Title: The Final Tale
Rating: K+ (warning: character death)
Pairings: Robin/Marian, Robin/Kate
Disclaimer: I don't own (or make profit of) BBC's Robin Hood. If I did, you would know. Believe me.
Author's note: As a devoted R/M shipper, I never doubted that Marian and Robin truly loved each other. I don't blame Robin for wanting to move on with his life in season 3, but I truly believe (and so did the writers of the final episode, apparently) his heart never stopped belonging to Marian.
This story ignores the last few minutes of "Something worth fighting for II". Other than that, the events in this story are based on canon events.
I realize this story might appear a bit confusing, so I ask you to keep in mind that this fic contains two stories. Or rather, this piece has two storytellers. Let's pretend Robin is the one speaking the words in italic; the rest of the story is all me (or another outsider; that is for you to decide).
The Final Tale
(o)
One day, Robin told her a story.
-x-
"Once upon a time, he told her a tale. He spoke of beauty and love, of courage and of faith."
-x-
His eyes were distant as he spoke. His thoughts not with his surroundings, but with her, the woman he loved.
-x-
"He talked for hours and hours. His voice never wavered, mind and heart filled with stories to share. His eyes were bright, his mouth was dry. Now and then, his fists would clench at his side."
-x-
As the sun slowly disappeared, the darkness and the cold were quick to take its place.
-x-
"In the flaming heat of the sun, they sat in a meadow. They were back to back, leaning against each other, both needing the comfort of touch. Close, but not too close. Not while he spoke of Her, not while She was there with him, not just in his heart but in his mouth and at his tongue as well."
-x-
He kept talking. The cold didn't bother him. He'd felt numb for too long now. His moving mouth was all that mattered, for these final words had to be said. He could not leave this world without giving her an explanation, without talking to her – what remained of her – and not just her image in his mind.
-x-
"And so their tale was told, described to the best of his abilities. Their moments together were colored, covered in red as the love bled through his voice, spattered with blue as the longing escaped his eyes, sliding down, down, down..."
-x-
Sand caressed his face none too gently. It blew into his mouth, his nose, his eyes... He blinked, wondering if it was the sand or the memory that made his eyes water.
-x-
"When his lips stopped moving, her small hand gently grabbed a hold of his. And as Her name lingered on his lips, the other woman asked if perhaps someday, it would be her name – not the beloved name from the past, the one from far, far away – he would cry out in his sleep."
-x-
He shuddered and blinked away the tears. His hand searched for the chain around his neck, the one from the past, the one with the ring. But it was no longer there. It was buried in a place they'd once called home. It would never be put around his neck or on her finger again.
-x-
"He told her that she was brave, compassionate and beautiful, but that she would never, could never be Her, that she could not claim Her place in his heart or mind. He told her this, and she understood."
-x-
His fingers dug into the sand beneath his knees. There were no traces of human activity in the area. There were no traces of digging, of a hole dug and refilled a long time ago where he sat. But as he knelt there, he knew it was the right place. He could feel it.
-x-
"They kissed. She held him and he held her. It was the last time he ever spoke Hername to he other woman; the last time he let the mention of Her name fill the space between them. Until the day he set out to find Her again."
-x-
She was buried beneath him, in the very spot he was sitting. He would recognize the place in any desert, in any landscape, in any world. For it was where his soul awaited him, underneath the sand, sand, sand, sand, sand everywhere. His soul had waited for his body to return, to become one again.
-x-
With Her name on his lips, in his mouth, in his mind, in his heart and in his memory, he said goodbye. The blonde smiled, and wished him a good journey home. For they both knew that home was where he would be going. It had been his home ever since She stayed there."
-x-
Finally, the hole was deep enough. He carefully lowered himself into it, and waited for the sand to be blown back into place again, to trap him there, this time forever. Never again would he look for a way out. Never again would he want to escape. For he would never leave her side again. He would stay with her... with Marian. His wife.
-x-
"And so he travelled to the place where She had left him behind, where she had moved on without him. To go running towards her; to catch up with her again; to walk side by side, as they knew they were meant to. To be together. At last."
-x-
The desert went quiet. His lips stopped moving, his eyes fell shut. No living being noticed Robin Hood's body as it was slowly buried by sand. No living being was close enough to hear his final breath escape his body. No living being was around to see a tired smile appear upon his lips.
No living being was aware of all this. Not one. And yet, many beings watched as the Legend moved on – not just from mouth to mouth, but from one place to another as well. And if these beings would still have had human mouths, they would have smiled human smiles.
A breeze swept through the desert. It carried all the way to England, to the forest of Sherwood. And as the wind rustled through the leaves, smiles appeared on the faces of the people. Their eyes started glowing and their lips started moving, whispering a name that would be spoken by people from all over the world for years to come.
Robin Hood.
(o)
Two people. Two lovers. Death tore them apart – and brought them together.
Their final resting place is not marked by graves.
There is no stone; there is no cross.
A legend, a tale, is all what remains.
A collection of stories, a pile of good deeds...
Building a monument larger than life, and stronger than stone.
Friar Tuck, 1201
(o)
The end