight Mass?"

Robin threw Marian a questioning glance. "We must return to Locksley."

Howl looked up at the darkened sky. "You may not get far," he said. "Snow is already falling."

Marian looked upward and saw that he was right, there were small spots of white drifting down from the sky. She pulled her cloak closer around herself. "We have my horse."

"No, Father is right," Robin nodded, grimacing as he looked upwards. "Sherwood is treacherous at the best of times, and even I have difficulty navigating her in such weather."

"You can leave your horse in our stables Lady Marian," Howl offered. "I daresay he will be more comfortable."

"Thank you," Marian smiled thinly. "But I am no longer a Lady."

"Of course," Howl inclined his head. "Countess."

"No, I mean…" Marian felt awkward, her point entirely opposite to the conclusion he'd drawn. "Just Marian is fine."

"Your wife is a woman of the people, Robin," Howl chuckled lightly. "You are well suited."

Robin clapped Howl lightly on the arm. "She is my better in every way, Father," he said with something of his old teasing lilt, and Marian was pleased to hear it.

"I'm glad I have a witness to that statement Robin," she teased. "In case I ever need one."

"I am at your service, my dear." Howl's kind eyes twinkled. "Now, may I suggest you see Madame Blaine about lodgings at the inn - you can keep warm there until Mass."

"Thank you, Father," Robin nodded. "You are most gracious."

"No, Robin - Marian." Howl's levity faded away, replaced by a deep gratitude. "Thank you."

Madame Blaine gave them use of the finest room in her inn, a small collection of lodgings above the village tavern. There were few travellers given the date, but when Robin tried to give her silver she had shushed him and refused, saying it would be her honour to house them for the night. Marian touched his arm to stop him arguing further, knowing they could leave her surreptitious payment before they left.

The room contained a large canopy bed which took up much of the floor space. A large bay window looked out over the town square, although it was tightly shut to keep out the wind and snow which had already begun to fall in earnest. A fire danced merrily in the hearth and wooden bathtub had been placed beside it, filled with water and rose petals. Robin dipped one hand into the water and nodded.

"Nice and hot," he said, giving her a wry smile. "Good thing Much isn't here, he'd bowl us both over climbing into this thing."

Marian laughed, thinking of gentle, sweet Much and his love for the simple things in life. "We best not mention it then."

"You can take the first bath, Marian." Robin straightened and headed towards the door. "I'm going to go down to the tavern and have a drink."

"You don't have to go," Marian called after him, and when he looked back she blushed. "I mean...we are husband and wife."

Robin stiffened, his gaze flittering briefly over her as he swallowed heavily. "Don't tease me, Marian," he said, lifting pained eyes to meet hers again. "It's not fair." He was out the door before she could say anything, and Marian smacked her hand against the bedpost in annoyance. He was infuriatingly obtuse - didn't he know that she'd been trying? That she'd been making overtures of reconciliation all day that he'd cut her off at every turn?

No he didn't, she realised, her heart sinking. Because she'd never done it before, and he probably thought she was testing him, seeing how far she could push his resolve. Although they were bound as husband and wife in the eyes of the Church, Marian had made it plain enough before his illness that she no longer considered them so, and she belatedly realised how deeply her comment must have wounded him, if it would take so much to restore his faith.

Marian undressed and lowered herself into the sweet-smelling water of her bath, hoping that the answer would come to her. It felt so good, the warmth sinking into her bones which had been chilled from the journey outside. She scrubbed her skin hard until raw and pink, siphoning off weeks of grime and sweat and worry.

When clean she leaned her head back against the ridge of the tub, watching the snow fall in flurries outside the window. It was just as well they had not left, she conceded, for they would surely have been lost in the storm and Robin was still not at full strength.

Would this be what it was like if the war was over, and they returned to Locksley? She could soak away her worries in a bath on cold evenings, and perhaps sometimes he would join her. The thought of it made her warm, and for a moment she ran her hands over the skin of her arms, stomach and breasts, rubbing the softness of the rose petals into her skin. She missed his touch, his heated kisses that made her feel weak and yet powerful at the same time, for only she could rouse in him such passion and inhibition. It was in those moments that they were each the most unguarded and free.

But most of all she missed their conversations afterward, the way they could debate with one another and often find agreement somewhere between their two points of view. They had always done so eventually, save for the difference of opinion that had splintered their marriage. Neither could let go of their fear, she realised, and neither could bear to back down from their hard fought position. Looking back Marian saw the pattern, first when Robin returned and both were too proud to admit that the long-dampened love between them had been stoked anew.

Except Robin had made the first move then, attempting to kiss her at her windowsill but she had drawn back, pleased in her victory over him. She couldn't regret her decision then; he'd come for her comfort over the situation with Allan's brother - a distraction. Then of course the debacle over her aborted wedding to Guy. In the cave he'd tried to tell her he loved her, but had been interrupted by Djaq and then lost his nerve. But Marian had known what he was going to say, she could have said it but once again had simply waited for him to break first, as if it was a battle and she had to see some indication of surrender before she would draw back her defensive troops.

Robin had been the one to ask her to join him in the forest, to tell her he needed her, that he loved her. It dawned on Marian that he had taken more than the first step - he'd kept coming closer towards her, and she'd otherwise stepped back or held her ground, very rarely attempting to match his progress.

Marian lay her head back on the rim of the tub and sighed deeply. It was no wonder he hadn't picked up on her hints of reconciliation, since she'd fallen into the same of pattern of protecting her own heart by waiting for him to come and claim it rather than offering it to him freely.

This time, Marian realised, she was the one who had to lead the charge.

It was bitterly cold by the time midnight approached and Mass began, snow falling freely and continuously outside the church. But the interior was full of candles and huddled parishioners which kept Marian warm enough. She and Robin had been given pride of place at the front of the congregation, although of course the huddled whispers and sighs of amazement were directed at Robin rather than herself.

The service held little significance for Marian these days, but the Latin words were of some comfort to her, a reminder of better days. She was also struck by the change it made in Robin - his face alight and eyes fixated on the consecrated Host held up by Father Howl. He had not looked so well since before his illness, and Marian was so relieved she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it lightly.

Robin's focus did not falter, but she saw the corner of his mouth curl up into a smile.

After Mass had ended, Robin lingered to talk with Father Howl and the villagers, who were eager to touch his cloak, receive a kiss on the cheek or simply a kind word. Marian left him to bask in the adoration of those to whom he represented hope and life in a bleak existence, making her way to the front of the church to gaze up at the simple cross which adorned the stone wall.

She was reminded of a childhood Christmas not long after her mother had died, when she and her father had been invited to Locksley. Robin had found her crying by the hearth, missing her mother terribly. He'd sat with her without teasing for once, and instead had reminded her that Christ had been born not only in the middle of winter, but in the darkest hour of the night. The dark always ended, he said, no matter how bleak it seemed, and the dawn always came.

Could the darkest moments of their lives be behind them also? Marian wanted to believe so, but she'd been short on faith for quite some time. And yet...she had survived her injury in the Holy Land, and Robin had survived his fever. They had each been given yet another chance, and it was their responsibility not to waste it.

There was a light touch on her shoulder, and Marian saw that Robin had come to stand beside her. A quick glance back into the closed doors revealed they were now alone.

"This church is called St Mary's," Robin said lightly. "It seems somehow fitting."

Marian looked at him curiously. "How so?"

"Tuck," Robin gave her a wry smile. "He believes he's a servant of the Holy Mother, you know, and sees her light in you."

Marian turned back to the cross on the wall. "Tuck believes a lot of things."

"What do you believe, Marian?" Robin asked. "I've never been quite sure."

"I can't say I'm quite sure myself." She thought back to that terrible night when Robin was teetering between life and death, and Tuck had come to her in the forest and pressed his rosary into her hand. "When you were ill, I prayed for you. It was the first time I'd done that in a long while."

Robin's silence betrayed his surprise, and Marian kept her eyes fixed on the cross before her, not quite brave enough to look at him.

"I'd made up my mind that you were not going to die," she continued, memories of that night still causing an ache in her heart. "I refused to let Tuck give you the Last Rites and begged you not to leave me."

"I remember," Robin said softly. "I thought it was a dream."

"No." Marian turned to him, blinking back tears. The memory of him thrashing in the bunk so close to death would haunt her for the rest of her days. "You hurt me so deeply, and I kept pushing you away to stop being hurt again. But...being without you hurt just as much, and when I thought you were going to die I realised..." A tear escaped, and she let it fall onto her cheek so she could hold his gaze..

"The happiest times of my life have been with you, Robin," she said, her voice thick. "And without you, I..."

Robin's forehead creased, the dwindling candlelight flickering in his eyes. He reached forward and gently wiped the tear away with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," she whispered tremulously.

"Whatever for?"

"For my part in what's gone wrong between us," she said, needing to acknowledge it for her own sake as much as his. "For keeping you at a distance, for not being honest with you about the doubts I had. For..." she gave a wry look, "...holding my love to ransom."

Robin ducked his head, clearly embarrassed by what he'd said that terrible night in the forest.

"You were right," she told him. "I had forgotten that love should be shared, not used as a weapon."

"Do you remember that day in the forest," he said softly, lifting his gaze back to hers. "When I told you all I wanted was you – for you to live?"

Marian nodded - fears had settled deep into her heart that day, and she wasn't quite sure if they had been uprooted.

"I never asked you what you wanted."

Marian almost smiled. "No, you didn't."

Robin swallowed heavily and visibly braced himself. "I'm asking now."

"To be honest, I hardly know myself." Marian cast her gaze downward. "It should hardly be surprising that we ended up like this. It's been the same ever since we were children - trying to escape the roles we had been brought up to fill. You left for the Holy Land, I became the Nightwatchman. Both of us searching for a life less ordinary."

Robin smiled sadly. "Have we found it, do you think?"

"Few people ever get the chance to live the lives we have," Marian pointed out. "I just wonder Robin, what will happen if we win, and Prince John is deposed and we achieve all that we are fighting for."

Robin sighed, running one hand through his hair absently. "It may be a long while off, why worry about it now?"

"I know – but for the sake of argument," she pressed him. "You would be the Earl of Huntingdon and I your wife, relegated to running your household and and only giving advice when asked. Would I stand behind your chair at the Council of Nobles as I once stood behind my father's?"

"No." Robin's answer was immediate, and resolute. "We're partners, Marian, whether here in Sherwood or back in the Manor – I will watch your back, and I will trust you to watch mine."

"Do you mean it?" she asked, taking both his hands in hers and peering hopefully up at him. She had heard enough placating words from him in the past, but this seemed different. "Because I would like to try again, Robin. To put all of the nonsense of the past behind us, for I know that we could be truly happy."

Robin squeezed her hands, a smile breaking out on his face that was so bright it reminded her of summer days long gone. "If you promise to trust me in return. Involve me in your schemes, don't make me the target of them."

"Schemes?" she laughed, her heart light. "This is what you think of your wife?"

"It's a compliment, my love." Robin reached forward and kissed the tip of her nose. "It takes a quick wit, which I greatly admire."

But Marian's mind had been caught on the endearment. "It's been a long time since you called me that."

"What?" Robin flashed her a grin. "My love." He kissed her cheek tenderly, and Marian felt warm right down to her toes. "My love." He kissed her other cheek, his words hushed against her skin.

"My love."

They stood before the altar hand in hand as Robin pressed his lips to hers, and they pledged themselves to one another once more.

The fire was burning brightly in the hearth when they returned to their room at the inn and Marian was thankful for it. Shivering, she removed her outer cloak and scarf and warmed her chilled hands, the heat spreading quickly through her. It was helped along when Robin embraced her from behind, his arms closing tightly about her waist as he began to kiss her neck. Marian sighed and leaned her head back against his shoulder, a deep and primal desire already burning within her.

"I missed you, Robin," she whispered, reaching back to twine her fingers through his hair as his warm mouth sucked gently on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. It would be novel, Marian thought to herself, to make love in a bed rather than the green arms of Sherwood, where even in their secret hideouts they could never be too loud lest they attract the attention of nearby animals. Such was their caution that they had never even seen one another fully undressed, and it was this thought that made Marian turn in Robin's arms so she could take in the vision of him.

The firelight lit up the planes and contours of his face, and it seemed as if the worry of the past weeks had faded away. Marian gently reached up to trace his features, wanting to remember every detail of the moment. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, then trailed her fingers down over his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, covered with a scratch of stubble.

She ached with longing for him but she forced herself to be slow, and he let her set the pace. His familiar green hooded tunic was grimy and wearing through at the seams, but the simple garment held so much meaning for her. She'd taken it to fool Gisborne and his guards, and so had been wearing it still when she had returned to the camp to find him unwell. Even after she'd changed back into her own clothes she'd kept it close by, and that he was wearing it again gave her cause to hope that he truly was recovered.

Marian tugged at the hem of the tunic and pulled it up and over Robin's head, followed by his white undershirt. His gaze was heated but he said nothing as she ran her hands over his chest; he was thinner due to his sickness, but she could still feel the wiry muscle under his skin developed from years of soldier life and forest living. The scar on his side was still stark and Marian traced it gently, causing Robin to flinch.

"Do you still hate it?" she asked, looking up to see his mouth settle into a firm line. "Don't," she told him before he could answer. "This scar brought you back." Marian leaned forward and pressed her lips to the marked flesh, hearing Robin's sharp intake of breath. He cupped her cheek and brought her face upward, clearly no longer content to wait as he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him closer as there was a leap in the pit of her belly. Robin's hands travelled down her back, reaching under her tunic to caress her skin before pulling away so he could remove it.

His hands on her breasts made her sigh, his touch so familiar and yet made more pleasurable in the longing for it. The rest of their clothes soon followed until they stood before one another naked, with nothing left to hide.

Tenderly, Robin cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so tender she almost wept. Then he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her gently on the goosedown. With the weight of his body they sank gently into the softness, so long since either of them had lain somewhere so fine.

"It almost seems too soft," Robin said in hushed tones. "I'm used to Sherwood now."

"We can't do this in Sherwood though," Marian pointed out, her hand running down his arm.

"An excellent point," Robin said with his characteristic cheek, shifting his examination of the bed to her body, cupping her breast and running his thumb lightly across the peak. "I can see the advantages now."

Marian bit her lip to keep in a laugh, and then remembered there was no need to keep quiet. They should not be so loud as to be heard by the other patrons, but they need not be as hushed as the forest required. So when Robin palmed her breast again, she did not stifle the pitched sigh that followed.

His touch soon moved lower, over her ribs and stomach. Robin lightly traced the two scars on her belly and Marian caught his gaze, urging him not to linger on what was past. He obeyed, his hands dipping lower to the place between her legs, and she raised her hips slightly to meet his touch. The dark of Sherwood's cold nights when she'd shivered alone were instantly forgotten as a warm pleasure spread through her at the dexterous movement of his fingers.

Crying out softly, Marian reached for his face to draw Robin's eyes back to hers. He gave her a broad smile as he touched her slowly, knowing exactly how to tease her, to make her breath quicken and her heart race. His gaze was heated and intense but she welcomed it, unwilling to look away and in fact drawing him closer to hungrily press her lips to hers.

Robin's pace was even, however, stroking her flesh in small, slow circles as she sighed into his mouth and pressed her body closer to his. She caught a flash of his wicked smile as he began to kiss a line down her throat, sucking briefly on her pulse point before dipping further to explore the roundness of her breasts. Desire burned within her, rising exponentially with the pressure of his deft touch as his fingers slipped inside of her and he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked gently.

Her back arched involuntarily, her hands grasping his back to urge him on and in response Robin shifted further down the bed, raining soft kisses over her stomach. He paused momentarily at her scars, pressing his burning lips gently to each one before moving to settle between her thighs. When he pressed his mouth to her Marian bucked and called out his name, but Robin held her hips firm as his tongue darted out to taste her.

He had never done that to her before, and the intimacy made her flush. But it felt too good to make him stop, and Marian found her hand twining through his hair, urging him to continue. She looked down over the valley between her breasts, his head buried between her thighs with single-minded pursuit as Marian felt a great pressure build within her. Unable to think, her eyes fluttered closed as she pressed her head back against the pillow, her world shrinking to Robin's tongue moving against her and inside her.

She cried his name again, clutching at his hair as the pleasure became too great; legs trembling, back arching, chest heaving as waves of pleasure crashed over her with sweet release. Vaguely, she felt Robin's absence but he soon returned, drawing the blankets over them and settling beside her on the bed. Still awash with satisfaction, Marian lazily opened her eyes to see him propped up on one elbow and grinning.

"Don't look so smug," she swatted at him, but his happiness made her feel warm inside.

Robin laughed and drew closer still, his free hand caressing her belly. "With such an attitude you'll be lucky if I ever do that again."

"Oh, you will," she demanded lightly, drawing him in for a kiss. "And in Sherwood, too, don't think I'm waiting until we get back in a proper bed again."

"As my goodly wife commands," Robin teased her, but Marian's attention was elsewhere. She deftly slipped a hand underneath the blankets to find his arousal, hard and straining beneath her fingers. It was her turn to tease, to see the desire on his face and in his eyes, to focus on the way his lips parted and his breath quickened as she stroked him firmly. It made her own yearning rise again and Robin began to touch her again in earnest.

She pressed closer to him, nuzzling her face into his neck and inhaling deeply. Beneath the scent of soap and rose from the bath he smelled of birch and earth, as if Sherwood was forever etched into his skin. To Marian it was intoxicating and she kissed his flushed skin, her tongue darting out to taste him as Robin inhaled sharply and pushed her back down onto the bed.

Marian pulled him with her, her legs parting to accommodate him as his weight settled pleasantly upon her. She gripped his face and whispered her love before pulling him in for a searing kiss as he entered her with one firm movement. It was better than she ever remembered, the feeling of being filled and wanted and complete. She wrapped her legs around his hips as Robin began to move with slow, deliberate strokes, his intense and heated gaze fixed on her.

They were beyond lovers or husband and wife, as if they were connecting on a higher spiritual plane even as their bodies moved and together with and old and rhythmic dance. Robin grasped the backs of her thighs and pushed her legs higher, Marian unable to keep from loudly crying out as he sank deeper inside her. She was reaching her peak once again, more powerful and intense than before as she desperately clung to him as his thrusts became faster and more erratic. Teetering on the edge, Marian could no longer hold his gaze, her head snapping back against the pillow and drawing him closer still.

Robin buried his face in her neck, whispering words of love in her ear as his heated skin pressed against hers as they seemed to become one. Her hands wound through his hair and caressed his back, her hips rising to meet his every thrust. One final movement was enough, and she shuddered in a dizzying crescendo of ultimate pleasure as Robin held her tightly through his own release.

It was some time before Robin pulled away, and they lay together sated as the light from the fire danced merrily across their bare and sweat-slicked skin. She reached forward and brushed the hair back from his eyes, overcome with feeling for the man laying beside her who she had almost lost.

"I love you, Robin," she whispered to him, her fingers trailing over his cheek. "Not against my will, either," she added, finally realising what pride and fear had always made her deny. "This happiness I'm feeling can only be through choice."

Robin smiled and did not speak, as if her words had been enough, but he cupped her face in his hands to kiss her tenderly before they settled down to sleep. Marian turned to face the window and Robin's arms went around her in the way she had missed so terribly during those cold Sherwood nights. She could still see snow billowing out in the darkness, and hear the violent wind but she was blissfully warm cocooned in his arms.

"Merry Christmas, Marian," he whispered and held her a bit tighter. This time, however, Marian felt no fear or confinement, but instead utter contentment as she let her eyes drift close.

"Merry Christmas, Robin."

Chapter Text

The Forest Lodge, Edwinstowe

For the first time in over a year Marian awoke in a soft bed, and for a moment her mind was back in the warmth of Knighton, her father waiting patiently downstairs to allow her the extra sleep, her horse already saddled ready for a morning ride. All was lost to her now, her father, her home, her childhood, all consigned to memory. Life had moved on, and she had to move on with it.

Not an unpleasant prospect, Marian smiled to herself as she felt Robin stir in the bed beside her, his arm around her waist tightening as he awoke. She turned to face him as his eyes fluttered open, clear and untroubled. The fever had passed, and so it seemed had his nightmares.

"You didn't dream." She reached forward to cup his face, and he turned his cheek into her hand to kiss her palm.

"No," he said, his voice soft. "They'll come back though - they always do."

She had suspected that, but was gratified that he had told her all the same. Perhaps he would never be completely untouched by them - some scars never healed, as she was well aware.

"When that time comes," she said, caressing the side of his face. "I want you to tell me about them. I can't bear for you to suffer alone."

His eyes searched her face as if to divine whether she was truly in earnest. "Maybe that's my penance."

"No," she said firmly, taking his hand and holding it tightly in hers. "Burdens are to be shared between a husband and wife. However terrible they are."

The ghost of a smile crossed Robin's face. "It goes both ways, Marian."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. "And I promise to try harder too."

That seemed to satisfy him, and Marian drew closer, allowing him to fold her into his embrace, leaning her head against his chest and giving a contented sigh.

"I wish we could stay here," she said, closing her eyes and imagining that his arms could cocoon them from the outside world. "Warm and safe and away from everything that would do us harm."

Robin stroked her hair gently. "No you don't," he said in that teasing voice she missed so much. "You want to be back out there in the fight."

Marian laughed, annoyed that he would tell her what she was thinking, and even more because he was probably right. "Maybe I want both," she shot back, opening her eyes and looking up at him.

"You may want both, my love," he pinched her side playfully. "But I don't think the two go together."

"Maybe not," she conceded, leaning up to kiss him gently. "So we should make the most of this while it lasts."

It was well into the morning when they set out from Edwinstowe. With all of their supplies distributed, they were both able to ride Marian's horse who had been well tended to overnight in the village stables. Robin let her take the reins and sat behind her in the saddle, his chest pressed against her back and his arms around her waist. It was still bitterly cold and snow blanketed the forest floor, but Marian felt quite content as they made their way slowly back to camp, as if she and Robin were out for a pleasant winter's ride.

"We should gather the gang together later today," he said into her ear as they rode. "Discuss plans for the new year. There's still plenty of winter ahead of us, and the people will need even more of our help since the sickness ravaged the villages."

Marian bit her lip and focused on the woods ahead so not to dwell too much on how close Robin had come to being one of its victims. It really was a beautiful sight, the trees wearing snow like white cloaks and the forest floor below them pristine until her horse made hoof-prints to evidence their journey.

"We've rested on our laurels long enough," Robin continued. "And now that Sheriff is gone we should take advantage before Gisborne gets too comfortable in the position."

"He's coveted it for long enough," Marian said. "Dreamed of everything he would do if he actually achieved the power he's craved his whole life."

"And what's that, do you think?"

"He never really said." Marian thought back to half a dozen conversations where Guy had been unguarded. Even now, it felt somewhat like a betrayal of his confidence to speak of it. "I don't think he'll be as ruthless as Vaisey."

Robin scoffed. "Just as ruthless as a man who leaves his own child in the woods to die."

Marian couldn't argue with that, she would never excuse the awful things Guy had done although she believed he deeply regretted that act. In truth she wasn't sure what he would do now that Vaisey was gone, whether he would regress to his old self or use his newfound power for something greater.

"I don't think we should make any direct moves against him yet," she advised. "Prince John is just as likely to oust him and who knows who we'll end up with."

"Better the devil we know, I agree." Robin chuckled in her ear. "Who knows, there might be a Christmas miracle and he'll join our side."

"Is it so absurd an idea?" Marian asked him, and Robin stopped laughing.

"Is it not to you?"

"I promised I would start involving you in my schemes," she said, turning her head slightly so he could see her smile.

"You don't think you overestimate your influence over him?" Robin sounded worried, but to his credit, did not voice any concerns over her safety as he would have in the past.

"No," she said. "He said that we were enemies now, and he probably believes that. But Prince John is fickle, and the King cannot be held ransom forever. Guy may come to see the value in doing what is right when doing what is not no longer has any benefit."

He huffed. "One should do what is right regardless of whether there is benefit to it."

"Of course," Marian agreed. "But not everyone thinks like us, and you know better than anyone that a war requires soldiers of all kinds."

Robin's arms tightened around her slightly. "You would have made a good commander, Marian."

"I thought I was a terrible soldier?" she asked, thinking back to his harsh words about her inability to follow orders.

Robin kissed her hair. "Yes, but to tell you the truth so was I."

Locksley Church

Tuck was halfway through the Mass by the time Robin and Marian arrived, so they slipped inside and stood at the back of the church to listen to the Gospel. The words were Latin, and Marian was certain that the only people who understood them other than Tuck were she and Robin. To the rest they would sound familiar and comforting, and no doubt they knew the story being told to them even if they could not comprehend the exact words.

It surprised her when Tuck finished reading from the Locksley bible, looked out at the congregation and began his homily in English.

"I realise this is unusual," he began, "to speak to you in your own language rather than that of our Holy Church. But as I am sure you have realised by now that I am an unusual man."

A small chuckle went through the crowd as they relaxed and forgave the breach of protocol and tradition, although Marian still saw a few people cross themselves just in case.

"I speak to you today in your own tongue because of the importance of what I have to say." Tuck moved to stand before the altar, clasping his hands in front of him. "The Gospel of John tells us that in making the world, our Lord created life in the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not."

"The darkness comprehended it not," he repeated, "because light will always push away the darkness, no matter how feeble, how small that light is. The darkness cannot do anything but recede, it cannot smother or grow or dominate, because darkness is only the absence of light, not a competing force. There has been darkness here in England for some time, but that time is finite, because light has returned."

Tuck looked to the back of the church. "Robin of Locksley returned from war in the Holy Land and saw that darkness had come to this village, to all of Nottinghamshire. He became the light of man, refusing to yield to the darkness - he gave up his lands, his title, all of his worldly goods to be that first ray of light to drive that darkness away. But all of this you know."

Tuck took a step closer to the crowd to looked up at him with rapt attention. Marian could see the other outlaws scattered through the pews - even Djaq was there, seated next to Will and holding his hand in a show of solidarity.

"Many of you have asked why I have come to Nottingham." Tuck continued, slowly making eye contact with everyone in the room. "The obvious answer is of course to join with Robin Hood and his righteous cause. But that it not all, for it is not just the light of men who can banish the darkness."

"When I was in the Holy Land, the Blessed Virgin came to me in a vision. She told me of a woman – a kind, brave, and righteous woman who had saved the life of our Good King Richard at the cost of her own. For this sacrifice our Holy Mother interceded with the Lord on her behalf, and so delivered this woman from death. And so I was charged with a new crusade – to find and protect this woman. Follow her, our Holy Mother instructed me, for she is under my protection, and the Lord has great work for her to do."

Marian forced herself not to react to Tuck's words, conscious of the people in the congregation beginning to turn around and gawk at her. Her gaze was fixed on Tuck, not sure what to even think as he spun his story with passion and conviction. Robin reached for her hand to squeeze it lightly, and she had no doubt he believed every word Tuck was saying.

"So I ask you now to join us," Tuck said with flourish, spreading his hands. "Follow the light which has been shown to us, add your own to it until the darkness can do naught but disappear. Join the cause which has been blessed by the heavens, join with the man who has been appointed England's protector by the King himself – join with the woman who has been blessed by the Virgin Mary, Mother of us all."

"Join us," Tuck commanded them. "Join Robin Hood. Join..." He gestured to where Marian was standing at the back of the church. "Maid Marian."

The rest of the service went by in a daze, and Marian stood mutely afterwards as the congregation filed out. The effect of Tuck's words was immediate, as the women gave her small curtseys and the men nods of deference and called her "My Lady" and "Maid Marian" in deferant, hushed tones. The children looked up at her in awe, and some were brave enough to touch the hem of her cloak as if doing so would bless them.

Robin kissed her cheek and told her he would speak to people outside, leaving her alone with Tuck in the empty church. He approached her with a cautious smile.

"I can see you are not best pleased with my sermon."

"No," Marian said coldly, anger slowly brewing within her. "I thought you were a man of God – a man of honour," she told him distastefully. "How dare you lie to these people, in here of all places, in your position?"

He looked at her quizzically, his head tilting to the side. "You think that I have lied to them?"

"Well I certainly don't believe that the Blessed Virgin came to you in a vision."

Tuck smiled again. "It is perhaps good, therefore, that it is what I believe that matters."

Marian forced herself to calm down, taking a few moments of silence to try and wrap her head around his words. She had always known him to be devout, to follow a calling that he alone knew how to define. A part of her felt no surprise at his words, and she supposed she should be thankful he had finally revealed the purpose behind seeking her out in Acre. The other part of her wondered whether he'd revealed anything at all, if what he'd said was just another story.

"You will not tell me the truth then?" she asked, keeping her voice soft

"My dear, truth is merely a reflection of our own hearts," Tuck told her. "And if you are true to that, what is real does not matter."

Marian frowned. "I don't agree."

"You fear divine influence because it is something you cannot control," Tuck said, taking a step closer to her. "You have always exerted such precise discipline over your own narrative, the faces you wished to present to the world - the highborn lady who influences where she can, the Nightwatchman who was visible only in the good they did, the outlaw every inch as capable as the rest of them. Maid Marian is simply another face to show the world, to help your cause - much like the name Robin Hood. Names have power, Marian, names make the legend."

Marian retrieved the rosary Tuck had given her, and she'd kept in her pack ever since. "Is that why you gave me this?" she asked, holding it out in an open palm. "Hail Mary, full of grace?"

"I gave you that for comfort," Tuck told her, taking her hand and closing her fingers over the beads. "Our Lady is a great protector, and while you are no virgin, nor may you ever be a mother, I see her light in you, and now others will too."

"But how could I ever live up to such an ideal?" Marian asked him. "I am as full of sin as any other, I killed a man in cold blood only recently."

"Do you think destroying the Sheriff, who was seen by many as an agent of the Devil, would cause them to turn away from you rather than towards?" Tuck smiled and shook his head. "They have spoken of you reverently since that day, she who was spared from death by divine intervention, who struck down their tormentor with the Lord's own justice. I have merely given them a focus for that devotion."

Marian swallowed, the weight of Tuck's words falling heavily. Only yesterday she had lamented Robin's notoriety and the good it allowed him to do. She had always kept to the shadows where it was safest, and told herself that was the righteous way, free from the need for glory and adulation. But she had still found satisfaction when she heard the people speak of the Nightwatchman, the very evidence of her success.

"You don't need to understand it," Tuck continued, no doubt seeing her confusion. "Not even I do, for that is for the realm of the divine. All you need to do is embrace it."

Chapter Text

The day after Christmas the gang was busy distributing funds. Sadly the poor boxes in the churches were near empty as few had little if anything to give, and so each outlaw took it upon themselves to supplement them, fanning out across Nottinghamshire to ensure that every poor family had something to get them through the rest of winter.

Darkness began to fall swiftly in the afternoon and although the snows had ceased it remained bitterly cold. Still, Marian pulled Eve aside when she returned to camp and asked for company on her way into Nottingham Town.

"What are you up to?" Eve asked, although she had a conspiratorial smile. "I hope it's something Robin wouldn't approve of."

Marian bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, because it's you," Eve said with a pointed look. "And because Robin hasn't returned from Locksley yet which makes me think you don't want him to know where you've gone."

"Robin trusts me," Marian defended herself. "I told him I was going to go into Nottingham today."

"Then why am I accompanying you rather than him?" Eve was still clearly sceptical, and she held Marian's gaze for several moments. "Or is this a test of his resolve?"

"I've found marriage to be a constant test," Marian said. "But we've both agreed to try harder."

"Well you know my opinion." Eve linked her arm with Marian's as they set off into the forest. "That he's a vainglorious fool not nearly good enough for you. But it seems that is my test - loving people who love Robin Hood."

Marian laughed. "And here I thought he was growing on you."

"I'll admit I saw a different side to him during his sickness," Eve said with a sigh. "I always thought his goodness was an act, a self-righteous man playacting as a martyr. But when he thought himself close to death…"

"What?" Marian asked, curious as to what Robin had said thinking they were to be his final words.

"He said he didn't deserve your love - or Much's." Eve looked straight ahead, as serious as Marian had ever seen her. "He thought that it was burden on you both, and that his death would free you."

Marian shook her head. "He's a fool."

"That's what I told him." Even squeezed her arm gently. "But he seemed sincere."

"I know he can seem excessively proud," Marian said. "And he is - vain as well. But I think he feels he has to be, to ask people to follow him the way they do, in order to be worthy of their faith."

"I think deep down Much pities him a little." Eve smiled in that way she always did when speaking of her husband. "Loves him, idolises him, but knows there's something broken in him that can never be fixed."

"Not fixed no," Marian agreed. "But with time - perhaps healed."

"I hope so," Eve told her with a smile only a true friend would give. "And that in return, you're healed as well."

Nottingham

The seamstress who lived in Nottingham welcomed them into her home and was only too happy to accept the work Marian asked of her. She'd helped the gang before of course, most notably the banners they'd hung from the castle windows months ago with the Locksley crest. But Marian asked her to keep this commission a secret, at least until everything was prepared.

She left Eve to converse with the seamstress about the details and made her way to the Castle. Although it was heavily guarded Marian knew a hundred ways to get in and out again, only a fraction that Guy had discovered and blocked. Almost as if he hadn't put much effort into the task, she thought with a smile.

Business first, Marian decided, making her way through the dark hallways of the castle and down into the underground chambers. She'd been there twice in her life, first as a prisoner, and then on a frantic mission to save Robin's life. Both times she'd sworn she'd never set foot in the place again, and Marian hoped that this time it was the truth.

The laboratory was quite different from how it had appeared a week ago. The floor was littered with broken glass that hadn't been cleared away, and she was relieved to discover that no one had resumed work on the vile disease which had almost claimed Robin among its many victims.

Blight sat at a small desk in the corner, a blanket around his shoulders and his face waxy and pale, illuminated by the dim light of a single candle. He was making calculations in a small book of bound parchment, a hacking cough escaping his mouth every now and then, so intent on his work that he didn't even notice Marian in the shadows. It appeared that he was in the late stages of infection which gave Marian a deep sense of satisfaction - now he would know how his victims felt as they alternated been blistering heat and freezing cold, as they saw terrors in their sleep, the desperation of never seeming able to draw enough breath, and sense that death coming for them.

She would be quite justified in leaving him to a fate he had brought upon himself, but Marian already had one death on her conscience and feared what another might do to her.

"Merry Christmas Blight." Marian stepped into the glow of the candle and the man jumped and then recoiled once he saw her face. He clutched the blanket tighter around himself and coughed, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

"So, have you come to watch me die?" he asked, his voice as dry as the deserts of the Holy Land.

"Not at all," she assured him, her voice rich with amusement. "It is St Stephen's day, so I've come to give you charity."

She withdrew a small vial of liquid from her pocket and tossed it to him. Blight fumbled as he grasped for it and Marian had to stop herself from laughing as he almost fell off his chair.

"Robin survived," she said, indicating the vial in his hand. "So you see I am a woman of my word."

He examined the cure - the last remaining sample after they had healed all of the sick throughout the villages - before hastily pulling out the cork and drinking it in one gulp. He sobbed with relief and held his head in his hands, but Marian felt only disgust.

"You live to see another day," she told him, her voice hardening. "If you want to keep it that way I suggest a new career path. Or at least use your talents to cure people rather than make them sick." She reached out and took the notebook he'd been writing in. "We'll be watching you just to make sure."

Blight swallowed heavily but gave her a defiant look. "And what will you do if I don't?" he asked. "Everyone knows Robin Hood's men don't kill."

She advanced on him with a steely glare, laying on hand on the sword that hung from her belt. "Do I look like one of Robin Hood's men to you?" she asked, her voice as sharp as that very blade. "I'm Maid Marian. I killed the Sheriff. Think about that if you ever need encouragement to stay on the right path, and know that I'll be watching you."

With a puff of breath she blew out his candle, and used the darkness to retreat and leave Blight to his conscience.

Sheriff's Quarters

Guy awoke with a start, unsure of what had roused him. He sat up and pushed the covers aside, running a hand through his hair as he looked out towards the open window. He was unsurprised to see Marian there, the moonlight alighting on her pale face and dark hair like some kind of ghost. He'd seen her often enough when he'd thought her dead, a tormented soul with blood staining her white gown, silent with an accusing gaze.

But when Guy looked again she wasn't in angelic white but the tattered, dark clothes of an outlaw, one hand resting casually on the hilt of her sword.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, unnerved that she had been watching him sleep. He had been vulnerable, at her mercy, and he hated that feeling.

"Long enough," she said, and despite everything that had happened the sound of her voice still tugged on his heart. Marian began to wander around the room, examining his possessions and running her hand lightly along one of the posts of his bed, all the while keeping her other hand on the hilt of her sword.

"So you are the Sheriff now," she commented, turning a cool gaze towards him. "You have everything you wanted."

"Not everything," he said, pained.

Marian smiled in a way that conveyed no joy. "You have everything I was willing to give you."

Guy sighed and looked away, not sure whether he hated her or still loved her. "Why are you here, Marian?"

"I'm not sure myself," she said, drumming her fingers lightly on the bedpost. "After all we're enemies now, or so you've told me."

"We were always enemies," Guy said, his deep anger at her betrayal making him strong enough to look at her. "I just didn't know it."

"Were you my enemy all those times you protected me from the Sheriff's wrath?" she asked. "Or perhaps that doesn't count, since your reasons were wholly selfish."

Guy did not deny the accusation, and although it had not been with intent looking back he could see how his kindness could be seen as calculation. He'd enjoyed feeling like her hero, the man standing between herself and ruination, exile or death - it had made him believe that he could be so much more than a dispossessed lord under Vaisey's thumb. Perhaps even a good man.

"I would have changed for you, Marian," he said, almost pleading with her. "Made myself worthy of your love."

"Change for yourself," she told him. "Make yourself worthy of your own love, and the love of others will follow."

Guy felt chastised under her steady gaze, and shifted, feeling defensive. "So you came to lecture me."

"No," Marian said, a note of sadness in her voice. "I suppose I came to find out what kind of Sheriff you will be."

He was silent for a few moments, appraising her, trying to read her face. He'd never been much good at that before, but Guy had to acknowledge he'd never known the true Marian. But the woman who now stood before him stripped of all artifice, he could sense her intent clearly enough.

"You want to recruit me," he said, surprised.

A smile crept onto Marian's face, and this time he could see it was genuine. She cast her gaze downward and bit her lip through her smile. "I know that you have power now, and perhaps even the ear of Prince John. You have much to lose, but I would argue even more to gain."

"What, the chance to live in squalor with a price on my head?" Guy scoffed, wondering what would make her believe she could sway him, given everything that had passed between them.

"The chance to atone." She stepped forward and her hand slipped off the hilt of her sword. She was within an arm's length of him, if he wanted he could reach out and grasp her. "The chance to do the right thing because it is right, not because you will be rewarded with wealth or power." Marin held out her hand, and Guy stared at her outstretched fingers which begged for his - to follow her, to believe in her, to become the man she'd always wanted him to be.

But Guy wasn't sure the kind of man he wanted himself to be. "I am the Sheriff now," he told her and Marian withdrew her hand, clearly disappointed. "I can change things from here, make things better for the people so they would have no need of stolen funds. I am not Vaisey."

Marian sighed. "I hope so, although forgive my scepticism." She retreated to the window, never turning her back on him. "Prove me wrong," she said and nodded once before disappearing out into the night.

Guy finally found himself able to move, and strode over to the window to watch her climb down a series of ropes she'd managed to attach to the outer wall. She did not look back but Guy kept his eyes on her until she made it to the forest, heedless of the severe chill in the night air. He stood there for perhaps an hour, until the cold had seeped into his bones and frozen his lungs making it difficult to breath. Only then he returned to his bed and drew the covers around him.

But he did not sleep, nor did he feel warm again, and wondered if he ever would.

Outlaw's camp

Robin and Little John entered the camp around midday to find the outlaws in a jolly mood - Allan had brought out his lute and was playing a jaunty tune as Eve sung and Much and Carter danced a jig, with Djaq, Will and Marian clapping along.

"Oi, Robin!" Allan said as he saw him, still plucking on the strings of his instrument. "Where have you two been?"

John cleared his throat. "I had some goodbyes to make."

"Forrest and Hanton," Robin explained as John took a seat by the fire. They'd been his gang after all, and John must have known that it was possible if not likely that he would never see them again.

"How are Forrest's wife and child?" Marian asked as Robin sank down next to her.

"Well," he was pleased to report, taking Marian's hand. "Lucy is expecting again."

"How wonderful," Will spoke up. "We should all go up to Worksop when the child is born." Djaq nudged him slightly, and Will's face fell as he realised it was probably not the time to make such a suggestion. "Sorry Little John," he added, but the big man just waved his hand.

"It's alright," John said only slightly gruffly. "They are both fine men now, they don't need me. I have my own child to see."

"We must have a celebration," Eve said, and gave Marian a look Robin couldn't quite decipher. "I'm sure you'll make your goodbyes in Locksley John, but I'm talking just us. On Twelfth Night, perhaps."

"Good idea," Much grinned, and Robin could tell he was already imagining a feast. "We can scrounge up some salted pork and cheese from the stores, send you off in style, Little John."

"Allan can get some ale from the 'Trip," Carter spoke up, elbowing him in the ribs. "Assuming Susie's still sweet on you, eh?"

"Course she is," Allan said with a cocky grin. "Although don't think I haven't seen you down there makin' eyes at her."

"Nothing wrong with giving the girl options." Carter shrugged, and Djaq gave them both an amused but disapproving look.

"Yeah, but how are you gonna impress 'er?" Allan's fingers moved over the strings of his lute to make a smattering of beautiful notes. "Ladies love music, the best you can do it whip out your sword and run someone through."

Carter gestured to himself. "I'm a war hero, remember."

Beside him Marian rolled her eyes, and while Allan and Carter continued to argue she gestured for Robin to follow her into the forest until they could no longer hear the voices from the camp.

"Are you alright, Marian?" he asked, gently turning her to face him and brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You seem out of sorts."

Marian smiled ruefully. "Excellent restraint Robin, for not mentioning Guy."

"Well, I can understand if you're disappointed," Robin shrugged. "I'll also restrain myself from saying I told you so."

"It's not over yet," Marian said as she looked up at him, and he recognised the determination in her eyes nothing would ever break. "He may still come around."

"I'll believe it when it happens." Robin caressed her cheek. "And if it does you can say I told you so all you like."

That won him a proper smile, and Marian inched closer. "I'll hold you to that."

"But that's not all, is it?" Robin pressed. "It's Vaisey still."

Marian's lip quivered and Robin folded his arms around her as she leaned against his chest.

"I won't say it gets better," Robin told her, resting his cheek against her hair. "But you learn to live with it."

"It's just..." Marian sighed, and Robin rubbed her back. "People are praising me for such an act, is that how I am to be remembered?"

"No," he assured her. "You're a legend in your own right, now. Maid Marian."

"As a murderer," she insisted, clutching the fabric of his tunic and shuddering.

"No," Robin said again, grasping her by the shoulders and looking her right in the eyes. "As a woman came back from the dead to protect the people – an avenging angel to rid them of the Sheriff’s evil."

"What's the difference?" Marian asked. "In the Holy Land you thought you were killing for God, but that didn't make it right."

"The difference is we were fooling ourselves," Robin told her, the deep pain of the evil he'd committed constant in his heart. "The blood on our hands could not be excused, there was no good that came from it. And although Vaisey's death will always weigh heavily, you can console yourself with the knowledge that he will never hurt another."

He took her hand and kissed the palm, but her smile did not quite reach her eyes.

"Word has got out about your visit to Blight," he said, hoping it would cheer her. "I'd say that every criminal in Nottingham is afraid to cross you."

But his words did not have the desired effect, Marian pulling her hand from his and wrapping her arms around herself as she turned away. "It seems a perverse sort of contribution," she said dully. "Robin Hood is good and pure and will not commit the sin of murder – but step out of line and his wife will come after you to do what he will not. I'll become a bogeyman."

"Or a beacon, a symbol as I once told you," Robin insisted. "The people know the truth – and you are their hero, Marian."

She turned back to face him, the corner of her mouth upturned. "What, and you're willing to share the glory?"

Robin didn't the bait, she wanted to deflect but this time he wouldn't be distracted. "We live dangerous lives," he said seriously, taking her hands again. "We have to face the possibility that one of us will be killed, and the others will have to carry on. And there is no one else I would trust to take my place, if anything were to happen to me."

Marian's uncertainty faded into joyful disbelief. "Do you really mean that?"

Robin nodded - it had taken him so long to see it, but it was all too clear now. "You're in the people's hearts and minds now – as you should be. There is no need to hide behind the Nightwatchman - you're Maid Marian."

"One may stare into the light," she said to herself softly. "Until one becomes the light."

"What's that?" He tipped her chin upwards and caressed her jawline with his thumb.

"Just something Tuck said to me once." Marian wrapped her arms around Robin's neck and he shifted to embrace her.

"Ah, so he has made a believer out of you after all," Robin smiled and pinched her side playfully. Marian laughed but pulled him closer.

"He's helped me believe in myself I think," she said. "As names go I suppose Maid Marian isn't too bad - better than being named after an article of clothing." She tugged on his hood and pulled it over his head, then extracted herself from his grip and ran off laughing.

Robin pushed the material back from his eyes and saw her dart off through the trees. He grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in years, and began to give chase.

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

Twelfth Night was soon upon them, but a sense of melancholy hung over the camp since it signified their last days with Little John. Robin felt it as keenly as anyone, perhaps moreso, as John was the last of the brave men he'd met in the forest years earlier to leave him. Roy was, he hoped, in heaven; Forrest and Hanton had lives of their own in Worksop. But John - John had been his second in command, his voice of reason, and in many ways, like a father to him. It was fitting perhaps, that Robin had earned John's loyalty by offering his own life to save Alice, and now John felt he had repaid that debt enough to return to his ultimate duty as a husband and father.

"Is everything prepared for the celebration?" Robin asked Much as they made their morning scout through the forest. It had snowed the previous night, and the bare trees almost seemed to gleam in the faint light that pierced through the cloudy sky. At times like this, it didn't take much imagination to believe that Sherwood was alive, that it possessed some magic of its own; protecting them as it always had, keeping the evils of the world at bay.

"Yes, I think so," Much said, hurrying to keep pace with Robin's long strides. "Eve's taking care of things and it's a load off my mind, let me tell you! If I had to manage it there'd be complaints from every quarter, but for some reason no one questions Eve - whether that's because she's just better at it than me or they're too scared of what she would say in response I don't know. But in either case I think it's rather wonderful to have such an accomplished wife, and I'm sure you agree Robin, having one yourself, and like I always say-"

"Much." Robin cut him off, eyeing him with a knowing smile. "You're hiding something from me."

"Er - what makes you say that?" Much's ears reddened, a dead giveaway.

"Because you're babbling." Robin clapped his arm around Much's shoulder, halting them for a moment. "Now are you going to tell me, or do we have to pry it out of you?"

Much was silent, looking away as the blush spread across his cheeks.

"Come on," Robin urged him playfully. "Is it something about the celebration tonight? Has...John decided not to leave after all?" Hope leaped in his heart - that certainly would be welcome news.

"No!" Much looked back at him, clearly distressed. "No, I mean, as far as I know, no. I...do have something I want to tell you, Robin, but I didn't want to upset you."

"Oh?" Robin released his friend and stepped back. "Is it bad news?"

"No," Much assured him again, but his gaze was cast down at the ground. "In fact...it's wonderful news."

Robin ran a hand through his hair, sighing with exasperation. "Then why would I be upset?"

Much scuffed his boot against the light snow that littered the forest floor. "It's Eve," he said, and when he lifted his gaze his eyes were bright. "She's with child."

The knowledge hit Robin like a punch to the chest, and for a moment he simply stared at Much, unable to speak. Eve, pregnant? He should have expected news like this, if not from Much and Eve, than from Will and Djaq, but the thought had never entered Robin's mind. For some reason he had believed that everything would go on as it had before, but it seemed that John leaving them was only the beginning of inevitable change. Robin knew his silence was damning, and forced himself to speak.

"You're right," he eventually croaked out. "That's wonderful news."

Much shifted from one foot to the other looking nervous, and Robin realised the inadequacy of his reaction. He moved forward to give Much a firm embrace, holding him tight and trying to ignore the selfish thoughts rushing through his head; how it meant that Much would leave him too, that fatherhood was a bliss Robin would never know himself. And yet there was also joy for his friend that eclipsed all else, that Much had found the happiness so richly deserved.

He pulled back and held Much by the shoulders again. "It is wonderful," he said again, with a smile and greater feeling. "Much, you have been my loyal companion always, far braver than I ever was, because you understood the danger of the war I took you to.”

He cupped Much’s cheek fondly. “And when we returned and I could not deliver the life of comfort I promised, you followed me again out here into the forest. But you cannot follow me any longer." His voice cracked, and Robin blinked back tears. "You'll always be my family, Much, my brother, but you don't need me anymore."

Much sniffed, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "But what if you still need me?"

"Then I'll always know where to find you." Robin smiled and patted Much's cheek. "As long as you don't move too far away."

"I promise," Much laughed, and they embraced again. Robin held his friend tightly, trying to convey the depth of love and gratitude that he felt for the lifetime of comfort and support he'd been given. Their friendship had been the one constant of his life, a bond that could never be broken and one Robin did not wish ever to see stretched thin.

"Where do you think you'll go?" He asked as they set on their way again. "Until you can reclaim Bonchurch, of course."

"I was thinking perhaps Fiskerton," Much said, giving him a sidelong glance. "On the River Trent?"

"I know it," Robin nodded. It was less than a day's ride, but still far enough from Nottingham town to provide Much and Eve with relative safety.

"There's a mill there that's gone idle," Much continued. "My father was a miller, before he died and I came into your service."

"Much the miller's son," Robin smiled to think of the boy, covered in flour and grime, brought to Locksley Manor and put to work in the kitchens. "I remember."

"It was hard for me at first," Much said. "Your father was kind, but Thornton was the one who ran the household and he saw me as a peasant unfit to even be inside the Manor. For my part I was grieving, hardly the fully-rounded, devoted servant you see before you today.” He smiled ruefully, as if not quite able to laugh it off as he had clearly intended. "Thornton saw me as defiant, even a little slow, and incapable of meeting the standard of an Earl's household - or so I heard him tell Lord Robert."

Robin thought back to his childhood - he'd only been six or so and remembered little other than Much's arrival. "I never knew."

"No, but you found me crying in the kitchen one day and when I told you why, you marched straight to your father and Thornton and said they couldn't send me away because I was your friend. We'd barely spoken before that day, but you wanted to help me all the same - your first instinct was always kindness."

There were tears in Much's eyes, and he put a hand on Robin's arm to halt them once again. "That's when I knew I would spend my life in your service, Robin, and I would be happy to do so. I never thought that life would amount to anything more, but you showed me that it could, that I could be brave, and fight, and be strong when others needed me to be."

"You've always been that for me, Much," Robin told him, his voice thick. "I wouldn't have gotten through these past years without you. And to see you with Eve, starting your own family - no one deserves happiness more than you."

Much blushed and ducked his head. "You know that if you ever need anything from me, all you have to do is ask."

"Well," Robin grinned and began to walk again. "You could name the child after me..."

The sun was almost directly above them when they returned to camp, although from a distance away Robin could hear the sound of merriment; happy voices raised in conversation and music that appeared to be much more than Allan strumming on his lute. The celebrations weren't meant to start until that evening, and it sounded like a gathering of far more than their outlaw band. Robin threw an inquisitive glance at Much, whose smile gave away his knowledge of what was going on, and he immediately realised he should have been more suspicious when Much had suggested they scout together that morning.

"Marian insisted - she wanted it to be a surprise." Much patted him on the back and Robin quickened his pace towards the sound of laughter. What had Marian planned?

A large clearing near the camp was full of people - some of the gang were there, as well what seemed like all of Locksley and some of their particular friends from Nottingham and the surrounding villages. Someone had strung gold and green chains of cloth from the spindly trees, there were casks of wine and a whole pig roasting over a firepit that had been dug into the ground. Allan was indeed on his lute, joined by villagers with fiddles, drums and bells, and in the centre of the throng was Marian, a crown of leaves resting on her unbound hair and wearing a gown of dark green. When she saw him her face broke into a wide grin, and she made her way over to where he stood in shock.

"Marian," he spluttered out. "You're wearing a dress!"

She gave a pearly laugh and smoothed down the fabric of her skirt. "I thought it appropriate."

Robin checked himself; he'd spent too long in the forest, he'd almost forgotten how to treat a lady, especially ones own wife. His gaze drifted over her, from the scoop-necked bodice that showed off her lovely form, the wide bell sleeves, to the full skirt that touched the ground below. A golden sash was tied around her waist with a trail fluttering softly in the breeze; he fingered the material lightly, tracing the Locksley crest sewn many times into the material, alternating with the symbol of Knighton.

"You look beautiful," he said, looking back up to her face. "You always have, of course, even behind a mask." He touched her cheek lightly. "But what is it for?"

She smiled at his compliment. "It's my wedding gown," she informed him, spreading her arms slightly so he could get the full effect. "I thought today would be a good day to get married."

He blinked at her. "We're already married."

"In a desert," she said. "Our first vows said when we were strung up and I couldn't see your face, and our second when I had steel through my belly." She touched her side where she still bore the scar.    

"And I know you must have wondered," She drew closer and lowered her voice so that only he could hear. "If I only did it because death approached, if knowing that I would survive I still would have said those words."

It had been a deep-seated fear, only exacerbated since her return and their estrangement, but their reconciliation had quelled those doubts.

"Not any more," he told her. "You're my wife, Marian, and I don’t doubt you.”

"I know," Marian nodded, reaching for his hands. "But I want to marry you, Robin, properly, and it’s not because I feel obligated to you, or because we're about to die. Because I love you, and I want to be with you always."

Even secure in her love, her open words without her usual caution and restraint touched him deeply. He looked around at the assembled company, his friends and family, his villagers - even Thornton was there, looking as if he was trying very hard to keep from openly weeping.

"I'm not dressed for it," Robin protested, looking down at his ragged coat.

Marian laughed again, and gestured over her shoulder. "Don't worry, I came prepared."

The seamstress from Nottingham appeared out of the crowd, holding in her arms a new white undershirt and a green tunic embroidered with gold thread. She ducked into a curtsy and held out the garments to him.

"All happiness to you on your wedding day, Robin," she said with a smile, and he took the clothes and kissed her cheek in thanks. The material of the garments were soft - he couldn't remember the last time he'd worn new clothes.

"Come on," Much patted him on the shoulder. "I'll help you get ready."

They walked the short distance back to the camp, Allan and Carter trailing behind. Will and Little John were already there, talking quietly together as they packed up John's meager belongings.

"Little John." Robin pulled the big man into an embrace. "Tonight was meant to be your celebration, I hope we're not taking that from you."

"No, I suggested it," John told him earnestly. "It's the best send off you can give me, Robin."

He wondered just how he'd missed this collusion between his gang, and wondered if his sharply-honed instincts weren't completely restored following his illness. But Robin told himself that it was a foolish notion - he could shoot as well as he had before, he simply needed the practice to restore strength to his bow arm.

"You know this is the last time all of us may be together," Will spoke up as he packed away some trinkets for Little John - small tokens each of them had chosen for him to take to remember them by.

"Yeah, it seems like just yesterday you were tying us to trees, Little John," Much joked.

"Tell me about it," Allan rubbed his sternum. "I've still got the rope burns!"

"Wait, what's all this?" Carter looked intrigued, and Much happily relayed the story of how they'd all met, incredulous that he'd never been told before. Allan helped by interjecting every so often, correcting what he described as Much's biased account, but mostly retelling the story to flatter himself and impress upon Carter how heroically he'd resisted being tied up. Robin agreed - Allan had resisted himself right out of his shirt.

"And it was cold that day," Allan reminded them. "I almost froze me bollocks off!"

They laughed and joked together, sharing their favourite stories of their time together while Robin washed himself with a small basin of rose-scented water that had been set aside for that purpose - probably by Eve, who was the most likely to consider it important. He took the hint by using the soap and iron blade that had also been laid out for him to shave his beard. He'd been conscious to keep it trimmed and tidy since Marian's return, but considered that she deserved a sweet-smelling and clean shaven husband on her wedding day.

John approached as he carefully drew the blade across his chin, the others arguing over who exactly had managed to come up with the cleverest way to sneak into Nottingham. His expression was grave, but then John rarely smiled, and it was always difficult to know whether he was out of sorts or just content to listen.

"I'm sure Alice and your son are keen to see you," Robin said lightly; he'd learned that it was best to draw John into conversation with a safe topic and wait for him to say what he wanted to in his own time.

"I hope I can be a good husband and father," he said quietly. "I'm out of practice."

"You've been good to them by sending support to Alice," Robin pointed out, "by being a hero to little Little John. Except now it won't be from a distance."

John nodded, but was clearly unconvinced.

"You'll be wonderful," Robin added, washing the razor in the water basin and patting John's arm with his free hand. "I know Marian feels the same way."

"She is a good woman," John nodded. "I hope you are...kinder to each other in the future."

"I think we've finally figured out how to live with each other," Robin said, smiling. "For the first time in a long while, I have hope for the future and not just with Marian, but for all of us."

"The King is still imprisoned," Will said, their conversation had lulled and attention had turned back to Robin and John. "Vaisey may be gone but I doubt Prince John will leave us alone for long."

"I might have some good news on that front," Carter spoke up. "I've been in touch with some old comrades in France, they say Queen Eleanor is intent on raising the ransom."

"And the Prince no doubt intent to thwart her," Robin said, running a hand over his chin to ensure that it was smooth. "I hope she succeeds, but our concern must be the welfare of our people here." The words hurt him deeply, he still felt as if he was abandoning the King he loved so much, but living with that guilt was easier than that of failing the people who truly needed him. It was one of the many harsh lessons he'd learned in the last year.

"Enough of that," Much waved his hands. "Today is a day of celebration!" He clapped Robin on the shoulder. "It's a wedding, no politics!"

Marian smoothed down her skirts, she had forgotten how cumbersome they could be, and yet Robin's reaction had been worth it and she was content to suffer the discomfort.

"Don't be nervous," Tuck spoke up from beside her. He wore his Hospitaller robes and a large cross around his neck, dressed for the office she'd charged him with for that day.

"I'm not nervous," she assured him. "I'm excited." Once, when she and Robin had been first betrothed, she'd dreamed of her wedding day in Locksley church, her father there to give her away, the joy she would feel kneeling before the altar and pledging herself to the one she loved. That fantasy had been perverted by her aborted wedding to Guy, where she'd walked towards him alone with dread in her heart.

That was why she'd wanted to be married in the forest, a wedding that was not childhood dreams nor bitter memories, but an outward pledge of the love and devotion she'd kept hidden for so long. It would be a new beginning for the new year, leaving all of the pain and doubt and suffering in the past.

"My Lady." A woman approached and it took a moment for Marian to recognise her from Locksley village. She'd aged since they last met, but the woman was smiling despite her haggard appearance.

"Joan," Marian greeted her. "It is good to see you, how are your sons?"

"They are well, thanks to you my Lady," Joan said, pressing both of her hands to her heart. "They contracted the sickness and I thought they would both be lost. I prayed for deliverance before the statue of Our Lady in Locksley church - a plea from one mother to another. I stayed there all night, kneeling on the cold stone floor so God would know that I was in earnest, and in the morning they came to tell me that a cure had been found. That you had found it, my Lady."

Marian looked over at Tuck. "I had help."

"You saved the lives of my boys," Joan took Marian's hand and pressed it to her cheek as she bowed her head. "God answered my prayers, he sent us you - Maid Marian."

She didn't know how to respond, it made her uncomfortable to hear such praise. She and Tuck had discussed it a few times since she had confronted him in Locksley Church on Christmas day and after much disagreement Marian had eventually conceded that it would do no good trying to dissuade people from their faith.

"I am happy that they are well again," Marian said as her hand was released, hoping that her reaction was adequate. "Do you have all you need for them?"

"Yes," Joan smiled and gave her a deep curtsey. "Thank you, my Lady."

"You see," Tuck said softly when Joan had left. "You give them someone to believe in."

"I don't want to think about that now," Marian told him. "Can I not just be a simple woman on her wedding day?"

"I'm afraid you will never be a simple anything again," Tuck smiled, his expression warm. "If you ever were, my dear. It is the life you have chosen."

A general sound of appreciation went through the crowd, signalling Robin's return. He looked so handsome, clean shaven and his hair combed, the new green tunic suiting him perfectly. His blue eyes sparkled, he wore his characteristic grin and walked with somewhat of his old swagger, no doubt buoyed by the reaction of the crowd. He at least always knew how to accept the praise and love of others, even if he had become somewhat dependent on it.

Allan, Will, John, Much and Carter formed a kind of procession behind him as the crowd parted to let them though, and from the other side of the clearing Djaq and Eve made their way over to stand by Marian's side. Once she might have joked that the split was rather in his favour, but she had stopped thinking of things in terms of Robin's side or hers - they were a team, as they always should have been.

Marian held out her hands as Robin approached and he took them gently. "Are you ready?"

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Since the day we met."

"Ah," Marian laughed, thinking back to their childhood. "So when you pushed me into the mud, that was meant to be a proposal?"

"I just didn't know it." Robin winked at her, and Marian led him to stand before the oak tree she'd chosen, keeping tight hold of his hands. As she had planned, she was not lead nor did she walk alone to her fate, but they approached it together.

Tuck took up his position before them and began the ceremony but Marin barely heard him, content to gaze into Robin's eyes and revel in the bliss of the moment. She had no doubts, they were long behind her, she only felt the rightness and standing up with him before their friends and those they had sworn to serve and protect. Their vows said in the desert had been heartfelt but tinged with sadness and regret; for this wedding she felt only joy.

"Marian," Tuck drew her attention. "Repeat after me: I, Marian de Knighton, take thee, Robert de Locksley, as my husband." Tuck used their titles of nobility, as was right, but she felt that they were not either of their true names. She had used flowery words to describe Robin when she first said her vows, and yet those epithets were no longer right, either. Nor were they the names of legend they had been given, they were not Robin Hood and Maid Marian – not to each other.

Robin looked concerned at her pause, and she smiled to reassure him. "I, Marian," she began with emphasis. "Take thee, Robin, as my husband. I give to you, in the presence of God and our friends, my sacred promise to stay by your side as your ever faithful wife, in both joy and sorrow. I promise to love you without reservation, comfort you in times of distress, grow with you in mind and spirit, always be open and honest with you, and cherish you all the days of my life."

They were not exactly traditional vows, but in that way seemed to fit their courtship, and Marian felt she needed to say before their congress all that she had promised him in Edwinstowe. She saw tears in Robin's eyes and felt him squeeze her hands lightly as she spoke with more feeling than she had done for her vows in the Holy Land.

"Thereunto," she added, slipping back into formality., "I plight thee my troth."

"And now you, Robin," Tuck prompted him.

"I Robin," he began. "Take thee, Marian, as my wife." He paused for a long time and then laughed nervously. "I didn't have time to prepare!"

"Just speak from your heart," Tuck suggested softly, and Marian nodded to him in encouragement.

Robin nodded and appeared to gather his thoughts. "Marian, I give to you, in the presence of God and our friends, my sacred vow to love you always, and hold your happiness foremost in my heart. I...will support you in all your endeavors and...cherish you always as my equal, my partner, and my wife. Thereunto, I plight thee my troth."

"Do you have a ring?" Tuck asked, and Marian tore her gaze away from Robin's to stare at him open-mouthed. She had forgotten about that part of the ceremony, and in truth, her track record with wedding rings had been less than stellar.

She bit her lip and laughed nervously. "Um…" Turning back to Robin with an apologetic glance, she saw him laughing and give a shrug of his shoulders.

"Wait!" Much exclaimed from Robin's side. "I have it." He wiped tears from his cheeks with one sleeve and then reached into the pocket of his vest and produced a simple band of gold. "It belonged to the late Countess," he explained and handed it to Tuck.

"Your mother?" Marian asked, but Robin looked as surprised as she as to how and why Much was in possession of the heirloom. But she was pleased to see the ring which was simple yet elegant - a band made to be worn and cherished rather than admired.

"May this ring be blessed," Tuck spoke up so the congregation could hear, "so he who gives it and she who receives it may abide in your peace and love until life's end." He handed the ring to Robin.

"With this ring, I thee wed," Robin recited, clearly having remembered the next point in the ceremony. "With my body, I thee worship, and with all my wordly goods, such as they are," he added with a wink. "I thee endow. In the name of the Father," he touched the ring to the tip of her thumb. "And of the Son," he touched her index finger. "And of the Holy Spirit," he touched her middle finger. "Amen." With the final word, he slipped the gold band onto her ring finger.

Tuck rested his hands over their joined ones. "Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. May the Lord bless and keep you, and continue to look upon you with favor and grace." He released their hands and then spread his arms and raised his voice to address the crowd.

"Robin and Marian have consented to live together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth each to the other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of a ring and by joining of hands. I pronounce that they be man and wife together in the name of our Lord God, and signify the sealing of their union with a kiss."

The words had barely left Tuck's mouth before Robin pressed his lips to hers. She wound her arms around his neck, fingers moving through his soft hair to pull him closer as his warm hands pressed against her back. She heard the sound of cheering as if from a distance, and music began to play, but her focus was on her husband - finally, irrevocably hers.

Chapter Text

Sherwood Forest

The wine flowed freely as the celebration wore into the evening. Djaq did not partake, but that did not diminish her enjoyment of the proceedings as she danced not only with her fellow outlaws, but many from Locksley village. Although she had always been accepted by the populace as one of Robin’s compatriots, it had taken time for Djaq to feel truly welcome in an England that had made war against the people of her homeland - a Saracen was not to be trusted, and a woman even less.  

Her medical skills had never been in question, but she had seen the suspicion and fear in the villagers eyes held back only by their respect for Robin. It was partly why she had remained in Acre, but she soon found the home she had longed for had changed and it was only when she had returned to England that her heart felt settled again. In the recent sickness something had altered further - she was now not only the woman who had tended to the King when he had been wounded and nursed Marian back to health, but she who had delivered the life saving medicine to their loved ones and cared for them in the depths of deadly fever.  Now children called out to her in greeting as she walked through the villagers, woman asked for her opinion about what herbs to use to treat various maladies as if she had always been the local wise woman, and men paid her the same respect and friendship that they showed all of her fellow outlaws.

“You look far too serious for a wedding guest,” Eve said as she sidled up to her. “What are you thinking about?”

“The past.” Djaq touched her hair, now grown down past her shoulders since there was no longer need to pretend she was anything but who she was. “The future.”

“What do you think you’ll do?” Eve asked. “If the King returns?”

“What makes you think I won’t stay?” Djaq gave her a wry smile. “Locksley is Will’s home.”

“It was his home, just as Acre was your home, and currently this forest is all of our homes,” Eve pointed out. “We often grow beyond where we are born.”

Djaq turned back to watch Will dancing with Marian, and thought how as a boy he could never have dared to talk to a woman of her rank, let alone dance and joke with her. How fundamentally things had changed in a few short years. 

“We’ll stay while we’re needed, however long that may be,” Djaq said, no longer needing to pretend the decision hadn’t already been made. “But a quiet rural life may not be for us - at least it wasn’t in Acre.”

“All I want is to spend the rest of my days with Much,” Eve said wistfully, looking over at her husband who was telling a very animated story to a group of young villagers. “To make bread from the flour we grind in our mill, cook the fish Much catches in the river, grow old with our children who don’t have to suffer the hardships we have. A simple dream, perhaps.”

“But a worthy one.” Djaq lay a hand on Eve’s arm. “We all have different paths to tread.” She paused, but decided Eve had earned her confidence. “Will and I have talked about going to Scarborough - his brother is there, and I would rather like to live by the sea.”

It would be so different from both her desert childhood to her life in the forest, and Djaq adapted well to change - she would not have survived otherwise. But nor did she forget the past; she rather liked the idea of standing on the shores of Scarborough and imagining she could see all the way to the port in Acre. Of course she knew no ship could make a direct route there, with thousands of miles of land and sea between the two, but very occasionally, Djaq allowed herself romantic fantasy. Like a pigeon flying halfway across the world to reunite with its mate, she could feel the sand in her toes, the salt of the sea air on her face, and dream.  

“It seems like we’ll all be scattered to the winds.” Eve looked wistful. “But I find my life has changed so much these past few years I can’t be sorry for it. I was once a peasant with little to hope for, then a spy for the Sheriff trying to save my ailing mother, then an exile in Warwickshire. Now I am an outlaw and a wife, and soon…” She lay a hand over her belly and smiled, looking over at Much in the midst of a pantomime sword fight as the children around him laughed and clapped.

“But we’ll always have this time, and this place,” Djaq reminded her. “We’ll always be bound to one another by a covenant stronger than blood.”

“Yes, a true family.” There were tears in Eve’s eyes, and Djaq knew she was thinking of her mother. They’d had all suffered great losses - parents, brothers, devoted friends. But they had gained much as well, they had found and kept to each other against all odds.  

Eve wiped her cheeks and turned to Djaq with a grin. “Come on,” she said, grasping her hand and pulling her towards the revelry. “Let’s dance.” 

The best thing about a wedding, in Much’s opinion, was the food. It was an excuse to feast, and he never let such an opportunity pass him by; spit-roasted pig, meat pies, pottage and bread, salted venison, three kinds of cheeses, even a pile of dried figs and dates. At first Marian had expressed reticence at such extravagance, with their stores already so low and no desire to take food that may be in great need by others.  

But Marian had rarely gone hungry herself, and while it was a practical concern Much had assured her that there was no greater way to lift spirits than a wedding and accompanying feast, especially after a year of rationing and a harsh winter. Over the past few days the gang had spread far and wide throughout Sherwood and outer counties, waylaying rich travellers and persuading them to engage in some seasonal charity - it was Christmastide after all. Their efforts had paid off, the villagers were overwhelmed with the food, thanking them all profusely as they filled hungry bellies and spoke cheerily of the ceremony and wishing well to the happy couple.    

Much himself attended to the feast with a single-minded determination, and the other outlaws gave him a wide berth since they knew from experience any interruption would not be well answered. It was therefore with some surprise that when Much went to get himself a second helping of pork he found himself cornered by Marian at the firepit.

“So are you going to tell me the story about this ring?” she held up her hand so the gold band caught the firelight.  “Because Robin doesn’t seem to remember he lost it.”

Much put down his pork with some reluctance, knowing that when it came to Marian, he’d get to enjoy it much quicker if he got the conversation over with.  

“He was rather drunk at the time,” Much conceded, and then sighed with resignation. “Convinced that you’d leave him.”  

They glanced over to where Robin stood with Little John as the latter made his goodbyes to the people of Locksley. He looked untroubled and completely recovered from his recent illness, one would not have known that a few weeks earlier he had been close to death. He and Marian had returned on Christmas Day reunited and Much was glad for it, heartened by her plan for a wedding and only too pleased to assist her.  

“Lord Robert used to wear it.” Much took her hand and examined the gold ring which fit perfectly on her finger.  “As a remembrance of the Countess - he’d loved her so much and when she died...well he never really got over it. He loved his son too, but couldn’t bear to look at him, so trapped in his own grief it became a chain.”

Much remembered Lord Robert in the rare moments he’d actually paid Robin a bit of attention, twisting the gold band around his pinky finger, unable to see his son as anything but his wife’s child, and the reason she was gone.  

“I heard you crying,” Much said very quietly, dropping her hand and looking down at his boots. “That night you both fought so terribly.”

“You did?” There was a hitch in Marian’s voice, and Much forced himself to look back up and hold her gaze.

“Don’t be ashamed,” he told her. “There’s no weakness in sorrow Marian...but you were always so afraid to let your feelings show.”

“Often for good reason,” Marian’s expression was guarded, and she was probably regretting talking to him at all. Still, she had, and Much wasn’t going to let her escape so easily.  

“Robin’s the same,” he nodded. “He didn’t know the strength of your feeling, and so he couldn’t give you the ring, afraid you wouldn’t take it. But I knew - I always knew.”

“Yes, I suppose you did.” Marian’s expression softened, and her eyes shimmered in the firelight. “I never thanked you, Much, for stopping my marriage to Guy.”

“Well I think your fist to Gisborne’s face stopped it,” Much chuckled - he’d been out in the pond by that stage, but had heard the gleeful tales from the Locksley villagers afterwards. “I’m glad I helped.”  

“I’ll always remember what you said - her heart belongs to another.” Marian sighed, gazing over at Robin again. He caught her looking at him and gave her a wink before turning back to his conversation with Little John.  

“I’d tried to deny it to myself so many times,” she continued. “But I realised that if it was obvious to you how could I go on fooling myself?”

“Except you did,” Much pointed out cautiously, “You and Robin, always at cross purposes. Until now I think.” He took her hand again and smiled. “It’s been a good day. Everyone is so happy.”

“Well it is my fourth wedding,” Marian said dryly. “I had to get it right eventually.”

“I bet you never thought anything could be worse than the first one,” Much joked. “But then no one expects to marry someone when tied up in the desert.”

“I think the third, when I had a sword through my belly, was the real surprise.” Marian gave him a wry look, but then smiled as if the past could no longer hurt her. Much felt rather overcome with affection for her, perhaps because it was her wedding day, perhaps because he knew that soon they would soon part ways and as much as they had been rivals in the past, there was a true and honest love between them that came from time and shared experience.  

When Much drew her into his embrace she did not flinch nor simply accept it, but rather returned his affection equally; perhaps her thoughts were dwelling at the same place as his.  

“Be good to him, my Lady.” Much whispered as he held her tight. “Be good to each other.”

Robin couldn’t remember when he’d been happier; the Locksley village must have completely emptied for the night, as he was surrounded by friendly faces all keen to wish him joy. He spoke to each of them in turn, in his heart still their Lord and thus bound to listen to them whether the tidings were good or ill. Thankfully that night it was the former, with those who had been sick recovered, and every family in the shire had full bellies to end the coldest Christmastide anyone could remember.  

It was however the man with whom he most wanted to speak that Robin left for last, for Thornton had hung back somewhat from the revelry, the erstwhile steward keeping watch.  

“Thank you for coming,” Robin said as he leaned up against a tree beside him. “I hope that you are not all missed from Locksley.”

“Sir Guy is much in Nottingham these days,” Thornton said, sipping from a goblet of wine. “We are left to our own devices.”

Robin’s ire still rose at the very name, but he’d learned to keep it in check. “I hope he does not mistreat you.”

“There was a time when he was a less than ideal master,” Thornton admitted, although it clearly cost his pride to do so. “Even now I would not describe him as kind, but he is not cruel either.”

Robin trusted the old man, as it had been Thornton rather than his father from whom he’d learned many of the great lessons of his life, whose moral guidance he had always followed.  

“Marian believes he may yet be persuaded to join our cause.”

“The old Sheriff held a great deal of influence over him.” Thornton seemed hesitant, as if they were words Robin would not wish to hear. “Now he has that power but I think he finds the victory hollow. Perhaps he would trade it all for something more fulfilling.”

“Hmmm.” Robin remained unconvinced, but it did not follow that he would remain so. “I hope you would tell me, if you felt the moment was right to make such overtures.”

“Of course.”  Thornton nodded in assent, but his expression was grave. “I am so happy that you have recovered Robin.”

“Marian told me what you did.” He patted the old man’s arm. “Thank you.”

“She shamed me, and rightly so,” Thornton admitted. “I thought I was serving the estate best by going along with things in hope that you would return someday. But...perhaps in acknowledging Gisborne as Locksley’s new lord I have done it a great disservice.” The corner of his mouth quivered, it was difficult for him to admit. “I did not have your courage, Robin, to stand against tyranny.”

“I stand so you don’t have to,” Robin told him firmly. “It gives me comfort to know there is someone at the Manor I can trust. You have always...been like a father to me, Thornton.”

There were tears in the old man’s eyes as he lay a hand on Robin’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “There is no son of whom I could be prouder,” he said, his voice thick. “You have become a great man, Robin. A...great man.”

Robin didn’t know how he’d longed to hear such words until they had been spoken; he’d known Thornton had love for him, but pride was another matter. His heart was light as they watched the revelry, lord and steward, surrogate father and son, and for the first time, friends and equals.  

The night was bittersweet for John; it reminded him of years ago in Locksley, when he’d worked the land and loved Alice, and the village would gather on Twelfth Night and celebrate until the dawn came. He remembered the last year before he’d been outlawed, when he’d danced with Alice around the firepit. Her dark hair had seemed lit gold by the firelight, her eyes bright as she had gazed up with him with such love it had made his own heart ache.  

He remembered Robin too, lanky but still little more than a child, on the cusp of manhood but still too young to fill the role that had been thrust upon him. He treated his people well and always made sure the feasts on holy days were plentiful, that the music was lively, and that everyone joined in the dance. But he knew little of their lives, even if he took more of an interest than most. He knew their names and loved to talk to all of them, going around the feast to greet them one by one.

But he didn’t yet understand injustice, and mistook it for lawlessness. He saw the relationship between a lord and his serfs as simple; they would work his land or serve the estate, and in return he would provide the protection of his name and rank, represent their interests in the Council of Nobles, and ensure that none of them starved. Most lords would not go even that far in their obligations, but Robin was more generous and kinder than most.

Yet there had always been a distance the young man could not breach, for all of his efforts. He knew and loved them all, but he could never be one of them, for he’d never tilled a field or rose before dawn to bake bread, had never simply fallen into bed at night following a day of back breaking labour too exhausted for anything else, he’d never known a gnawing, empty belly, or the lack of freedom that came from neverending work that began again each day.  

That had all changed when he’d gone on crusade, and returned to face life as an outlaw. He’d come to know hardship and struggle, and understood the lives his people lived in a way that was impossible before. John believed Robin would be a better Lord because of it; he was truly one of them now as he could never have been otherwise. He didn’t need John’s help anymore; his vow had been fulfilled.

It was his last night in Sherwood, in the company of the fine men and women it had been his honour to fight alongside. Even Hanton and Forrest were among the crowd, the latter’s arm around a pretty woman with a round belly and toddler on her hip, and he’d spent much of the evening in their company, impressed by the men they had become. They no longer needed him either, but John was glad of it. They had been a motley collection of bitter and broken men in the forest, and now they were men of family, honest work, and community.  

Only Roy was missing, the one sour note of the celebration. But he lay cold in the ground of Sherwood, returned to the only true home he’d ever known. John wished he’d lived to see their victories, to smile and dance around the fire, and feast on roast pig, even if he no longer needed Roy to speak for him.

His face must have conveyed his sorrow, for Will caught his eye across the crowd, and make his way over to where John was standing.

“We’ll miss you around camp,” the young man said. “It won’t be the same without you John.”

Once he and Will had been a team, going into battle together, John’s strength paired with Will’s skill, an unstoppable force. But Will had Djaq to be his partner now, and a finer replacement John could not have chosen.

“You’ll write to us, won’t you?” Will asked, “or get little Little John to write - we want to hear about how things are going with you all.”

John nodded, and only hoped he would be goods news, that maybe someone still needed him after all. 

“Don’t be worried about being a good father to him,” Will said, as if he could sense John’s thoughts. “I know you will be. You already have been...to him, and to all of us as well.”

John drew the young man close and hugged him tightly, overwhelmed and unsure of how to express his love and gratitude.

“Watch your left side,” was all he could think of. “Since I can’t do it for you anymore.”

Will laughed, and wiped away tears as he pulled back. “I will,” he promised. “And I’ll write to you too. Every day if you like.”

“Only on the good days,” John said, looking around again at the revelry. “Like today,” he added. “A good day to live.”

Allan finished the last of his ale and threw his arms up in triumph, swallowing heavily as he looked over at Carter, who still had his tankard to his lips, a few mouthfuls to go.  

“Yes!” Allan called out, banging his empty cup on the barrel of ale. “Winner winner,” he pointed a thumb at his chest, “chicken dinner.”

He turned to Susie, the barmaid from the ‘Trip, to claim his reward. She giggled and threw her arms round his neck, planting a kiss on his lips to the cheers and hollers of those who had gathered to watch the contest. 

“As promised,” Susie said as she pulled away and gave him a saucy grin. But then she turned to Carter, red in the face from drinking too much too quickly, tankard handle hanging from his fingers, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. 

“For a valiant effort,” she said coquettishly, pushing a golden lock of hair behind one ear.

“Rematch,” Carter said weakly, but leaned over to rest his hands on his knees.  

“Another time, boys.” Susie winked and then walked away with what could only be a deliberate swinging of her hips. Allan watched her rear appreciatively and smiled when she looked back over her shoulder to make sure she still had his attention.   

“So,” he turned to Carter and waggled his eyebrows. “It’s to be war between us then?” 

Carter laughed, pulling himself back upright and running a hand through his hair. “She’s only trying to make you jealous.”

“Come on mate,” Allan nudged him with a friendly elbow. “I seen you talkin’ to her down at the ‘Trip. Let’s be upfront about it, and may the best man win.”

“I’m a soldier, Allan.” Carter looked over at Susie who was sharing a bawdy laugh with her fellow barmaids, every so often glancing back at them. “I know better than to fight a battle when the war has already been won.”

“What were ya doing on Crusade then?” Allan nudged him again and laughed. 

“Point taken,” Carter shrugged, but then his expression turned serious. “But I haven’t been courting her - just exploring opportunities.”

“Hey, hey.” Allan was suddenly indignant, grabbing Carter’s arm. “She’s a right ol’ flirt, but she’s a good woman and you shouldn’t be triflin’ with her, not unless you have honest intentions.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Carter looked back at him in horror, pulling himself from Allan’s grip and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean...trust you to see innuendo in everything!”

“Well, what do you mean then?” Allan huffed; these fancy boys and their words, why couldn’t they ever speak straight?

“I mean that Old Stephen’s thinking about selling the ‘Trip,” Carter explained, lowering his voice.  “And I was thinking when the King comes back I would buy it.”

Allan’s mouth dropped open, unable to fathom what Carter had just told him. It made a kind of sense, Susie was the barman’s daughter and she would know his plans, even be able to recommend Carter as a favourable buyer. Still, it hardly the time to think of such things, they were all still outlawed with no indication that the King would be released from his imprisonment any time soon, other than Carter’s source in Queen Eleanor’s court but who knew how reliable that was. Allan had met the old dowager, capable as she seemed she certainly hadn’t done much to help them so far.  

“It just seems we’re all moving on,” Carter said, starting to refill their tankards from the barrel of ale. “Little John back to his family, Much and Eve off to have their child. Robin and Marian are married now, and who knows how much longer Will and Djaq will stay. That leaves us,” he handed Allan back his tankard and clinked it with his own, “the two spares.”

Allan frowned as he took a sip of ale; he hadn’t thought about it that way. In fact he made a point never to think much about the future.

“There’s Tuck as well,” he remarked as he saw the solemn priest deep in discussion with the Locksley verger, and huffed. “Doesn’t he ever take a break?”   

“And what a trio we’d make,” Carter said dryly, and they both groaned as Tuck took out his rosary.  “Nah - once the King returns he’ll hole himself up in Locksley Church and we’ll only have to see him on Sundays.”

Allan perked up: “That’s a cheery thought.”  He clinked his tankard against Carter’s again and they both took a drink.  

“But seriously,” Carter said, wiping his mouth, “haven’t you given any thought to what you’ll do when this is all over?”

“Dunno,” Allan shrugged. “Guess I can’t go back to thieving and running scams. But that’s all I was ever good at.”

“How can you say that?” Carter challenged him. “When you play and sing in such a way that blesses all those who hear you?”

“I…” Allan was incredulous at the compliment; his friend must have had started on the ale before their competition. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“You could run the ‘Trip with me,” Carter offered. “I’ve been saving up my share of the haul, and I know you have too - we could buy it together. I’ll work the bar and you could provide the entertainment - I think we could really make a go of it.”

“The two spares paired up after all?”  Allan laughed and sipped his ale in contemplation. “Well...it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Chapter Text

As the night wore on the crowd grew smaller. They had come from Locksley, and Nottingham Town, from Clun and Nettlestone and Treeton, travelling miles in the cold to celebrate the wedding of Robin and Marian, to thank his gang for their help that year, to say goodbye to Little John. But they had homes to return to, children to put to bed, and one by one they took their leave until only the outlaws remained. 

Marian warmed her hands by the fire, her stomach full, the taste of wine still on her lips, so tired she could feel it in her bones...but so content she could hardly believe it. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Robin, face illuminated from without by the fire, and from within by his own undeniable joy. Marian shifted slightly to make room and he sat down next to her with a happy sigh, putting an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and rested one hand on his knee, no longer finding physical proximity stifling, but instead eager to share the space with him and grateful for the way they fit together.  

“It’s almost dawn,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “The feast of the Epiphany is upon us.”

“You’re not going to have Tuck say Mass are you?” she teased him, and his low answering laugh in her ear rumbled pleasantly down her spine. 

“I was just thinking,” he said, “I would hope for the visit of only one King, and not ask of any gift from him.”

Marian looked up at the dark sky - it was swimming with stars, but none so bright that it might lead King Richard home. “Do you think he will come back?”

“I have no doubt.”

The thought of the King’s return was still the one dark thought niggling in her mind. Of course, she wanted a return to the days of justice and prosperity, and a domestic life with regular meals and a soft bed and privacy was undeniably appealing. But there was still one aspect of that life that had been left unexamined, even when they had reconciled in Edwinstowe on Christmas Eve. 

“Do you know Allan’s written a ballad for us?” Robin interrupted her thoughts. “A wedding gift.”

“That was fast,” Marian remarked, glancing over to where Allan was huddled in conversation with Will and Djaq, all three of them laughing about something or another. Carter was nearby, asleep against a tree and snoring louding, one hand still gripping his tankard of ale.

“He said he started writing it when I was...well you know.” Robin looked down and grimaced. “He said that when stories are sung, then the people they’re about never really die.” 

“That’s a nice way to look at it.” Marian took his hand and held it with both of hers, a reminder that they were both still alive, and together.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Of course now the happy ending needn’t be fiction.”

“I hope not,” she said wryly, and squeezed his hand. “What’s it called?”

“What else?” he grinned. “Robin Hood and Maid Marian.” 

“What else indeed.” She watched the fire burning low, and added a few more sticks of birch. “People have been calling me that all day.” They offered her congratulations of course, but it had been the reverence with which they’d done so - the men removing their hats and kissing her hand, the women dropping her curtseys, asking her to bless their prayer beads, and the children, daring to draw close to her and touch the hem of her gown.

“Does it still bother you?” Robin turned to her, cupping her face in his hand.

“I feel like I do not deserve their devotion,” Marian told him. “They think me divine, and I am anything but.”

“They love you,” Robin said simply, thumb stroking her cheek. “And as I have been informed recently, we give those we love more than they deserve.”

“And sometimes less.” Marian twisted her hands together as she finally came to the point. “Some people may believe you deserve a wife who can give you an heir.”

Robin stared at her for a few moments, searching her face as if for answers. “Is that what you believe?”  

She didn’t care what others thought or expected of her, but she cared about Robin, and needed to be sure this wouldn’t come between them in the future, that small doubts wouldn’t turn to poisonous resentment. 

“I believe you deserve to be happy,” she told him, “and have no regrets.”

“Much told me his good news,” Robin said softly, brushing her loose hair back behind her ear. “Is that why you’re asking?”

Marian shook her head, breaking away from his intent gaze. She looked over to where the couple in question were canoodling, Eve on Much’s lap and holding his face in her hands as he gazed up at her with adoration.  

“I’m happy for them,” she smiled, even if it made her heart ache when Much began talking to Eve’s belly, and she laughed and swatted at him playfully.

“I’ve accepted that I will never feel that joy,” she turned back to him, “but have you, Robin?” She took his hands again, searching his eyes for a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Because you have to be sure. You may have made peace with it now, but once the King returns and you are Lord of Locksley again, with all the responsibilities of that position you might wish you had made a different choice.” 

Marian looked down and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Although I concede I probably should have asked you this before the vows were spoken.”

But Robin remained uncharacteristically serious, and did not answer her laugh or take the opening to deflect. Instead he reached out to her again, tilting her chin to meet the intense green of his eyes. For once his expression was open, stripped of artifice or guile. 

“I’ve told you before,” he said softly. “All I want is you. That hasn’t changed, and it will never change.” He searched her face again. “But you have to believe me...you have to trust me.”

Marian felt her heart swell, and breached the space between them, pressing her lips to his. “I do,” she whispered and deepened the kiss, her arms winding around his neck to pull him closer, his on her back, soft touch trailing down her spine. She heard something but paid it no mind, her focus entirely on her husband, the fullness of her heart, the warm feeling that spread from her heart.

“Oi!” The noise again, louder this time, and Marian pulled away in frustration to see they had an audience. 

“We saw the vows,” Allan said with a grin. “We don’t need to see the consummation.”

“Then go away,” Robin shot back, but grinned and dropped his hands. Marian flushed and murmured that perhaps they should adjourn to their nook.

“No, no,” Allan said, he couldn’t have heard her but must have guessed. “Not yet, I haven’t given you my gift!”

Marian pressed her hands to her cheeks and hoped they weren’t noticeably red. “Alright then.” 

“Alright!” Allan grinned again. “Come on, everybody, I’m going to sing my song. Wake up you,” he kicked Carter in the shin. “Now where is that damn lute?”

“This might take a while,” Robin said as an aside. “I think the Locksley children hid it.”

“Speaking of Locksley children…” Marian watched Allan rummage around the camp - the others were either helping in the search or coming to gather around the fire, but they probably had a few more minutes, and the subject wasn’t yet exhausted.

“Marian…” Robin seemed wary.

“It’s just an idea I’ve had,” she assured him. “If...when King Richard returns, and we can go back to Locksley. Hard times make many orphans, and we would have the means to care for them.”

“Of course,” Robin nodded. “We can take on as many wards as we could manage.”

“Or even...raise them as our own.” Because Marian did want a family, she’d decided, to fill the empty rooms of Locksley Manor, to give the same love to a child that she’d received from her own parents, to share her love with Robin in such a way that could bring even greater happiness to the times of peace.

“But would you be satisfied with an heir not of your blood?” she pressed when Robin did not answer. “To give them your name, pass on your title?”

“No one here is of my blood,” Robin pointed out, glancing around at their friends as they assembled around the fire. “But they are my family, and should my estate and lands be returned to me I intend to share it among each of them.”

“You’re a good man, Robin.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “The very best of men. All too often I’ve forgotten that.”

“Well there have been times I’ve certainly given you cause to.” But his smile was warm, the words in jest. “If you want to raise children together, I would like that. But not because I need an heir to pass a title to.”

“No,” she agreed, shifting close to him again.   

“Whatever the rest of our mortal lives will be,” Robin mused. “We’ll live on in the songs - Robin Hood and Maid Marian - that’s legacy enough for me.”

“For anyone, I think,” Marian laughed, and kissed him again. The moment, however, was interrupted by Allan’s return, leaves in his hair and lute in one hand.

“Who hides a lute up a tree,” he grumbled. “Honestly!” He fussed about for a few minutes, tuning the strings, and choosing the best position to give his performance. Robin and Marian remained where they were, but shifted lightly to allow a bleary-eyed Carter room on the log next to them. Much was across the fire, Eve still in his lap, and freely giving Allan his opinion as to where he should stand. Will and Djaq had lain out a mat so they could sit cross-legged on the ground and Tuck and Little John shared the remaining log. 

“Alright everyone, pipe down.” Allan plucked a few strings of his lute to get their attention. “I present to you,” he said with flourish, “The Ballad of Robin Hood and Maid Marian.” 

He began to sing, his voice light and clear to fill the cold night air, the music from the lute forming a beautiful, melodious tune.

A bonny fine lass of a noble degree,

Did hail from Knighton town;

Of no one afraid, was Marian the maid,

Her courage of great renown.  

Bonny of face, and keen of mind

Sharp of wit and of sword;

Lady Marian fair, of beauty so rare,

Drew the eye of many a lord.

The Earl of Huntington, nobly born,

Lay berth in the merry green wood;

To all was known, from child to crone,

By the name of Robin Hood.

He had been to war abroad,

The King himself called him friend;

But t’was his good heart, that set him apart, 

Meek and poor he did defend.

So they did make a comely pair,

Robin Hood and Marian the Maid;

He skilled with his bow, and mighty arrow,

Her sword she gave to his aid.

With kisses sweet their lips would meet,

For she and the earl did agree;

In Sherwood’s grace, they would kindly embrace,

With love and sweet unity.

But fortune bore these lovers such grief,

That soon they were forced to part;

To the merry green wood went Robin Hood,

With a sad and sorrowful heart.

Marian vexed, and determined of mind,

To fight by his side once again;

She dressed like a man of knightly clan,

And searched the forest terrain.

But Robin Hood, he himself disguised,

And Marian was strangely dressed;

That they proved foes, and so fell to blows,

Their true selves neither had guessed. 

They drew out their swords, and to cutting they went,

At least an hour or more;

That the blood ran apace from bold Robin’s face,

And Marian was wounded sore.

“O stay thy hand,” said Robin Hood,

“And thou shalt be one of my band,

To range through the fen with my merry men,

And bring justice back to this land.”

When Marian heard the voice of her love,

Her true self she did recover;

And with kisses sweet she did him greet,

Her own most faithful lover.

Reunited then were the lady and lord,

To the delight of their friends most dear;

With kind embraces, and smiling faces,

Providing of gallant cheer.

A stately banquet they had that night,

All in a shaded bower;

Where venison sweet they had to eat,

And were merry for many an hour.

They sang and danced all through the night, 

For the end to their sorrow and pain;

And every cup, as they drank up,

They filled with speed again.

And so in great content they loved,

Goodfellow and the sweet May Queen,

They lived by their hands, without any lands,

In the arms of Sherwood green.

But now to conclude, an end I will make

To this tale of the just and good,

So all those that dwell in the North can tell,

Of Maid Marian and Robin Hood!

Allan’s voice faded into the night, and he concluded his song with the final few plucks of his lute and a flourish of his hand. He beamed and bowed as they applauded, and Marian wiped tears from her eyes as she crossed the camp to embrace him. 

“That was wonderful Allan,” she told him, squeezing his shoulders. “You are talented, truly.” 

“Very fine, yes,” Much agreed. “I enjoyed the part about the feast in particular.”

“And the drinking,” Djaq teased. “Very accurate.”

“Yes but Robin and Marian never came to blows like that,” Much added. “Imagine not recognising each other!”

“It’s a metaphor, dummy.” Allan rolled his eyes. 

“I…” Much raised one finger, “don’t know what that is.”

“Yeah,” Carter called, his voice still slurred. “Who’s the fancy boy now, eh?”

Allan waved his hand. “Ah, shut it.” 

“Well I think it was wonderful,” Djaq spoke up. “It’s a shame the villagers didn’t get to hear it.”

“Nah, they did,” Allan said, absently plucking a tune from the lute. “Tested it out on ‘em first. They loved it down the pub.”

“You mean Susie the barmaid loved it,” Will said slyly, making Allan blush and admit she had spent many an hour listening to his progress.

“I’m sure you’ll be singing it for many years to come.” Tuck for once was smiling. “Will you delight us again?”

Allan demured, but they insisted, taking their places around the fire again to hear his ballad. Robin put his arm around Marian and she leaned against his shoulder, squeezing his knee when Allan sung of his good heart. When he came to the part of their fight in the forest, Robin kissed her temple and drew her closer. 

Of course Allan could not describe how they had actually fought, exchanging harsh words instead of blows, but she admired the skill in which he’d woven a tale that was true in spirit to the events that had transpired, but made to amuse. In the end, they had both recovered their true selves, and thrown off disguise to see and accept the other for what they were.

She looked over at Tuck, enraptured by the tale, and finally understood what he had been trying to tell her of the importance of name and legend; that what she could represent to people was perhaps more enduring than what she could accomplish in one mortal life. If it was true, she mused on Tuck's words, then it did not matter that it was not real. 

They would live on in the stories, Robin had said, and she would be pleased if they would. But she wanted a life too - that life less ordinary she had so long sought and finally found, in herself, with her friends, and with Robin. In great content they loved, Allan sung, and those words at least were entirely the truth. As real as the feel of Robin's arm around her, the smile on his face, the warmth in her heart and the love she bore him free of any doubt or fear.     

As the song finished they applauded again, and Robin rose to his feet clapping louder than anyone. 

“Wonderful!” he praised as Allan took another bow. “Let’s fill our cups, like in the song.” He gathered the silver goblets they had used for the wedding honours and distributed them among the gang. “You must write more,” Robin added as he filled the goblets with wine. “About all of us.”

“We are Robin Hood,” Little John called out, and they repeated it with practiced ease, like a refrain in the Mass. 

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “We are Robin Hood. We are Maid Marian,” he turned to her, goblet raised, “and Little John, and Much, and Will Scarlet.”  He honoured them each in turn. “We are Allan a Dale, and Djaq, and Tuck, and Carter, and Eve.”

“We are Roy.” Little John added softly and rose to his feet.

“We are Dan Scarlet,” Will said as he and Djaq rose together, their hands joined. 

“We are Tom A Dale,” Allan joined in, raising his goblet high. One by one they stood and said aloud the names of those they’d lost - mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and loved ones. 

Finally Marian rose to stand by Robin and raised her own cup. “We are Edward of Knighton.”

“All of us together,” Robin took Marian’s hand. “And even when we part,” he swallowed heavily as he looked on Little John, Much and Eve, and Djaq and Will. “We will be stronger for having known one another, and we will never forget.”

And so they cheered, and drank, and gave well wishes to one another, sharing embraces and fond memories. They spoke of the past, and dreamed of the future, and as the day dawned Marian pulled Robin close and kissed him with all of the love in her heart.

Whatever the future held for her didn’t matter, for in that moment she was truly, undeniably happy.