"Burning Cold"
By: Lady Archerfan
One Shot
Angst
Reflective of pre S1 to pre S3
Characters: Robin and implied Rob / Marian
A/N: This one literally came to me in the night, and I actually had to get up out of bed to scribble it down, because it kept tickling at my brain. I hope you enjoy it for what it's worth
When he first set foot in the Holy Land, he was burning with the vigor of youth, and the overwhelming desire to fight. Very little thought was given to the cause, the reason for the fighting in a foreign land; he was simply after an outlet for the adventure and the glory he could never obtain at home. Possibilities gleamed bright and he was eager for anything and everything.
Soon, the flush of adventure wore away, leaving only the burning heat of the sun off sand and the steaming, stinking warmth of spilled blood. The fire in his soul faded into a corner of a numbed mind that cried for the ability to not think, not feel, not remember. The cold numbness worked, and soon everything blurred into one meaningless path of sun, sand, sweat and blood. Desire for glory was lost with the pure flame of youth.
Yet fire and flame attacked him again as a dagger tore open his side and a fever raced through his blood. Suddenly, the cold darkness could not protect him. It was burned away as his body burned. He remembered little of the fever save the agony of pain and memory. The physical hurt of the fever was matched by the ache of calling for the comfort of one who was lost to him. As a larger fire engulfs a smaller, the fever's flame threatened the flame of his life; suffocating in the burning, he could hardly tell the difference between life and death. If he sent his strength and will in the wrong direction, he would die, but living would bring more suffering. And then the fire faded.
A colder, steadier fire grew in his heart as he sailed home and walked in the greenwood again. It was the flame of a shattered youth; pain and war left their marks, but his young age and passionate mentality combated with the weapon of vigor and a shield of arrogance. This flame burned strong and bright, but he should have know it could not last. It was not because it burned like a grass fire, hot, bright and short, but because the burn of the Holy Land returned. At the same time, a chill of fear settled in his heart where passion for another heart had lived.
The burning sun, the flaming sand, the hot blood and death surrounded him yet again and the hot flame in his heart died. The blood of the one he loved was spilled on the sun bronzed sand and she died. Pain and passion transformed the fire of his spirit into a cold flame as he walked away from the bloodied sands yet again. The relentless, cold burning of his heart, soul, and mind drove him homewards, and drove him to create the doom of his foes as surely as a fire burns and ice freezes.
He had always burned: he had burned with the vigor of youth, with the passion of love, and with the desire to change the world around him. Now, he was still burning, but burning cold.