Title: the time for sleep is now
Rating: PG (warning: character death)
Summary: A forest. A fight. A farewell. (note: title is from Death Cab for Cutie's "I Will Follow You Into the Dark".
So this is how it ends.
He can feel the ground beneath him, still wet from the storm that passed over only days before. Above him, patches of blue break through the canopy of green, and the speckled light that filters down through the leaves is warm on his face. It is all so beautiful, so, so lovely.
It's funny, in a way, his sudden realisation of the forest's beauty, now when there is no time left to appreciate it.
He cannot feel his body. He is thankful for that. He has seen too many men die in pain, their bodies wracked with such agony that they had begged him to end their lives. He had never been able to do it, not once and now he is glad of it. But he had held them fiercely to his breast, had murmured promises of heaven and peace and safety while their blood seeped onto his tunic and his tears fell on their faces.
There is no one here to hold him.
He always thought that, if he were to die here in the forest, it would be during a battle, surrounded by his friends and foes alike. Maybe it is better this way, to die alone, to die peacefully. He is sure the Sheriff's men would not give him a peaceful end.
They have become too bold, he thinks now, too confident of their superiority. Robin thinks them all heroes, not the thieves and murders they really are, and they have all come to believe him. They walk around the forest as though they cannot be hurt. But they can. Oh yes, they can. Maybe after this, they will learn that. But he will not be there to see that they do.
He should never have left the camp this morning. But for once, Robin had no quest for them, no peasant to rescue, no cunning plot to foil the Sheriff. The camp was clean, the larder was stocked, and all their clothing was mended and as clean as it was possible to get it. So a holiday of sorts had been declared. Djaq and Will had wandered off together, trailed by Robin's snickers and Little John's fond smile, and while Robin had attempted to convince Marian to do the same, she had gone off on her own, as had Much. To be alone was a privilege in the forest, a paradox which had more to do with Robin's need for attention and company than with any actual fear for safety or lack of space.
And so he had wandered, happily and freely, not worrying about whose sword needed sharpening or what tiff he would have to sort out between Robin and Marian. It had been a good day, at least until he had heard the scream.
He doesn't remember how he came to find Marian there, fighting off her attackers, kicking and biting and screaming at them. All it had taken was a quick glance to realise that these men were not the Sheriff's, but outlaws. There was a still form several feet away, probably Marian's original assailant, unhappily surprised by his target's ferocity. Much had swiftly picked up the fallen man's sword and let out a cry as he advanced upon the remaining group.
In their surprise, the men had released Marian. She watched them as she lay dazed on the ground, holding her wounded arm to her chest.
"Go!" Much had cried when he saw her still there, "Bring the others!" She had ached to stay, he had seen that, but she was unfit to fight and, knowing she could do no good, left quickly, disappearing into the woods, chased by the sound of clashing metal.
He had not fought like this in years. The Sheriff's men are neither well-trained nor enthusiastic. Their skirmishes are more playful than powerful and if a man dies, it is the exception rather than the rule. But here, he fought as he did when he was a soldier, using every forgotten muscle, every rusty feint, in an attempt to defeat these attackers.
But it was not enough. Two men, he might have been able to handle, but there were three. Three well-trained, well-practiced men who showed none of the restraint of castle guards.
After they strike the final blow, the one that sends him sprawling to the ground, unable to get up, bleeding too heavily to think he'll ever be able to rise again, he can hear their voices fade into the distance, as they run off, and he prays that Marian is far from them.
So now he lies here, dying. Alone. The weaker he grows, the more he wishes someone else were here. Someone to tell…to tell what exactly? Perhaps to make his confession to? It has been too long since he was in a church, too long since he has knelt before a priest and taken communion.
In the Holy Land, he would have had a Christian burial. Here he cannot be sure of that, cannot trust that Robin will be able to provide for him so. They have never had a death in the forest. He thinks of the small crosses in the graveyard in Locksley. His mother. His father. His siblings. How he would like to be at rest with them, and not here in the woods. The forest is fine for the living, but it must be lonely for the dead.
He hears someone calling his name, but it is not the voice he had hoped to hear.
"I…I couldn't find anyone. I don't know where they are, I don't know what to do." Marian cries, kneeling at his side, pressing a hand to his wound, before reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Shhhh," he calms her. "It's alright. It's not your fault. Just stay here with me, please, until the end."
"How will I be able to tell him, Much? How? He loves you so much, much more than he loves me." She sobs, clutching at his hand. How warm she is, he thinks, how warm and full of life.
"Not more, milady. Just differently." She smiles through her tears then.
"You still call me that, even now. Now when we are equals."
"Never equals." He says, feeling fainter now, "no one can take your blood away from you. You are a lady, Robin is an Earl. In a forest or in a castle."
"And in heaven?" She sobs.
"In heaven, then we will be equals. Just make sure that Robin makes it there." He smiles then and he knows, knows with such certainty, that this is it. This is the end. "Tell him…tell him what he already knows."
"I will." She promises, "I will, I will, I will, I will."
The press of her lips to his forehead and the heat of her tears on face are the last things he feels.