Work Text:
Robin sat beneath the tree. His chest hurt. No his heart hurt.
Seeing Marian impaled on Guys sword haunted him.
The wind silently whipped at his hair. The breeze made him feel alive. It reminded him of his mission, but what was the point? With Marian dead there was no point.
She had died for her country, for her king. It still didn’t ease the pain.
Much had tried to help him, but he had pushed him away. He always pushed Much away when he need him most.
He could see them all at the camp, and could smell Much’s cooking as the scent drifted its way towards him.
Slowly he stood up. Marian would have wanted him to continue. If he stopped fighting her death would have been in vain.
The memory of her death, how she lay there and said her vows. How they had been married, and the ‘till death do us part’ had been swift.
He didn’t know if he could fight, he could feel the bow in his hand, but shooting with it was another matter. He didn’t want to cause anymore death in the world. There had been too much.
As he sat down round the camp fire Much arrived at his side offering him dinner in the form of burnt meat, ‘Master, cooked it myself so it’s the best in all of England’ he said, the pride evident in his voice as his chest swelled.
Robin laughed, as did everyone else.
Looking up at the group, he knew he had to keep fighting.
D’jaq cried out ‘we are…’
‘ROBIN HOOD’ came the throaty reply.
Smiling he laid back and laughed again. It felt like there was a deep hole in his soul that could not be filled, he felt poor without her presence. But as he laughed at Much acting like a mother hen, fussing over everything, he could feel her spirit in the forest, watching them and rooting for them.
‘The human race, in its poverty, has unquestionably one really effective weapon--laughter.’ Mark Twain