With a line from one of my favorite authors on here as an epigraph, I return to you after quite a time away. This one-shot has been a long time coming.
"One true love for your whole life is all very well for pigeons and dead heroes, but the rest of us aren't quite so stubborn"
-- Scarborough Fair, Biancaneve
It was an odd confusion of fates that a miller's daughter found herself a member of Robin Hood's gang without ever having met Robin Hood. Mary Ann had seen him from afar, when her father was still alive, but since her flight into Sherwood and her accidental happening upon the camp-that-could-not-be-found, the namesake and leader of her friends was strangely absent. She dared not ask, for no one brought it up. Every night they ended their meal with a resounding cheer to the effect of "We are Robin Hood!" Mary Ann found it an uplifting affirmation of everything they fought for and wondered if perhaps she might one day be allowed to say it in the presence of the man who started it all. For the rest of the gang, it was a ritual cloaked in superstition. In the winter months, Allan would shout instead, to his own amusement, "We are bloody cold!" No one noticed that he whispered the real words under his breath, as if he were afraid not to say them. Without fail, they all repeated the phrase every night because every night, though Mary Ann could not have known this, they hoped Robin would hear them call his name and return. Much was the most steadfast in the practice, even starting each day with a little prayer that sounded more like a toast. He held out that Robin would surprise them all and come back unannounced when they least expected it. Until then, he would send a message on the air, a sigh of love and longing to be buffeted by the wind and carried to his wandering master's broken heart.
Outside of Sherwood, no one had any suspicions that Robin Hood was not in Nottinghamshire. Even the Sheriff was sure the outlaw was still disrupting his affairs as always. He counted the fact that he had not actually seen him as a victory on his part.
Mary Ann liked to imagine that it was just a game. She looked expectantly behind every tree for the green-clad, weary rogue to appear with a triumphant tale of a great adventure. She soon learned that there was nothing behind the trees but more trees.
When she had been with the gang almost a year, when they had carried on without Robin Hood for almost a year, Mary Ann could quiet her curiosity no longer. She desired an explanation. Truly, where was he?
She pulled Much aside. He started sobbing at her question.
Will looked up from his work.
"What did you do to him?" he asked.
"Nothing!" she replied hastily, not wanting to involve anyone else in what was obviously her mistake.
"Much, don't cry," Djaq tried to comfort him.
He remembered those words said by another and cried even more.
Allan and John hurried over, having heard the commotion.
"Did she hit him?" Allan wondered.
"What happened?" John demanded.
"Really," Will said again, "What did you do?"
"I just asked him a question," Mary Ann finally admitted.
In their own way, they all understood what the offensive question had been.
Little John put his hand on Much's shoulder.
"It's okay, mate," Allan said with uncharacteristic feeling.
Much sniffled and wiped his eyes.
"It's all over," he said. "I'm better, see?"
He smiled, but tears were still falling.
Will shook his head and grabbed Mary Ann by the arm, leading her away from the group.
"That was a really thoughtless thing to do," he told her.
"I didn't know," she blurted.
They stood in silence as Will gave her a grave look.
"He's dead, isn't he?" she said softly.
"What?"
"Robin. He's. . .dead."
"Does it matter if he is?" Will responded quickly. "Does it change anything?"
She hesitated.
"No. I guess, it doesn't make any difference," she said.
"So don't bring it up again," Will snapped.
Mary Ann returned to the rest of the gang. No one said another word to her. She went to sleep in poor spirits.
Whispering in the next bed over, Djaq asked Will what he had told her.
"What she needed to hear," he replied.
There was no more mention of it. Soon they celebrated the anniversary of Mary Ann's joining the gang. The upsetting incident was all but forgotten. Much had made cake and everyone cheered their most recent recruit.
"Shall I make a toast?" she suggested.
They raised their cups.
"We!" she began. "Are Robin—"
She stood with her mouth open, the next word silenced in awe.
"Hood!" Much finished, not noticing the change on everyone's faces.
"Don't stop short on my account," a familiar voice said.
Much spun on his heel.
"Master!" he exclaimed. "I knew you'd come back. I just knew it!"
"Much, shhh," he heard as if it came from the sky.
He blinked.
The forest was dark and he was alone. Mary Ann was leaning over him.
"Where did he go?" Much asked, desperately.
"Shhh, you were having a nightmare."
"It wasn't a nightmare!" he countered. "It was wonderful! It was—it was—"
He looked around him.
"It wasn't real," she whispered.
Much frowned.
"I'm sorry about earlier," Mary Ann took a chance saying. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
Much turned away from her and fluffed his pillow.
"It's fine," he mumbled.
Mary Ann returned to her bed, pulled the covers over head, and wept silently. If Robin really was dead, she thought, then why did everyone pretend like he was going to come back? Why would they not tell her what happened? Something must have happened. There was a reason why Robin Hood was gone. There was a reason why they pretended.
The day of her anniversary did come. And Much did make a cake. And as Mary Ann raised her cup with the rest of them, she reflected on that dark secret at the heart of the whole Robin Hood fiction as she knew it.
Dead or alive, he was only a story.