Title: Stages
Author: Matriaya
Rating: K
A/N: this was given to me as a challenge by my beloved beta, Glorious Clio. Marian goes through the 5 stages of grief as she deals with Robin going off to the Crusades.

Denial

"Do you like it?" Lacy asked, holding her glittering ring up to the greedy eyes of her female counterparts. They all flocked, amazing and awed, by the expensive piece of jewelry to gaze in wonder. Jealousy was rampant; though not open by any means. Marian could feel it, bubbling right beneath the surface, cleverly concealed by glossy smiles and words of congratulations.

"It is lovely," she remarked, but didn't bother to hide the boredom in her voice. Lacy's husband-to-be, the Earl of Dunkirk, was well over thirty years of age, and was reputed to have a nasty temper as a result of equipment lacking down below.

As the girls continued to gush with stars in their eyes, Marian drifted lazily over to one of the stalls, decorated for market day, and lazily fingered an ornate silk scarf.

She felt his presence even before his hand subtly touched her arm.

"We need to talk," he whispered into her ear. She couldn't keep the grin off her face, though thankfully he didn't witness it. When she turned to face him, she was the picture of composure.

"What about?"

She wouldn't explode with joy, she told herself, when he produced a glittering ring of her very own.

"I have something very important to tell you." Robin said, his eyes darting wildly in all directions, piercing everywhere but her face.Why isn't he looking at me? She thought. Butterflies with fear-tipped wings fluttered one by one to life as the seconds of silence stretched to a considerable length between them.

"Robin, what is it?" she reached out to touch his face. When he shied away from her, the butterflies morphed into a vicious beast, which clawed at her heart. "What is wrong?" He turned to face the street, and cast his gaze over passing-by peasants, but his eyes were steely, and his body rigid.

"I am leaving," he murmured. The words fell flat. They held no shape, no meaning to Marian.

"Where are you going?" she asked. Interest lost, she turned back to the scarf, letting the smooth fabric slip through her fingers once more. Ever since his father died, it wasn't uncommon for Robin to leave for weeks at a time to travel to neighboring shires to discuss politics. Frankly, Marian was more disappointed that he hadn't proposed as she had originally expected.

"Far away," she could hear a noticeable sadness in his voice, but she was too wrapped up in her own emotion to notice.

"Far?" she inquired, flippant in her self absorption. "Like Glouster?"

"Like the Holy Land." He replied. "King Richard has asked me to fight by his side in the Holy Land, and I must go with him."

Marian gave him one look, and laughed aloud

"Oh really? Have fun. Bring me back some sand, will you? I heard there's plenty of it over there." It wasn't until Robin smashed a hand down hard onto the hard wood of the stall that her smile slipped into an unsure frown.

"I am being serious. I am leaving, Marian. I am going off to war." This time, he did look at her. His blue eyes were cold steel as he stared at her, fierce, until she was forced to look away.

"I do not believe you." She whispered harshly. One hand snaked out to strike him hard across the face. "I do not believe you." With that, she turned on her glossy slipper, and dashed off into the crowd of people.

Anger

The sound of metal hitting trees resounded with a satisfying twang through the courtyard of Knighton. With every tiny knife that flew gracefully through the air and dug its lethal blade into the tree's middle, Marian pictured Robin's face on the receiving end. It had been a year and 124 days since he left her, clutching the doorframe of her house and sobbing, to ride off with the King's men.

Not a single word reached her since then. For all she knew, he could be dead. If the drifting rumors from merchants and traders were to be believed, and the death toll was as high as everyone said, then it was quite likely that he was dead. Still, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as the blades sunk into where his eyes would be.

How dare he? She thought, chucking another dagger at the bark. How dare he leave me here all alone? Before, she would have wept at that statement, but now all she felt was anger. Deep, unabated anger that welled up from deep within in her stomach, and wrapped around her brain until she could no longer see anything but red. If he walked through the door of Knighton Hall that evening, he would end up with an arrow in the stomach, without a doubt.

Bargaining

There was blood everywhere. It leaked from cracks in her bedroom walls, soaking the floor in a crimson carpet. It tricked down her window pain like red rain. Even her soft linen sheets grew sticky beneath her writhing body. Marian sat up slowly, sluggishly, from the pain that wrapped barbed limbs over her arms, legs, across her chest. She blinked fervently, trying to clear all the blood from her vision. No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, then hopefully opened them again, the blood remained. She glanced down in horror to find thick red liquid gushing from between her legs. A few speckles dropped to her night-shirt-clad-breasts from her nose. Even red tears leaked out of her eyes, completing her grotesque guise.

"Marian," Robin's voice echoed through her room. From where she sat, however, she couldn't see where it was coming from.

"Robin?" she called out to him, pure hope echoing in her voice.

"Marian…" he spoke no louder than a whisper, but her name on his lips held volumes of pain and anguish. She crawled forward on her bed, her fingers squishing into her wet sheets. Blood already covered her hands. When she reached the end, she peered over the footboard, and screamed.

She screamed loud and long, recoiled slightly and pressed one hand to her mouth. Blood leaked past her lips and oozed into her mouth, coppery and bitter. Robin lay on the floor, twisted up and broken. Bloodshot eyes stared wildly up at her, and one hand reached out desperately to grab, long fingers mangled. She sprang up from the bed, clutching the bedpost only momentarily as a wave of dizziness crashed through her. As soon as she'd regained her balance, Marian stumbled to the floor and clawed her way to Robin's side.

"Robin, what happened?" she held his agony-ridden face between her hands. "I'll go get father."

As she began to rise, he grabbed her arms.

"No," the words were forced and laced with pain. "Stay with me."

She took a crimson hand in hers and kissed it. His blood mingled with her own on her lips.

"But you need help…" she started, but he cut her off.

"Stay."

She simply nodded and reached down to soothe away some hair plastered to his forehead. Red liquid continued to trickle down the walls, and the level rose on the floor until she found her self sitting in a pool of blood. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered, only the dying man who was slipping away below her.

"Don't leave me, Robin," she murmured into his shaking flesh. "Don't leave me."

Suddenly his body jerked as a spasm of coughs racked through him. Even more flood fountained up from his mouth and splashed down his chin, even up on her face. It just kept coming.

Marian awoke screaming. She tore at her bed sheets violently, desperate to release herself from their stiff heat. Wild fingers tried to wipe the blood off her face, off her skin, but the pale moonlight revealed there was none. It was only a dream. As her breath came out in gasps, Marian leaned back on her pillows and raked her fingers through her hair. Not a drop of blood touched her bedroom. There was no Robin, struggling for life on her floor. No, he was still of in the Holy Land. Soon after that thought, the tears came. A great flood of tears, pushed along by sobs that refused to make a sound. She rolled over onto her side, and clutched one of her pillows for dear life. It soon became soaked with tears, a haunting reminder of the nightmare that wouldn't let her go.

It had seemed so real! Robin, laying there as clear as anything, and she had touched him. Her fingers held his. That was almost preferable to this screaming loneliness she now experienced. No amount of anger or time could weaken her feelings. She was still in love with Robin, still desperately needed him, and his absence was eating an over[ever-growing hole in her heart.

"Please, God," she whispered, clasping her unsteady hands together. "Please bring Robin back alive. I will do anything. I'll… I'll even join a convent. Just bring him back to me."

She repeated the words over and over until they became mumbled nothings when sleep finally took hold of her once more.

This time, the nightmares stayed away, hiding behind the darkness.

Depression

"Marian, dear, you need to get out of bed. We have visitors!" Edward prodded his daughter's lumpy form gently. It had been exactly a year to the day since Robin of Locksley left, in honor and glory, for Jerusalem. One year since the love of her life rode off and left her broken. She'd tried to console herself with the fact that Robin was strong – there was no way he would let the Saracens defeat him. But then reports came in from all over: thousands and thousands of men dead, their bodies left to rot in the boiling desert. England's best fell like common soldiers against the enemy; there was no hope of him returning to her. So she simply gave up. Robin had been the beauty and joy in her life. The hope of seeing his smiling face was what got her out of bed each morning, and now that the hope was gone, she saw no point in venturing from the warm comfort of her covers.

"I am not getting up, father. Ever. So you may as well tell our visitors to go away." She replied, her voice muffled through layers of sheets. Edward sighed and sat down on her bed. He had heard her crying herself to sleep for months, and watched as she almost deteriorated away into a nothing being. He'd put up with her violent and angry outbursts as her infuriation with Robin spilled over into her daily life. This was worse, though, Edward thought. This husk of a girl who did nothing but sleep all day and occasionally stare out the window at nothing at all.

Edward secretly hoped, though he would never speak it aloud, that perhaps Robin would desert, or sustain a mild but not crippling injury – anything that would bring him home and return a smile to his daughter's face.

"Please, he murmured. He knew his voice was taking on a slight tone of desperation. "At least come down and have something to eat. You haven't eaten all day."

Marian stopped fidgeting momentarily, then slim fingers protruded to pull down the covers. This act revealed a very pale face, nearly devoid of color.

"I am sorry, father," she peered into his face. In her eyes, he saw a deep sadness that he'd only witnessed once before. He'd seen it in his own eyes when his wife passed away. Behind the broken soul was a sight that chilled him to the bone – the first toyings of death. Words could no longer penetrate the well of despair that had replaced her heart, so instead he reached down and grasped one of her icy cold hands in his own.

Marian attempted a ghost of a smile, but it clearly didn't succeed. Edward left his daughter's side that day only to give their regrets to the visitors downstairs

"Marian has a touch of the flu, she sends her apologies."

The moment their shined boots were out the door, he returned and took her hand once more, and didn't leave until the sun peaked through the open window the next morning. He remained vigilant – her own makeshift guardian angel.

Acceptance

The sun shone bright and hot on her face as Marian rode her favorite horse through its paces. This simple pleasure had always been one of her favorite things in life. For a month, she had refused to ride, and she felt the lack of freedom tugging at her daily. When finally she cracked and allowed herself to step into the sunlight, she discovered once more how to smile. Now, she cherished her daily rides. It became a blessed escape from her father's constant worried glances, the pressures of her friends and of society, but most importantly, it freed her from thoughts of Robin.

For all intensive purposes, he was dead.

In all likelihood, he probably was dead, and though a small bit of her still clung to the hope of his return, she wouldn't allow herself to dwell on it. Nearly a year and a half of her life had disappeared beneath that blanket of depression. She knew it was time to lift it, and continue on with things. The world had deteriorated while she'd looked away. Her father was ousted from his position as Sheriff; and a new, vile man rose to take his place. A darkness had encompassed her beautiful shire. Evil lurked in its shadows. An evil she felt she should combat.

On these rides through the forest, she found the hope she needed. No matter how dirty ordesperate Nottingham and its surrounding villages got, Marian could still see beauty in the woods. They were her inspiration, her wisdom, her secret path. Most of all, they were her refuge.

She pulled her horse to a stop near a large oak tree next to one of the small brooks that twisted through the forest. This used to be her and Robin's favorite spot to sit and chat. A few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to come to this spot without breaking down. Now, though, she viewed it with a sense of bittersweet happiness. His memory would forever linger in the grooves of the wood, and the sweet whisper of the stream. Nothing she ever did could change that fact, so she accepted it. Instead, she used the emotional charge of the place as a reminder.

She moved silently to the base of the tree, and shoved aside a large rock that rested against the roots. Beneath the stone lay her secret – a mask, a cape and a pair of breeches. Her persona wasn't complete yet, and the outfit she'd been crafting for weeks still needed work, but it was sufficient. She reached down and grasped the mask, then pulled it out into the sunlight.

Robin went away because he believed he was doing something right; he believed he was making the world a better place. It was her turn. With his steadfast spirit as her guiding star, she patrolled the countryside by night, bringing food to the starving and medicine to the sick. This trend had only started recently, after her nurse-maid confessed her surprise at such a gesture.

Still, whenever she tugged the breechesover her hips and slipped the mask across her face, she thought of Robin. When the villagers smiled at her, and spilled their thanks, she dedicated it all to Robin. Thoughts of him gave her the strength to defy society in secret and do what she did. Without him, she would be just another trapped little girl, embroidering pillows.

Marian tucked the mask back beneath the earth and pushed the rock back into place, then stood up. She moved over to her horse, and drew out a single flower from her saddle bag.

Robin had no grave, no place to lay flowers in remembrence; so she gave him one. This tree, the tree that held so many wonderful memories with him, and now held her secret, was her special Robin tree. She lay the flower gently down next to the rock, then kissed her fingertips and pressed them against the weathered bark.

As she climbed back onto her horse, there was a soft smile on her lips.

Epilogue

"You heard my father. Leave." Marian's fingers shook so much as she held the bow that it was a miracle she didn't release the arrow and injure someone. Robin was alive and standing before her. This was no dream.

"But Marian, it is me! Robin of Locksley!" he stared at her in bewilderment and pleasant shock. What should she be feeling right then? Ever since her father pounced on her with the news that Robin and his man servant were riding up the lane, she'd been completely chaotic. Part of her was screaming with overwhelming joy and happiness at seeing not only him, but also Much alive, after the word of so much death spread throughout England. An even greater part hated him, despised him, and very much wanted to release the arrow as she had wished to do years ago.

Just as she was coming together with her life without him, he sees fit to waltz back into it once more. How fittingly Robin.

"Congratulations, now LEAVE." She glared hard at those beautiful green eyes that haunted her sleep. Slowly, sheand her father retreated into their house, shutting the door on the two soldiers. Edward stared at his daughter as she lowered her bow. The arrow slipped from between her trembling fingers and landed with a thunk on the wood floor. She stared back at him, unmoving. Only the sound of crackling fire accompanied them. Then, for the briefest of moments, she smiled. It was fleeting, and was quickly disguised as she dashed upstairs to her room, but he saw it nonetheless. A big, beautiful smile of unadulterated happiness, the likes of which he hadn't seen on her face since before Robin had left.

Things would get better, he smiled to himself as he walked back over to the fire. Slowly, because Marian wasn't one to forgive easily, but things would get better. He knew it.

a/n: reviews are full of sunshine and smiles. No reviews lead to the death of puppies and small children. SO REVIEW!!