Author's Notes: This will be an anthology of sorts of Robin Hood's life that we never got to see on the show.
I won't lie, some of the things I write may be shocking to if you see Robin the way he came off in season 4 and 5...boring and one-dimensional. This will feature darkness. Trigger warnings will be used where appropriate.
Also, for all my OQ fans, be assured that all of this is written with the backdrop that Regina is Robin's true soulmate. Thank you for your support!
* 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 *
* 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 *
* 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 *
The first thing Robin became aware of was the chirping of morning songbirds. Something he woke up to everyday.
His tongue felt heavy and dry as if he'd fallen asleep with a ball of wool in his mouth.
He was hungover.
He knew it immediately because that was something else he woke up to more days than not.
Cautiously he slid his eyes open, the sun filtering through the canvas of his tent hitting his eyes, feeling like it sliced all the way through his skull.
With a groan, squeezed his eyes closed again. Closing them so hard, though, only served to increase the pain.
He lay still, keeping his breathing shallow and steady because he knew that if he attempted to move he'd be sick.
As the fog in his head and turmoil in his stomach slowly eased, he tried opening his eyes again. Through the bright yellow glare, he caught sight of a woman's pale back at the foot of his cot as she eased her tunic over her head, and yanked her light brown hair out of the neck.
Closing his eyes again he swore to himself. Memories of the previous night were hazy. He did remember going to a tavern, but he didn't remember a woman. There had been plenty there, of course. There always were at taverns. However, he had no memory of any one in particular.
Looking over at her through one eye, she still had her back to him. He tired to think it over, but he really couldn't recall her face, much less her name!
He let out a rough sigh.
She jostled the cot harshly as she grabbed her boots from underneath it, and shoved them onto her feet with a disgusted huff. Apparently she was already angry...in a way that was a relief.
Once her boots were on, she flung the tent flap open violently, and stormed through the camp.
With a sigh, Robin shoved himself up off his cot. He wavered on his feet for a second before shuffling heavily around the cot.
He nudged his crumpled clothes on the floor of the tent until his toe hit the leather flask. Holding onto the main tent pole to avoid falling on his face, he picked it up and used his teeth to pry the cork out.
After spitting it into his free hand, he took a swing of mead. There wasn't much left inside, but enough to be an effective 'hair of the dog'.
"Greeting the dawn, I see?" a voice asked from outside his tent.
As Robin lowered the flask, he saw that it came from Tuck who was standing a few feet from his tent with a bucket of water and a judgmental expression.
He swallowed the liquor and gave Tuck as much of a cheeky grin as he could manage with a splitting headache, "What better way?"
"Perhaps, for the rest of our sake, with clothes on? Or at least with your tent closed?" the other man suggested.
Robin was too prideful to let himself be embarrassed, though, so he simply stretched his arms and answered, "I'm merely appreciating the Gods' creation in the state they created me!"
"I'm certain they're moved by your reverence," Tuck answered dryly before continuing on his way on through camp.
Robin laughed at his retreating form as he tossed back the last few sips of mead.