All in all, this heist had gone better than he'd expected.
They all had told him that stealing from the King was not only arrogant but, more so, it was idiotic, bloody suicide. He should have listened. They'd barely escaped with their lives. Barely had time to grab what little they could from the treasury before the room had been submerged by the royal guard.
If there was one thing to take away from this close brush with death is that they needed better weapons… and a better escape plan. Wasn't that always rule number one? Have an escape route all mapped out beforehand?
Truth is, his heart wasn't in it anymore, not like it once was. Back when he had a cause, a purpose. He still did, of course, there will always be people in need and others profiting from their misfortune.
Still, he wasn't used to doing this alone.
He felt a sudden shame for thinking such a thing when he knew he had men who would die for him, some who had died for him. But his men had families, people to go home to when the game was slow, and what did Robin have?
It didn't hurt as much to think of her now, it always would hurt of course, he would never do her the disservice of forgetting even one moment spent with her, including the most painful one. But at least now it wasn't nights of drinking away his sorrows, of falling asleep in a pool of his tears, of his own vomit, usually both.
Time heals all wounds and all that.
Back at their camp, all the men had piled their winnings onto the rich forest ground, by the roaring fire, waiting to assess if they truly had managed to make away with something of value.
Ever since his wife had died, Robin had very little reason to keep some of the riches for himself. He never needed much, having no one to look after or support besides himself and, if there was one thing that kept him from breaking down, from going back to that dark period of his life where nothing and no one could get through to him, it was the look of pure joy and gratitude on the villagers' faces whenever he paid them a visit with undoubtedly more gifts and provisions than they had seen in a lifetime.
But this day, something caught his eye and he couldn't help but claim it for his own before anyone else had the opportunity.
He admired its golden colour, the beautiful, intricate designs carved onto its body depicting thin figures that looked like they could be dancing—and every few faceless bodies he would spot an apple tree, its fruit ripe and bountiful—the small gems, rubies and sapphires, adorning its handle and lid, how they sparkled in the moonlight, how they called out to him like a siren would a wretched sailor.
He knew what it was, of course. When he had run into Will, returned from Wonderland, drowning in countless ounces of alcohol and cursing at his fate, it had taken a good night sleep and several baths in the river before he returned to a semblance of his old self, but the man finally began recounting his journey.
Robin had been reluctant to welcome him back at first, Will's betrayal still too fresh a wound, but he recognized all too well a brokenhearted man when he saw one. Will seemed to have lost all hope and Robin knew he would probably still look exactly like him had not his men taken care of him and knocked some sense into him after his wife's death. Will needed that support now and Robin happened to be in a charitable mood… well, more so than usual.
And so Will began telling him about all the people he had encountered in that strangest of realms. Among them, quite a fair few amount of genies. It seemed Agrabah didn't have a monopoly on the creatures.
Poor souls.
Trapped inside a lamp—he hardly thought they called it home—only coming out to serve whichever master cruelly summoned them.
Rubbing his sleeve on the golden lamp to admire its intricate carvings more clearly, he saw a light purplish smoke come out of it before morphing into an undeniable human form. Spitting profanities, he stared wide-eyed, unbelieving at his stupidity. Why hadn't he thought to ask Will how exactly a genie was summoned? He'd assumed it had to be from some sort of spell or incantation, surely not something as simple as giving the contraption a rub.
He tried fast to regain his composure and begin to apologize profusely to the undoubtedly angry chap for disturbing him—though, come to think of it, maybe he wouldn't mind being given a vacation, a day outside, some fresh air, not having to do anyone's bidding for once.
But this Robin did not expect, standing in front of him, looking him up and down with annoyance in her eyes was… a woman.
He felt silly for being this shocked, surely she wasn't the only female genie in existence, but he hadn't expected to meet one today, especially not one so stunning.
She wore a white garb he'd never seen on a woman before. The material was floating around her legs and arms—but tight bands of gold brocade graced her wrists, ankles, and waist—and conveniently low in places he'd rather not dwell on lest she think him presumptuous. She looked so much like an angel.
It took him a minute to realise that she was waiting for him to say something; her eyebrows were raised unceremoniously high, her hands were resting on her hips, and her head was tilted to the side waiting impatiently for him to voice his desires. What a sight he must have looked, still gaping at her and quite unable to recall his own name.
With a loud, exasperated sigh, she began, "Good evening, oh gracious lord," at this, he caught her eyes rolling, "I am the genie of the lamp. I am here to grant your wishes, three in total. But, take caution," her mocking eyes warned, "for I can do much, but not all. I cannot resurrect the dead, I cannot make someone fall in love, and lastly, I cannot change the past. Anything else, ask and it shall be yours."
"I… I don't wish for anything."
Liar, his mind yelled. How many sleepless nights had he wished, prayed to whatever gods there were to bring his wife back, to give him a semblance of his life back.
"Every man wishes for something. Gold, power, glory, women," she listed, unimpressed at the predictability of men. "I can make a man the richest in all the lands. I can grant him estates, build him castles and lavish gardens. I can give a man all the strength and courage to be the fiercest soldier on the battlefield. I can make him so shrines and temples will one day be built in his honor. I can transform a man into the most famous of lovers, can have courtesans fanning at his feet."
Robin found it hard to believe someone, man or woman, could glance upon this angel's delicate features—peaking from beneath the scowl that hadn't left her face since he'd mistakenly summoned her—and wish for anyone else to be eternally devoted to him.
"I must apologize. I feel rather foolish, but I didn't intend to call upon you." Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, thinking this to be a trick, he felt compelled to reassure her, to change her already lousy opinion of him. Brilliant, Robin, just brilliant, you've barely said a word and she already wishes to chuck you into the fire. "I stumbled upon your lamp and I…"
"You stole my lamp, you mean," she replied triumphant, believing to have caught him in a lie, to have exposed him for the scoundrel she no doubt thought he was. "I've been in King Leopold's keeping for years," she said her dainty fingers grasping at her clothing and digging where they'd lowered to her thighs, her gaze gone from irritated to livid (though her voice had managed to remain soft and controlled as if that fact had no effect upon her and, perhaps to anyone less scrutinizing than he, she'd be convincing), "he'd never willingly give me up."
"You're right. I did steal it." She seemed surprised at his honesty. Good. Perhaps he still had a chance to salvage her first impression of him. "But would you believe I didn't know what it was I was stealing?" Before she had a chance to answer, he took a step closer to her, "And, if I'm not mistaken, you don't seem too saddened at the thought of no longer being the King's possession."
Any hint of her beginning to… not trust him exactly (he still had a long way to go to achieve that), but to let go of her suspicions at least, evaporated in an instant.
"A prison is a prison. The jailer may change, but that never does."
"You're not a prisoner here," Robin replied firmly.
"Aren't I? I'm here because you wish it and only so long as you wish it. And then, I'll go back whence you released me from or, worse, I'll be placed into the custody of someone else."
Had this always been her fate? Being handed over by one master to another, forced to do as they asked?
It didn't seem like much of a life. It wasn't a life at all. And by her rigid stance, her immediate distrust of him, and the hopelessness now plainly visible in her eyes, Robin guessed her encounters with her former masters had been less than pleasant.
He was angry, furious to think of what this woman must have endured.
More importantly, he was desperate to ensure she would never have to face anything like that again. "I don't want to make a wish… let alone three. I don't have to. I could never utter a word and you wouldn't have to answer to anyone. You could be free."
She laughed at his naive notion, and it would have been such a sweet sound, capable of soothing even his aching heart, had it not been for her eyes which held such sorrow and resignation, "I'm afraid that is not how it works, dear. You must make three wishes and I must grant them. That's the way it's always been."
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I wouldn't be free, would I? I'd be here. Always."
He ignored the treacherous voice in his head telling him that, as long as he kept from making a wish, she would have to remain by his side.
He felt ashamed for thinking such things, for willingly considering keeping this beautiful—caged—woman for his own, realising with disgust that that made him no better than all the other bastards who'd dared to take advantage of her. No, he didn't wantto keep her here.
Not unless she wishes it.
But neither did he want her at the mercy of a lesser man than he.
He had only just met her, mere moments ago, and yet he already dreaded being parted from her. He wanted to help her. Call it chivalry, call it the memory of his former self coming to the surface and being compelled to rescue someone in need or some inexplicable pull he felt towards her but, whatever it was, he couldn't stand the thought of her being unhappy.
He himself had given up hope that he would ever be as happy as he had been with Marian, but this woman, whose name he still longed to hear, maybe he could help her find what had been lost to him.