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Fix You by Smirk



~  Part One  ~

~ Nottingham Castle ~

“You are certain that this will work?” Gisborne asked, topping up the Sheriff’s goblet of wine.
Vaizey lazily ran his finger around the rim. “It will work,” he smiled. He sipped slowly and deliberately from his drink.
Gisborne frowned. “But won’t Locksley suspect that it’s a trap?” Hearing footsteps echo down the hall, he went to stand behind the Sheriff’s chair.
“Of course, he’ll suspect it’s a trap,” the Sheriff said. “I want him to suspect it’s a trap. But he’ll still come. He won’t be able to resist.”
Someone tentatively knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
The two men barely blinked when the door swung open slowly and a very frightened looking clerk entered the room. Literally shaking in his boots, the clerk walked quickly across the room and handed Vaizey the rolled up sheet of paper that he was carrying. As the paper went from one hand to another, the clerk’s eyes momentarily flashed upwards to the black clad figure stood behind the Sheriff.
Gisborne nonchalantly rested his hand on his sword hilt reminding the clerk of what the Sheriff had promised him if the job had not been done to his satisfaction.
The clerk gulped, hoping against hope that, this time, the Sheriff would be satisfied. The Sheriff had promised him that heads would roll if he wasn’t. No, make that one head would roll. His. Biting his bottom lip, the clerk held his breath as the Sheriff then slowly unrolled the paper. After what seemed like a lifetime to the clerk, the Sheriff smiled. “Perfect,” he said. “Now get lost.”
The clerk exhaled audibly and quickly left the room.
Once the man had gone, Vaizey held up the paper to Gisborne. “Have your men post copies of this all over town. Then have them ride into the surrounding villages and do the same. It’s your job, Gisborne, to ensure that Locksley actually reads one of these.”

~ Sherwood Forest ~

~ i ~

“Nottingham?!” Roy was aghast. “Is he crazy?! Please, tell me he’s joking.”
“My Master is not joking,” Much said. “I know when he’s joking. And, right now, he’s not joking. As for crazy…” What do you think?
“Why?” Allan asked.
“He wants to prove that he can still do it,” Much replied. He looked over to where Robin stood with the horses. “Don’t you?”
“Do what?” Will asked.
“Win,” Much said, beginning to wish that Robin had never seen one of the flyers. “Before we left for the Holy Land, he won the Arrow three years in a row.” He then began to wish that the Contest had never been invented.
Allan frowned. “Wait. But the Contest’s only been going on for what…”  his frown deepened. “…eight years? You mean _”
“Exactly,” Much said. “He needs to prove that he’s still the best.”
“Who to?” Will asked.
“You name it,” Much replied, tiredly. “The Sheriff, Gisborne, Marian, the people, himself. Shall I go on?”
“No, don’t,” Roy said. “We get the picture.”
“He has a reputation to live up to,” Much continued. “He_”  
“But it’s just a damn arrow,” Roy said angrily interrupting him. “What’s so important about an arrow?”
“The arrow,” a voice said softly.
The rest of the outlaws looked up as Robin joined them in front of the fire.
“The Silver Arrow.” Robin sat back on his heels; his eyes shining. He looked into the flames and whispered almost to himself. “You wouldn’t understand,”
But Much understood; he understood only too well just how important the Arrow was to Robin. He then shook his head dejectedly. He could also tell from Robin’s expression that his mind had been made up. And once Robin’s mind had been made up, nothing or no one would change it back again. Robin was going to enter the Contest whether they liked it or not.
“And what if it’s a trap?” Roy asked. “Or don’t you care?”
Robin smirked. “Oh, it’s definitely a trap,” he said. He looked down at the rolled up piece of paper he clutched in his right hand. “Why else would the Sheriff decide to hold the Contest in two days time? We all know that it’s usually held at Nottingham Fair which is not for another, what… three months?” The smirk widened; irritatingly so. “And no, I don’t care, Roy. The fact that it’s a trap makes it even more worth while entering. It’ll add to the excitement.”
“Excitement?” Much said. “Traps are not my idea of excitement.”
Robin laughed. “Also,” he said. “The Sheriff will be expecting me and I would hate to disappoint him.”
Little John laughed. “You really are crazy.”
Will distractedly tossed another branch onto the fire; watched it burst into flame. “My father told me that Gisborne is entering this year. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“No,” Robin said not even batting an eyelid. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”
“But why does that someone have to be you?” Much asked.  
“O.K. Suppose we do decide to go to Nottingham,” Allan said, not waiting for Robin to answer. “How are we going to get away with it? People know us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,” Robin said. “And we have got away with it before, or have you forgotten?”
“But this time the soldiers will be waiting for us,” Roy said in disbelief. “For you.” Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be able to wipe the smirk from Lavender Boy’s face. Little John was right. Locksley really was crazy. “And how the Hell are you going to enter the Contest? Everyone knows who you are; especially the Sheriff. Or don’t you care about that either?”
“I said I’ll think of something,” Robin answered. “We need a plan.” He rubbed his hands together; held them over the flames. He then looked up at Allan. “A really clever plan.”
Much sunk his head into his hands. No! Not a plan! He hated Robin’s plans. All he had ever dreamed of back in the Holy Land was coming home to a little peace and quiet. Peace and quiet not all this… ‘excitement’. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Much, stop worrying.”
Much raised his head. “Much stop worrying? You want me to stop worrying? If you want me to stop worrying then don’t enter the Contest.” His face then fell seeing Robin’s expression suddenly change. He sighed. But this was something that he was used to so this didn’t worry him that much. Robin had always been mercurial. His moods were as changeable as the weather, going from warm and sunny to dark and stormy in a heartbeat.
“I have to do this,” Robin told them. “If I don’t, the Sheriff will have won. And I won’t let him win. I can’t.” He looked across at Roy. “And yes, I do know how dangerous it will be. So I’ll understand if you all decide not to come with me.”
Robin then stood and without a backward glance, walked determinedly towards the makeshift shelter where they kept their weapons.
The rest of the outlaws sat in silence. Lost in their own thoughts, they watched as Robin pushed back the blanket that covered the entrance and went inside still clutching, they all noticed, the rolled up piece of paper. A moment later, they all stood.
“Robin, wait!”
Inside the shelter, Robin grinned.

~ ii ~

“NO!”
He sank to his knees, his sword falling from suddenly numb fingers. Who could have done this? Feeling his eyes start to burn, he angrily pulled off his gauntlet and wiped at them with the back of his hand. Not this; this was wrong, so very wrong.
“Locksley?”
He pushed himself back to his feet. “Why?” he asked. “They weren’t a threat. They were… innocents.”
“No such thing as an innocent Turk, Locksley,” the older knight answered. “Any one of these ‘innocents’ as you call them would have killed you without even blinking.”
“So now we kill even women and children just to be sure that they don’t kill us?”
The knight smiled. But it was the sort of smile an adult would give a small child. “How long have you been here, Locksley?”
“Almost a year,” he answered. Had it really been nearly a year?
“Then you still have a lot to learn. Believe me,  the killing will become easier. No matter who it is.”
He shook his head. “Never.” He would never become a killer. Not like De Benoit and the others. It wasn’t why he had come out here. Nausea welled. Biting it back, he bent to retrieve his sword and his gauntlet.
Suddenly a bloody hand reached out and grasped his wrist. He tried to pull his hand away but found that he couldn’t, the grip was too strong.  
“Murderer,” a woman’s voice said.
He had to get away.
“I’m sorry, Robin.”
His panic rose as the hold tightened.
“But I can never love a murderer.”
He knew that voice. It was one he thought he would never hear again. “Marian?”

“Marian?!”
Robin woke with a start. Drenched in cold sweat, he sat up; scrubbed a hand across his face. It was only dream; only another damn dream. He stood unsteadily, holding onto the tree under which he had fallen asleep to stop himself from falling over. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the trunk willing his heart to stop trying to break free from his chest. A bad dream; just another bad dream. Slowly, as his breathing grew easier, he then looked around him worried that he had woken his friends. He needn’t have bothered, not one of them had so much as stirred. Walking away from the sleepers, he moved deeper into the forest. He needed to clear his head.
“They weren’t a threat. They were… innocents. Innocents.” The nightmares had started on his return to England but since coming home had they become worse. He could see the bodies wherever he looked. Still lying where they had fallen. Overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, he sank to his knees, unconsciously echoing his dream, and threw up.

~ Sherwood Forest. Two Days Later… ~

~ i ~

“Are you sure that this is going to work?” Much asked. He glanced dubiously up at the lead-grey clouds starting to gather overhead. From the looks of it, it was going to chuck it down and soon. He hated the rain. Well, it can rain after we come back.
“It’ll work,” Robin replied, putting the finishing touches to his disguise; just a little more dirt here; a little more ash there. There, done. Perfect. “Trust me.”
Much nodded. In spite of everything else that was one thing that he did do. He did trust Robin.  “Promise me one thing though.”
“What?” Robin asked.
“No stupid risks,” Much said. “No more playing the hero.”
“Alright,” Robin said, shouldering his quiver. “No stupid risks.”
It wasn’t the distinctive quiver he usually carried but one he had ‘borrowed’ especially for the occasion. His quiver would remain here at camp along with his recurve bow and scimitar. Not even he was that arrogant. “So how do I look?”
“Old,” Much replied, not really believing Robin about the stupid risks. Stupid risks were part and parcel of his friend. Always were and always would be. It had been worth a try though. “Don’t stand up so straight.”
Robin smirked. “How about this?” He stooped a little more; rubbed at the small of his back as if it was giving him trouble.
“Better, “ Much said handing him the longbow he had been holding. “Even the Sheriff will never recognise you now.”
“Not till the very last minute,” Robin said. “By which time it’ll be too late. When he presents me with the Arrow, I want him to know it’s me. He has to know it’s me. Otherwise, this would all have been in vain.” Taking aim on an imaginary target, Robin then slowly pulled back the bowstring. Had it really been five years since he had used one of these? It felt so familiar still. He lowered the bow as suddenly a thought struck him.
“What?” Much asked, not liking the sudden glint in Robin’s eyes. It usually meant trouble. “Now what are you plotting?”
“Nothing,” Robin replied, the glint slowly fading.
“Robin?”
Robin smiled, a sad far away look on his face. “I was just wondering if Marian was going to be there,” he said finally.  
“Oh,” Much said. This wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected something roguish and mischievous not pensive and unhappy.
“What do you mean ‘oh’? Robin asked.
“Nothing,” Much replied.
“Remember how she used to argue with her father because he wouldn’t let her take part?” Robin asked.
“I can remember her arguing with you,” Much countered.
Robin grinned lightly. “She always used to argue with me. She still does.”
“Then because she thought you were just a show-off,” Much said. An archery contest, Robin and Marian arguing. It would be just like old times.
Robin shook his head laughing. “She still thinks am a show-off.”
“She’s right,” Much said. “You just want her to see you win again, don’t you? The real reason Robin Hood wants to enter the Archery Contest is that he just wants to show off to Marian and then when he wins, which he will, he wants to bask in the adulation that comes with the winning.”
Robin did not answer. Instead, adjusting the brim of the floppy hat he was wearing so that it covered even more of his face, he walked arthritically over to where the rest of the gang were waiting for them. Much knew him too well.
“I’m right, aren’t I?!” Much called running after him.
Maybe a little too well.
~ ii ~

Seeing the old man approach, the outlaws tried not to laugh. Instead, keeping as straight a face as they could, they asked him if he needed any help. Will graciously offered to carry his bow and quiver, Allan offered to find him a walking stick. As for Little John, Little John went as far as to offer to carry him to Nottingham because he looked so frail.
Roy grinned at him. “Nice outfit, Lavender Boy. But you’ll need these.” He tossed Robin a pair of grey woollen gloves. “You may look old but your hands will give you away the instant you raise your bow.”
Laughing gratefully, Robin pulled on the gloves. “Gentlemen, shall we?”

~ Nottingham Town Square ~

~ i ~

“So where is he?”
Gisborne cast his eyes over the crowd that had gathered in the town square; again, carefully scrutinising each face; again. But he still couldn’t see Locksley. But what made it more annoying was that he had spotted Locksley’s men skulking around the town hours ago. He swore, irritably kicking at a stone near his boot.
“Tut. Tut,” Vaizey chided. “Language. Be patient, Gisborne. Locksley’s already here.”
“Where?” Gisborne glared. “I can’t see him.”
“Close,” Vaizey said. “He’s just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to show himself.”
“How do you know he’s already here?” Gisborne asked in disbelief.
“I just know,” Vaizey replied. “Now run along like a good little boy and tell everyone that the contest is about to start.”

~ ii ~

Sat in the tavern, Robin leisurely sipped his mug of ale. Though he had heard the announcements that the Contest was about to start, he had no intention of getting up just yet. He wanted to play out this particular little charade for as long as he could. Besides, his friends deserved a break before things got ‘exciting’.
Catching Much’s eye, Robin shrugged. Despite telling the group to split up, he could still see all of them from where he was sitting. Will and Allan were barely two tables away engrossed in a pretend game of knucklebones while Little John and Much loitered in a doorway behind them pretending to watch a not-very-good juggler. As for Roy, Roy stood at a stall selling swords and shields amicably arguing with its owner over how expensive his goods were. 
Robin shook his head smiling as Much took the balls off the juggler after the man had dropped them for what had been the third time in a row and tried to show him how it should be done. Unfortunately, Much wasn’t that much better which made it even funnier. His smile then threatened to turn into laughter as Will then suddenly stood, knocking over his drink, and accused Allan of cheating. Some things never changed. But Robin knew that despite their relaxed attitudes, all five of them were still keeping one eye on him, so that when he finally drained his mug and picked up the longbow, they were ready.
Seeing Robin’s hand grasp the bow, Allan nodded at Will and stood, pocketing the small pile of coins in front of him as he did so. In the same instant Much and Little John, giving the juggler his balls back, left their doorway and began to make their way to where the Contest was to be held. They were followed seconds later by Roy.
So far so good, everything was going according to plan, and bow now in hand, Robin made to join his friends. But even with the best-laid plans, if something was pre-ordained to go wrong then go wrong it would, no matter how foolproof the plans were to start with. One minute, Robin had been thinking about winning the Contest; the next he was in a fully-fledged argument with two thugs of around his own age; his ‘actual’ age not the age he was pretending to be, who had tried to be funny with the tavern-girl.
Robin stumbled backwards as one of the thugs roughly pushed him away.
“I said stay outta this, old man.”
Unable to stop himself from falling, Robin crashed against one of the benches. It shattered,  sending him sprawling. As he lay amongst its remains, trying to catch his breath, thankful that the wood had been so rotten, he saw the thug that had pushed him reach for the tavern-girl again and, despite her protests, pull her towards him.
Enough was enough. Getting back to his feet, Robin drew his sword. “And I said leave her alone.” 
Thug Number Two laughed. “Hey, look. Granddad’s got a sword. I think he wants a fight.”
“I’m so scared,” Thug Number One answered. Letting go of the girl, he then winked at his friend.
Robin stood his ground as the two men came closer, their weapons also drawn. This could be interesting, broadsword against clubs. He watched both men closely, waiting patiently for one, or both, of them to make the first move. Really interesting. But instead of attacking, Thug Number One put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. Minutes later more men, also armed to the teeth, rushed towards the tavern and quickly encircled him.
Oh great. Ten against one. “Now, that’s hardly fair, is it?” Robin said, his mind racing as he looked for a way out. Nothing. He was completely surrounded. Lowering his sword, he too then took a step forward. Maybe… he could talk his way out. It had worked for him before. “Gentlemen, now why don’t we settle this peacefully?” he suggested. He jerked his head towards the bar. “May be over a drink or three.”
Unfortunately for him, Thug Number One wasn’t so easily persuaded and he shook his head. “I don’t think so, Granddad,” he said nastily, tapping the club against the palm of his hand. “You need to be taught to keep your nose out of other people’s business.”
“But it is my business.” Robin’s heart thudded loudly in his ears. “The girl told you ‘No’.” Fight or flight? “You do understand what ‘No’ means, don’t you?” Right now, fight. Never flight, unless absolutely necessary, even if it meant getting killed in the process. “I’ll give you a clue. It doesn’t mean ‘Yes’.” His mouth went desert-dry, his palms of his hands started to sweat_
“Need some help?”
Robin jumped, almost dropping his sword. “Allan, don’t do that! You almost gave me a heart attack.” I could have killed you.
Robin watched as the rest of the outlaws too then pushed their way into the circle, came to stand beside him. Though it was good to see them, he would really have to have a talk with them about sneaking up on him like that.
Caught even more off-guard than Robin, the thugs were too startled to do anything except gap as the odds suddenly changed.
Robin swore as the consequences that this particular little confrontation was going to have on the Contest then suddenly struck him. This was so unfair! Then again, it wasn’t his fault; not really. He didn’t go looking for trouble. It was just that trouble came looking for him. And if this was anything to go by, it was wherever he went. Oh well, no rest for the wicked.
“Six against ten, Lavender Boy,” Roy said. “Slightly fairer, ain’t it?”
“I could have managed, you know,” Robin answered.
“We know,” Roy said, not taking his eyes off the thugs. “But why should you have all the fun? When you didn’t follow we decided to find out what was keeping you.” Roy then grinned at Robin lewdly. “Much said that it was probably a girl.”
Robin grinned back. “Much was right.  I was just defending a damsel in distress.” He then looked directly at the Thug Number One. “Our friend here needs to be taught some manners.”
Robin’s friends groaned in unison. To the thugs this was the signal they were waiting for and they rushed towards the group.
The ensuing fight went pretty much like all their other fights. More or less totally bloodless, with them winning and the other guys losing. They were, as Robin said, ‘just teaching them a lesson’ not hurting them ‘permanently’.
But just when they were starting to think that this particular fight would be just another notch on their respective weapons, something went wrong. Horribly wrong.
Suddenly, Will stumbled as someone slammed into him from behind. Feeling himself falling forwards, he fought to keep both his balance and his hold on his axe. Everything slowed… He saw the axe slip from his grasp… He couldn’t stop it…  Saw it fall blade first towards the person grappling on the ground with one of the thugs…  Heard himself shout a warning… NO! Saw the tip of the blade glance across the exposed back… Heard the scream of pain… Saw the blade leave a crimson line in its wake…
“NO!”
“Stop them!”
People rushed past him. 
“Soldiers!”
A body lay unmoving.
“Will!”
Hands grabbed him; pulled him to his feet.
“Soldiers! RUN!”
Out of nowhere men on horses thundered towards them.
“Run!”
But he couldn’t move. What had he done?! Dear God, what had he done?!
“Will! Run!”
Hands grabbed him again, this time shoving him forwards; dragging him along till instinct took over.

~ Sherwood Forest ~

~ i ~

The chase was a total blur to the outlaws. They ran out of the castle, heading towards the relative safety of the trees, the fear of being caught giving them the extra incentive they needed to keep going. They ran till they thought that their lungs would burst, they would be finished if the soldiers caught them. But it was only when they were deep in Sherwood, did they realise that they were no longer being followed.
“They’re… not… chasing… us,” Roy gasped, hugging his sides, collapsing to the forest floor.
Tripping over Roy’s legs, Allan went down; dragging Will down with him. Seconds later, Much fell over all three of them.
“They… must’ve…” Allan fought to catch his breath. “must’ve… given… up.” 
“I’m…I’m going to kill him,” Much panted, his vision ominously spotty. “And don’t try to stop me… I don’t care if he’s my friend.”
“Join the queue,” Roy said, still lying flat on his back. “This is not funny any more, Lavender Boy.”
But there was no cutting reply. Roy frowned. In fact, there was no reply at all.
Pulling himself free of the tangle of limbs, Much sat up. “Robin?”  He shoved at the body nearest to him. “Where’s Robin?”
The body humpfed. “I thought he was with you.”
“And where’s John?” Roy added, also sitting up. “John?!”
“Over here,” Little John replied almost immediately, stumbling towards them. “Quick, help me.”
Much frowned. Who was Little John carrying over his shoulder? It looked like…
“ROBIN!”
Much ran forward, the others barely a step behind him. He and Roy caught Robin’s body as Little John’s legs gave way.
“His back! Little John gasped. “Watch his back!”
Much and Roy gently lowered Robin to the ground; laying him on his front. Robin screamed in pain.
“Dear God! Robin!” Much’s eyes widened in horror. “What happened?!” He wanted to look away but found he couldn’t.
Robin’s back was a bloody mess of torn cloth and torn flesh. A horrific wound slashed its way diagonally from just below his left shoulder blade to nearly the middle of his back, and the blood there was so much of it, was now beginning to stain the ground around him.
“Robin?” Much turned Robin’s head to the side making it easier for him to breathe. “Robin? Can you hear me?”
There was no response. Quickly, taking off his scarf Much then folded it into a pad and used it to put pressure on the wound, desperate to try and staunch the bleeding. Robin moaned.
He was still alive! “I’m sorry,” Much said still pressing down on the wound as hard as he dared. This was hurting him as much as it was hurting Robin. “I know it hurts but we have to stop the bleeding.”
“This is all my fault,” Will said, as the blood began to soak through the wool and leak out between Much’s fingers. “This is all my fault.”
“Your scarves!” Roy said. “Give him your scarves!”
One by one, more scarves joined Much’s, including Robin’s own.
Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes to what felt like hours. Then just as he was beginning to think that the blood was never going to stop, Much felt the bleeding slow… a little. He let out an audible sigh of relief.
“Is it stopping?” Little John asked anxiously.
When Much slowly nodded the others too then let out the breaths that they had been collectively holding, started to speak once more; their voices hushed but relieved. They huddled closer around Robin. Will looked away. Robin’s face was pain-etched, white from shock and blood loss, his eyes glassy and unfocussed.
“How is he?” Much asked still keeping pressure on the wound.
Allan quickly moved around to beside Robin’ head. “He’s out cold,” he said. “His breathing’s not good. It sounds… funny.”
“At least he’s still breathing,” Roy said.
Ignoring what Roy had just said, Allan then tentatively touched Robin’s face. “Robin? Robin, come on, wake up.”
At first there was no response but then, after a little more coaxing, Robin started to stir.
“That’s it, Robin,” Little John encouraged. “Wake up.”
Slowly, Robin regained consciousness. Forest sounds, voices; his friends’, lying on the ground,  dampness soaking into his shirt, the taste and smell of blood, pain coming in waves. “W… where are…?” .
“Safe.” Little John lent closer, Robin’s voice was barely a whisper. “We’re in Sherwood. Now try not to move. Much has only just got the bleeding to stop. And if you move, it’ll start again.”
“Soldiers…”
“They’ve gone,” Allan replied. “We’re safe. For now.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Little John asked.
“We… went… to… Nott … ing… ham… Silver…Arr… There… was… a… fight…” Robin fought to stay conscious. “You… can’t… stay… here…. Go…. You… have… to… go.”
“No,” Much said. “We’re not leaving you.”
“How… far… from… camp?”
“Not far,” Little John lied. “Close.”
“Can’t… stay… here.”
“Let us worry about that,” Little John said. Right now, you worry about trying not to move.”
Nodding at Will, Roy and Allan to join him, Little John then stood and moved away; out off Robin’s earshot.
Robin knew that they were talking about him but he was too tired and he hurt too much to really care. But though Robin didn’t care, Much did. He also knew that they were talking about Robin but from here he couldn’t hear what they were saying so, once he was sure that the bleeding was definitely stopping, he beckoned Roy over and made him, once more, kneel down next to him.
“Take over for me,” Much said. “Put your hands here, one over the other, and press down hard.”
As Roy pressed down on the scarf, Much then slowly took his hands away but as he did so the sudden movement made Robin cry out.
“Press harder,” Much told Roy. This was for Robin’s own good. Robin’s own good. “That’s it. Now don’t take your hands off till I tell you to. And talk to him. Try not to let him lose consciousness again.” Much stood and went over to where the others were standing. “What happened to him?! Did any of you see what happened?”
Will hung his head. “It’s my fault.”
“No, Lad,” Little John said. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“What happened?!” Much shouted in frustration. He then glared at Will. “What do you mean it’s your fault? Did you do this?”
“The axe slipped,” Will replied. “The blade struck his back.”
“What?!” Much said in disbelief. Had Will just said what he thought he had said? 
Will looked away. “Someone slammed into me. I lost my grip. I’m sorry.” Though what had happened to Robin had been nothing more than a terrible accident, deep down Will still blamed himself. He should have been able to stop it.
“Sorry?! “ Much yelled, grabbing Will by the front of his tunic. “Sorry?!”
Allan pulled him away. “Much, calm down.”
“Calm down! How could he have been so stupid?”
“Much, enough!” Little John said firmly. “It was an accident. Leave the boy alone.”
But Much hadn’t finished. “He nearly kills my Master and you ask me to leave him alone?!”
“Yes,” Little John said keeping his own temper in check. “Robin needs you calm right now. Not like this.” Then when Much didn’t respond. “Much?”
Finally, Much nodded. “Alright,” he muttered not looking at Will. “After all that he’s done for you? This is how you repay him. I wish we’d never met you. Any of you.” He went to walk away, but didn’t. Perhaps it was the expression on their faces. They were genuinely as worried as he was.
Little John looked over to where Robin lay. “The wound will need to be stitched,”
Allan shook his head. “Not here. It’s too dangerous. The soldiers could be back at any time. Can’t it wait till we get back to camp?”
“It’ll be too late by then,” Little John countered. “He’ll be dead before we can get him back to camp.”
“Then we’ll need needle and thread,” Allan started. “Water, bandages.” He looked across at Much. “Much?”
Much finally nodded wordlessly.
Little John nodded. “Good.”
“But what about the bandages?” Much asked. “We’ve already used all our scarves.”
“We can use my shirt,” Little John answered. “It’s big enough. We can tear it into lengths.”

~ ii ~

Sat beside Robin, still keeping pressure on the wound, Roy was desperately trying to keep Robin awake. “Hey, Lavender Boy, don’t fall asleep. What else? Come on, what else?!”
“During the… day…”
“During the day?” Roy urged. “What was it like during the day?”
“It…was… hot,” Robin said slowly; his words pain-filled; wraith-soft. “Really…hot.” He knew he had to stay conscious but it was so difficult. “Hot… and… dry.” He felt so light-headed and so cold. So sold; he could barely feel his fingers and toes. All he wanted to do was just to close his eyes and…
“Robin! Open your eyes!”
As if from really far away, Robin sensed someone else join Roy. A hand touched his arm.
“Robin.”
John. His vision was beginning to blur. The others were there too. “It’s… bad…, is… isn’t… it?” he asked. “John…, the… truth… Please…”
Little John nodded. There was no need to hide the truth from Robin. From what he had told them, Robin had spent five years fighting in the Holy Land. It was more than likely that he had seen more horror, more pain and suffering, than all of them put together.
“The blade only caught you a glancing blow,” Little John said. “You were lucky. The wound’s not deep but it goes from below your shoulder blade to almost to the middle of your back. Robin, it needs stitching. Now. It can’t wait.”
“Will…,” Robin mumbled. “Will… slipped. It… was… an… acci…dent. Tell… him… it… was… an acci…dent.” 
“You can tell him yourself,” Little John said. “Later.” He briefly looked up at Much as if to say. ‘Heard that?! Even Robin doesn’t blame Will.’ Then. “Robin, the wound has to be stitched.”
Robin closed his eyes. “Do… it.”
“Allan, keep watch,” Little John said, moving nearer to Robin’s side. “Roy, you and Will make a stretcher. Once we’re finished we’ll need it to carry him back to camp. Much?”
Much pulled his pack and water-skin closer to him. “I’m sorry, Robin,” he said, almost to himself. “There’s nothing for the pain. Not this time.”  He avoided looking at Robin’s face. He couldn’t look at him; not yet.
Slowly, one by one, Much and Little John removed each blood soaked scarf. One by one, taking care so as not to make the wound bleed again. Taking his dagger, Much then just as carefully cut away Robin’s shirt; soaking it off where the cloth had stuck to the wound.
“How is he?” Much asked as the bleeding began to slowly start again.
“Barely conscious,” John replied.
“I need to clean the wound,” Much said. “It needs to be clean before it can be stitched. Hold him.”
Then with John holding Robin down to stop him from moving, Much slowly poured water over the wound to wash away any dirt that might have got trapped inside it. Though he was fearful that the wound would start to bleed heavily again, Much knew that the last thing Robin needed was another infection. He need not have worried. For once Luck seemed to be on their side. There was blood but not that much. Putting down the water-skin., Much then picked up the needle and thread. He swallowed, he wasn’t sure that he could do this, he wasn’t a physician. None of them were but none of the others would do it…
“Much, quickly, before he wakes fully.”

~ iii ~

“Home. Did you hear that, Master? You’re going home. As soon as you’re strong enough to travel, you’re going home.”
Home? Had Much said home? “Home?”

“Home…” Robin murmured as the dream blurred back to reality…
“Shh, Robin. Try not to move.”

“Back to England.”

…from reality back to dream.

“How soon?”
“Three, maybe four, weeks, Insh’Allah.”
“English, damn you.”
“God willing.”

Back and forth…

“God willing.”

…forth and back.

“Insh’Allah.”

~ Nottingham Castle ~

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Vaizey yelled, glaring at Gisborne. “What do you mean ‘you lost them’?”
“We pursued them into Sherwood, My Lord,” Gisborne said, doing his best, under the circumstances, to remain calm. “But they just vanished.”
“No one ‘just vanishes’, you fool! Double. No, treble; quadruple the search. I want them found, do you hear!”
Gisborne bowed. “Yes, My Lord.”
Resting his chin on his hand, Vaizey tapped the side of his face with his fingers. “Locksley’s injured. They can’t have got far.”

~ Sherwood Forest ~

~ i ~

“Insh’Allah,”  Robin mumbled again.
John frowned hearing words he couldn’t understand. “What’s he saying?”
“It’s the Turk language,” Much answered not looking up; he’d almost finished. He was thankful that Robin was lapsing in and out of conscious; the pain of being stitched would have been excruciating. “He thinks he’s still in the Holy Land,”
“He learnt the language?”
Much nodded. “He said it was because he wanted to understand those he was fighting. But…”
“But,” John pressed.
Much smiled hollowly. “I think it was because he wanted to know what the Turks were saying about him.”
Excruciating… Images of another ‘stitching’ flashed before his eyes. Quickly, Much pushed them aside. “I knew this would happen,” he muttered. “He never listens… He’s thinks he’s invulnerable; thinks that nothing can touch him…” He briefly looked up at Little John. “He doesn’t care what happens to him. He never has.”
“Only cares about helping others worse off than him?” Little John said.
“But why does he have to risk his own life to do it? What is he trying prove?” Tying off the last stitch, Much sat back. There. Done. He then paled. Despite being stitched the wound still dribbled steadily. Dear God, hasn’t he lost enough blood as it is?
Much reached for one of the bandages made from Little John’s shirt. Carefully, and with Little John’s help, he then wrapped the cloth tightly around Robin’s torso and tied it off. Another strip followed the first then another. But the third strip had been barely tied off when Allan ran towards them. He was closely followed by Roy and Will carrying a stretcher made out of branches and a cloak.
“Soldiers,” Allan said, keeping his voice low; hushed. “Coming this way. We have to go. Now.”
“Hurry,” Will said as he and Roy put the stretcher down beside Robin. “They’ll kill him if they catch us.”
“They’ll kill all of us if they catch us,” Roy snapped back.
Carefully, trying to jostle him as little as possible, they quickly lifted Robin onto the stretcher and laid him on his stomach.
Taking of his jerkin, Will then put it under Robin’s head. “I’m sorry, Robin.”

~ ii ~

It was drizzling when they finally reached camp a few hours later. With Robin so badly injured, the journey had been slow and had taken them twice as long as it normally did. They had also stopped more than once to make sure that the stitches were still holding and, since he hadn’t made a sound since being put on the stretcher, to make sure that Robin was actually still alive.
Taking all their stuff out of the shelter, they quickly moved Robin inside. It wasn’t a moment too soon, the drizzle became a downpour.

~ O ~

~  Part Two  ~


~ Sherwood Forest ~

~ i ~

“Tell… him..”
“Shhh. Try not to move. You’ll start bleeding again.”
“Tell… him… that… it… wasn’t… his fault…”
“You can tell him yourself. Later. Now keep still. Try and sleep.”
Pushing back the blanket draped across the entrance to their makeshift shelter, Much stuck his head outside. It would be dark soon. No, make that soon it would be even darker than it was now. He swore wordlessly as drops hit his face; swore as they trickled down his neck and into his shirt. He dropped the blanket back down again. “How much longer are you going to keep this up?” he asked. It had been raining steadily for hours now. “Enough’s enough. He’s_ ” The remaining words died in his throat as a barely audible moan filled the shelter. Or at least to Much it seemed to fill the shelter. He quickly looked behind him. “Please stop raining,” he muttered under his breath. “For his sake.”
“How is he?”
Much jumped. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed the blanket move again.
“What?”
“How is he?” Will asked again.
Much frowned. Though crouched at the opening, Will seemed completely heedless to the rain soaking him.
“Much?”
Much shook his head. “It’s finally stopped bleeding,” he said. “But he’s warm to the touch.” He listened to the rain beating down on the branches above him. “And if we can’t keep him warm and dry the fever will only worsen. Or the wound get infected.” He looked at the drops that were pattering on the ground around them. “Or both.” He distractedly pushed at the one of the branches above him. “Warm and dry. Not cold and wet.” He had to stop himself from adding ‘because otherwise it will kill him’. Right now, knowing his luck it would have only tempted fate.
Will didn’t say anything. He just looked at the huddled form lying on its side behind Much because he couldn’t look at Much’s face. Then. “I’m sorry.”
Much didn’t answer.
A long moment later, Will then raised his head. “You should eat something.” He didn’t know what else to say. The anger and anguish on Much’s face said it all. This is all your fault. You and the rest of them out there. “Roy said to tell you that there’s cheese.” Then, when Much did not even react, he reached out and grasped Much’s shoulder. “Go. You’ll be of no use to him if you fall sick. You’ve done all you can. Let me sit with him.”
Much finally nodded. Will was right. He had to stay strong for Robin’s sake. “Call me straight away he wakes or if there’s any change.”
“I will,” Will said.
Taking one last look behind him, Much went out into the rain.

~ ii ~

“He’s getting away.”
“I want him alive! Locksley!”
In one fluid movement, he picked up the discarded bow at his feet; took an arrow from the quiver at his back. NotchAimFire.
The Saracen pitched forward.
“You fool. You killed him! The King said alive!”
He turned to the man beside him and grinned. “He is alive. If I had wanted to kill him I would have aimed for his neck and not below and just to the right of it.” Something then made him look down at the weapon in his hand. This wasn’t his bow. He frowned. This was a Saracen bow. A Saracen ‘recurve’ bow…

….Unhooking the bowstring, he slung the bow over the rope. Pushed off the wall; heedless to how high up he was. 
“You’ve done all you can.”
Voices. Voices?!
“Let me sit with him.”
Will? What?! Suddenly the rope went slack…. No! Falling… NO!  Pain caught him; held him; refused to give him up. Once more smothered him in her grasp.

~ iii ~

Allan glanced over at the shelter. “Will’s still blaming himself.”
“I keep trying to tell him that it wasn’t his fault,” Little John said. “But the boy won’t listen.”.
“It was an accident,” Allan said. “It could have happened to any one of us.”
Much paled. “But why did it have to happen to Robin?” And if Robin lived it would be months before he would be able to use a sword or bow again. And to Robin that would have been worse than actually dying…. If he lived.
Roy glared. “Accident or not. He’s going to die anyway. So why should we risk getting killed because of him?”
Ignoring Roy, Allan huddled further into his cloak, pulled it tighter around his shoulders. At the rate Roy was going, very soon someone was going to hit him. “We have to get him out of Sherwood. Take him to a healer.”
“We can’t move him. And… ” Much held out his hand; palm upwards. “Out into this… NO! He’ll catch his death.” Much’s face then fell as he realised what he had just said.
“And he’ll die if we don’t.” Little John said.
“We could take him to Locksley.” Allan suggested. “Or Neddlestone. It’s closer.”
Roy shook his head. Was he the only sane one here? “And what’ll happen to the villagers if he’s found.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Much said. “For Robin. Or have you forgotten what happened?”
“Much’s right,” Little John said. “There are still those who would trade him in for the reward without even thinking about it.”
“So what do we do?” Much was furious; he was furious with the others for just sitting there doing nothing and he was furious with himself for not knowing what to do. He was even furious with Robin for getting himself badly injured doing something that he didn’t even have to. “You can’t just let him die. He saved your lives!”
“Not mine he didn’t,” Roy shot back. “So don’t look at me.” He gestured around him. “You’re all fools. Can’t you all see what’s been happening around here? This was all just his own personal little crusade. It was all for his benefit. Not ours.” Roy looked at each of them in turn. “Not yours and definitely not mine,”
“So why are you still here then?” Allan countered. Not waiting for Roy to answer back, he then stood and walked towards the shelter.
“We have to do something,” Much said to whoever who was listening. “He’s needs somewhere safe. Some sort of… I don’t know… sanctuary. He can’t stay out here. He’ll die.” There. He said it. Again.
“He’s damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” Allan muttered to himself stopping in front of the shelter. His eyes then widened. Sanctuary? Had Much just said sanctuary? Of course!
Suddenly, everyone looked up in shock as Allan then began to laugh.
“That’s it!” Allan grinned, rushing back to them.
Much frowned. “What’s it?” Had speaking in riddles suddenly become contagious? First Robin now Allan. “Of course what? And stop laughing! Robin’s fighting for his life and you think it’s funny. Why you_”
“Sanctuary,” Allan said quickly. “We take him to the Abbey at Kirklees and claim sanctuary for him.” He then looked at Roy. “For all of us. If anyone can save Robin the Sisters can.”
Much glared. “But the Abbey’s hours away,” Had Allan gone mad? “Parts of it in the open.”
“Then we ride at night,” Allan replied. “The Sisters won’t turn him away. They can’t.”
“Allan’s right,” Little John said. “It’s his only chance. He’ll be safe at the Abbey. No matter who comes for him.”
But Much still wasn’t convinced. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because Church law decrees it,” Allan replied. “Or have you forgotten. And the Church has authority even over the Sheriff. At the Abbey not even the Sheriff would dare touch Robin.” He looked at Roy again. “Or even us. We’ll have to leave tonight. While he still has the strength. If we don’t spare the horses we can be there by morning. ”
“But_” Much started to protest.
“Do you have a better idea?”
An unhealthy silence descended over the campsite. A silence that Little John finally broke. He crouched down in front of Much.
“He’s your friend, Much. You have to decide.”
Much was resigned. They were right. There was nothing else they could do. ‘So he’s damned if we do and damned if we don’t’. “I’ll get him.”
“Right,” Little John straightened. “You lot break camp. Me and Roy will get the horses ready. Won’t we, Roy.” Then, when Roy didn’t answer, he reached out and reassuringly squeezed Much’s shoulder instead. “He’ll be alright.”
This time it was Much’s turn not to answer. He only hoped that they were doing the right thing. They were doing the right thing, weren’t they?

~ iii ~

“Robin?”
Much. A hand gently touched his shoulder.
Robin slowly opened his eyes. “This…is…familiar.” So where had Will gone? He’d been here a minute ago. He’d only closed his eyes for a moment. Was Will still blaming himself? It had been an accident. Just a stupid accident. “S…so w…what’s happening? I… could… hear… you… all… arguing.” Over me.
“How do you feel?” Much asked not wanting to answer the question.
“H… h… how… do… I… look?” He knew Much was avoiding the question but he was too tired to fight. Right now, he barely had the strength to stay awake. From the time he had been brought here, he had been drifting in and out of blackness, unable to stay conscious for more than a few moments at a time. “Well?”
“Terrible,” Much replied, one by one pulling back the layers of clothing and blankets that were covering Robin.
In a desperate attempt to keep him at least halfway warm and dry, they had covered Robin with all the blankets and spare clothes they had.
Robin grinned weakly. It came out as more of a grimace. “Oh, great.”
Moving around, Much then gently lifted up the back of Robin’s shirt to check on the wound. He sighed with relief. The stitches seemed to be holding. And thankfully, none of the blood that stained the makeshift bandages, wrapped around Robin’s torso, was fresh. 
“So… where… are… we…going?” Robin asked once Much had moved round to sit in front of him again.
Much’s eyes widened. “How did you_”
A pain filled ‘You can’t fool me smile’ lit up Robin’s face. “I… I… also… heard… the… horses.” 
“We’re taking you to the Abbey at Kirklees,” Much said. He’d never been able to keep the truth from Robin. “You can’t stay here. You need help. Proper help.”
“Why? It’s…” Another wave of pain, this one much stronger than the others, washed over him. “It’s… just… a… scratch.”
Suddenly Much’s expression changed as he finally gave in to the hurt, anger and helplessness that had been building up inside him since Robin had got hurt. “It’s NOT a scratch!” he shouted. “For once in your life stop being so bloody selfish and just listen to someone else for a change.”
Robin jerked back as if stung. Wished he hadn’t. Was that what Much thought? That he was… selfish? “I…I don’t… have… a say… in this…, do…I?” he asked finally.
“No,” Much replied his voice still firm. “You don’t. Not this time.” This was wrong. So wrong, Robin was in no shape to be going anywhere. “Can you move?”
“Find… me… a pretty… girl… and…” Robin’s voice trailed off.
Much shook his head in despair; some things never changed. “Slowly,” he said. Despite Robin trying to hide it, Much could see in his eyes just how much pain he really was in. “There’s no rush.” And moving him was only going to make it worse.
Clenching his teeth, Robin slowly, and with a lot of help on Much’s part, sat up. Pain engulfed him. His sight wavered making his stomach churn. He grabbed at Much’s shoulder as his vision greyed, lent forward against him, fighting the darkness. I have to stay conscious.
“Robin?!”
“I’m… alright,” Robin gasped biting his lip against the pain and the nausea that came with it. His back was on fire. It felt as if someone was driving a red-hot poker into it; over and over. With no let up. He flinched feeling wetness trickle down his skin again. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the pain into the small dark place that he always did. Locked it away. He stayed silent about the blood, keeping it to himself. Much looked as though he was going to die from worry as it was. Besides, his shirt with the old bloodstains would hide the evidence a while longer.
“You’re not alright,” Much said, his voice softening. He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. It was just that Robin was so… frustrating at times. Still supporting him with one arm, Much then passed Robin a cup of water. He steadied the cup as Robin drank watching him closely for any signs that could herald a turn for the worse. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? You had to play the hero. Always the hero.”
“You… want… me… to… just… stand… there… and… do… nothing?”
“Yes,” Much said, putting the cup down. He then shook his head. “No. I just wish you’d learn to be more careful.” He was worried; really worried. Right now, even talking seemed to be an effort for Robin.
Robin smirked lightly. A ghost of his old self briefly haunted his face. “And where’s… the… fun… in… that?”
“It won’t be fun if you get yourself killed,” Much chided, fastening a woollen cloak around Robin’s shoulders. Warm and dry. Not cold and wet.
This time Robin didn’t have a sarcastic comeback. “It… was… an… accident…, Much,” he said. “It… was…”
“An accident,” Much finished. “I know. So do you think you can stand?”
“Halfway… stand..,” Robin answered. It’s … pretty… cramped… in here. Also…”
“Also?” Much prompted.
“It… also… depends… on… who… you… have… waiting… for… me… outside.” Robin then tightened his grasp on Much’s arm. “Much…”
Much’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Stop… fussing.”
Much shook his head in despair. “You can be a real pain, you know that?”
Robin smiled again. “I know…  It’s…why…you… love…me.”
This time Much ignored him, refusing to rise to the bait. Though Robin was acting as if nothing were wrong, Much knew that it was all just a front. He knew how frightened Robin really was. He also knew just how much Robin hated anyone seeing him this… vulnerable.
“Ready?”
Robin nodded slowly, bracing himself for the agony that was to come. ~ iv ~

Getting Robin even halfway upright proved to be more difficult than Much first anticipated and by the time they came out of the shelter it was well past nightfall. Twice, the pain had been too much for Robin to bear and twice Much had decided that what they were doing was proving to be too dangerous. But Robin had been determined and, eventually, his stubbornness had paid off. A mixture of sheer willpower and pure bloody-mindedness getting him to his feet.
Seeing Much and Robin coming out of the shelter, the others sucked in a collective breath. They knew that Robin would look terrible but they never thought that he would look this terrible.
From where he stood with the horses, Roy shuddered. Robin looked like a walking corpse. Make that a corpse ‘trying’ to walk and failing miserably. A corpse that Much was having difficulty keeping upright. He watched as scrambling to his feet, Will ran over to take Robin’s weight on the other side.
“We’ve got you,” Will said.
“Will…,” Robin gasped. “It… wasn’t… your fault… Listen… to… me…, this… wasn’t… your… fault. O.K.?”
Will dipped his head. It was what he’d been waiting to hear all this time. Robin didn’t blame him.
Reaching out with his free hand, Much pulled the hood of Robin’s cloak over his head. Though the rain had eased to just a steady, light drizzle, every little thing would help right now. Within the last few minutes, Robin had started to shiver and it wasn’t because of the weather. As he did so, Robin slowly lifted his head and grinned; trying to tell all of them that he was all right; that he looked far worse than he felt. But no one believed him. To each of them, Robin seemed to be just fighting a losing battle. And, almost as if to prove them right, Robin’s legs then chose that very moment to buckle under him.
“Robin!”
But before Much or Will could lower Robin to the ground, Little John strode forward and gently lifted Robin into his arms.
“Watch his back!” Much shouted.
Little John frowned. Robin felt so light; so much lighter than before. Or was he just imagining it?
Much watched anxiously as Little John then carried the once more unconscious Robin the few steps to one of the waiting horses and put him into the saddle.
Roy quickly mounted up behind him. “Well, someone’s got to stop Lavender Boy from falling off,” he stated matter-of-factly. He then edged closer and wrapped his left arm around Robin’s waist, careful to avoid touching his back.
First Roy couldn’t give a damn about Robin; now this. Much opened his mouth to say something. He then thought better of it and shut it again, just thankful that Roy had ‘volunteered’. He would never have been able to do what Roy was doing.
“Ride as fast as you can,” Little John told Roy. “Don’t stop unless you have to. Allan, go with him. The rest of us will meet you there.”
Nodding once at Much, Roy then kicked the horse into a gallop.
Once the riders had disappeared into the darkness, Much went to gather his own stuff. “You have to stay alive, Robin,” he said to himself. Though a small part of him wanted to believe that everything was going to be alright, another part wondered if he would ever see Robin alive again. Since coming back to England, he had never felt so alone. “For my sake.”

~ v ~

“Sire, you sent for me.”
“Make ready. We leave within the hour.”
“Yes, Sire.” Bowing once, he then started to back out of the tent.
“Locksley.”
“Sire?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me where are we going? You usually do.”

…“Attack! Attack!”
“Protect the King! Protect the King!”
His world narrowed … Dear God, how had they got in?! His mouth turned as dry as the desert around him... The palms of his hands became slick with sweat... Everything took on a surreal bloody-red tinge. Heartbeats felt hours…
He barely flinched when metal struck metal… Barely heard the screams of the men dying around him....
…Seeing something glint at the corner of his eye, he then spun; blocked the sword aimed at the man beside him with his own; the force of the blow driving him to his knees…
As he went down, he thrust his own blade upwards…pulled it free. The assassin fell against him…Knocking the breath out of him...
Tasting blood in his mouth, he pulled off his helmet…
The blinding white, heat of day…

…blurring to the darkness of night…

The stench of blood and sand…

… once more turning to the freshness of rain and trees… He sagged forwards in the saddle still tasting blood.

~ O ~

~  Part Three  ~


~ The Outskirts of Kirklees ~

~ i ~

Robin slipped in and out of consciousness. He was barely aware of the horse moving beneath him… barely aware of the landscape going past him…  barely aware of his surroundings changing from forest to open grassland.

He reached out to her. “You’re just annoyed because they won’t let you enter. Come on, Marian. It’ll be fun.”

Cold night air caressed his skin…

She drew back in dismay. “Is that what you call it? Killing all those people. Fun?!” Her eyes filling with tears, Marian then slowly turned away from him. “Oh, Robin.”

…its chill blowing away the last cob-web traces of the dream. De Benoit had been right. The killing had grown easier. Robin shivered and it wasn’t just from the cold. He wasn’t the hero that everyone thought he was. He never had been. He doubted that he ever could be. He hadn’t saved lives; he had taken them. He felt the horse start to slow. It was the reason that, when he had returned home, he had sworn never to kill again.

~ ii ~

Roy slowed his horse to a stop; signalled Allan to do the same.
“What’s wrong?” Allan asked, fighting to control his own horse. He swore as the animal danced on the spot showing its annoyance at having to stop.
“Keep your voice down!” Roy chided softly. “Do you want every passing patrol to hear you? Time to check on Lavender Boy.”
Reaching over, Allan looked under Robin’s hood. “He’s barely conscious,” he said, lowering his voice. He then placed his hand against the side of Robin’s neck. “He feels hotter.”
“What about the wound?” Roy asked. He moved back in the saddle slightly to let Allan have a little more room to see.
As gently as he could, Allan pulled back the cloak. He hissed softly seeing the fresh stain on the back of Robin’s shirt. “The wound’s bleeding again,” he replied. “But not heavily.  The stitches must still be holding. What do we do?”
“Keep going,” Roy answered. “The sun will be up soon and like you said the Abbey’s his only chance.”
“Will he make it?” Allan asked. He was worried; really worried. Robin had done so much good in the short time that he had known him, that for him to just die like this was not right.
“He has to,” Roy replied. And though he would never admit it, right now he was beginning to worry too.

~ iii ~

“Come on, Marian. It’ll be fun.”
“Is that what you call it?” Marian glared at him. “I’m sorry, Robin, but I have better things to do than watch you win some stupid arrow.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Such as?” he asked tilting his head to the side.
“I’ll think of something,” Marian replied. “Maybe, I’ll wash my hair.”
Reaching out, he brushed an errant lock out of Marian’s eyes. “Me thinks that the lady doth protest too much,” he said softly. “Just say ‘yes’. I know you want to.”
Marian batted his hand away in annoyance. “And me thinks that someone is asking for a fat lip.”
His eyes widened. If looks could kill… “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.” Her face storm-dark, Marian left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

He woke with a start. Felt the horse under him, felt an arm around his waist. Why had they stopped? He shivered. He was so cold. Felt the wound start to throb again. So very cold.

~ iv ~

They could see the Abbey from here, and to the two exhausted riders, it was the most beautiful and welcome sight they had ever seen. Bathed in early morning sunlight, the Abbey looked so serene, so safe. They had stopped on top of the rise to catch their breaths but the sight of the Abbey had only taken it away again.
“We’re almost there, Lavender Boy,” Roy said quietly, urging the horse back into a walk. “So remember what I told you.”
“I’ll…try…,” Robin answered. “But…I’m… not… promising… anything.”
Roy was taken aback. Robin being lucid enough to talk was the last thing he had expected. “So you’re awake then,” he said quickly, trying to hide his shock. “It’s about time.”
“How… can… anyone…sleep… with…you…swearing…every…five…minutes?” Robin said. “What… did… the… poor… animal…ever…do…to you?” 
“Nothing,” Allan said. He was just as shocked and happy as Roy was to see Robin fully awake again. “With you asleep, he had no one else to snipe at. How are you feeling?” 
“Better,” Robin lied. “So… are… we… there… yet?”
“How would you like to get down and_” Roy froze.
“What…?” asked Robin. “What’s… wrong?”
“Shh. I thought I heard something,” Roy replied. Wait, yes. There it was again. And it sounded as if it was getting closer.
As one, Roy and Allan turned to look behind them. There, coming straight towards them.
“Not again,” Allan groaned. “Don’t they ever give up?”
“It’s… me… they’re… after,” Robin said. “Leave…me… here… Save_”
“Save yourselves?” Roy snapped back. “Just shut up and hold on.” He and Allan then kicked their horses forward.
They rode at breakneck speed down the side of the hill, going so fast that their mounts scrambled to keep their footing on the loose earth. The Abbey grew temptingly closer. Almost there… But suddenly more horses thundered across their path, appearing out of what felt like nowhere, to cut them off.
“Go the other way! Go the other way!”
Allan turned his horse to follow Roy but heartbeats later, the two of them almost collided with more men riding straight at them. They were surrounded; completely surrounded. Knowing that escape was now futile, the outlaws slowed their horses to a stop.
Gasping for breath, Robin slowly lifted his head. The pain was almost too much to bear now. And no matter how many times he locked it away in that small dark place that he usually did, it kept clawing its way out again. Suddenly his eyes widened.
“Gisborne,” Roy muttered in horror as a figure dressed from head to toe in black broke away from the other riders and rode towards them; his sword drawn.
“Get down!” Gisborne ordered, stopping in front of them.
Neither Roy nor Allan moved. 
“I said get down!”
Roy nodded once to Allan. “Be ready,” he said under his breath.
“No, don’t,” Robin said softly. “Don’t… Do… as… he… says.”
“Robin?” Roy was as stunned, as Robin had been himself, that Robin was still conscious after the chase. But he was even more stunned that Robin was so willing to surrender. Then again, thinking about it, he shouldn’t have been that surprised.
“Do… as… he… says,” Robin urged. “It’ll… be… O.K. Trust me.”
“You have changed, Locksley,” Gisborne said, as Allan and Roy unwillingly got down off their horses. “You never used to be so defeatist,”
“Sorry… to… disappoint… you,” Robin said sitting up straighter in the saddle. Gisborne was just trying to goad him. He watched as Roy and Allan were quickly tied up and dragged away to be loaded into a covered cart.  This was all his fault. Wait…. what did Gisborne mean by ‘You never used to be so defeatist’?
But Robin’s attitude only succeeded in angering Gisborne even more and his expression darkened further. “Get him down!” he yelled, dismounting and throwing the reins of his horse to a soldier.
Sucking in his breath, Robin did not resist as two soldiers pulled him out of the saddle and held him upright between them. White-hot pain blazed across his back as stitches first pulled then broke, making his vision waver, grey around the edges. He fought the encroaching darkness not wanting to give Gisborne the satisfaction of blacking out in front of him.
Smiling to himself, Gisborne walked slowly around Robin and the soldiers. “Well, Locksley,” he sneered. “Not so cocky now, are we?”
“Let… them… go,” Robin said, looking back unwaveringly. “It’s… me… you want.”
Gisborne shook his head. “Sorry, Locksley, but my orders are to bring you all back.”
“And you… always… do… as… you’re… told…, don’t… you?” Robin half-smiled unable to resist an opportunity to taunt the man. “L…Like… a… good… little… boy.”
Robin didn’t even blink when Gisborne raised his hand to strike him; he had expected it. But instead of hitting him, Gisborne stopped his hand less than a hair’s breadth away from his face. Robin’s eyes lit up ever-so-slightly in surprise. That he had not expected. His smile widened as Gisborne then slowly lowered his hand. “Looks…, I…was… right.” But what the hell was Gisborne playing at? Robin’s question was soon answered.
“My Lord Sheriff said that you had been injured, Locksley,” Gisborne said his voice full of false concern. “Let’s see, shall we, just how badly.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take off his cloak.”
Gisborne frowned as one of the men holding Locksley pulled off his cloak. There was no tell-tale sign of an injury on the front of Locksley’s shirt. It meant only one thing. Giving Robin a knowing smile, he walked round to stand behind him. A heartbeat later, the same soldier then tore away Robin’s shirt with a dagger, exposing the bloody, make-shift bandages underneath.
“That looks nasty,” Gisborne said, looking at the bandages. “It must really hurt.”
Knowing exactly what Gisborne was going to do, Robin steeled himself. He had seen it done to prisoners countless times before; he had even done it himself. He felt the soldier on his right hold on to him tighter in pity; take a firmer grip on his arm; saw the fleeting look of horror in the brown eyes before the soldier looked away. He closed his eyes… heard someone scream as Gisborne pressed his finger to the wound; scream as he slowly traced down the length of it then back up again.
“Why don’t you go back to the Holy Land, Locksley?” Gisbourne said using just enough pressure to cause excruciating pain but not enough to cause further damage. “People like you are not wanted here.”
Somehow Robin managed to dredge up the last of his strength to lift his head defiantly. “But… if… I… do…,” he spat. “Who…will… be… left… to… stand… up… to… people…like… you.”
Glaring at Robin, Gisborne wiped his bloody finger on his leathers. “Put him with the others.”
Robin did not even try and fight back as he was then half-dragged, half-carried to the cart; he was in no state to. He did not even notice when the same guard that had taken pity on him bent to pick up his cloak and put it around his bare shoulders. But even if he had been able to fight back, he would never have risked it. There was no telling what Gisborne would have done to his friends, orders or not, if he even so much as tried. Now if he had been alone_
“Robin!”
Robin blinked. Had he now started to see things? Inside the cart, sat beside Roy and Allan, were Much, Will and Little John. So they had been caught too.
“Robin?”
He heard his name being called again; this time more urgently. But the voice seemed so far away…

~ v ~

De Benoit stepped aside to reveal a body lying on the sand. “Look, what we caught, Locksley.”
His eyes widening, he moved tentatively forward as two knights pulled the body to its feet. He had never seen a live Turk this close to before. So far all the ones he’d seen had either been dead or targets on a battlefield seen from the safety of an archer’s vantage-point.

The cart lurched again throwing its six occupants around like a group of moppets. Five of the ‘cloth-dolls’ had their hands tied behind their backs and could only brace themselves for each jolt.

“Careful, Locksley,” De Benoit said making him jump. “Don’t get too close. He might bite you.”
He watched as one of the knights grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and pulled his head back. He winced. The bruised and bloody face that looked defiantly back at him was no older than his own. Lowering his eyes, he then gasped audibly seeing the ruins that had once been the man’s hands.
“Why break his hands?” he asked, curling his own hands protectively in on themselves.
“Because he’s even deadlier with a bow than you are, Locksley,” De Benoit answered, dropping a recurve bow at his feet.
The bow’s spine had been snapped in two, broken beyond repair, like her owner’s hands.
“He killed almost half my men before we got to him.”
Deadlier than him? He found that hard to believe. No one was that good. It was more likely that De Benoit had allowed those under his command to vent their frustrations out on the Turk when they had caught him.
“What will you do with him?” Though he already knew the answer he asked anyway.
“The King has enough captives to question, “De Benoit sneered. He drew his sword. “What do you think?”

And the sixth? Lying at their feet, huddled in a cloak, for the sixth, none of the jolts mattered.

~ The Courtyard, Nottingham Castle ~

~ i ~

“Where are you taking him?” Much yelled a couple of hours later, as Robin’s still half-naked and now seemingly lifeless body was unloaded from the cart and, none to gently, taken up the steps to the castle.
“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Vaizey said maliciously as the soldiers and Robin stopped outside the great wooden doors.
Unable to tear his eyes of Robin slumped between the two soldiers, Much’s desperation grew. He had to do something. Robin was going to die otherwise. He turned to face the Sheriff. “He’s hurt. He needs help. Please.”
“Pretty, please?” Vaizey mocked. “With sugar on top.”
Much looked away. What more could he do? He and the others had tried to save Robin by taking him out of Sherwood but had only succeeded in giving him up to the very man who wanted, more than anything else, to see him dead and, more than likely, they were going to die along with him.
Standing beside Much, the others hung their heads. They couldn’t bring themselves to look at Robin. Not now; not any more. Will especially. Despite what Robin had told him, if it hadn’t been for him none of this would have happened.
“All hope lost? Awww, never mind.” The Sheriff sneered nastily at the sorry-looking group in front of him. “Word of advice, my boys, you really should get yourselves a better leader. The one you have now is, how shall I put it, not very good at his job. How many times has he got you caught now? Don’t you think it’s getting rather predictable?” He glanced briefly at Robin again. “Besides, he’ll be dead soon so you will have to get a new one. Won’t you.”
Though, they wanted nothing more than to be able to help Robin; to fight back, the gang didn’t move; not even when the Sheriff gave the orders for them to be taken from his sight.
“Throw them in the dungeon,” Vaizey said boredom now more than evident on his face and in his voice. “Again.”
Stood beside the Sheriff, Gisborne nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”
Vaizey frowned. Something troubled him. Why hadn’t the other outlaws fought back? Was it because of Locksley? Was he was rubbing off on them? But what made them follow Locksley in the first place? And why did they care so much about what happened to him? Why were they so willing to risk their lives for him? It certainly wasn’t because they feared him. Could it be because that they actually loved him? Loved him for who he was, warts and all?
Unbeknown to him, the Sheriff wasn’t that far of from the truth. They hadn’t fought back because moments earlier in the cart, Robin had regained consciousness long enough to tell them that he was going to get them out of this and, for some reason, though they hadn’t really believed him, they had decided to go along with what he said. For the time being at least.
Gisborne too then looked up at Locksley. But no one apart from Vaizey noticed the unnatural gleam that suddenly lit up the dark eyes or the gloved hand that went to rest on his sword hilt. Vaizey frowned again. Gisborne truly hated Locksley. But why? He had seen the daggered-looks that Gisborne had given the outlaw every time the two had crossed paths. They definitely weren’t for the obvious reasons. There was something far deeper to it.
As the gang was then led away, each of them looked at Robin one last time, willing him; no, begging him, to raise his head. It was the only way of them knowing that he was still alive.
“Robin!” Will yelled. “Robin!”
Hearing his name, Robin managed to lift his head.
“Hold on, Robin!” Will yelled back. “Hold on!”
Robin barely nodded in reply and, with great effort, somehow even managed to flash a grin at them.
“What do you want done with Locksley?” Gisborne asked, once the courtyard was empty again. He didn’t care one way or another what happened to the rest of the outlaws. To him they were nothing more than a nuisance; an easily got rid of nuisance. Locksley though was a different matter.
“Have him taken to one of the old guest rooms,” Vaizey replied. “And send for Lucky to see to his wounds.”
“My Lord?” Gisborne was momentarily thrown off guard. Had he heard correctly? ‘Lucky’ Farr was Vaizey’s own personal physician. ‘Lucky’ to be still alive unlike her predecessors.
“You heard me, Gisborne,” Vaizey said. “And have guards posted outside the room. No one goes in or out without my permission.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Bowing once, Gisborne turned to leave. So Vaizey wasn’t planning on killing Locksley straight away. Good.
“Gisborne.”
But what was he planning for him? “My Lord?”
“That includes you, Gisborne.” Vaizey said. “You are to go nowhere near him. Unless I give you strict instructions to do so.”
Gisborne nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” Things were starting to look up.

~ ii ~

“Hold on, Robin.”

With the wound throbbing in time with his heartbeat and only just managing to still stay conscious, Robin allowed the soldiers to escort him down corridor after corridor. He smiled to himself, since being pulled down from the cart his legs had refused to bear his weight so without the two men to hold him up he would have simply fallen flat on his face. He could remember everything since waking in the cart just as it had stopped in the courtyard. He could even remember telling his friends earlier, on the way here, that everything was going to be all right and that he was going to get them out of this. But what was he doing going down corridor after corridor? He knew he was in the castle but where was he being taken? And why hadn’t the Sheriff just sent him down to the dungeons with the others? The breath caught in his throat. They had been taken to the dungeons, hadn’t they? He hoped against hope that they had and had not simply been killed as soon as he had been led away. But with no way of really knowing, hope was the only thing he could do. He knew only too well that he was the one that Vaizey really wanted; to the Sheriff the others were just an added bonus; an easily expendable added bonus. And_ The breath caught in Robin’s throat. Wait, he knew where he was. This was part of the castle’s old guest wing. He had stayed here years ago; before he had left for the Holy Land. So what special treat did Vaizey have in store for him?
Just as Robin was starting to think that they were never going to stop walking, the soldiers stopped outside a large wooden door. He smirked to himself seeing the men stood on either side of it. It looked like the Sheriff wasn’t taking any chances. Four men to guard one man; what an honour. He made a mental note to thank Vaizey the next time they met. But as the door to the room was then pushed opened and the two soldiers took him inside, the smirk vanished and his heart froze. Was he actually going to get out of this particular predicament alive? The door banged shut behind them, echoing ominously as it did so. To Robin, it sounded like a death-knell answer to his question.

“Hold on, Robin. Hold on.”

~ iii ~

Much drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Robin was going to die and, shut away down here in the dungeons, there was nothing that he or any of the others could do to stop it. During the journey here, Allan had somehow managed to free his own hands, allowing him to make the journey more bearable for Robin. It was then that Robin had woken and had told them that everything was going to be all right and that he had a plan. But though none of them had really believed Robin, they had unanimously then and there agreed not to try and escape; plan or no plan. With Robin so badly hurt; Robin would never have survived the attempt. Much hugged his knees tighter, rested his head down on his arms. He and Robin should never have come back to England. They had left one war only to be thrown straight into another. He fought back the tears. Why couldn’t Robin just leave things alone? Why did he have to keep getting involved? Why did he have to try and right every wrong? If only he had just kept quiet… Wait, may be this was the one time that he should have left things alone… The tears won.

~ iv ~

He had left one war only to be thrown straight into another. Taking part in the first had been of his own choosing; driven by the idealism of youth; taking part in the one that he was in now had been out of necessity. He could not have just stood by and watched while innocents were killed. He had seen too many innocents die already. But this particular battle was one he didn’t think he could win. Right now, he barely had the strength to even lift his head off the pillow. Putting him face down on the bed, the soldiers had left the room. He knew that they knew he was in no condition to go anywhere or do anything. Though his head told him to try and escape; his body had other ideas. It knew what he needed even if his head didn’t.

“Hold on, Robin. Hold on.”

He felt so weak… Letting his eyes close again, he once more surrendered to the darkness and the dreams that came with it.

He couldn’t breath. There was sand in his mouth; in his nose. His bare back burned, slowly scorching in the sun. One of the hands pinning him down then locked in his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. Sunlight glinted off metal…The scimitar arched down…

…taking on a life of her own. She was so different to what he was used to. Not straight and true like his broadsword but curved like a sliver of moon. So different and yet at the same time so… familiar. A part of himself he never knew he had lost till now. He lowered the sword.
“She’s beautiful, Sire.”
“And just as deadly. Made from pure Damascus steel. Can you read what has been written on the blade? Rumours tell me, Locksley, that you have been learning the language.”
“Yes, Sire,” he said smiling like a guilty child that has just had its secret found out. He tilted the blade so that the sunlight lit up the engraving. “Draw me not without provocation. Sheath me not without honour.” The words came to him easily. But to him, it was almost as if the blade herself had whispered the words in his ear.
Somewhat reluctantly he made to pass the sword back. But the man sat opposite him shook his head.
“She’s yours, Locksley. A gift from the head of Saladin’s personal guard, to the head of mine. They do you a great honour, Robin Hood.”

Robin Hood?
“Robin Hood?”
He could hear voices; sense people moving around him, smell the pungent aroma of burning lavender and other herbs. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids felt so heavy. His back throbbed dully… so tired… so weak…
“He doesn’t look that dangerous. The Sheriff says that he will no longer kill.”
… felt the coolness of a wet cloth against his neck and shoulders.
A hand carefully lifted his head…  The light pressure of a cup rim against his lower lip… Water trickled into his mouth… reminding him of thirsty he was. He sipped slowly, gratefully… It… it wasn’t water. The world melted…

~ v ~

May be Robin was already dead. Feeling a comforting hand on his shoulder, Much raised his head to see the others watching him wordlessly. But words would have been unnecessary; useless anyway, the looks on their faces said far more than words ever could. They were thinking what he was trying not to think. Standing, he walked over to the bars of the cell. He looked through them at the soldiers standing outside and at the wooden door that led back up to the inside of the castle. What had the Sheriff done with Robin? Was Robin already dead? His head told him yes. There was no way that Robin could have survived this long without help. But an incessant and very insistent little voice in his heart still told him no. No, Robin wasn’t dead. He was still alive and he was, by some miracle, going to get them all out of this. Much rested his head against the bars. Robin had to be still alive. If Robin died he would be totally alone. Robin was the closest thing to a family that he had. Hopefully, Robin wouldn’t be selfish enough to do that. He prayed that Robin wouldn’t be selfish enough to do that. Stay alive, Robin. You have to stay alive; if not for your sake then for mine.

~ vi ~

Sitting in the chair beside the bed, Vaizey looked at the bed’s occupant. He frowned. Maybe this wasn’t going to work after all. Lying face down on the bed, his upper body swathed in clean bandages; proper bandages, and layers of blankets covering him from the waist down, Locksley still looked more dead than he did alive. Cleaner and less bloody perhaps but nonetheless still half-dead which wasn’t what he wanted.
“So, Lucky?” Vaizey finally asked, taking a handkerchief from his sleeve and holding it up to his nose and mouth.
“He’s sleeping, My Lord,” the woman stood at the foot of the bed replied.
“I can see that!” Vaizey sniffed. He dabbed at his nose and mouth again with the cloth. Scented with lavender, the handkerchief would ward off any sickness that Locksley may have been carrying. Also, the stench of herbs being burnt in the room was so overpowering it made his nose itch. “Drugged, I take it.”
“Yes, My Lord” Lucky replied. “The wound had to be cleaned; restitched. It would have been inhumane to do it whilst he was still awake.”
Vaizey laughed at the woman’s forthrightness. “Lucky, Lucky, still not afraid to speak your mind. Not like the simpering fools before you. So how soon before he’s back on his feet?”
“My Lord, I’ve done all I can,” Lucky said looking down at the sleeper. “It’s up to him now.”
“That’s not the answer I was looking for,” Vaizey admonished, irritatedly. “I asked how soon?”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Lucky said. “But he’s young; strong. If he lives through the night and infection doesn’t set in, a week may be ten days.”
“Good.” Vaizey stood. “But remember, Lucky, your life depends on him surviving. If he dies then so to do you.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Lucky answered calmly. She had, over the months, grown more than used to the Sheriff’s threats. They were just that; threats. She was too valuable to be just killed off like that. And she knew that Vaizey knew that she knew.
Vaizey looked back at the still form. “I know Locksley,” he said. “He will try and escape given the slightest opportunity. Keep him drugged.”
Lucky nodded. “Yes, My Lord. But he can’t be kept drugged for ever.”
“Then do what you have to,” Vaizey said. “Shackle him to the bed for all I care. I do not want him escaping.”
Lucky nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”
Vaizey paused at the door. “Oh, and when he wakes and asks about his friends and about what he’s doing here, you will tell him nothing. Do you hear?”
Lucky smiled ‘graciously’. “Yes, My Lord.”
“In fact,” Vaizey continued. “Thinking about it, you will not speak to him at all. If you or your assistants say so much as one word to him it will be the last word any of you will ever say.”
Lucky desisted from rolling her eyes. “Yes, My Lord.”

~ vii ~

Softness under him… Warmth… He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids still felt as if they were made of stone… The smell of burning herbs again… A familiar, coppery tang in his mouth… Such an effort to open his eyes... But… Somehow… Everything was blurry; unfocussed… A soft white pillow… His vision slowly sharpened… His bare arm close to his face. He was lying on his stomach on a bed. He raised his eyes, he didn’t have the strength to do anything else. A heavy wooden chair. A fire burning in a fireplace. Stone walls… He could feel blankets; warm blankets, covering him from the waist down… So tired… His upper body was bare… Nottingham Castle… He was in Nottingham castle… He remembered. Where were the others?! What had happened to them?! Were they still alive?! He tried to lift his head but couldn’t. His back began to throb dully with the movement. More voices… But he could only make out the odd word here and there…. What were they… Once more liquid was trickled into his mouth. He couldn’t fight it. Why did they keep drugging him? Was is it to stop him from escap…

De Benoit clapped him hard on the back. “It’s good to see you, Locksley.”
He smiled, he didn’t much like de Benoit but he smiled anyway. The man was nothing more than a bully. “When did you arrive?”
“Just before sunrise.” De Benoit replied.
“How many?” He asked. The more reinforcements that De Benoit had brought with him the better.
“Two hundred.”
Dear God, that wasn’t enough; no way enough. And how many of them would be… “How many archers?”
“Fifteen.”
His eyes widened. “Fifteen! Is that all?!”
“It was all he could spare.” De Benoit then grinned. “Don’t look so glum, Locksley. I have a gift for you.” De Benoit stepped aside to reveal a body lying on the sand. “Look what we caught.”

~ viii ~

Putting the goblet back on the table, Lucky stepped back from the bed. She shook her head in disbelief. So this was the thorn in the Sheriff’s side. But why, if he hated him so much, was the Sheriff keeping Locksley alive.

~ ix ~

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Will asked, finally saying what they had all been thinking ever since they had been brought down here. How long had they been down here?
“He was barely alive when we got here,” Allan replied.
“The Sheriff probably just left him to die somewhere,” Roy said. “For the fun of it.”
Much wished that they would just shut up. Right now, he wasn’t sure which of the voices inside him to believe and the three of them weren’t helping. But they were probably right. How could Robin have survived? Memories flooded back. The last time he had seen Robin this close to death was when Robin had been injured at Acre foiling an attempt on the King’s life. Robin had almost died then, and from the looks of it, he was now trying to accomplish what he had failed to do all those months ago.
Robin had had only a few hours rest in Sherwood before they had moved him again. Much shuddered. It hadn’t been enough. Despite what Robin said to the contrary, Robin was not as tough as he liked to think he was or as tough as he made out to be. For as long as he had known him, Robin had thought that he was invulnerable. Well, may be this would be proof that he wasn’t.
“So what do we do?” Will asked.
“We get out of here,” Roy said. “That’s what we do.”
“How?” Allan said.
Roy did not answer. Where was Robin when you needed him?

~ x ~

Her eyes filling with tears, she slowly turned away from him. “Oh, Robin.”
“Marian, don’t go. I’m sorry. Marian, please.”

~ xi ~

“Marian, please.”
Lucky watched anxiously as Locksley moved restlessly in his sleep; calling out the girl’s name for the third time. Concerned that he was beginning to take a fever, she put her hand on Locksley’s forehead. She sighed in relief. Thank God. He was still cool to the touch. He was still only dreaming; still only talking in his sleep. He had been doing it for the past hour or so now; his words mainly English but sometimes mixed with something else she didn’t understand. And always the same name over and over.
Earlier, when the nightmares had been particularly vivid. Lucky had worried that Locksley would roll onto his back aggravating his injury and she had thought about restraining him; using the shackles the Sheriff had suggested. But the thought had only been a fleeting one. She had, just as quickly, thought better of it. She had heard stories of men who had returned from the Holy Land suffering from similar night terrors and if Locksley was anything like them then restraining him would have done him more harm than good, especially if he’d ever been taken prisoner when he was out there.
“Marian,” Robin murmured. “I’m sorry. I had to go.”
Sitting down in the chair that Vaizey had sat in before, Lucky drew her legs under her. She would do the only thing she could do. Watch. Watch and wait. Despite the Sheriff’s orders, she was also loathed to give her patient more of the sleeping draught. It was better that his sleep was natural. She would watch and wait… Lucky jumped as the door to the room opened slowly and a soldier entered carrying a tray of food.
“The Sheriff’s compliments,” the soldier said, putting the tray down on the table.
Lucky smiled lightly recognising the soldier as one of those ordered to guard Locksley. “He’s too kind,” she said sarcastically. “Thank him for me.”
“Thank him yourself, Lucky,” the soldier said. Movement from the bed, then made him glance across at Locksley’s sleeping form. “Will he make it?”
“I don’t know, David,” Lucky said. “To tell you the truth. I really don’t know.
Still unsettled but still sleeping, Locksley tried to raise his head. “I’m sorry, Marian.”
“Marian?” David asked in surprise. “The Lady Marian?”
“I think so,” Lucky answered. “He keeps calling for her.”

~ Knighton Hall. The Following Morning ~

Dusting her hands on her skirt, Marian opened the door. Whoever who had been banging on it for the past few minutes had sounded so desperate. She would have opened the door sooner but she had had to get out of her Nightwatchman leathers first and one of the ties had proved more stubborn than usual to undo.
“Siobhan?” Marian’s eyes widened in recognition seeing the woman stood crying on their doorstep. “Siobhan, what’s wrong?”
“You must come, My Lady. They’ve taken him to the castle.”
Taking the woman by the arm, Marian quickly but gently pulled her into the house and closed the door behind her.
“He’s badly hurt,” Siobhan sobbed. “They’ve taken him to the castle. You have to come, My Lady.”
“Who?” Marian asked, filled with a sudden feeling of dread. The woman wasn’t making any sense. Father?! No, not her father, her father was seeing to the horses. She had spoken to him only a few minutes ago. “Siobhan, who?” Instead of diminishing, the feeling of dread was now only growing worse. “Siobhan?”
Unfortunately for Marian, Siobhan didn’t seem to have heard. “You’ve always been good to us, My Lady, I had to come. David told me not to. He said it was too dangerous. But I had to come. We both owe you so much. I had to come. He’s been asking for you.”
“Siobhan, who?” Marian said firmly trying to stay calm. She took the woman’s hands in her own. “Who’s been hurt?!”
“Robin Hood, My Lady.”
Marian blanched. ROBIN?! No, not Robin. “Are you certain?” Dear God, please. Not Robin. Not Robin. “Siobhan, are you certain it was Robin Hood.” She had to stay calm.
“Yes, My Lady,” Siobhan nodded. “David, my husband, he’s in the Sheriff’s guards. He was one of the men that caught him and took him to the castle.”
Marian could barely breathe. So the rumours that she had been hearing in Nottingham about one of the outlaws being badly hurt in a fight were true. But Robin?! Not Robin. Please not Robin. Let it be some horrible mistake. “Robin?”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Marian’s eyes lit up as a small glimmer of hope suddenly flared inside her. “And his friends?” If she could find them, then maybe, just maybe…  “The other outlaws?”
Siobhan shook her head. “In the dungeons, My Lady. They were caught too.”
The glimmer died and Marian shuddered. She had to think but she couldn’t do it with Siobhan there. Opening the door, she ushered the woman outside again. She had to think. “Go, now. Quickly, before you are seen. And thank you for coming to tell me. You risked a lot and for that I am grateful.”
Siobhan tentatively touched her arm. “He’s been asking for you. He’s dying, My Lady.”
Dying? Shutting the door behind Siobhan, Marian leaned heavily against it. Why did it have to be Robin?! Of all the stupid_ She had to see him. But how? How was she going to get into the castle?  It wasn’t somewhere she could just go to whenever she wanted to. She had to have a reason. And, to the Sheriff, wanting to see Robin was probably the worst one. Besides it would put Siobhan and her husband in too much danger, especially if the Sheriff found out that they were the ones that had told her where Robin was. So what was she going to do? Was Robin dying? She had to see him to know for herself. But if Robin was heavily guarded, which he would be, how was she going to get past the guards? And if Robin was badly hurt then an immediate rescue was out of the question especially with his friends prisoners too. She lent her head back against the wood, the ‘ifs’ and ‘hows’ making her dizzy. She raised her hands to rub her temples… froze seeing the gold around her wrist. There was something she could do.

~ O ~

~Part 4~

~ Nottingham Castle. Two Days Later… ~

~ i  ~

Much glared at Will for the umpteenth time that day. If Will said just one more time that he wasn’t sure whether Robin was still alive or not he was going to thump him. Hard. “He promised us that he was going to get us out of here. And he has never broken his promise.” Much looked up as Roy sat down beside him.
“Much is right,” Roy said. “He is still alive.”
“What makes you so sure all of a sudden?” Allan asked. “And why do you care? You never really cared whether Robin lived or died before. You’ve only ever cared about your own neck.”
“And it’s because of my own neck that I know he’s still alive,” Roy answered, for once, not rising to the bait. Tempers had started to fray over the past few hours and with no one to take their frustrations out on, they had started to take them out on each other. “If Robin was dead then we would be too.”
But Will was still not convinced. “So then where is he?”

~ ii ~

“So will you miss me?” he asked.
Marian glared at him. “Grow up, Robin.”
“But you may never see me again,” he said softly, putting on his best ‘beaten puppy look’.
To Marian, it didn’t make any difference. “Good.”
“Marian?”

“Marian?”

~ iii ~

Two days. Marian quickened her pace trying to keep her anger in check. He had kept her waiting for two days. At first, she had been desperate. For as long as she could remember, she had never felt so helpless; so useless. And even though Siobhan hadn’t returned to Knighton Hall to tell her any differently, Robin still could have died in those two days and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything to prevent it. Desperation had then turned to anger.
As she hurried down the gravelled path, Marian was barely aware of her surroundings. She was so angry with him. Once, a long time ago, she had used to love the castle gardens. She could still remember the many happy hours she had spent playing in it as a small child then running around its maze when she was older. She smiled sadly. The latter had usually been with Robin in hot pursuit. She shuddered as Siobhan’s words rang in her head again. ‘He’s dying, My Lady.’ Dear God, why Robin? Why did it have to be Robin?
Almost there; she was almost there. She had chosen the gardens to try and make her feel better but it hadn’t worked. Right now, they meant nothing to her. They were just the means to an end. Also meeting here, where everyone could see them, would raise far fewer eyebrows than meeting inside the castle would have. Her heart began to beat faster. She could see him from here. He was already waiting for her. This had to work. Everyone knew just how much he loved her. It was more than obvious. But the love was totally one sided. And she would now use it to her advantage.
Seeing Marian approach, Gisborne got up from the bench he had been sat on. He bowed graciously. “Marian.”
“Guy,” Marian said. To her, Gisborne looked like the proverbial cat who had got the cream.
“As you can see,” Gisborne said. “I got your message.” He smiled lightly. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Marian smiled back sweetly. She hated all this pretence but knew she couldn’t just come out and tell him why she had wanted to meet with him. This was one game she had to play whether she wanted to play it or not. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” she said.
“But why did you want to meet me?” Gisborne pressed. He gestured around him. “And here?”
“Everyone can see us here,” Marian replied.
“Are you afraid that people will talk?” Gisborne asked. “About us?”
Marian shook her head. “No,” she said. “Everyone already knows how you feel about me.”
“Then?” Gisborne took a step closer to her. “Why are you here, Marian?”
“I think you know,” Marian replied, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.
“Tell me anyway,” Gisborne said.
Marian could see from Gisborne’s expression that he was starting to enjoy himself. “I know he’s here,” she answered. She knew she wouldn’t have to say his name. She was right. Gisborne’s expression changed in less than a heartbeat. He looked at her, his eyes dark now with anger and was it… jealousy?
“Who told you?”
Before she could stop herself, Marian exhaled in relief. “Then he is here.”
“Who told you?” Gisborne pressed.
“Does it matter?” Marian answered. Though, Gisborne was angry she knew that it wasn’t with her. Her heart fell. Had she just made things worse for Robin by coming here? Reaching out, she touched the back of Gisborne’s gloved hand. “Will you let me see him?”
Gisborne pulled his hand back as if stung. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you?”
Marian shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”
“Then why do you want to see him?”
Desperately trying to think, Marian lowered her eyes. “Because I need to make my peace with him,” she said finally. “I need to ask his forgiveness for all the wrong I’ve done him.”
“And what about all the wrong that he’s done you?” Gisborne said. “Or don’t you care?”
Marian did not answer. Finally, she somehow found the strength to look at him again. “Will you take me to him?”

~ iv ~

“This time we’re going to have to get out of here on our own,” Allan said. “Then go find Robin.” He had only just stopped himself from adding ‘if he’s still alive’. He too knew only too well just how useless they were without Robin.
Hoping for inspiration, Allan looked around the cell, at the bars, at the guards standing on the outside then finally at each of his friends. Roy, Little John, Much and Will. Of course! Much and Will. His eyes lit up. “I know how to get us out of here,” he said quietly, not wanting to be overheard by the guards. “Much, how much do you want to thump Will?”

~ v ~

After what felt like a lifetime to Marian, she and Gisborne at long last reached the room in which Robin was supposedly being held; ‘supposedly’ because, she still had no way of really knowing whether Robin was actually a prisoner here or not.
Two guards stood guard outside the huge wooden door, their hands resting on their swords. Seeing them; no, seeing Gisborne, they immediately came to attention.
Marian felt Gisborne’s hand alight on her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
Marian nodded. “Yes.” But what would she see?
Gisborne nodded to the guards. “Open the door.”
The guards did not move.
“I’m sorry, My Lord,” one of the guards said. “But the Sheriff gave us strict orders that no one was to enter without his consent.” Looking at Marian, the guard then gave her a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement. Recognising David, Siobhan’s husband, Marian nodded back just as imperceptibly.
Gisborne eyes darkened again. “And I am ordering you to open the door,” he said. “Do not make me have to tell you again.”
The guards still did not move.
Drawing his sword, Gisborne took a step towards the two men. “I said open the door.” 
But before Gisborne could do anything else, the two guards stepped aside; David unlocking the door and pushing it open as he did so. David tried not to smile. Let Gisborne think that they were obeying him. The real reason that first he and then his companion had stepped aside was that he had seen the pain in the Lady Marian’s eyes. Despite him telling his wife not to say a word to anyone, Siobhan must have told her that Robin Hood was here. Why else would she be here?

~ vi ~

“Not even a goodbye kiss?” he said undeterred. He had always loved a challenge.
Marian shook her head. “In your dreams.”
He smirked at her. And Marian was the biggest challenge he had known. “I’ll see you tonight then, My Lady.”
Marian turned to go. She looked annoyed and… upset. He gently grabbed her wrist; held it.
“Why do you see everything as a joke, Robin?” Marian said pulling away. “What am I going to do with you?”
His smirk widened. “But that’s just it. You’re not doing anything with me. Except in my dreams that is. So, no kiss?”
“No.”
He bowed. “I’ll say goodbye then, My Lady.” Maybe he shouldn’t have wound her up. But he couldn’t help it.
“Goodbye, Robin.”

“Marian, no. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Wait. Marian. Marian.”

~ vii ~

“Marian?”
“I’m fine,” Marian whispered feeling Gisborne’s hand on her shoulder again. Deep down though, she was far from fine. She took an involuntary step back as the smell of burning herbs hit her. The sweetness of lavender, blackthorn, meadowsweet and camomile mingled with others she didn’t recognise; herbs that were more common in places of healing than in castle guest-rooms.
Still standing in the doorway, still afraid to enter because of what she would see, Marian looked around the room.
The room was sparsely furnished unlike the other guestrooms in the castle. Beneath the window was a simple wooden table on the top of which there was an array of bottles, a large wooden bowl, a pair of scissors, mounds of soft cloths and rolls of bandages.
Marian blanched seeing a large ball of grey-white thread with an equally large needle stuck through it. She swallowed. Had Robin’s injury been that severe that it had needed stitching? Quickly brushing the thought aside, she averted her gaze to the other side of the room and the lit fireplace. There was a large wooden bed beside the fireplace but she could only see its foot end the rest of it was obscured by a chair and the still partially closed door. Seeing Marian still hesitating, David pushed the door open wider.
Dear God! The breath caught in Marian’s throat. Lying face down on the bed, his upper body swathed in bandages, was Robin. Was he alive? Siobhan had said that he was dying. From here Marian couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even see if he was still breathing. There was no give away rise and fall of his back. Unable to take her eyes off him, she went into the room. Please, let Robin be alive. And though she could sense that Gisborne was barely a step behind her, she ignored him. He didn’t matter any more.
“Who?” a voice said suddenly, making her jump.
Marian watched as getting up from the wooden chair, a woman then came towards them. Tall and slimly built, she was no more than a day past thirty, if that, with reddish gold hair that reached to past her shoulders. With the back of the chair facing them, neither she nor Gisborne had been aware that there had been someone, apart from Robin, in the room. The woman seemed just as taken aback to see them. But despite her surprise, she quickly curtsied, smiling at them.
“My Lady,” the woman said. “Sir Guy.”
“Marian,” Gisborne said. “This is Lucky Farr. The Sheriff’s own personal physician. Lucky, this is the Lady Marian”
Unable to tear her eyes away from Robin’s still form, Marian nodded distractedly in acknowledgement but she did notice that when Gisborne had said her name, the woman’s eyes had widened ever so slightly.
Lucky too then turned to face the bed. “He’s only sleeping, My Lady,” she said reading Marian’s thoughts. “I have been giving him something to take the edge off the pain so that he can sleep peacefully.”
“Is he in a lot of pain?” Marian asked trying her utmost to stay calm. You can’t stay out of trouble for even five minutes can you, Robin?!
“Only when he tries to move,” Lucky said. She smiled lightly. “Which is often.”
Marian echoed the smile sadly. Trying to move when he shouldn’t. That sounded like Robin. As long as she had known him, he had never done as he was told.
“He is also a very restless sleeper, My Lady,” Lucky said, tucking the blankets tighter around Robin. “He’s been having bad dreams; nightmares ever since he was brought here.”
Seeing Lucky make Robin more comfortable, a strange and unfamiliar pang of jealousy shot through Marian and she put her hands behind her back not knowing what to do with them.
“My Lady,” Lucky said lowering her voice. “I think you should know. He has been calling your name.”
“Calling my name?” Marian was shocked. Robin had been calling her name?
“Yes, My Lady,” Lucky replied.
And nightmares? She never knew Robin had nightmares. She then remembered what Much had told her all those weeks ago when he had come asking for her and her father’s help after had Robin given himself up to the Sheriff. ‘In the Holy Land, my Master had dreams. He spoke your name.’ “My name?” she said again.
“Yes, My Lady,” Lucky said.
Marian looked back at Robin, though she was dreading the answer to what she was going to ask next, she had to know. “He is going to be alright, isn’t he?”
“It’s still too early to tell, My Lady,” Lucky said. “He has lost a lot of blood. But he is young; strong and, so far, there’s no sign of infection or fever.”
“Is there nothing more you can do for him?” Marian pressed.
“I’ve done all I can, My Lady. It’s up to him now. All we can do is wait, watch…” Lucky hesitated. “…and maybe pray.”
Marian moved closer to the bed. “Do you know what happened to him?”
“From the rumours I’ve been hearing he and his friends were involved in a fight two days ago. He took a wound to his back. From a sword or an axe, I think. He was fortunate that it was only a glancing blow.”
“Marian?”
Marian jumped again. She had been so preoccupied watching Robin and listening to Lucky that she had forgotten that Gisborne was in the room with her. What was wrong with her? And why, all of a sudden, was she being so easily startled? She wasn’t usually like this.
And being so preoccupied neither Marian nor Lucky had noticed Gisborne’s hand go to his sword when Lucky had said that she thought Robin would live. Neither of them had seen him clench the hilt when Lucky had told Marian that Robin had been calling her name; they hadn’t seen his hand tighten seeing Marian’s expression.
Gisborne smiled at her. “Marian, you told me that you wanted to make your peace with Hood. Would you like a few moments alone with him?”
Marian was speechless. Was Gisborne actually suggesting that she could be alone with Robin without her having to ask him? It was the last thing she had expected him to do. The sooner she knew what Gisborne was playing at, the better it would be for her and for Robin. She watched as
Gisborne then took Lucky by the arm and led her towards the open door.
“Come, Lucky.” Gisborne lowered his voice so that only Lucky could hear him. “Let us give them some time alone.” He dipped his head closer to Lucky’s. “And if you so much as breathe a word of this to the Sheriff. I will kill you myself.” No, he didn’t always do as he was told. He was willing to do anything for Marian even if it meant disobeying Vaizey himself; even if it was allowing her to be alone with Hood. Gisborne smiled to himself. Well, it would be for the last time.
Barely hearing the door close and lock behind Gisborne and the woman, Marian knelt on the floor beside Robin’s face. Tears welled; spilled. She let them. Robin looked so fragile; so vulnerable lying there. So different to how he usually looked. And he was so pale. Marian shuddered. Corpse-pale. She touched his arm thinking that he would wake; wanting him to wake; willing him to wake. But Robin didn’t stir.
“Robin?” She pushed away tendrils of sleep-tousled hair away from his face. “Robin, can you hear me?” She begged him to open his eyes. She couldn’t bear seeing him like this; something inside her shattered. She still loved him. Touching his face, she leaned closer. She could feel his breath warm and whisper soft against her skin. She still loved him. Barely able to breathe, she moved closer still and, before she could stop herself, she brushed her lips against his. She still loved him. The kiss, tentative to begin with, then became deeper. It was filled with regret; after all these years, had she found him only to lose him again? and… longing. She still loved him. Was she going to lose him? As if in answer, Robin slowly opened his eyes.
Marian pulled away quickly. “Robin?”
But though they were open, Robin didn’t even know she was there. The ice-blue eyes were still sleep-filled; unfocussed. Where was the brightness that usually shone from their depths? Where was the impish light she was so used to seeing in them? It was as if someone had snuffed them out without even a second thought.

~ viii ~

“Protect the King!”

“Robin?”

Pressing his hand to his side, he pushed himself to his feet again. He had to protect the King…

“Robin?”

He staggered…

“Robin, can you hear me?”

… as his vision blurred... turned to a soft gold.

Robin slowly opened his eyes. The breath caught in his throat. There, in front of him, halo-ed by golden light was an Angel. She was so beautiful. She looked like… Was he dead? He had to be. But Heaven? He never thought that he would go to Heaven. Not after all the things he had done. Was that why the Angel was crying, because he didn’t belong here?
“Robin?”
She knew his name. She looked like… “Marian?”
Smiling sweetly at him, the Angel put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
“Am… I… dead?”
The Angel shook her head. “Shh. No, you’re only dreaming. Go back to sleep.”

~ ix ~

He had looked so haunted. Old eyes in a young face. ‘He’s been having bad dreams, nightmares ever since he was brought here’. Marian stayed beside Robin till she was sure he was actually sleeping again. She didn’t want to even begin to imagine what horrors he must have been reliving. Standing, she then dried her eyes and lent against the chair, her thoughts nothing more than a tumbling confusion. Her mind had begun to race so fast that she could barely think straight any more. She had to get Robin out of here but how? Also, he couldn’t be moved straight away, so when? And why was the Sheriff having his own personal physician see to his wounds? And were Robin’s friends still actually in castle dungeons? Were they actually still alive? She had to do something; for him. But what could she do? And just how far was she willing to go? Just how much was she willing to sacrifice? Taking one last look at Robin, she then went over to the door and knocked on it for the people on the other side to open it again. Seeing Gisborne still waiting for her, she bit her lip. Why did he have to still be here? He was last person she wanted to be around right now. Gisborne touched her arm.
“Marian?”
Shaking her head, Marian put her hands to her face and ran past him. Let him think whatever he wanted to. She had to think and the best place for her to do that was back at home. Alone.

~ x ~

“The next guard change will be just after they’ve fed us,” Allan said.
“You call that slop they’ve been giving us food?” Much was aghast. “I wouldn’t give it to pigs. O.K. so I don’t have any pigs. But I wouldn’t give it to them if I did have any.”
Allan ignored him. “We have to be ready. It’ll be when it’ll cause the most confusion. This had better work,” he then said, almost to himself. “Because if it doesn’t we’re seriously buggered.”

~ xi ~

Soft, late afternoon sunlight filled the room. Feeling her warm fingers dance across his back, Robin woke and for the first time, since in he did not know how long, he did not feel the need to go straight back to sleep again. Or at least, he thought he woke. He was finding it hard to tell any more whether he was really awake or whether he was still dreaming. Had the chill of outdoors really become the warmth of indoors? Had the hard ground he usually slept on really become the softness of a bed? Had the warmth of his cloak really become the luxurious warmth of thick blankets? And had Sherwood Forest really turned into the inside of Nottingham Castle? And… He put his fingers to his lips…
“Marian?” Her name was whisper-soft.
…the kiss had felt so real.

“Not even a goodbye kiss?”
“In your dreams.”

Nothing made sense any more. But one thing he did know was that he had slept long enough. Gritting his teeth, Robin slowly raised himself onto his elbows but he collapsed again almost instantly. Gasping for breath; his vision white with agony, he gripped the pillow begging for the pain to abate. He couldn’t take much more of this. What use was he to himself, let alone anyone else, in this state?
The last time he had felt this bad was when he had been wounded at Acre. Now, like then, the pain had taken over. But if that wasn’t enough, he was also so weak that he could not even keep his eyes open for more than a few moments at a time. Even when those moments coincided with the touch of hands on his back or a goblet of either water or herbal tea being held to his lips, he did not have the strength or, more worryingly, the will to do anything except just lie there or take a few sips.
Robin’s breathing steadied as the pain gradually lessened once more. He had been lucky; incredibly lucky. He could have easily been killed by the axe-blow. He smiled humourlessly to himself. It would have been so ironic if he had been killed in a simple accident after surviving five years of brutal fighting.
His smile then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He hated being like this. He hated being so incapable; hated being so vulnerable. And, for the first time, since returning to England he was actually afraid. He didn’t want to die like this. There was so much he had still left to do, so many people who were still depending on him; so many people still counting on him to help them; his friends for a start; if they were still alive. But how long had he been here? Days and nights had merged into one. Were the others still alive? They had to be. Just as there had to be a way out of here. He had to get out of here! But how? And unarmed! He looked at the window. No, not the window. Definitely, not the window. The window would be stupid even for him. The state he was in he would never make it over the ledge let alone down the other side. He needed to think. But what was he doing at the castle having his wounds seen to, of all things?! He looked towards the table. May be there was something there that he could use as a weapon or what if he_  A key turned in the lock. The door then opened and unknown footfalls approached the bed.
Robin watched the woman come closer. Who was she? She wasn’t someone he knew or had even seen before.
Seeing Robin awake and watching her, the woman smiled at him.
“Hello, Sleepyhead. So you’re finally awake.”
Somehow, Robin managed to smile back. She was also incredibly pretty. “How…?” His voice trailed off. After not being used in so long his voice was dry, hoarse. It was also barely audible to even his own ears.
“Wait,” the woman said. Going over to the table, she poured what looked like water into a goblet. Seeing Robin eye the goblet suspiciously, she shook her head laughing. “It’s only water,” she said, coming back to the bed. “Honest.”
Kneeling beside Robin, the woman gently lifted his head to help him drink. Little did he know that by speaking to him, the woman had just disobeyed the Sheriff’s third and final order.
Despite the pain the movement caused, Robin drank gratefully. Icy cold, the water tasted so sweet that he quickly drained the goblet.
“Thank you,” Robin said lying down again. He was beginning to feel more human. The water was also starting to dispel the last traces of tiredness. “How long have I been here?”
“Just over two days,” the woman answered her bright green eyes filled with genuine concern. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” Robin said. And this time, he was actually telling the truth. Though the wound throbbed. It was only a dull throb now. It only made its presence felt, blazing into life, when he moved. “Just… tired.”
“You lost a lot of blood,” the woman said. “It’s why you’re still feeling so weak. It’ll pass in a few days. The wound is clean and there’s no sign of infection so you just need to take things easy for a while. Are you in much pain?”
“No,” Robin said. Right now the pain was the last thing on his mind “I’m sorry, my friends… My friends were with me when I was brought here.”
“Your friends?” the woman asked. “The other outlaws?”
“Yes,” Robin said quickly. “Do you know what happened to them? Do you know where they are?”
The woman nodded. “They’re still being held in the dungeons.”
Robin’s heartbeat quickened. “They’re still alive?! All of them?!”
“Yes,” the woman answered. “As far as I know.”
“Thank God,” Robin sighed with relief. He looked at the woman. “Thank you, I…” He paused. “Wait. Who are you? I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Jacqueline. But people here call me Lucky. I’m the Lord Sheriff’s personal physician.”
“His physician?” Robin’s eyes widened in shock. Now that was a turn up for the books. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.
“Yes,” Lucky replied. “He was the one that ordered you to be brought here. And for me to see to your wounds.”
Robin was stunned. Why? Vaizey hated him. Why would he order anyone, let alone his own personal physician, to see to his wounds? Vaizey wanted him dead as much as Gisborne did. Robin yawned. All of a sudden, he felt so tired again. He tried to fight it. So what was the Sheriff playing at? More importantly, how was he going to get them all out of here? There had to be a way out of here. As Sleep then took Robin into her arms once more, she softly whispered the first few words of a plan to him; promising to tell him the rest as he slept.

~ xii ~

Balling his fist, Much punched Will in the face, sending him flying across the cell. “You killed him!” he yelled. “You killed him! He saved your life and you killed him!”
Wordlessly, Will raised his hands trying to protect face from the blows raining down on him.
“If you hadn’t been so stupid, Robin would be alive!” Much lashed out again. “I hate you!”
“Much, I’m not going to fight you,” Will said, still refusing to defend himself. “I will not fight you!”
Seeing Will still not fighting back, Allan quickly put himself between Will and Much. “Much, leave him alone!”
“You stay out of it!” Roy grabbed the front of Allan’s shirt and pulled him aside. “It is his fault that Lavender Boy’s dead!”
“No! You stay out of it!” Allan yelled, shoving Roy away from him. “No one asked you!” He then winked, seeing the guards running towards the cell. “Here they come.”

~ xiii ~

Marian returned to the castle later that afternoon, almost at the exact same time that the outlaws were putting their escape plan into action. Once she had got back to the security of her own room, it hadn’t taken her long for her to decide what she had to do. But first, she had to see Robin one last time. Hoping that no one would see her, she literally ran down the corridor. With luck, David would still be on guard duty and he would let her see him again. Suddenly, Marian froze. Quickly ducking behind the nearest pillar, she then held her breath.  Heading towards the room was a black clad figure. Had he seen her? Marian turned white with fear but it wasn’t for herself. The anger on Gisborne’s face was as dark as his clothing.  Marian moved away from her hiding place. She knew exactly what Gisborne was planning on doing and, right now, she was the only one that could do anything to stop him. ~ xiv ~

Hearing shouting in the corridor, Robin once more tried to push himself on to his elbows but, once more, he crumpled as pain shot across his back. Through the whiteness, he saw Lucky running towards the door. She looked terrified. What was happening?!
Lucky banged on the locked door. “David, what’s going on?! David?! David, open the door!”
His heart hammering against his ribs, Robin tensed as the shouting outside grew louder. Fight or flight?! He heard metal strike stone; fists hit flesh.
Looking back at Robin, Lucky put her finger to her lips and pulled a pair of scissors from her apron pocket but as she did so the fighting on the other side of the door suddenly stopped and everything went deathly quiet.
To Robin and Lucky the silence seemed to go on forever. Holding out the scissors as if it were a dagger, Lucky took a step back as a key then turned in the lock. She glanced briefly at Robin before looking back at the door.
Robin held his breath, though she had only looked at him for an instant, Lucky’s expression had said it all; told him everything he needed to know. He was in trouble.
The door burst open.
“Sir Guy.” Lucky sighed in relief, lowering the scissors. “Thank God, it’s you. What_”
“Get out,” Gisborne yelled, glaring at her. “Now!”
Robin’s eyes widened in horror as realisation struck, unlike Lucky, he could also see the two bodies lying in the doorway. 
Lucky did not move. “Sir Guy?”
“I said get out!”
Grabbing Lucky by the arm, Gisborne dragged her to the door and literally threw her out of the room. Lucky fell against the two guards trying to get back on their feet. As all three went down in a tangle of limbs, Gisborne closed the door and locked it from the inside.
Fight or flight? Ignoring the pain, Robin tried to get off the bed. Fight or flight? He had to get out. Gisborne was here to kill him.
“Here. Let me help you.”
Grabbing Robin by the shoulder with one hand, Gisborne flipped him over on to his back and pinned him to the bed. He smiled evilly at him as he then took one of the spare pillows and slowly lowered it over Robin’s face.
NO! Robin tried to push the pillow off. But Gisborne was too strong. He couldn’t breathe.
“It will look as though you died in your sleep, Hood,” Gisborne said calmly, pushing down on the pillow. “Died from your wound.”
He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t breathe!
“And it will be my word against Lucky and the guards. Who do you think the Sheriff will believe, Hood? Who do you think Marian will believe?”
To Robin, the hatred in Gisborne’s voice was almost tangible. But with the pillow over his face what he couldn’t see was just how livid Gisborne was.
And Gisborne was livid! Marian still loved Hood. After all this time, and despite her denying it, she still loved him. He had seen it in her eyes only too clearly. After all this time, she still loved him.  And that love made Gisborne hate Robin all the more. The sooner Robin Hood was dead the better.
He couldn’t breathe. Gisborne was too strong. He couldn’t breathe!
“Stop fighting, Hood,” Gisborne said. “Why prolong the inevitable?”
He couldn’t breathe! His lungs were going to burst. He couldn’t breathe! Maybe if pretended… Robin slowly let his body go slack. He couldn’t… But Gisborne didn’t fall for the ruse and pressed down on the pillow harder. He couldn’t breathe! Everything began to blur…
“You never could best me, Hood,” Gisborne taunted.
He couldn’t breathe! Gisborne’s voice was starting to sound so far away.
“Not then and not now.”
Not like this! Not now!
“There’s something I need to tell you, Hood. Something you need to know.”
Not yet…
“Before you go.”
He hadn’t told her… He hadn’t said the words… He hadn’t told her that he still loved her_
“Marian is mine now.” Gisborne smiled in triumph as Hood finally stopped struggling and his body went limp, this time for real. The smile widened. Robin Hood was dead. Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon, Head of the King’s Personal Guard and the King’s Favourite was finally dead. After all these years, he was finally dead.
“Gisborne!”
Gisborne froze in shock. Vaizey?! What was Vaizey doing here?! Dropping his hands to his sides, Gisborne turned round slowly; turned round to see the Sheriff, the two guards and Lucky standing in the room. How?! How had they got in?! He had locked the door from the inside. The door! Marian! Marian was standing in the doorway. Her face was white with shock. She must have seen everything! Had she seen him smothering Hood?! She must have!
To say that the Sheriff was furious would have been an understatement. Vaizey’s expression was thunderous. Gisborne had never seen him so angry. But instead of yelling at him, Vaizey simply nodded at Lucky.
Not even glancing at Gisborne, Lucky ran to the bed and pulled the pillow away from Robin’s face. Unseeing blue eyes stared back at her. “Dear God!” They were too late! Kneeling beside the bed, she desperately checked for any sign that Robin could somehow still be alive. He had to be alive! He had to be! She hung her head.
“Lucky?” Vaizey said still watching Gisborne. He was slowly starting to lose his patience. “Is he alive or isn’t he?” 
Reaching out, Lucky closed Robin’s eyes. “He’s dead, My Lord,” she replied softly. She looked away from the body. “We’re too late.”
NO! Standing outside the room, Marian slide down the doorframe. No! Her legs would no longer hold her. No! Not Robin! Please, No! Not Robin! Sagging against the stone, Marian began to shake. Not Robin! Please, not Robin! She buried her face in her hands. Too late! She’d been too late! Robin was dead?! He couldn’t be dead! He shouldn’t be dead! Not Robin! She hadn’t told him! She hadn’t told him that she still loved him! She wanted to go into the room, but she couldn’t. Now, she never would tell him. Not Robin! Not Robin! She had raised the alarm but she had been too late! Why hadn’t she confronted Gisborne herself instead of going for help! This was her fault! Her fault that they were too late! She should have stopped him! Robin was dead and it was her fault.
Lucky clenched her fists at her sides as anger slowly began to replace the sadness.
“So do something,” Vaizey said, anger beginning to colour his own voice. “Remember what I told you, Lucky, if he dies then so do you. And you won’t be alone on the scaffold. Right, Gisborne? This is the last time you disobey me.”
Gisborne stayed silent. All that mattered to him was that Hood was finally dead. 
“He’s not breathing.” Lucky clenched her fist harder but what could she do? She was an excellent physician but not even she could raise the dead. She wanted to hit something; someone. She didn’t want to die. And what had Locksley done to warrant Gisborne killing him like this? And after she had fought so hard to save him. He had survived horrific injury only to die like this. This was wrong. All life was sacred to her. It was why she had become a physician. And now_ Lucky wanted to rave at Gisborne; tell him exactly what she thought of him but she didn’t. She couldn’t. It wasn’t her place. She didn’t want to die.
“Damn you, Robin Hood, don’t you die on me!” Not thinking about what she was doing, Lucky brought her clenched fist down on Robin’s chest. “Don’t you dare die on me.” Heedless to the tears starting to run down her face, she hit him again; harder. “I don’t want to die!” She didn’t want to_  And again.
A gasp filled the room; a sudden breath in-drawn. Stunned, Lucky stopped her hand in mid-air. The gasp was followed by another and then another. Oh, my God! He was breathing! He was breathing!
“He’s alive!” Lucky shouted, laughing in relief, tears streaming down her face. “My Lord, he’s alive!”
Robin alive?! Marian slowly lifted her head. Did she say Robin was alive?! Alive? How?!
Vaizey moved closer to the bed. “Well done, my girl,” he said patting Lucky on the shoulder. “Amazing what a little incentive can do.” Vaizey then turned back to Gisborne. “Tut, Tut, Gisborne,” he chided. “You disobeyed me. I told you not to come in here without my permission and you didn’t listen. Go now. I’ll deal with you later.”
Gisborne’s face was storm-dark. How could Hood be alive?! He had killed him! He had seen him die! How could he be alive?! It wasn’t possible. “But My Lord, I_”
“Don’t ‘but My Lord’ me, Gisborne!” Vaizey shouted. “I told you to leave. Now! Before I have you thrown out. And close the door behind you.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Still seething, Gisborne left the room. He almost ran straight into Marian as he did so. He stared straight ahead of him. He couldn’t even look at her. He didn’t want to see the horror and dismay on her face.
Just before the door closed behind Gisborne, Marian caught the Sheriff’s eye. “Thank you, My Lord,” she mouthed. Robin was alive! Robin was alive.
Robin was alive and, slowly, he opened his eyes. He could breathe! The pillow was gone! He could breathe. His eyes widened in panic. Gisborne! He had to get away! Gisborne was trying to kill him! Putting his hands on either side of him, Robin sat up; swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had to get away!
Pain engulfed him. 
Can’t breathe!
Hands caught him…
Can’t breathe…
Supported him….
Can’t breathe…
Held him…
Can’t breathe…
Held him till the pain subsided… Held him till he could breathe again.
“What are you trying to do?” a woman’s voice gently chided. “Undo all my hard work?”
Robin raised his head. “Lucky?”
Lucky glared at him. “Don’t ever do that again,” she scolded. Checking on the wound, she then eased Robin back on to the pillows. “Now, don’t move. That’s an order.” She tucked the blankets back over him. “How you managed not to split the stitches again, I’ll never know. May be they should start calling you Lucky and not me.”
Robin never heard her. Gisborne! He had tried to kill him! Where was he?! “Gisborne…” he gasped. “Where’s Gisborne?!”
“He’s gone,” Lucky replied. “You’re safe.” Standing, she then went over to the table and lent against it.
“Yes, Hood, you’re safe,” Vaizey said coming to sit on the chair beside the bed. “Right now, Gisborne is probably sulking in his rooms because I wouldn’t let him kill you.”
Robin tensed, the pain had been so all-consuming that he hadn’t even noticed that the Sheriff was in the room. He looked to the closed door. He also hadn’t noticed the two guards; the self-same guards that had escorted him here all those days ago standing on either side of it. But on the inside now. He shrugged. Oh, well, out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Vaizey leaned forward, resting his elbow on the chair arm. “This is cosy,” he said. “And somewhat familiar, wouldn’t you say?”
“Horribly,” Robin answered. So why had Vaizey saved him? Again. Vaizey hated him. He thought he’d had Vaizey sussed, only for him to go and do something like this.
“I know what you’re thinking, Hood,” Vaizey said. “I know exactly what’s going around in that head of yours. You want to know ‘why’, don’t you? You want to know why I saved you. Twice. You want to know why I went to so much trouble to keep you alive.”
For once, Robin didn’t know what to say. Vaizey’s behaviour was seriously starting to worry him.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Vaizey said. “Save you the trouble of having to figure it out for yourself.” Vaizey made himself more comfortable in the chair. “Let’s just say that my life has become far more interesting since you came. And I don’t want the fun to end; not just yet. And not like this. Not while you’re so, how shall I put it? quite so ‘helpless’. Where would the fun be in that? Don’t get me wrong, Hood. I do want you dead but I want to be the one to kill you. You’ve become I thorn in my side but I want to be the one to remove it and at a time of my choosing.”
Robin grinned. So that was why Vaizey had saved him. It explained everything.
“I knew you would appreciate the irony of it,” Vaizey said, seeing Robin grin. “Being saved by the one who wants you dead.”
Robin nodded. He did appreciate the irony. “And now that you’ve got me where you want me,” he said. “What do you have planned for me? Imprisonment? Torture? Or is it something more… creative?”
Vaizey shook his head in despair. “You always think it’s about you, don’t you?”
Robin smirked. “Well, isn’t it? So what are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to let you go, Hood,” Vaizey said. “Let you go back to the forest where you can play at being an outlaw again.”
“You’re just letting me go?” Robin asked. “No terms? No conditions? Nothing?”
“That’s what I just said,” Vaizey replied. “May be you still have cotton wool in your ears from the pillow.” Vaizey got up from the chair. “Oh, and by the why, in case you’re wondering, I postponed the Archery contest. It’ll be held at Nottingham Fair as usual. In… what is it? Oh yes, three months time. Should give you enough time to heal, shouldn’t it? Or do you need longer?”
“Why?” Robin asked.
“Because it wouldn’t be the same without you,” Vaizey replied. “Now enough chit chat. If you think you are strong enough, I think it’s time for you to leave.” Vaizey’s expression then darkened. The Sheriff’s moods were as mercurial as Robin’s. “But remember the next time we meet I might not be quite so friendly.”
Robin shook his head. “I’m not leaving without my men.”
“Oh, very well. Your men too.” Exasperated, Vaizey turned to the guards. “Release Hood’s men. They should be trying to escape right about now. Am I right?”
“Unharmed,” Robin said.
Vaizey sighed. “Like he said. Have them wait in the courtyard. Hood might be a while.”
“Yes, My Lord,” one of the guards said. He hurriedly left the room, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out.
Shaking his head in sheer frustration, Vaizey looked to the remaining guard. “Well, don’t just stand there, like an idiot. Help him. Do I have to tell you everything?!”
But as the guard came forward to help Robin. Lucky tried to stop him. “David, no,” she whispered.
“Not now, Lucky,” Vaizey said, waving her away.
“Yes, My Lord, now,” Lucky said. “I must protest. He shouldn’t be moved. His wound isn’t healed.”
“It’s healed enough for him to leave,” Vaizey said. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sometimes, Lucky really pushed her luck. “Hood has already overstayed his welcome.”
“But, My Lord,” Lucky pressed.
“Not ‘buts’, Lucky,” Vaizey threatened. “You’ve started to try my patience.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Lucky said biting back what she really wanted to say. It was at times like this that she seriously considered a career change.
Shrugging at Lucky in defeat, the guard held out his arm to Robin. “Ready?” David whispered so that only Robin could hear him.
Robin nodded. “Yes.” The sooner he was out of here the better he would feel.
Gritting his teeth, Robin used the guard’s arm sit up again. He sucked in his breath as the wound flared to life. He closed his eyes trying to shut out the pain, desperately trying to think of something; anything, other than how much it hurt.
Long moments later, moving to Robin’s other side, Lucky then pushed aside the blankets and helped him slowly swing his legs over the side of the bed. Lucky watched him closely, alert for any signs that it was too much; too soon.
Robin winced as his bare feet touched the stone. The floor was freezing!
“Wait a minute,” Lucky said.
Leaving Robin sitting unsteadily on the bed, leaning against the guard, trying his damndest to stop shaking, Lucky got Robin’s washed and mended shirt and his boots from beside the fire where she had left them earlier. With David’s help, she then helped Robin put them on. The boots were easy. The shirt took longer and by the time they were finished, Robin’s face was whiter than the sheets he had been lying on.
“Ready?” David said again, once Robin’s breathing was back to normal again or as back to normal as it was going to get.
Robin nodded again. He had been wrong about the pain being bearable. It wasn’t.
“Slowly,” Lucky said. “Take your time. There’s no hurry.”
Taking a deep breath and with Lucky and David on either side of him, Robin slowly, oh, so stood.
“We’ve got you,” David said tightening his hold on Robin as he tottered.
“You’re doing well,” Lucky added. “Now stand there a moment. We’re not going to let go. Give your legs time to adjust to taking your weight again. How do you feel? Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“No,” Robin lied. “I’m alright.” His body wanted nothing more than to be able to lie down again but his head had other ideas.
With Lucky and David still supporting him and the Sheriff still watching him, Robin then took his first proper steps in two days. One step followed another, each one as faltering and as unsteady as the one before.
Stopping at the door, Lucky then let David take Robin’s full weight. “I have to stay here,” she said. She briefly glanced at the Sheriff before looking at Robin again. “Good luck, Robin Hood.”
Leaning forward, Robin kissed Lucky on the cheek. “Thank you, My Lady,” he said. “I’ll never forget what you did. I owe you my life.”
Lucky dipped her head, blushing. “It was my pleasure.”
Robin winked at her. “No, the pleasure was all mine.”
“Oh, someone pass me a bucket,” Vaizey said, coming over to Robin, Lucky and the guard. “I think I’m going to be sick. And what about me, Hood? Aren’t you going to thank me? If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead now. You seem to have forgotten who it was that ordered Lucky here to fix you?”
Robin looked down at his feet. “Thank you,” he said finally and very grudgingly. “Just don’t expect me to kiss you.”
“Sorry,” Vaizey said. “I didn’t quite hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”
“Thank you,” Robin said louder. He then frowned as Vaizey started to laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“I bet that really hurt, Hood,” Vaizey replied. “Having to thank me.”
Robin grinned back. “You’ll never know how much.”

~ xv ~

“So where are they taking us?” Will asked.
“Where do you think?” Roy snapped.
Walking behind them, Much hung his head. They had failed. They had failed and now they were going to hang. “I’m sorry, Robin,” he said. “We tried.”
But how could they have failed? And fail so badly? It had all gone so well to start with. They had managed to overpower the first lot of guards with hardly breaking a sweat but the ones that had come after them had proved harder to deal with. And the ones that had followed them had proved impossible. It was almost as if the guards had been waiting for them to try and escape.
As they were taken down the steps and out into the courtyard, Much felt Little John put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Him, I liked,” John said sadly.
“Me too,” Much said. “More than he’ll ever know.” He swallowed seeing the scaffold.
“Liked?” A very familiar voice said. “I’m not dead yet!”
Much looked up. What?! He rubbed his eyes seeing the two figures coming towards them; one of them leaning heavily against the other. It couldn’t be. His grief was making him start to see things. But if he was starting to see things, then so too were the others. They were all acting as shocked and surprised as he was.
“ROBIN!”
Robin and the guard, he was leaning against, stopped in front of the stunned outlaws.
“We thought you were dead,” Allan said laughing with relief. “What happened?!”
“They thought you were dead,” Much protested unable to contain his joy. “I didn’t. I knew you were alive. I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen.”
Seeing Allen glare at Much, Robin smiled to himself. Some things never changed.
“So where have you been, Lavender Boy?” Roy asked. “Getting yourself fixed by the looks of it.”
“Something like that,” Robin answered. The gang was back together again; all of them.
“You still look terrible, though,” Roy added. 
“Thanks,” Robin said sarcastically. “And you can’t get rid of me that easily. The proverbial bad penny, remember?”
Little John growled under his breath. “I was right the first time. Him, I do not like.”
As Little John then moved forward to take Robin away from his escort, their own escort moved away from them. Now what was happening? Fearing trouble, and though they were unarmed, the outlaws formed a protective circle around Robin. Robin was on his feet, but he was still in no condition to defend himself. He couldn’t even stand without help. But the soldiers didn’t move. What the Hell was happening?
Still on guard, Much glanced at Robin. “How are you feeling?” he asked worriedly. Though, like the others, he was overjoyed to see Robin still in one piece, Robin’s eyes were still pain-filled. He was also sweating badly from the effort of trying to stay standing. Thinking about it, Robin even now, two days later, still looked more dead than he did alive.
“Stop fussing, Much,” Robin replied, wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “I’m fine.” Catching David’s eye, he then nodded his thanks. Not all of Gisborne’s men were that bad. David smiled back.
“No, you’re not fine,” Much said. “You should be resting.”
“Get me my bow and I’ll prove to you how ‘fine’ I am,” Shrugging off Little John’s arm, Robin tried to notch an imaginary arrow to an imaginary bow and pull back the string; tried to being the operative words. Pain shot across his back and he clutched at Little John’s arm, feeling his legs start to buckle. May be that wasn’t so clever after all.
“I told you,” Much glared as he supported Robin on the other side. “It serves you right for trying to show off.”
“So what happened?” Will asked. “Where have you been?”
“Yes.” Allan said. “Where were you?”
“Long story,” Robin answered. He blinked as his vision began to blur slightly. “I’ll explain later. Let’s go home.”
“Home?” Much said now starting to worry about Robin’s sanity for real. “How?”
Robin grinned. “The Sheriff’s letting us go.”
Allan was stunned. “Letting us go?”
Robin nodded, still grinning. “Yes.”
“Just like that,” Roy said.
“Yes,” Robin said. “Just like that.”
“Why?” Much asked.
Robin shrugged. “No idea,” he replied. He had decided that he wouldn’t tell them why the Sheriff was letting them go. For one, they would never believe him and two, the less they knew the safer it would be for them.
“And you believe him?” Roy said.
“Yes,” Robin said.
“You really are crazy,” Roy said. “You know that.”
“My master is not crazy,” Much said, jumping to Robin’s defence. Like Little John earlier, Much then changed his mind. On second thoughts… “No, wait. He is crazy.”
As the others were then trying to decide whether Robin really was crazy and whether this was just another of the Sheriff’s plans to kill them, Allan tapped Robin on the shoulder and pointed up at one of the castle windows.
“Robin, look.”
Shielding his eyes against the sunlight, Robin looked to where Allen was pointing. Marian?! Had he started to see things? No, she was real. She smiled sadly at him; so sadly that Robin felt something break inside him. He touched his fingers to his lips. Had it been a dream? It must been. Marian would never have kissed him. Not for real; never for real.
“Master, we have to go,” Much said. He turned away, he couldn’t look at Robin’s face. The pain in the blue eyes was no longer just because of the wound to his back.
“Yes, Robin,” Vaizey said appearing behind Marian. “You have to go.”
Unable to tear his eyes away from Marian, Robin didn’t answer. Neither did he move.
“Oh, and there’s a cart waiting outside the gates for you,” Vaizey continued. “The Lady Marian and Lucky managed to convince me that it wouldn’t be a good idea if I made you walk back to Sherwood. Your weapons are inside it.”
“Robin, we have to go,” Little John said, physically leading Robin away. “Now.”
Robin hung his head. It was only a dream; only a dream.

~ O ~

EPILOGUE

~ Sherwood Forest. A Month later… ~

“So what is it this time?” Roy asked. “Bread? Cheese? Fruit?”
“Chicken,” Allan answered as he tethered his horse to the nearest tree. “And some cider.”
“We tried to refuse,” Will added, taking out the said items from his saddlebag. “But they wouldn’t listen.”
“How much longer are they going to keep this up?” Much asked. “They can barely feed themselves.” Hearing footfalls, he looked up.
“They’ll keep doing it till they can see for themselves that I’m back on my feet,” Robin said coming into the clearing.
Seeing the recurve bow and quiver in his Robin’s hand; his scimitar belted at his waist, Much shook his head in defeat. So much for trying to tell Robin to take things easy. He sometimes wondered why he ever bothered, Robin never listened to him anyway. Much shuddered. And not listening had very nearly cost Robin his life.
“I’ll go into the Locksley this afternoon,” Robin said, gingerly sitting down. He winced. He was healed but not that healed. “Nettlestone tomorrow. Enough’s enough. This has got to stop. Now.”
As soon as they had found out that Robin had been seriously injured and had almost died trying to defend someone, the people Robin had helped before were now helping him in the only way that they knew how, by leaving food for him on the outskirts of the forest or giving it in person to his friends when they went into villages. The people wanted Robin fit and well again because without him, they knew that there would be no one else to stand up for them or protect them.
“And what if the Sheriff’s having the villages watched?” Much asked, echoing the wince. “What if it’s another trap?” He could still see the pain all too clearly in Robin’s eyes even though Robin kept denying that he was in any pain.
“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” Robin said. His heart skipped a beat at the prospect of a trap. Please let there be a trap. More than once, during the past month, he had thought of slitting his own wrists out of sheer boredom. “Besides, if it is, it’ll give me a chance to thank the Sheriff properly for saving my life.”
His friends groaned. If Robin had thought that the past month had been hell for him; it had been even worse for them. Robin had been the worst patient ever. And, if that wasn’t enough, as soon as he’d been able to walk unaided again, Robin had every chance that he had got, no matter how many times they tried to stop him, taken himself off deeper into the woods with his weapons. It was where he had been earlier. Robin was willing to die trying to defend someone else but being unable to defend himself and having to rely on someone else to protect him was something he couldn’t bear.
“Are you sure you’re up to it, Lavender Boy?” Roy asked. “Sure you can stay on that horse of yours?”
Robin smiled lightly. “Roy,” he said, putting his hand ‘dramatically’ over his heart. “You do care. I’m touched.”
Much fought the urge to say. ‘Yeah, in the head’.
Roy glared back at Robin. “Why you little_”
“Language!”  Robin chided, trying not to laugh. A slow smirk then lit up his face.
“What?” Much asked. “What are you thinking?” Not again. “Whatever it is, please stop thinking it.”
“Why?” Robin asked ‘innocently’. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No!” Five voices said in unison.
“I only was thinking that maybe I should hold off going into the villages a while longer,” Robin said.
“Why?” Much asked worriedly. “Don’t you feel well enough?”
“I’m fine, Much,” Robin said reassuringly. Much worried way too much. The way things were going he was going to worry himself into an early grave. “It’s just that I’m getting used to being fussed over. May be I should get hurt more often.”
No one answered him but sensing movement, Robin instinctively looked up. He saw the others moving slowly but deliberately towards him; their expressions… murderous.
“Then again, may be not.” Robin stood slowly, holding his hands up in surrender. “It was a joke!” But his friends kept on coming. Damn, stand your ground and try to talk your way out or…. RUN!

Fade To Grey…

"Son, when you grow up, Will you be the Saviour of the Broken, the Beaten and the Damned?"
{‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ ~ My Chemical Romance}


 
 
 
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