Author's Note: So this has sat in my writing folder as 'the untitled robin hood project' for a while now, and I'm pleased to say it's now at a stage where I am ready to share :) This will essentially be a series of missing moments, before, during, and after the series and loosely worked around canon. I say loosely because there is absolutely no way the atrocity that happened in series 2 episode 13 will be reflected here.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Robin Hood, the show or its characters (if I did, series 2 would have ended very differently *cough* Guy would have died *cough* and we would have been saved the horror of Kate, Isabella, Archer and Tuck on our screens). It belongs to the BBC.

'She wears strength and darkness equally well, the girl has always been half goddess, half hell' – Nikita Gill

When he finds her, standing beneath the soft, dappled light of the early afternoon and hurling knives into an old oak, her horse, Gideon, watching apprehensively nearby, he knows that she knows, and is momentarily paralysed with apprehension. There will be a fight, that is inevitable, but this is endlessly better than if she was crying. He knows, too, that he is helpless to her tears, always has been. And he cannot change his mind.

'So, it is true,' she says, and her voice is clear and deceptively strong. 'You really are on a suicide mission.'

His footfalls are crisp amongst the scattered leaves and he does not speak until he is standing right behind her. She tenses, but throws another knife into the heart of the oak's blistered trunk; the runny sunlight catches the sharp metal and he is reminded of how deadly she is, despite her beauty.

'I wanted to tell you myself.' he says, eventually, and she snorts derisively at this. He cannot blame her; he has known for days now that he is to join the King's private guard on the Crusades, but he has not been able to tell her.

'Tell me what, exactly? That you are leaving behind your people, your livelihood and your – me …on a foolish quest for glory?' she returns, and he knows her well enough to hear laced in her voice, beneath the veneer of anger, the pain.

'I have to go.' he reaches for her, mostly on instinct, but she shrugs off his touch as though it scalds her. Perhaps it does, although she finally turns around, and blue meets blue.

'No, Robin,' Marian corrects him, and she tosses her last knife callously to the ground. 'You are choosing to go. You are choosing war…bloodshed and brutality…over me.'

'It is the honourable thing to do. I am a noble. I cannot expect someone else to go for me when I have spent my entire life preparing for this. It would be my father's will…if he were still with us.' Robin has always been unyielding in his convictions, and Marian seems to soften slightly at the mention of Lord Robert. Killed in the Holy Lands only a month before. Word reached Locksley relatively quickly, given Lord Robert's prestige and the need for his son, the new Earl of Huntingdon, to resume his duties. Robin, now orphaned, was lost in grief for weeks. It was only the warmth of Marian's comfort, her love, which had brought him back from this purgatory. The irony of this is not lost on him.

'Your father blessed our betrothal. He orchestrated it before I could walk. And remember how jubilant he was in his congratulations when we became engaged.' Marian retorts, and Robin is silent. She is right, of course.

His father, before his death, nursed a fondness for Marian; a fondness neither Robin or the lady in question had fully understood until after they announced their engagement and Lord Robert, exuberant and buoyed on whisky, revealed that the pair had been betrothed since birth anyhow, and wasn't it the sweetest of luck that they had fallen in love all by themselves?

Sir Edward, Robin recalls with amusement, was not quite so zealous in his approval. Both Robin and Marian suspected he had been coaxed gently into the agreement by Lord Robert, persistent as he was good-natured. And it had not helped matters when Robin, boisterous and arrogant, had allowed his the willful Marian to accompany him on every reckless jaunt through the forest, to which Edward owed a handful of muddied and ruined dresses. Indeed, it had been Edward who instructed Much to tag after the two as their official chaperone, much to the chagrin of all three. Yet, somehow, he had not protested quite so vociferously when Robin had taught Marian how to string a bow or wield a sword.

'Do not lie to me, Robin of Locksley. It is the other nobles' talk, casting shadows on your reputation. It is wounded pride, this death wish.' Marian says bitterly, and although she is furiously angry and he knows this is only the least of it, he is impressed by how astute she is. Yet she has missed, predictably, the truth behind his determination to fight for his King, and he is not in the least inclined to share it with her. Yes, it is pride, but of a different kind than she believes.

'I am not going to die.' he says, instead, and he knows he has seen through her carefully constructed semblance of anger to the fear beneath when her eyes, the colour of a robin's egg, become glassy with tears.

'Of course you are,' Marian impatiently swipes away the tears. 'You may be good with a bow and yes, you may claim a few lives with your sword, but you are not indestructible.'

'Marian.' he says, firmly this time, so that she finds it impossible to look away. He edges closer, but slowly, never shifting his gaze. 'I am not going to die. I promise you. I will return, and when I do, I will come for you.'

Marian did not move when he stepped closer, but now, as he reaches for her, she staggers back, violently.

'You expect me to wait for you?' she demands, and something in Robin stills. He can feel something tangibly shift, because truly, he never anticipated that she wouldn't. Marian of Knighton has never been short on prospective suitors. Robin has watched them go, each as eager as the last, and though their glazed smiles and exuberant declarations of adoration for his girl have flared up his jealousy, marvellously, seeing each one retreat, deflated by Marian's rejection, has been endlessly satisfying. She has told him before that if he isn't tall, lean, and prone to appear spontaneously on her windowsill, she isn't interested.

She wants to hurt him; that's what this is about. And he knows he has to let her.

'I'm asking you. Marian. Please. Wait for me.' he says, and he knows it sounds like begging, and if some of the other nobles could hear him now they'd be up in arms with laughter, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care, if it means Marian will keep turning away suitors, suitors which he knows will swell in number when news breaks of his departure.

She considers him, and he knows this is the moment to say it. Say it while she's dropped the pretence of cold, hard anger with nothing underneath.

'Marry me.' he blurts, and he must look slightly deranged saying it, because her eyes widen and her eyebrows jump towards her hairline. Of course, he's already proposed to her; his ring glints on her finger, and he cannot help but feel like it is taunting him. 'I mean, marry me now. Before I go.'

'You are leaving in three days' time.' she says icily, but there is a wavering in her voice and her left hand is twitching by her side, so he continues.

'That's time enough for a wedding,' he says, so stupidly, because she folds her arms across her chest, never a good sign from Marian.

'No.' Marian shakes her head, almost choking on the word. 'No, I will not marry you. I will not marry you now, and I will not marry you if you survive that bloodbath in Acre and deign to return.'

The wind picks up with a low whistle, and carries her words through the throng of trees as they cut right into him. Momentarily, he cannot breathe. When he meets her eyes, they are steely and hard once more, although he can see the ghosts of her tears on her cheeks.

'Well, I'll come for you anyway.' he returns, and before he knows what he is doing he has crossed the distance between them and is cradling her face, lifting her head so that her lips meet his own. He kisses her, lightly at first, and God, she still tastes like Marian, like the honeysuckle that adorns her window at Knighton, and he will remember this kiss for five wearying years at war. He will hold it close during the scorching heat of the daytime when blood spills and cries of battle puncture the sky, and he will hold it tightly to his chest during the freezing desert nights as screams wage on in his head and the smell of death, cold, unforgiving, and unforgettable, seeps into his tent. I love you, he thinks, but he does not say it. He does not say it because if she says it back he is sure all of his resolve will dissipate.

He kisses her more roughly, and surely she can taste his desperation, and perhaps it matches her own, because she kisses him fiercely back, and with his hands knotted in her long hair now and the soft scrap of his quiver on her fingertips, it takes what feels like an age before he pulls away and looks at her.

She shakes her head again. Oh no, he thinks, but as he watches on she tugs his ring from her finger and hurls it into the mud at his feet. As she turns away, something small and white flutters to the ground from her sleeve, and he recognises it as the embroidered handkerchief he gave her a year ago on May Day, now sitting in a muddy puddle. Marian has not noticed, and as he reaches down for the ring, he plucks the handkerchief out too and tucks it into his quiver.

He watches as she pulls herself onto Gideon's back, stuffs her feet through the straps and her hands in the reins. She does not look at him as she retreats towards Knighton.

She leaves Robin Hood in a cloud of dust.

The gentle sloshing of water soothes her angry, shaking fists, but only slightly. Marian swirls the muddied cloth of her dress around in the basin and watches the clear liquid turn a murky shade of grey. Rather, she thinks, like her own feelings. Only days ago, she was bright with the promise of a warm autumn wedding, a life with Robin at Locksley. Now, that dream seems like a silly romanticism. Now, that dream seems dead, slipping through her fingers as easily as the dirty water.

So intent is she on scrubbing the dress clean that she does not hear the soft but firm knocking on the front door. Her father's voice drifts up the stairs moments later.

'Marian…you have a guest.'

A 'guest', is it? Well, she can guess who that is, and she has no intention of speaking to him. Robin doesn't honestly think he can show up at Knighton, ring polished up again, and coax her into marrying him days before he leaves for the Crusades, does he? After everything she said only hours before?

'Tell him I do not want to see him.' Marian calls back, not bothering to suppress the sharpness in her tone. Let Robin know just how furious she is, if earlier had not been indication enough.

'Marian, I think you must come down here.' Edward insists, albeit with little conviction. He has been treating her delicately ever since the news about Robin reached Knighton Hall, and for her father's sake, Marian wipes her hands irritably on a dry cloth and abandons the damp dress.

Expecting to see Robin standing with that magnificent arrogance of his, with her father hovering nearby, Marian braces herself for another row. However, the wind is knocked swiftly from her sails as she lays eyes on Robin's manservant, fidgeting awkwardly by the fireplace.

'Much…' she blurts, as her father looks on disapprovingly. 'Er…I…what are you doing here?'

'I came to speak with you, Marian.' says Much, still standing with unease, but determinedly all the same. 'It is important…my ladyship.'

Marian looks over at Edward, who seems, if a little nettled, unobjectionable. 'Excuse me. I must speak with the stable boy.' he mutters, and Marian is not certain as to whether she should be grateful at his agreeability or indignant at his abandonment. It is one thing to be angry with Robin, but none of this is Much's fault.

Much hesitates as Marian, now they are alone, raises her eyebrows at him.

'You are surprised it is me that has come.' Much observes, and she cannot deny it. 'But had it been Robin, he would surely have appeared at your windowsill rather than using the front door.'

Marian almost smiles, but the image of Robin's dishevelled head poking through her window; the softness of his voice as he whispers her name on the crest of hot summer evenings; the blue hues of his eyes when the moonlight catches them just right…now it all seems from another time. She flinches instead.

'Did he send you?' she asks.

'I am here on my own behalf.' Much says indignantly. 'My master…he has been…not himself, since you spoke with him earlier.'

'I hear you are to follow him into war.' Marian ignores the implication of Much's words. She knows she has hurt Robin, she saw it in his eyes, but she cannot allow herself to forgive him.

Much, affronted, argues. 'You do my master a disservice. He has little choice in the matter. He is expected to go –'

'He is expected to stay in Locksley and provide for his people. He is expected to manage his lands and his villagers and speak his turn at the Council of Nobles. He is…he is expected to have a family of his own.' Marian's voice shakes audibly at the end of her diatribe. 'He is making a choice, Much. He is choosing war.'

'He is doing it for you!' Much exclaims, and Marian is subdued into silence. 'You know as well as I do that Robin – Master – is proud. He would never admit it, but I know he is going to war for you.'

'How, exactly?' she says, disbelievingly. 'He seeks glory.'

'He feels he does not deserve you.' Much says simply, and in that moment Marian knows he is telling the truth. For Robin goes above and beyond to gain her father's approval. He is reluctant to show affection beyond taking her hand in Edward's presence, and he spends hours poring over tax accounts and crop rotations when he could be out riding with her because he knows that's what Edward expects from the man hoping to marry his daughter.

'A hero of Acre is more deserving of the Lady Marian than a noble who, for the past eighteen years, has run amok in the village, shooting arrows and making his manservant's life as difficult as possible.' Much huffs.

Marian is quiet for a while, so that all that can be heard is tonight's broth hissing above the hearth and the fire spitting embers every now and then.

'Much,' she says suddenly, and the manservant meets her eyes.

'…look after him.'

Much sees the tears brimming in her blue eyes, and he knows this is as close to forgiveness as Robin is likely to get, for now. And although he is somewhat upset with Marian for the stupor she has left his master in all afternoon, she is still the same Marian who treated him like a brother, not a servant in their childhood, and more importantly, the same Marian who cares for Robin just as much as he does.

So, just as he slips through the door, past a frowning Edward, almost knocking over a clay flowerpot on his way, he nods, and says, 'I will.'

On Robin's final day in Locksley, the sun is shy, a runny blot behind many clouds. He says his farewells to Thornton, who promises to uphold Locksley and keep the new master on his toes. He bids goodbye to all his other servants individually, and takes comfort in the sadness in their eyes. Perhaps he didn't do such a terrible job as Lord of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, in the short time he held the post since his father's passing.

Locksley's villagers turn out in droves to see him and Much leave. Children watch him with a kind of awe he does not feel worthy of, not yet, and men clap him on the back and throw him encouragement, but he knows what they're really thinking. Better him than me.

Girls he's had minor dalliances with in the past flutter by, including one very persistent peasant from Clun, whose name he cannot remember. He is just about to call her 'Faye' when Much leans over and mutters, 'Ava' in his ear. But he spares her only a fleeting smile before shaking her off and, in what he thinks is a subtle manner, scanning the crowd for one particular face.

'She'll come, Master,' Much says, with far more confidence than he has. He has not told Robin of his visit to Knighton, but he suspects Robin knows anyway. Much is not very good at keeping secrets, especially from Robin.

Marian has been keeping to herself for the past three days. Occasionally she accompanies Edward to the castle when he's on official duty as Sheriff, and she almost never misses the Council of Nobles, eager to give her input, but Robin's staked out the castle and she has not appeared. Probably, Much thinks, because she knows Robin will be there. Edward turned up yesterday, alone, and all he would say was that Marian was feeling 'under the weather' and was to be left in peace. Normally, that wouldn't deter Robin, but something about Edward's expression has kept him away.

'Robin.'

Dan Scarlett appears, his two boys in tow. Much knows Will a little from around Locksley, but he's normally kept busy by his father with craftsmanship, and Luke is young yet, although he adores Robin.

Robin grins as Dan envelops him in a hug, and with half a glance at Much, pats the manservant on the back as an afterthought.

'Are you going to the Holy Land?' Luke pipes up, and Robin nods solemnly as Will and Much look on. Will, strong and silent, is good at hiding his innermost thoughts, but today, Much thinks he can read them.

'Your father would be proud. Good man, he was,' Dan says, and Will nods in agreement as Robin thanks him, his smile not quite meeting his eyes.

They are getting ready to mount their horses when Robin stiffens, suddenly, and Much does not need to turn around to know that Edward has emerged, alone. When he does, Robin is shaking the hand of the man who should have been his father-in-law and there is something in his eyes which says he knows what he has lost.

'Good luck, Robin.' Edward says, finally, and his face looks far more weathered than it did mere days ago. 'And…and you, Much.' he adds, rather awkwardly, but Much smiles gravely and thanks him all the same.

'She's not coming, is she?' Robin says, and his face betrays the calmness of his tone. He looks broken, standing there with his quiver slumped sadly over one shoulder and his bow hanging loosely by his side.

Edward doesn't say anything, and Much has never felt so disappointed. He was sure…

'Give her this for me.' Robin is saying. Much looks up from the hot ground, expecting to see Robin press the emerald engagement ring into Edward's open palm, but instead, it's the handkerchief he gave Marian a while back. It's much cleaner than the last time Much saw it, dripping with mud and stuffed at the bottom of Robin's quiver in a sad heap.

'Give it to me yourself, Locksley.'

Robin's head snaps up from staring at the crumpled handkerchief. Behind Edward, Much can scarcely believe it, is Marian, walking slowly toward them, expressionless. Her eyes are rimmed red and she is even paler than usual, but as Robin moves quickly towards her, his hand extended, she reaches out for the handkerchief and takes it almost greedily.

Edward and Much look at each other with a rare mutual understanding, and they move away from the pair, Much towards his waiting horse and Edward a couple of paces backward. Close enough, they both know, to hear what's about to ensue.

'I thought you weren't going to come.' Robin says, and he's not smiling so much as beaming, because she's here, and maybe she forgives him, and he's pretty sure this is her way of telling him that she'll wait.

'I came to say goodbye to Much.' she says, and his smile slips. 'And to tell you that I haven't changed my mind. If you return, I will be married.'

And he almost believes her. But Robin knows Marian, knows her better than anyone else in the world, and he sees the cracks in her façade. So when he pulls her into one last embrace, and she struggles against him, he tells himself that he will return, and he will find Marian and marry her if he has to go to the ends of the earth to do it. He inhales the sweet, rosewater scent that lingers in her hair and lets it sit, thick in the back of his throat, and vows that he will return if only to feel her in his arms like this again.

She backs away when he releases her, roughly, and takes off at a run as villagers watch, bemused by the sudden turn of events, and her father traipses after her, exhaustedly.

It is not until much later, when he reaches into his quiver, instinctively, forgetting he washed her handkerchief and gave it back – gave it back, when it smelled just like her – that he finds the note. It is dark by now and the starlight that reflects on the crests of the waves is not much, but he can make out the words in her spiralling handwriting.

Robin

Do not die.

-Marian

He tries not to smile, he really does. But he can almost hear her voice in the words, blunt and to the point, as she always is. And he still remembers the taste of that last kiss, and the way she looks when he appears at her windowsill, pure and beautiful and full of promise.

Author's Note: I don't know how it got so long. I just love writing about these two. Anyway…please let me know what you thought :)