I'm Still Here

By: Emmithar

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places. I am borrowing them with hopes of returning them in a similar condition when I am done.

Summary: Robin's life isn't the only one that becomes endangered when an injury leaves him struggling to remember what happened. When the Sheriff of Nottingham uses Robin's misfortune for his own gain can Robin's men help him remember who he is before the unthinkable happens?

A/N: Yes, I'm back! This is the third story in a series and will be updated as I can get to it. I hope I still have some readers left out there and of course, as always, welcome new ones to the group. :)

Thanks goes out to Kegel for reading through his mess and helping fix it up!

Chapter One: A Meeting

It was all a blur of motion; his movements not separate, but altogether as one, the inability to tell where one move ended and the other began. It was an exhilarating feeling, the weight of the sword in his hand, the favoring of this weapon over his trusted bow for such close quarter contact. Inside his chest his heart was pounding, his blood racing through his veins as he blocked blow for blow, dealing in his own strike from time to time, a deadly game of cat and mouse.

Time had passed since he had last felt like this; the rush of adrenaline taking him back to the nights in Acre, the feeling of war and blood dancing on his fingertips, the taste on his lips as he pushed forward. He had been hanging back until now, and without the slightest indication his movement changed. He became unstoppable, reaching the edge of the balance between keeping himself restrained, and losing himself completely. Though nearly there he held himself back, registering by the shock on the other man's face that this battle would not last much longer.

Hard, heavy breaths filled the air as the fight continued, one man easily outdoing the other now, taunting and teasing, giving in just enough to encourage him to strike again only to counter it and deal his own. It was time now, the fight had gone on for too long, it was time to finish before things got out of hand. Even the most skilled of men could do themselves in by one fatal flaw, and it was a known tactic to strike your opponent whilst you still had the chance.

The movements were quicker now, a blaze, a fury, pushing and forcing the opposite back. The other hardly had time to cover himself, forgetting his surroundings, eyes focused on his hands. In the process his footwork was forgotten, sending him stumbling. That was all that was needed, the leader in the battle using the distraction to knock the other man to his back, bringing the sword down for one fatal blow.

But it never came. The tip of the blade rested inches above the man's throat, just below his chin, the heavy gasping breaths emitting from his throat matching the man's from above. For a long moment they stared at one another, then Robin moved, backing a step away as he lowered his sword.

Beneath him, Will let out a sigh, even though he knew he had been in no real danger. It was there on the ground he stayed, waiting in hopes to catch the air that evaded his lungs after such a spar. "I thought…you said…you were going to go…easy."

He had said that, Robin could remember it clearly, but somewhere in the match he had forgotten it, having been consumed by the battle. It was an intoxicating feeling, as much as a nerve-wracking one. The simple fact that he could be consumed so easily by something that was so distasteful. Robin had thought he had left all desire for bloodshed and war behind, but the simple truth was that he still craved it from time to time. It was as if it was an addictive sensation, something he not only wanted, but needed.

"Well, I lied," he answered, sheathing his sword as he offered a hand to help the man up. Will took it without question, balancing his weight carefully, but even so Robin could feel the lag in his step. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Will shook his head, retrieving his fallen blade from the dirt below. "Just sore, I will be well."

It had been over a month now; Djaq had tended to Will's wound nearly every night until the man was able to take over for himself. In the meantime the rest of the gang had stayed to the forest, only Robin venturing out from time to time to see to the villages. Much, Allan and John had taken to hunting, fletching arrows, and building new traps under Will's instruction. Some had already proven useful, others had left Robin skeptical but he did not question them out loud. He was confident that it would work in the end, but he could also remember his promise to be more attentive and listen to what was being said. For now, it was working.

Though there had been minor disagreements between the men it wasn't anywhere near what they had experienced before. It was a promising sign; Robin did not want to face that issue again, but he had to take care or else risk doing so despite his wants. The first few days after they had all come back together had been the hardest. There was an awkward air to the surroundings, and it made things uncomfortable at best. But quiet talks and gentle reasonings had seen their way through and made everyone at ease.

Almost everyone, that was. As the days went on Robin could feel the restlessness build up inside of him. Treks through the forest to help with hunting, and even trips to the village had only temporarily quenched his agitation, and before long he was yearning for more. As a noble his life had been filled with endless tasks and responsibilities from day to day, and war had provided him with much of the same atmosphere. In his return he once again had found himself busy with matters with the Sheriff, divulging with the poor and their own misfortunes.

That had been difficult in the recent times. Robin could not risk Will's safety and bring him out in the open, but leaving him behind alone was not clever either. This shortened the group in size, and though they had already proven capability in small numbers, it was not a risk Robin wanted to take unless he had to. He was eager now to return to their complex yet simple life, and knew that the time would be soon enough. In the meantime, it had been he who had suggested the sparring.

It helped; not just him but the others as well. Robin was not as decent with his sword as he was with his bow and used this chance to help better himself. It also helped release the building tension, taming the eagerness inside of him. Robin let out a few more breaths, hands resting on his hips as the pounding inside his chest died down to dull beat.

Around him the others were milling about in languid activities despite the recent spar between the pair, and Robin watched them, going from one to the next, scrutinizing all of them. Another breath, and he pulled his sword free, twirling it in his hand. "Who wants to go next?"

Silence was the only response he received aside from a few amused glances shot his way. He waited, willing one of them to take to his challenge, but as time passed it was apparent none were going to take to it. He let out a desperate sigh, "You can't tell me you're all afraid?"

"We're not stupid either," Allan reminded him, glancing up at him. He was resting easily against a tree, wrapped in a cloak and settled in preparation for what appeared to be a lengthy nap. Djaq only smiled in agreement, forcing Robin to turn to John then, but the man was already shaking his head in answer to the question. How could it be that all of his men would refuse such a contest?

Well, maybe it wasn't that difficult to guess why. He had sparred with them all before, and even before then they were quite aware of his talent. Robin's gaze drifted to where Much sat, his grin widening as the other man shook his head.

"Come on, I'll go easy."

"That's what you told me," Will reminded him, crossing his arms where he sat.

"Yes," Robin nodded, "But I mean it this time."

"No," Much shook his head, "I refuse to be humiliated."

"I'll use my weak hand."

"I've seen you use your weak hand, the answer is still no."

"Much…" he was pleading now. This was something he rarely did.

"If you're that desperate, why don't you go find some other poor unsuspecting soul to fight with?"

The statement caused him to grin, thinking over what the other man had said. Not necessarily to stir up trouble, but it had been days since their last visit to any of the villages, and a break, even to do mindless work, was a welcoming factor to Robin. He could already see Much tensing, the man shaking his head.

"Master…surely…"

"Well? Are you coming?"

"No…I wasn't serious," Much defended himself.

Robin shrugged, sheathing his sword once more as he turned and left. He had made these trips by himself often enough, so it wasn't a great loss in his opinion. He had taken no fewer than a dozen steps when Much was calling out after him, the man scrambling out of his bed roll and grabbing his belongings as he raced to catch up.

"I thought you weren't coming."

"We don't have to go," Much agreed, "we could stay here and…and spar, yeah. You'd like that, you would."

"Too bad no one wanted to spar with me, I probably would have stayed."

"Alright, fine then. We'll spar."

Robin shook his head, spouting a frown as he continued his pace. "I don't want to spar anymore; I like your idea better."

"My idea?" the man laughed timidly, "You don't listen to any of my ideas…ever."

"Well, you do have some good ones, I might as well start," Robin shrugged.

"Why now?" Much was hurrying his stride just to keep up. It was a wonder for Robin, as to why the man complained so often about the various things that he did. If it bothered him enough, surely Much would have stayed behind. Robin wouldn't complain however; he enjoyed the company. Furthermore he knew exactly how to goad the man into following.

By nature Robin was a social person, and that alone seemed to be what he thrived off. Whether as a boy growing under his parent's watchful eye, a warrior in the crusades, or now, an outlaw in the forest, he craved the attentions from others. He enjoyed being held in high-esteem, but Robin liked to believe he did what he did solely because it was the moral thing.

Shifting his bow to his other side Robin took the path that led out to the north. It would take a good portion of the day traveling on foot, but they would reach Nottingham first scouting the rest of the villages on their return to camp, with hopes of reaching it by nightfall if they did not linger long.

The seasons were changing once again; warmer weather was bringing in more game and crops were starting to take in the soil that they were tended in. This meant more food for the villagers, more food for his men. In the end, more food for everyone which was a welcoming thought amongst his men. Food wasn't the only thing the warmth brought in though.

With it, it held the promise of gathering strength. Will was recovering effectively enough that the gang would soon be back on their feet with little hindrance. Robin was assured that the Sheriff had enjoyed their meager disappearance, and already the archer was coming to the conclusion of developing a plan to announce their reemergence from the wood.

Though he knew they should be subtle, Robin wanted something to provoke the Sheriff; a cause for the man to be ill at ease. After all, a frustrated man was someone who tended to make mistakes. Having the Sheriff believe they were always one step ahead gave Robin and his men more than just confidence. It allowed them the room, the time, and the air to breathe whilst completing any operation. Even for the ideas that were far fetched. Those, of course, had grown in number over the passing weeks while agitations grew.

Robin kept his gait at a steady pace, not quite a jog but easily showing that it was no idle forest walk either. Much kept up with his every step, interjecting a complaint into their intermittent conversation as they moved along. What they talked about was nothing out of the ordinary, conversing on topics such as the weather and how well the stores were holding up.

With the breech in secrecy due mostly to faults of all their own a new hold had been one of the first priorities structured during their time in hiding. It was not as large as the first had been, yet what it lacked in size was made up for in position. It was easier reached and better hidden; a keen factor in keeping it away from curious and prying eyes.

The outlaw's presence there was known to most if not all travelers, and many took care to avoid the forest path. But not everyone was fortunate to have the time to do so; merchants and noblemen alike had their duties, and furthermore had a time in which they had to be completed had they any hope of keeping them, their families and even their people content and secure.

That was the best time to move, the best time to strike. At times Much would question him; wondering how it aided anyone when the group took what little any man had for themselves. This was when Robin would have to remind him what they were fighting for, and why. Every little from a man who would willingly trade with the Sheriff meant possibly the world to those who were suffering from hunger and ill-oppression.

These very thoughts were drifting through his head as they approached the coming hill. Mainly it was because he had heard the movements before he saw them. Ever in warrior mode, Robin was immediately alert, motioning already for his companion to be silent.

The trees here grew in a jagged circle amidst the valley that the forest path led into, neighboring close to one another that aided in abundant shelter and camouflage. The odd pattern led the forest into a brief opening which Robin's men had bade the Tromperie, or the deception, since the abundant light that crept in through the opening made it seem as though one had reached the forest's edge.

It was here that most travelers let their guard down; the clearing was wide and open; a perfect area for camping if it weren't for such thieves in the forest. And for those who were not used to traveling the forest a steady calm washed over them until they realized they were still in the clutches of the trees. This had been where Will had set up one of his traps; in all actuality it had taken most of the group to devise, but the idea alone had been his.

Through the night they had spent digging a trench that was then refilled with the loose dirt, mixed heavily with an ample amount of water to create a thick goop-like mixture that was impossible to move around or jump across unless one went clear off the path and into thick undergrowth. Several times a week Robin and men would return, add water and mix the trench to keep the ground soft; even more so when a wagon or cart passed through the area. The trench in return would often slow and even stop many travelers.

Horses and carts became stuck in the mud, delaying progress at times for several hours even more towards a day if they were lucky. This gave Robin and his men time to maneuver into position for an ambush or attack. Friends and those fortunate to discover for themselves often took an alternate route around the clearing. It was a narrower road that was uneven at best and treacherous during the wet season at worst. Not only that, but it would often add another day to the travel through the forest. That was time that many noblemen did not want to waste. As it was apparent now.

From above Robin could see the lone traveler tending to his steed. Cursed voices filled the air as the figure knelt, hastily wiping the animals legs as the beast danced nervously, still shaken by the obvious struggle to free itself earlier. He was a fine animal, most certainly a thoroughbred by the looks, with a silky satin coat dark as chestnut itself. A fine saddle of leather adorned his back and was laden with plump saddlebags that were nearly overflowing.

Whoever this traveler might be it was apparent he was of noble blood in the least. No merchant or simple man traveled with such a burden or such fine of a beast. By his dress alone Robin could not tell if he was of higher importance. The traveling garb was normal for most of anyone, built for the cold but easily removed if the heat became too much, fit in such a way that it would not hinder with riding.

"He must have traveled from a ways," Robin whispered as he crept forward, keeping near the ground so that the trees might hide his movements in the case that a wandering eye glanced his way. It would be a shame to alert their newly found friend to know of their presence before they were ready.

"You think he is of royal blood?"

Robin was quick in shaking his head. "No royal would travel alone, not through a forest prominent for thievery. A noble is more of the likes. Hard headed enough to believe he can cross without harm and most certain he can fend off any threat if it should come. He's foolish enough to parade his satchels of goods to the wandering eye, however."

"I have never seen a single man carry that much on person," Much confessed.

"If he came from a distance then it would require him to bring a number of provisions. Even more so if he planned to remain at his destination for a time; more in likely that will be in our favor," Robin answered with a smile, moving along once more.

"Master…you don't mean…where are you going?"

Robin hushed him quick as he turned sharply on a heel. Loud voices were not something he wanted to promote, still wishing to obtain the element of surprise. They still had to trek around the cliff and down the side on a level path before they faced off with this stranger. The less notice that was given to him only worked in their favor.

"What about the others?" Much hissed as he drew near. "There are only two of us."

"And only one of him," he pointed out. "No visible weaponry on his steed or side. If he has any weapons they will be small. Hardly a threat; his horse is too worn and shaken to depart so neither will the man flee. He will not abandon his possessions. Although he may find very soon that he will change his mind."

Robin did not wait for his companion to reply. Instead he slung his bow off his shoulder, pulling free an arrow and readying it. The rest of his movements were just as fluid; quiet and quick steps that followed a foot trial left by him and his men that cut through the undergrowth and moved easily around the trees and fallen logs from the winter storms.

The strange fellow was still crouched near the ground, hoisting one of the horse's legs in one hand, a tool in the other that dug sharply at the mud that still clotted heavily between the shoe and hoof. It wasn't until Robin was nearly on him that the man knew he even had company.

Nothing was said; only the leg was dropped, the tool discarded as well as the man rose to his feet. There was nothing unique about him. Flawless features left to assume he had yet to see any battle including a simple fist fight. His hair was cut short, hugging the sides of his head and his beard shaven back but still there, covered with flecks of mud and forest from the fall he must have taken earlier.

His gaze studied first Robin and the arrow that was aimed his way before turning to Much and doing the same. While most men would be stuttering over their words pleading for a safe escape with all their goods this man was relatively calm. In fact he even presented a small sneer before retrieving the earlier discarded tool and tucking it back into his belt.

"Whatever it is, you best be done with it," he told them gruffly. "I am a busy man and I have other affairs to attend than a highway robbery."

"We would like to rid you of some of your burden," Robin announced happily. Willing occupations always made the day worth it. Less hassle and more time spent dividing the plunder. It was better in the end, even if it meant that he had to miss out on an adrenaline-charged conflict.

"While I thank you for your kind offer, I assure you that none of it is a burden. Now be off, unless you have come to see to this filthy mud trap behind us."

"Charming," Robin responded, "But the choice is yours. Either relinquish one-tenth of your hold and we will allow you to continue on your way with the rest of your provisions. Refuse, or lie about your possessions, and we will take it all…horse included. Trust me my friend; the Forest Sherwood is not kind to beggarly travelers."

"And is that all you take?" the man wondered, eyeing him cautiously. "Why is that, when you can have the entire lot? Surely you can fight, for you would not boast about it otherwise. It would be a foolish thing to do, and you seem like no fool."

"And you tire me with your words. What choice is it to be?"

"A tenth of my holdings will not hinder me in any way," the man responded, moving near his horse. He was already unfastening the saddle bag, prompting Robin to draw nearer. Much still stood behind him, arrow ready to fly should anything uncanny happen.

"A satchel of coins, a bit more than a tenth. That should satisfy your appetite and leave me in peace," the man heaved the small bag towards Robin, the archer releasing his defensive posture to capture the bag in mid-air. Obtaining it was the easy part, seeing to it that the man was not lying was always a bit more tricky, yet Robin always loved a challenge.

Maybe it was because it was too easy; it had been a long while since Robin had dealt with such matters, and certainly on his own. Later he would curse himself for his gullibility. No fine nobleman would give into such nonsensical demands without any question. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that. Why it failed to come to light was a question beyond his ability.

It was Much who called out the first warning. Robin had barely any time to react, but the mere second was enough, the blade sailing through open air. The dagger was no more than a few inches in length, but at such close range it could be deadly if its mark was met. The sudden movement left Robin in an odd position, tangled over his own legs and struggling to get his bow up and ready, the satchel of coins spilling to the ground forgotten.

The arrow cut through the air, harmless in nature as the man ducked from its course. He came up instead, swinging both dagger and fist at the unsuspecting archer. Robin was forced to use both his bow and his wits, but even both was not enough as he found himself on the ground, his jaw stinging from the aimed blow by a heavy fist.

Any further blows were ended, Much now in the fray, favoring his sword over bow to drive the man back, earning a few precious seconds for Robin to recover. The man wasted no time, discarding his bow and pulling up his sword to join his companion.

Two against one, with one being so outnumbered not only in person but weaponry as well, one would think the fight easily won. But this man, curse whoever he was, was more than just a noble. Even Robin, where fighting had been introduced in his blood at a young age, could not match this man. His deadly accuracy with such a small blade left Robin thankful that was all he had.

Much was having a more difficult time keeping up, the quickness of their foe draining him shortly. It was all Robin could do to distract the stranger and keep his attention while Much regained his footing, the man doing the same for Robin in return. This was not a fight for them…the realization hitting the archer shortly after it had begun.

Tracking the man's movements, Robin feigned moving right, dropping down to one knee as the other moved. A quick thrust with the butt of his sword connected with the side of the man, forcing him to stumble. It was only but a second, but a second was all that was needed.

"Fall back," he yelled, retrieving his bow from the forest floor, sword still in one hand as he hastened towards the safety of the trees. Much was nearly on his heels, the man's heavy breath wheezing amongst Robin's own. The only times that he dared take his eyes off the jumbled path before them was to see if they were being followed. Therefore, it was a mighty great relief to discover they were not.

Even still Robin continued to run, slowing only when his companion began to falter. Heavy breaths ensued him, Much doubled over in pain as he gasped for air, sweat running down his brow. Air was something he could use as well. His chest ached, twisting into a knot as his lungs screamed for the simplest of breaths.

Robin wanted to convince himself that this was so simply because it had been so long since they had been in a real fight. Sparing gave them practice, but never the sort needed for a real battle. That was what he wanted to believe, yet the truth was not that. The man was skilled, a skill beyond that of which Robin or any of his men contained. He had not been pushed to such a brink before and the thought worried him.

"Wh…who was…that man?"

Much had resided to leaning against a tree, as if fearing he could not support his own weight. Robin was still holding his own, but not as well as he would have wished. In answer to the question he could only shake his head.

"I was mistaken…noble or not…he's a soldier."

"No o…one in the war…fought li…like that."

"No," Robin agreed, reaching up to rub his jaw where he had been hit. Already a bruise was forming and it was tender to the touch. "We would have…remembered. Someone like that…would have been in the King's Guard."

"We didn't…even get the…coins," Much wheezed, an edge of whining coating his voice.

"Forget the coins," Robin scolded him lightly. "A man like that…on his way to Nottingham…it can only mean trouble. If not for us, then most certainly for others. Come, we need to return to camp, and quickly."

TBC