Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to the BBC, etc. I don't own it. I only wish I did.
I wrote this oneshot quite a while ago and forgot about it. This is very obviously AU to the series in general. Personally, I rather like it. That being said, please let me know what you think by reviewing!
It was dark. It seemed rather fitting, in a way. Even the stars seemed subdued above her head. That, too, seemed rather fitting, given the news she had received only hours ago. It would be better if it rained, though, she thought. That would be the most fitting – even the heavens should be mourning.
Lady Marian, almost lady of Locksley and Huntingdon, sat by the window of her bedroom. Knighton Hall was gloomy. It was well after nightfall and she knew her father had long since gone to bed. He would rise early to continue his work as Sheriff of Nottingham.
Her blue eyes were visibly red-rimmed, even in the dim lighting. The few candles she was burning only added to the gloom. They were her favorites, but it seemed like a poor day to think of them as that. It was two weeks after her seventeenth birthday. A year ago at this time, she had still been betrothed. Then he had left.
She regretted it now. When Robin had told her that he was leaving to go to the Holy Land with King Richard, she had become angry with him. She had screamed demands at him, wanting to know why she was not worth it to him to stay with her. She had gone so far as to take off her betrothal ring and throw it out the window as he looked on. Anger and hurt – betrayal, even – had been the predominant emotions racing through her at the time.
Now she understood, in a way. He had gone so that he could do his duty to the king, and also because he loved her. In a way, he had fought for her, even if she had not known it. He wanted glory, yes, but he wanted to prove that he was able – and willing – to protect her, too.
It was too late now. It had been too late for months. Every bit of joy that she had regained had been shattered when the dust-covered and travel-weary former manservant had opened his mouth to speak.
It was not Much's fault. He was only a messenger. It was not his fault that the news that he bore was only bad. It was not his fault, she kept telling herself. She knew that it was true, but she could not help blaming him for what he had told them.
Robin was dead. He had taken a knife to the ribs during a battle near Acre. King Richard's own physician had attempted to save him – Robin had saved Richard's life by taking the knife. But nothing could have saved him by then. It had been a mortal wound. They had only prolonged his suffering.
For three days, he had suffered, fevered and weak, before his body had given out. Much told her that he had cried her name, even after the fever had taken him and his words were no longer his own. When the fever had been at its worst, he had begged for her, Much had said. He had wanted her there.
He had woken on the third day. It had only been for a moment, but he had been coherent enough to speak and make his final requests. He had granted Much his freedom, thanked him for his service and friendship (called him his brother, even) and asked him to carry a message to her – to tell her that he had loved her, even to his dying breath.
Then… Then, he was gone. He died, just like any other soldier would. His renowned marksmanship with a bow meant nothing. All of his skill with a sword was worthless. He had still died, just like all of the others who had died in that war. Now he was laid to rest in a grave unmarked but for the shield he had carried in the name of his king.
That thought scarred Marian more than a little. She did not want to admit it, but even then, she did not know how to live in a world without Robin. Even when he had gone away, he had still lived – that alone had been enough for her. Now, she was not so sure. With Much gone, and a new lord at Locksley (a cousin of Robin's from the southern coast of England), everything seemed empty. And loathe to admit it as she was, she still loved Robin, despite that he had chosen to leave her behind for war.
Thoughts flew at her as she stared out the window, leading her in a thousand different directions. What would life truly be like without the hope that Robin would be coming home eventually? It would be dark, Marian told herself. Dark and lonely. Just like it had been when her mother had died.
The darkness would vanish eventually; it always did. No matter how far it had crept in, she had always managed to move on. She would move on this time, too. She had to. He would have wanted that, though he might never have, had the situation been reversed. Robin had never been one to completely let go of anything, after all.
It was in the darkness of this night that Marian truly found any solace for the moment. She did not expect it, however, when warmth flared over her cool skin, startling her. She whirled, just as the candles flared and flickered.
He seemed to stand there in blue-white finery, as solid as he should have been if he had really been there. He smiled faintly at her, giving his handsome face a cast that was heartbreakingly close to life.
"Always, my love," he whispered. Then he was gone. Her candles went out in that instant, leaving her in the dark. Tears slipped down Marian's cheeks while her chest seemed to physically ache. He was gone – forever. Gone, gone, gone. In the dark of the night, she was certain. He was not watching over her. He had abandoned her in life, by dying, and in death, by failing to prove that it was just a foolish joke.
Darkness reigned ever after during that night as she mourned Robin of Locksley. She had loved him and he had been taken from her too soon. Perhaps if he had lived they could have married when he had come back. Their lives might have been different then.