Based off a gifset on tumblr.
A simple heist, he'd told her. I'll be back before the morning light hits your eyes, he'd promised.
And she believed him. The past had told him she could.
It was mid-summer when she'd laid him to rest. No coffin, no headstone. Just a hole and a white stone to mark its place. She couldn't help but think that he deserved more. Her prince of thieves.
He'd helped so many yet none would be able to mourn him. Not really. They only knew him as the man in the hood. The one who swept through villages at night, leaving gold on doorsteps. The one who returned what was stolen by stealing from the those who took but did not deserve. To them he'd been a legend.
To her he'd just been Robin.
That was all she'd ever needed him to be.
The Merry Men stood with her, wept with her as she buried him in the forest he'd given his life to protect.
And so did she.
The brown-eyed bandit with midnight hair.
Her husband's one true love.
It made her blood boil to know that she'd been there. That she'd been the one to witness his last breath. To hear his last words.
Had he died with the bandit's name on his lips instead of hers?
Deep down she knew the answer. And further down she knew it did not matter.
What's one more crack in her already shattered heart?
She could almost hate her for it. The brown-eyed bandit.
She could hate her for showing her face here, ever the reminder that if she hadn't laid eyes on him first Robin might never have been hers.
She could hate her for laying claim to a piece of her husband that she'd never been able to touch or take back for herself.
Yes, she could easily hate her…but she doesn't.
The circles under the bandit's eyes won't allow her. The heartbreak she sees mirrored on her own face quells her rage.
If she were to hate the bandit, she'd be hating the one person whose pain is just as clear and everlasting as her own.
She stands beside the brown-eyed bandit, their fingers loosely intertwined as they laid to rest the man whose heart they'd been forced to share.
The leaves have turned to shades of amber and scarlet by the time the last merry man says goodbye.
The band has long since dispersed, no longer held together by her husband's charm, wit and honor.
Like the rest of them he pays tribute to her with a few pieces of gold and two small rabbits.
"Just to get you by," he says.
She accepts them with a weak smile and lukewarm hug. As she watches him ride away she can't help but feel as though another piece of her husband has disappeared.
But one piece still remains.
The brown-eyed bandit has not yet left.
She's stood firmly by her side, doing her best to occupy the space her husband once filled.
Their love for him had once pushed them apart, but their grief for him has made them inseparable. To find someone who's pain is compatible with your own is a rare thing.
They are not alone for much longer.
Winter arrives and so does word of a long-lost sister.
One of red hair, blue eyes and great anger.
Having gone so long without blood the bandit doesn't dare to hope… but she does. She hopes for the both of them.
At the first sign of the thaw their horses are loaded and for the first time in years Sherwood is behind them both.
Warnings follow them as they search. Tales of witchcraft are whispered into their ears.
Still they don't give up. Following the tales until they finally find her.
She is huddled alone in a cave. Isolated where she can hurt no one and no one can hurt her.
Just as beautiful as they'd been told and twice as powerful, her fiery red hair isn't half as noticeable as the green sparks on the tips of her fingers.
Her blue eyes lock on the bandit's brown and despite their differences blood calls out to blood.
"Stay back," she softly commands. "I could hurt you."
In two strides the bandit's arms already around her. Her brown eyes are filled with tears. "Some things are worth the pain," the bandit whispers.
The sparks fade and the embrace is returned.
They decide not to return to Sherwood.
Because of him Sherwood is a place of pain.
And the three of them have no desire to remain trapped by such an emotion again.
Strapping what little they own to their backs they head for the docks, the brown-eyed bandit's face obscured by the hood sweeping over her head.
To be recognized is to die.
To be caught with her is treason.
Only one captain will take such a risk.
Her blond hair shines in the sun as she pulls them onto her ship.
"Welcome aboard the Swan's Rebellion," she grins.
The captain is a fierce woman. Clever and distrustful, she can see a lie a mile away.
Her promises of a safe journey are not kept. The crew grows displeased.
On the third night they are woken from their sleep and roughly thrown in the brig, where the captain sulks in the corner.
"Mutiny," she growls. Lies are easy to spot. Betrayal is much harder.
Night falls and the pirates celebrate. The warm rum in their bellies lulls them to sleep.
Running her fingers over the lock, the bandit slips a pin from her sleeve and grins.
Under cover of moonlight a lifeboat is stolen along with provisions.
For seven days they row.
The captain's sextant is their only guide.
When the sun rises on the seventh day their eyes finally catch sight of land. The sight of trees has never before brought her so much joy.
Only when they start walking does she realize that the trees are familiar. As are the rocks and the grass.
Fate has returned her to Sherwood.
The land she'd left behind is no longer as she remembers.
It is far worse.
Whispers have spread through the forest.
The thief is gone.
His people are no longer protected.
Robin Hood is dead.
The sheriff has returned. Corruption has spread. And villainous thieves run rampant.
Hope has disappeared from Sherwood. It has died along with her husband.
This she cannot allow.
Summer returns and the anniversary of his death clouds the hearts of the brown-eyed bandit and herself. Just like the summer sun, their pain returns. Ever present, relentlessly burning.
On a trip to the market she sees the sheriff making his rounds. Coins jingle in his purse as hunger sings from the stomachs of those he collects from. Their harmony sparks a symphony of anger in her heart.
A mother ushers her young son back into the home.
"Perhaps he'll return?" the young boy hopes.
His mother shakes her head. "I only wish that were true," she whispers.
That night is the first night she puts on his hood.
She slips into the young boy's house and leaves six gold coins next to the cot where he sleeps.
Night after night she waits for the breath of her friends to even before creeping out into the moonlight.
Some nights she doesn't even steal.
She just practices. Taking the bandit's quiver and bow deep into the forest, shooting at crudely made targets, trying her best to improve.
She is not Robin. Archery does not come easily to her.
It doesn't stop her from taking the bow on her trips into town.
She is not Robin. She cannot pick locks or scale castle walls.
It doesn't stop her from slipping into the sheriff's home and lifting what little gold she can as he snores in his bed.
She is not Robin. But that doesn't mean she can't keep his legacy alive.
Whispers fill the forest once more.
The man in the hood has returned.
The prince of thieves is back.
Hope returns to Sherwood and the Bandit grows suspicious.
A young girl is carted into town. Trapped in a cage, her chestnut hair falls over her shoulder and tears fall from her green eyes down to her blood red cape.
A warning is given.
The girl is a monster.
Once the full moon wanes she is to be executed.
She watches as the cage and the girl inside are pulled through town. She wonders "If this girl is such a monster then why does she look so afraid?"
She approaches the cage just as the full moon rises. Poppies are blown in the faces of the guards and they drop like flies. The girl is still inside, her face still streaming tears. She smiles at her as she runs her fingers over the lock.
"I've never stolen a person before," she says. "Would you like to be my first?"
Chestnut curls bounce up and down as the girl nods her head.
She is not good at picking locks. Robin never taught her and neither has the bandit. After careful manipulation the lock finally breaks and the door swings open.
The girl's feet touch the ground and chaos erupts.
A disoriented guard blows his horn, rousing the others.
They begin to rise as she grabs the girls hand.
"Run!"
Their feet pound against the forest floor as arrows fly past their heads.
She doesn't know direction they're headed. She only knows they cannot stop.
A piercing pain cuts through her shoulder and she falls to her knees, her cries of anguish echoing throughout the forest. Out of the corner of her eyes she can see the tip of the arrow. It drips with her blood.
The girl's eyes widen. The yelling of the guards grows louder as they rush closer.
The girl's eyes rise to the moon and she sucks in a determined breath. Her hands reach for her cloak and she slips it from her shoulders, and forcing it into her savior's arms.
"I will need this back," the girl says.
Confusion in her eyes she watches as the girl steps into the moonlight.
Confusion turns to awe as she sees her green eyes glow gold.
Awe turns to shock as the girl unhinges her jaw, her teeth sharpening as she howls pain. She can hear the bones crack under her skin as the girl transforms before her eyes. Her smooth pale skin growing hairier, her spine unnaturally arching as she falls to her hands and knees.
Midway between human and beast, the girl turns back to her, an animalistic glint in her eyes.
"Run!" she growls.
Her footsteps grow soft and weak as she tries to make her way back to the home she shares with the bandit, the witch and the pirate.
Blood drips down between her fingers as she grips the cloak that had been shoved into her hands.
Her vision blurs as she sees her home in the distance.
The pine needles on the forest floor against her face and the call of her name on the wind are the last thing she remembers before darkness overtakes her.
The bandit's brown eyes are the first thing she sees when she awakens. Both her anger and concern are clear in them.
Her hand cautiously rises to her shoulder. The pain is gone.
"You're welcome," says the witch.
She only nods in response, her eyes still locked onto the bandit's. She expects her to scream. To yell. To hurt her for how foolish she's been.
Instead the bandit only shakes her head.
"Just because you miss him doesn't mean you're allowed to join him," she says.
Two days pass.
There's a knock on the door.
A girl with chestnut hair and green eyes.
"I need my cloak back," she says.
The other women are wary of her but not the witch.
She sees the wolf inside the girl and is reminded of the power inside herself. Strong, difficult to control but not something that deserves to be feared.
She invites the wolf in for tea.
She never leaves.
Two weeks pass.
She does not put on her husband's cloak again.
Two weeks pass and whispers return to the forest.
The bandit is a fraud.
Just a woman.
She can't help us.
She goes to her husband's grave. Though the white stone marker is unmoved Robin's final resting place is not as she remembered. The soil is no longer loose and bare. As time passed the soil settled, merging back with the forest floor, growing grass and flowers in its place.
It's just like him to leave a place better than he found it.
A legacy like that can't be allowed to perish, she decides.
It wasn't long before she felt their presence behind her.
The Bandit.
The Witch.
The Pirate.
The Wolf.
The all stood behind her and she turned to face them.
"I've already buried my husband," she said. "I will not bury his legacy."
Silence.
"Is there nothing we can do to stop you?" asked the Bandit.
"No."
Silence.
"Then I suppose we'll just have to help you instead," said the witch.
Surprise flashed across the face. "You will?"
The bandit walked over and reached for her hand. "Helping the people of Sherwood is not something any one person can do alone." Her eyes flickered down toward the grave. "He understood that. And so do I."
The bandit smiles at her. "Together we'll show them all just how much a woman is capable of."
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