A/N: a quick Robin Hood oneshot... I was sitting in my two hour exam Thursday, Welsh Literature and the question was to explain what the poem, Englynion Coffa Hedd Wyn is about…now, this wont make any sense to you lot here on FanFiction, but Hedd Wyn, who's name was Ellis Evans is a famous poet from Wales, who was forced to enlist in the Great War. He was a farm boy; a conscientious objector who, some may call a coward tried playing on the fact that he was a farmer and therefore couldn't go to war. Alas, he did and died out in Belgium where his grave is. While in the army, he posted a poem, which got sent to the Welsh Eisterddfod. He won, and won the chair – a prize that is still won today. He died, and therefore did not receive his prize…anyway, that has nothing to do with the story haha, the poem Englynion Coffa Hedd Wyn is written by a poet, R Williams Parry who describes Hedd Wyn's life and emphasizes the fact that he left so much behind in Trawfynydd, Wales to go to fight in Belgium…and that's where I got the idea from, Robin kind of left EVERYTHING…his everything to go to war, he returns, unlike Hedd Wyn to have everything taken off him. Also, unlike Hedd Wyn, Robin chose to go to war, although he returns with a changed attitude on killing, very much like Hedd Wyn.
Anyway, ignore the Welsh Literature lecture and focus on the story…
Basically, it's a oneshot of Robin in Acre praying.
Enjoy oh and please review…btw, is anyone apart from My-Little-Emmilette who I know for a fact is experiencing the same problem, not having emails when alerts come through etc etc? Please let me know on that…
And another thing, I haven't finished with ChildHood, I just posted this because I was bored.
Cheers.
The humid heat hung thick in the air, the once golden sand turned to a sickening brown colour with the excessive blood spillage, the gentle laughter and chatter that came from Crusaders frontier made the Captain of the King's Private Guard feel sick to his stomach. He'd had enough of Palestine. He wanted to go home.
Robin of Locksley trudged through the Crusaders camp and made his way to his own personal tent. It had been a hard, trying day. They had invaded several villages, had captured several Saracens, had lost several knights and had gained several slaves. It didn't make a difference to Robin that they had gained slaves; they had lost men - that was the most important thing. He entered his tent and discovered that his man servant, Much, was not there. He was probably sitting around the fire with the other Knights pigging out no doubt, Robin mused while shrugging off his white mantle quartered with a red English cross. He took off his heavy chain mail and unbuckled his belt that held his sheathed sword and handed them to his Saracen slave girl. He murmured a word of thank you to her in Arabic and stalked off into his second tent to wash. He bent over the bowl of water that was waiting for him and splashed the cold liquid over his tired, weather beaten face. He let the water drip gently down his face, it felt good to feel clean. He had to wash…after all those lives he had taken today with his bare hands…he had to wash!
He walked back to his main tent and threw on a white robe. Feeling his legs buckle underneath him with exhaustion, he collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. His limbs were screaming, aching after the hard day he had had, his eyelids were heavy and tired, threatening to close any second, his hands were blistered and calloused, his sweaty grip on the sword hadn't done them any wonders. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and ran a hand through his messy hair, was this nightmare ever going to end? He thought miserably, longing to go home, longing to touch English soil, longing for a change of clean clothes and a hot bath…he was wishing the impossible. What were the chances of him leaving the Holy Land alive? And even if he did survive the Turk, he would never make it to England alive by ship, the perilous waters and heavy storms would destroy the ship and everything in it, and then there was the travelling by land, that alone was an exhausting journey, let alone the number of soldiers they would have to fight in order to pass through the country.
His life was over. He cursed himself countless times for being such a fool for leaving the quiet life and luxury of Locksley Manor, for leaving the happy life he could have had with Lady Marian. He had thrown everything away to follow his King to some foreign country to recover the Holy Land from the Muslims. God had obviously abandoned them otherwise why else would they be losing so many soldiers, why weren't they wining what they had come to win, why had the grace of God left them?
His life was ruined, not only was he resigned to kill countless people; he was plagued, every night, with horrific nightmares that people could only think of. Children screaming, women pleading for mercy, men screaming in pain, begging to be killed to end their suffering, the dreams haunted him every night, they would awake him from the sleep that had reluctantly succumbed him, he would awake suddenly, soaked in cold sweat, shivering uncontrollably in the freezing temperature of the dessert. Of course, this was his punishment for daring to commit such unholy crimes. He longed to go home, to be safe in his bedchamber at night, the only danger being that he could catch a cold, not some infectious disease that the soldiers seemed to be falling ill with and dropping like flies. He longed to be held by his Lady, Marian at night, for her to wrap her warm, loving arms around him and to kiss his forehead gently whenever he would be awaken by one of his dreams, instead of Much having to calm him with soothing words. He longed mostly to tell her that he was still alive, that he still loved her and that he was a fool to leave her affections in order to gain the King's approval by fighting alongside him as one of his most loyal supporters.
Robin felt sick, he had made a rash decision of giving up his love for Marian to go and fight the Heathen, giving up his love for Marian and giving it to another, King Richard, and now he was paying for it. He moved his hand to his pocket and felt the one possession that he had truly taken care of with all his heart, the one possession that still brought back painful memories. He pulled out the ring, the betrothal ring he had given Marian, the betrothal ring she had given back to him upon hearing that he was leaving for the Middle East. Robin turned the ring absentmindedly in his calloused fingers, examining it ever so carefully, thinking of the first time he had slipped it on to Marian's slender fingers, the first time he had kissed it, the time when she had pulled it off and had thrust it painfully into his hand declaring that she would not wait for him to return. He brought the ring up to his lips, kissing it gently, his eyes closed. When he opened them, a single tear fell down his grubby, weather beaten face and rolled off the end of his chin. He heaved himself heavily off of the bed and fell to his knees. Clutching the ring in his palm; he entwined his fingers together, kneeling on the floor in prayer, something he routinely did every night, hoping that God would once again forgive and protect him through his dangerous battle the following day.
Robin closed his eyes and opened his mouth and said, just like he said every night,
"Ancestors, I ask you for your forgiveness and guidance. Blessed mother, forgive me for my sins and unholy doing and come to me with God's desire for my future. Blessed father, watch over my beloved Marian with a ready sword for she needs protecting in these dark times. Whisper to her that I live only to hold her again, for all else is dust and air. Ancestors, I honour thee and will try to live with the dignity that you have taught me for I am a man of my word…amen," he kissed the ring before stowing it back safely into his pocket, hoping that it would bring another day of luck to him, praying that she would be safe. He stood up and turned around to find Much standing in the doorway holding his helmet. He smiled at his master and bowed before saying, "She knows alright,"
Robin looked at him quizzically before suppressing a quiet laugh, something he had not experienced in a long time; it felt almost alien like, the laughter on his lips. He threw an arm around his best friend's shoulder and guided him out of the tent to the nearest tent that served ale, both of them laughing together as they embraced the smell of ale and laughter.
I live only to hold you again, for all else, my love, is dust and air…