AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, readers! As stated in the summary, this is an OutlawQueen fic. If you don't ship that, I highly suggest you find another fic to read. Though I'm sure there are plenty of other variations of this same sort of theme, this is my iteration. Season Four will be mostly the same, save written from Robin's perspective and with its own Robin spin. He lacked a great deal in the last two seasons, so this is my humble attempt to give him the spotlight he deserves. His lore I have taken from the show, as well as some of the varying Robin Hood stories out there, along with my own spin on them. After Season Four, things become quite AU, since I was not pleased at all with the Arthur and Underworld plot. Expect heartbreak, sex, action, a tad bit of gore, and one of the greatest love stories ever told! Enjoy.


"And it isn't as though I can just turn them off," Robin continued, his body stretched across the chaise in Dr. Hopper's office. His gaze was focused on the ceiling—a boring white that wasn't distracting him nearly as much as he wished it would. "That would make this entire thing so bloody easy. She's my soulmate. I'm always going to feel something towards her, aren't I?" his gaze moved briefly to Dr. Hopper, who was opening his mouth to speak, but Robin continued before he could. "And my wife . . . Marian . . . she's been dead for . . . I don't even know how long. I've been told thirty or so years have passed in truth. It certainly felt that long, but neither myself nor Roland have the years to prove it. Regardless of the actual count, it's been some time since she was alive. I mourned her—I grieved her a great deal. Then I moved on. For my son's sake."

Robin slowly pushed himself up, sitting upright on the chaise. "I didn't intend on falling for Regina. Or . . . maybe I did. I don't . . . I don't know," he scratched his head, taking a moment to run his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done. I have feelings for her . . . and now my wife has returned from the dead. What do I do, Doctor?" he asked, looking at Dr. Hopper with a hopeful expression.

Marian's reemergence into his life had been both a blessing and a nightmare. He had loved that woman. They had built something wonderful together. Roland was able to meet his mother. Everything he was, he owed to her . . . but why now? He was happy. Though Regina and himself had only been going out for a few weeks, he felt more comfortable and at ease with her than anyone else. She was beautiful, funny, witty beyond measure, and she was so desperately sad that it made him ache. It seemed embedded into the very pupils of her eyes. Was it wrong that he had wanted to make it disappear? That he had wanted to make her smile instead?

"I'm not sure what help I can offer on this matter," Dr. Hopper said finally, removing his large glasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief. Robin watched his hands, feeling his hope fizzle out. It was a wild shot, he knew, coming to Dr. Hopper for aid. In truth, he wasn't even sure what Dr. Hopper did. Killian had tried to explain that when one was having a difficult time processing something, one talked to a psychiatrist—like Dr. Hopper. After speaking with him, all of one's problems was supposed to go away. Killian had suggested just drinking until the problem went away, but Robin would kill himself with alcohol poisoning before that ever happened—though the thought of being blindingly drunk wasn't the worst idea.

"I think you need to speak with both of them," Dr. Hopper added. "But first you need to consult your heart. There's going to be pain, regardless. This isn't a situation where no one gets hurt. But I can't suggest who you should run to. That isn't what I do, and I think it would be inappropriate. Only you can choose."

Robin bit his lip. "But it isn't a choice. I'm married. Technically. I think. She died, so perhaps not, but in her . . . perspective . . . she never died, so we're still married." Groaning, he buried his face in his hands. Why him? He was a simple man. Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Drink on Saturdays. Go to Friar Tuck's sermons on Sunday. He wasn't built for this sort of dilemma.

"Now," Dr. Hopper cleared his throat. "There is the matter of the bill. If you'd like I can send it to your address . . .?"

He frowned at that. He was being charged? He thought this talking thing was free. If he had to pay for it, he'd have just spoken to Killian. There was a general lack of money in his pockets. Being a thief with a code meant he was basically penniless. Robin forced a smile on his lips and stood. "Yes. Address it to me. Storybrooke Forest." He took a step towards the door. "Forty-Seven Trees In." He opened the door. "Fifth Tree on the Left." Then he slipped away before Archie could stop him. He needed to see Marian . . .


There it was. A strong stallion that would fetch him a pretty price. He had two horses already at camp, but this one was perfect to sell at the local market. It was a proper workhorse—young and strong. The only problem? It was already owned. But that mattered little to a thief like himself. Robin stopped watching the barn and hid behind the large tree once more. The farm was situated just outside of the forest that he and his mates had held themselves up in for the time being. It was isolated and small—only a single family lived inside the hut beside the barn. Easy pickings.

So easy, in fact, that Robin had told his mates that he'd do the job alone. Now that the moon was high in the sky, it was time to strike. Crouching, he stole past the fields, keeping low. One eye was on the quiet hut, the other on his target—the barn. Reaching the large door, he grabbed his dagger and started to pick at the padlock. His breathing was kept steady, his hands even steadier. The dagger pulled and pressed until he felt something give. There was a click, and the lock snapped open. Robin removed it, and then lifted the heavy wooden beam up off of the door.

Pulling it open, he saw his prize standing in his stable—innocent and curious. Robin approached the stallion gently, lightly stroking his muzzle and snout. The last thing he needed was for the horse to buck him off mid-escape. His palms ran over the short fur, feeling the strong muscle underneath. "Yes, you're going to fetch me a fine penny, aren't you?" Robin murmured, patting the horse. He unlocked the stable door, then led the horse out. "Come on, mate. Nice and easy," he cooed.

Mounting the horse, he put on a bridle but otherwise rode the horse bareback. Kicking his heels into the horse's flanks, he urged his prize into motion. The horse charged forward out of the barn, his hooves thundering on the ground, and they disappeared into the forest. Robin guided the horse through concealed deer paths until he reached his camp. "Gentlemen!" he called, sliding off the horse with a flourish and bow.

"Ha! Robin's back!" Little John announced in a cheerful bellow.

"Damn it. You cost me two silvers," Friar Tuck grumbled, tossing them over to Alan-a-Dale, who grinned happily.

"You bet against me, Friar? I'm wounded. That makes me think God isn't on my side," Robin teased their resident drunken member of the clergy. Tuck grunted at that, reaching for another bottle of wine. "Isn't it against your clerical orders to gamble, anyway?"

"Well, I need something to repent on Sunday, don't I?" Tuck replied with a grin.

Robin chuckled and tied the horse up alongside the others. "We'll head to the market in the morning and see what price we can haggle. I expect nothing less than three hundred gold." Their eyes glimmered at that. Ah, the sweet promise of gold. It could lift anyone's spirits. Speaking of lifting spirits, Robin grabbed Tuck's bottle of wine from him, plopping down beside him and shared the rich vintage. Alan-a-Dale, quite spurred on by the promise of more wealth, entered into a bracing, cheerful song—one the rest of the men started to join in on half-way through. Such was how the night continued, until one-by-one, they passed out from drink around the campfire.


Marian was back at their camp. Robin found her trimming Roland's hair when he entered its boundaries. "Mommy is cutting my hair!" Roland announced with a bright grin. Robin smiled lightly at his son. At least someone was happy in this mess.

"Really, Robin. Were you planning on letting his hair grow long enough to braid?" Marian teased, snipping away lightly.

Robin smirked lightly, amused. "I suppose it was getting a bit long. It's been one adventure after the other here. I barely had time to bathe him, let alone trim his hair. This is the first break from impending doom since we've arrived." He crouched in front of his son and kissed his cheek. Straightening, he met Marian's eye, and his smile faltered for a moment. It warmed him to see her. He remembered that smile—remembered how it made him feel. But that was the problem. It was a memory he reacted to, not the smile itself. Yet, he knew what his duty and honor called upon him to do.

"We need to talk, Marian," he said, gesturing for him to join him once she was finished.

"Of course. Almost finished." As Marian tidied up Roland's hair, Robin looked out on the rest of his camp. The Merry Men seemed as awkward as he felt. True, they were not dating Regina as he had been, but their loyalty was to him. Until he made a decision, they didn't know where to plant their flag. Though he had a feeling he knew which side they were hoping for. Marian had been the one to stich up their wounds and break their fevers when they got sick. She had been a mother to them all. When she had died, they all mourned. This was for them as much as it was for Marian.

Speaking of, she joined him then, smiling patiently at him. Robin returned the smile and took her hand, leading her away from the camp and into the forest. "I did some thinking," he began.

"Dangerous work for you," Marian smirked.

Robin smiled wider, though he felt equal parts pain. How was he going to live like this? Feeling guilty every time he appreciated her humor? Feeling like it was a lie? But he knew what he needed to do. "You're my wife," he said, stopping and taking her other hand in his. He looked into her eyes. How many times had he confessed his love as he looked into those eyes? He'd meant it once. If he tried . . . really tried . . . perhaps he could do it again. "My duty is to you. I'm not leaving your side."

Marian's smile grew, but her grip on his hands were tight. "Are you . . . sure? I know it can't be easy."

Robin nodded, smoothing his expression into one of certainty. No doubt could surface for his answer—in his expression or his heart. "I'm sure. Roland has his mother again. And I have my wife. It may take some time, of course, but I know we'll be a happy family again." Why did it feel so hollow in his heart to say that? Marian smiled and hugged him. His arms wrapped around her as well. Her weight and frame was familiar. The scent of her hair even more so. It hurt as much as it soothed to hold her.

"ROBIN!" Marian suddenly cried out, pulling back and tugging him with her.

"What?" Robin asked, turning to see what she saw . . . and found himself staring at a massive snow giant. It was armored in ice and was marching right towards them. "Marian, run! Back to the camp!" Robin urged her along, his heart racing as the snow monster tore after them. Of all the bloody times he didn't have his bow. They raced back to the camp, where Robin immediately started shouting. "Form up! We have incoming! Nock your arrows!" Robin grabbed his own bow and quiver and immediately nocked an arrow.

The snow giant came crashing through the trees, splitting them in two in its wake. Robin released his arrow, aiming for the snow giant's eye. His aim was true, his arrow embedding deep into the giant's socket. It didn't even phase the beast. Robin watched with horror, as the snow giant merely plucked it out and continued charging forward. It seemed intent on Marian. Realizing this, Robin shouted over to her, "Marian, get back!"

Just then, a poof of purple smoke appeared, Regina emerging. Robin watched in amazement as she formed a large fireball in her hands and hurled it at the snow giant. It went right through him, though it left a gaping hole. The snow giant paused at this, looking down. "Not today, Frosty," Regina said, and then shot an inferno at the monster. It engulfed the snow giant, making it melt into nothing more than a large puddle. Robin breathed a sigh of relief.

"Regina, thank-," he turned to thank her, but she had already poofed away. The words fell silent in his throat, and his lips pressed into a line instead. She had saved them—saved Marian, more importantly. She never ceased to astound him.


The taut sound of a string being pulled woke him from his sleep. Robin opened his eyes to find an arrow pointing directly at his forehead. He started and held up his hands. Looking past the arrow, he saw the bow was held by a young woman—an angry young woman. Her hair was black and silken. Her skin a rich and warm brown. Her eyes, however, were what held his gaze. They were bright and full of hate. "How dare you?" she said in a sharp whisper. Robin was unable to say anything, entirely at a loss.

"My parents are good people. My family is good and hard-working. We're not rich. We're not vain. We do our work and thank God that we have enough to eat through the winter. Who are you to rid my family of their sole means of making any money?" Robin blinked. The woman nodded to the horse. "That horse plows our fields. My father is old. He can't plow enough anymore. Without our horse, we don't sell, we don't eat. So, who are you to decide if we starve? What harm have we ever done to you?" She lowered her bow. "You disgust me. A man who would steal from the poor and deprived. You have no honor. When you stand before God—rich from your thefts—beside me—poor, but honorable—who do you think He'll allow through His gates?" She shouldered her bow, giving him one last look of loathing.

Robin could only watch as she mounted the horse he had stolen from earlier. How had she found him? He had been careful. Stunned, he could only watch her ride off with her horse. Instead of feeling annoyed at having lost a profit, he felt . . . foolish. Scolded. Her words reverberated in his mind. Who did he think he was? He hadn't known her family was that poorly off. Were the others as bad off? Had he indirectly killed them? Through starvation or other means? How much damage had he done to the innocent?

He lay awake that night, unable to return to sleep. Beside him, his men lay sleeping off their drunken stupors, entirely unaware of their midnight visitor. Robin fretted, the shame festering in his heart. His gaze traveled upward to the shining stars. He wasn't the most religious man out there. After fighting in the Crusades, it had made him lose his faith more than bolster it. But the woman's words struck a chord within him. What he was doing was wrong . . . More than that, it was childish. His father would have whipped him from one side of the country to the other if he knew what his son had amounted to.

It put his life into question. Robin remembered when he had been a boy full of bright ideas and plans. He was going to become a knight and help the poor and needy. A defender of the innocent. Or he was going to start his own farm in a countryside far from England and live quietly. It really had been one or the either. What it wasn't going to be was what his father wanted—an Earl. The last thing Robin had ever wanted was to follow in his father's footsteps and take over the estate. How he wished he could take that back now . . .

When the first morning light appeared in the sky, he rose—his decision made. It was time for a change. This wasn't a life he was proud of . . . and he wanted to be proud. Robin took the last remaining horses and rode back to the farm. The woman's father was already in the fields. Robin's heart ached to see him—grey and withering. He would not have survived long doing the fieldwork without a horse. Fresh shame pierced through him. The older man looked up questioningly as Robin rode up.

"Hello there, sir," the man greeted him. "What can I do for you?"

Robin dismounted and held the reins to the man. "You can accept my gift. Two horses. Use them however you wish."

The man's eyes widened at that. "What? Why would you bless me in such a way, kind sir?"

Robin caught sight of the young woman. She was leading the previously stolen horse towards the field. She frowned when she saw Robin, but she said nothing. So, she hadn't told her father about the horse's brief disappearance last night either. "I was visited by an angel in the night," he told the man, turning his gaze back to him. "She whispered to me that I had too much . . . and it was my duty to share with those who were not as fortunate as I."

"Well, God bless you, sir. Please, stay for breakfast! My wife should be finished with it soon!" the man urged.

Robin smiled politely and was about to decline when the young woman joined them. "Yes," she said. "Please. Stay for breakfast." Robin looked at her in surprise.

"If it would please you, milady," he replied, bowing his head respectfully. "Robin of Locksley," he extended his hand to her.

"Marian," she returned, and she fit her hand with his own. Robin pressed a kiss upon her knuckles, and the smile it invoked on her lips went straight to his heart.

"Well, Marian. It is an absolute pleasure and honor to meet you."


He stood in front of her door—hesitating. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. Hell, it was a conversation he never thought he ever would have. Taking a breath, he finally rang her bell, wincing as he did so. The door opened a few seconds later, Regina greeting him with a look of surprise. "Robin. I wasn't expecting you."

The nervous look in her eyes ripped him to pieces. Robin squared himself. "Can I talk to you?" he asked her quietly. The look deadened into cold acceptance. She already knew what he was going to say. But she nodded all the same and opened the door wider for him to let him pass. Robin removed his boots, recalling all too well her dislike for tracking mud into her pristine home. She gestured him into the living room where they had spent a rather happy evening once drinking wine and making s'mores in her fireplace. And kissing. Bloody hell, he loved kissing her . . .

"So," Regina said, breaking through his thoughts. She sat herself down on the edge of her loveseat. Robin appreciated the sight of her for a moment. She was dressed in a light grey business suit. Mayor-wear. He'd been around long enough to understand her trends for profession and for play. It hugged and clung in all the right ways. Robin realized he was staring a tad too long and frowned at himself. That wasn't right. He couldn't stare and . . . do what he needed to do. Slowly, he sat down beside her on the seat. "I think we both know why you're here," she began. "Your wife is back."

"She is," Robin agreed. "And . . . I'm still a married man because of it. I . . . owe it to her . . . to try and make it work." The pain was there, surfacing around the sadness in her eyes, and he hated himself for being the cause of it. He'd just wanted to make her smile, damn it. "Regina, I'm sorry," he whispered, his expression tightening with pain as well. "What I felt . . . and feel . . . for you is real. But I have to honor my vow."

"You have to love Marian," Regina said, her voice detached.

Robin could feel her slipping from him, and he so desperately wanted to hold onto her tighter. Each second, she slid further and further, and the absence was like a gaping wound in his chest. "I have to try," he breathed. "Goodbye, Regina." She didn't quite look at him. If she did, he'd see the tears collecting in her eyes.

"Goodbye, Robin."

Pain bloomed in his chest, and he forced himself off of the couch before he could go back—before he could undo the damage he had caused. Closing his eyes tightly as he turned away, he left the room. His boots were slipped back on, and he heard a single sob inside of the living room before he shut the door. The sound broke his very soul.

He never hated himself more.