Disclaimer: I do not in any way own anything Robin Hood related. If I did the horror of the season 2 finale would not have happend.

AN: Hey all. This is my first Robin Hood piece, kinda came out of the blue earlier. be gentle and review please. It would be nice to have feedback on this.


Robin never thought of himself as a saint, far from it in fact. He had killed; he had spilt the blood of his enemies and his own country men, all in the name of King Richard. No he had never thought himself a saint, but he had always thought of her as his savior.

They had married albeit in words only but she had saved him. With her by his side he could anything, they could do anything. They had saved the King, they had warned him of the treachery, but at a price no one had seen coming.

But now, now as he laid her, his savior, his wife, Marion, into the sandy grave, he was as far from a saint, from anything as he could be. Now he was nothing more than a mere man grieving for the love of his life, for a love that he had not treasured enough. A love that could no longer be returned while he was still on this earth.

He wanted nothing more than to grieve, to let the heavens know of his heart break. To be able to forget, even for a moment that he had to leave the Holy Land, the place that had cost him so much, to leave her, to forget even for a moment that she was gone. But he could not, let himself do any of those things. He had a job to do, men to lead, people to look out for. No he was not just a mere man, could not be even for a moment.

He was Robin Hood.