The Show Must Go On by Rosa17
Warning: possible spoilers.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
My version of Series 3, perhaps time wise starting halfway through what would be season 3.
Part 1
They said time was a healer but as far as Robin could see time made no difference at all. He woke up drenched in sweat as another nightmare which had him reliving Marian's death, tore at his very existence. The regular breathing and soft snores, told him that Allan, John and Much were still sleeping. He shifted in his bed and told himself to breathe. When his heart didn't feel as though it was about to jump out of his chest, he dared to think about the dream. It was a usual type of dream and he had had them ever since she had passed away in the Holy Land. That was months ago. They had been back in Sherwood for a while now. The whole place seemed empty somehow, just like him. He was empty, empty of life; his life had gone with Marian, when she died.
Life back in England was much as it had been before. Black Knights still frequented the Castle. Robin and his men, such as they were still robbed those who passed through the forest. Robin had avoided the Sheriff and Gisborne as much as possible; it was easier to blank out Marian that way. They had had encounters, but when they did it was kept to a bare necessity. Vasey was still as ready as ever to see him dead. And Robin and Gisborne could not stand the sight of each other as it brought Marian to the surface once more.
Robin knew that things would come to a conclusion soon; he was here in England to represent the King. Although according to Prince John and the Sheriff he was still an outlaw. He had a job to complete for the King, to protect and save England until the King's return. But more than that, he had made a vow to Marian that he would keep fighting, which was proving one of the hardest things of all.
"NO!" The man shouted and he sat up, breathing hard as reality took over his dream encased mind.
He slipped out of bed and opened the shutters and the cool breeze of the summer's night wafted over him and cooled him. Marian, she had haunted him in life and now she was haunting him after her death. It had been over half a year and yet he could not get over what had occurred from his brain. It seemed to infiltrate it and stay there. Silly things reminded him of her, and he hated her for it. Hated, that he thought he loved her. Hated, that he spent so much time trying to get her to love him, when it turned out she loved Robin Hood all along. Hated, that she confessed that she loved Robin, in an attempt to stop him killing the King. But most of all he hated himself for killing her. He had thought about the day so many times over the months, tried to reason with himself that he killed her so that Robin couldn't have her either. But nothing, nothing would erase and take the guilt away. The Sheriff didn't help; he still taunted provoked him about that day. Cajoling him to believe it was for the greater good, that they would receive power and England. But what was power and England when he was so overcome with guilt, shame and remorse that hung like a heavy blanket over his soul?
Robin was out of the camp by the time the gang woke, when he returned they were eating their breakfast. Much pushed a plateful, in Robin's direction, he gave his trusty friend a half hearted smile. The conversation was of the plan for the day ahead, nothing more. There was no joviality, no teasing, that too had gone since they had returned from the Holy Land. Robin pushed the food around, picking at it and trying to make it look as though he had eaten at least half of the portion he had been given. His men shared a now familiar look of despair and wondered how this was all going to end.