II

Beloved Ghost

The sea was calm and still for once, and the waves rolled on gently offering no sudden buck and jolt as the storms of previous nights. The day was clear and the weather good; for once it seemed the Fates had chosen to favor the vessel steering a path through the water towards a distant home.

A man stood near the prow of the ship, still standing where he had been all night previous. He was soaked through and shivering, and yet some energy in him kept him standing though his legs buckled beneath him. His eyes, usually so gently and cheery were bleak and desolate. The cloak he wore was a mockery of protection from the harsh weather. His hair was tousled by wind and rain and he looked altogether like better company for the dead then the living. This was the famed Robin Hood of legend; nothing more than a broken man without his Lady.

A voice, raw with indignity and concern shouted to him, "Master!"

Ever faithful and loyal Much. It was fitting he should be the one to find him in such a state. "Master! What..." He placed a firm hand upon his shoulder. "God! How long have you been out here?!"

"A few moments. An hour. A day...." Robin muttered incoherently.

"Master, come with me down to the cabin. You are ill." Much said, leading the frail man away from the prow.

"I saw her." Robin whispered. "I swore I heard her call to me in the darkness...she is here, Much...she is always here."

"And if she were truly here she would have some fine words to say to you right now, Master; nearly drowning yourself in the rain..." Much chided, walking slowly to keep Robin steady on his feet.

"What I would not give to hear those words...even if they be spoken in anger." Robin whispered, he faltered in his step.

At last he could no longer support himself and he sank to the floor. Much, realizing that his Master could walk no further let me sit upon the deck of the ship unhindered. He sat beside him quietly fidgeting as was his fashion. For a time the two old friends sat in silence as if drawing strength from the others' presence alone. At last a sob tore through Robin, "I miss her, Much. Oh God, there is nothing to compare it too. I need her here. I want her with me. I wake asking myself why she has gone! What have I done to deserve this?! Have I not done right all my life?" He was raging now, "Give her back to me!" he shouted to the cloudless sky overhead, "If there is a God, then I beg you, have mercy...give her back....give Marian back to me..."

Much winced at the agonizing shouts of his leader and close friend. Robin was lying face down upon the deck, fists clenched in anger and defiance at the loneliness which had become his world. Gently, Much eased the man upright again. "Do not do this, Master." He whispered carefully, noticing the odd stares some of the crew were shooting at them, but the sailors had grown accustomed to Robin's ravings over the past week.

"You are unwell. Let me take you back down to your cabin where you can rest." Much offered.

"Yes." Robin said, letting an eerie calmness wash over him with such a suddenness it was on the border of madness. "Yes, I would like to rest....in dreaming I see her. I am with her again, for a moment." Much helped Robin to his feet and led the broken man down into the lower quarters of the ship.

***

Grief is not just reserved for the righteous or the heroic. Sometimes even the most wicked are prone to it. Often it is the villain, despised and unloved who grieves the hardest. They sit alone in their misery uncomforted and friendless; alone in the dark.

Sir Guy of Gisborne, once so proud and stoic, lay like a broken relic of his former self upon a small cot in a dark and dingy cell-like room which would serve as his quarters for the journey back to England. He had hardly moved since he had first laid himself down, and that had been back at the port even before the ship had sailed. A week had passed since that day, though Guy would never have known. He seemed barely alive in his current state. His eyes were open and bloodshot, he stared at the ceiling of his cabin but did not see the wooden rafters. He saw only her.

Marian. The name was like a prayer, in it he had placed all of his hopes, his future, his life, his trust, and his love. Marian had been everything. He recalled that day at Nottingham Castle when she had kissed him with such a feverish passion. If he thought about it hard enough he could very nearly feel the ghost of her lips upon his. She had been his light; his sole goodness. He remembered asking her to stay with him at the Castle after having discovered her secret double life as the Nightwatchman. He remembered how she had smiled and kissed his cheek. Her happiness and relief had been so tangible and overwhelming that Guy had smiled as well at her.

It was not just sweet moments which shifted and played before his mind's eye. Even when Marian had been at her fiercest he had loved her. The anger and indignation that had been in her eyes when she had saved him from drowning at Hood's hands. Such a fiery nature to her, he loved it. He confessed it; he loved every inch of her to the last detail. It pained him whenever she left a room, it hurt him more to think that she did not feel half of what he felt for her.

He had given her chance after chance to come forward with the truth of her relationship with Robin Hood and for each chance she had lied with a smile and glimmer of mischief in her eyes, and he, loving her as he did, had believed her. A darker image had recently come to frequent his thoughts: Marian all in white coming to him to stop his treason. She had finally told him the truth then, all of it in one spiteful and hateful moment. How could she have taunted him so? She said once that she had cared for him, then could she not have seen how her words had broken him? At that moment if he had learned it had all been a ruse, and that she had said she loved Hood only to distract him he would not have cared. He would have believed her, perhaps; taken her in his arms never to let her go again. She may have broken him in one instant, but she could have healed him just as quickly in another.

He had reacted too swiftly. He had lunged for her and in his haste he killed her. Marian; his love, his life...and she was on the sand, bleeding and hurting. She never loved him, it had all been for naught. Now he lay staring blindly upwards tormenting himself with memories of her.

Amidst his silent grief he fell asleep, the first sleep in a week. In that slumber he dreamed. A hooded woman came to him, silent and watchful. She said nothing, and Guy fancied it was Marian's ghost come to haunt him. "Marian!" He cried, startling himself at the lancing agony racing through him.

The hooded woman cringed at the sound. She seemed to want to come closer but she would not move. Guy moved towards her, she was not so very far away, only a pace or two at most. His arms were open to her, he wanted nothing more then to take Marian in his arms and beg for forgiveness a thousand times over.

The hooded figure recoiled wildly, although it seemed her arms were nearly reaching for him as well. He could not help but call to her again. "Marian!"

Hush, I beg you, be silent. There were words with no sound and yet Guy felt an overwhelming sense of peace at the mental reverberations.

The woman would not come to him. She straightened, stared him down; however Guy could not see her face. So much pain...I have tried...for so long to help you... Was the woman sobbing? You can see me?

"Who...who are you?" Guy asked, this was not Marian.

But you are a dream...you are not real....

"Answer me!" Guy shouted.

No, no, no; I beg you be at ease. Do not shout. Do not cry. I can not stand it! Sleep, now, sleep without dreams. Be at peace. The woman faded and so did the dream and Guy slept without nightmares and without disturbance.

He awoke with a great start, the ship had given a great lurching roll over the waves and the movement sent Guy tumbling from the cot. Slowly he rose to his feet, his legs buckled slightly, the lack of activity had caused this weakness. He rang his fingers through his unwashed, and disheveled hair. Had he slept? He must have, but if he dreamed he remembered nothing. He had slept peacefully and for a moment all past torment had been banished from his thoughts.

They came rushing back to him now in one great wave. He stood still for a moment as memory came to him. Oh, if only to wake and realize that Marian was alive and that his murder had merely been a nightmare! Marian....the thought of her name snapped something within him. He had been silently grieving for so long it was a wonder he had a voice to lend screams to, but Guy did. He vented his anger and his loss wildly, howling like a wounded wolf, he made wreckage of the little cabin. Tears came as well and he cried without restraint or shame.

Enclosed alone in his darkness, the wretched villain raged, sobbed, and screamed his loss and agony into the arms of no one. Emotionally spent, Guy lay exhausted upon the floor, panting and gasping for breath while at the same time tears continued to track down his face. "Marian..." he sobbed, broken, shattered, "Marian...."

***

"I will go mad if I must lie here any longer!" Marian said in a quipped manner as Djaq entered the room.

"You will not have time to go mad; for if you dare move about just yet you will be dead shortly afterwards." Djaq retorted with her usual patience.

"More stitches?" Marian groaned pulling a face.

"Oh, would you rather have that become infected?" Djaq set her supplies beside Marian's cot. "I have herbs for the pain."

"And yet you fancied not giving these to me when you first brought me here." Marian huffed.

"I needed you awake and alert, not clouded by medicines. I confess it. You could not fall asleep so soon after being roused from the stupor you were in. I may never have woken you again. Do you understand?" Djaq heated a needled over the candle's flame to sterilize it.

"I understand it. In the same fashion in which I understand why you lied to Robin and to me about my own death." Marian said, surprising herself with the anger in her voice.

Djaq paused, "Robin could not have stayed with you. How many times must I explain myself. Two weeks have passed and you are not even well enough to rise from this bed. Could we have detained Robin from England while the Black Knights proceeded to gather and scheme in his absence?"

"You might have said as much at the time!" Marian shouted, half in argument and half in pain as the old stitches were removed. She reached for the mug of pain-relieving herbs and downed the medicine in one gulp.

"Robin would never have left your side, and you were in no position to go on such a long journey back to England." Djaq remarked working steadily.

"But to lie to him..."

"You will be with him again. Isn't that enough?" Djaq grunted.

"I know...it is no less then what I would have done...but I do miss him." Marian's words slurred as the drugs took effect, numbing her senses and dulling her conscious.

"You will be with him soon. I promise you." Noticing that the drugs were taking effect, Djaq began to wash the ugly wound in Marian's side. She did so gently; the skin was still a horrible shade of purple and black, but once she removed the old stitches she could see the flesh inside was a healthy pink and healing nicely.

Djaq smiled. She would make a full recovery soon. Carefully she re-stitched the wound close, this time using a finer string of thread, as the gash was not as severe as before. Again, she dabbed warm water along the line of her stitching to keep the wound clean and proceeded to bandage the wound.

Marian slept soundly on her little cot heedless of the guilt and doubts still swarming through her friends mind.

***

Allan wretched over the railing of the ship as another wave lurched under the vessel. "God cursed, ship." He hiccuped, wiping his tunic sleeve on his mouth. "Will there never be calm water?"

A crewman, who had been working nearby gave a full throated laugh at Allan's question. "Calm water? Sure, an' we have been sailing on the calmest wave ye ever saw. Smoother than a newborn babe's skin, these seas."

"I will never go sailing." Allan groaned, feeling the remaining contents in his stomach roll violently. "I will never, never go sailing."

"Don' know what yer missing, mate." The crewman whistled, tying off a knot of rope.

"Oh, I think that I do. Land. I miss good, hard, land." Allan said, resisting the urge to wretch over the side again.

He kicked out at Little John, who had been standing nearby. "Look at ye. Like some great boulder. Don't ye feel anything? It's vile...this whole cursed ship, 's bleeding the life outta me."

"Perhaps if you shut that great mouth of yours you would feel less inclined to vomit out of it." Little John grunted.

"Very funny." Allan snorted sarcastically. He sat down beside his friend upon the large cargo crates placed near the mast of the ship.

He buried himself against his cloak, shivering. Shame that Djaq wasn't here, she would have had something to give him for his seasickness he had no doubt about that. Shame that Will wasn't here either, at least if he had his best friend beside him they could have had a good laugh over all of this. Allan frowned; lots of old friends had not returned with them on the journey home. It wasn't supposed to be this way. If anything he was the one who had deserved to die; being the liar and traitor he was. Why did it have to be Marian? Good, clever, sturdy Marian who never did wrong. It was hardly fair, now she was lying cold under foreign soil and Will and Djaq had left the gang to start lives of their own, probably never to return to England. Yes he was ill, but he was not altogether certain if it was seasickness or something more.

"Hey!" Allan called, noticing Much coming onto the deck from below. "Much!" He called out again. "Seen Robin about?"

Much headed over to Allan and Little John. "He's in his cabin, resting."

"Seems t' be doing that a lot lately." Allan grunted.

"Well you would too if you had just lost your wife!" Much said defensively.

Allan merely shrugged his cloak against him all the more, "Never 'ad a wife." he grumbled. "So, any grand plans?"

"Get back to England; stop the Sheriff and the Black Knights; get King Richard home." Much listed, the litany had become more of mantra as it was repeated.

"This plan, I like." Little John said.

"Think Robin'll kill the Sheriff and Gisborne, himself?" Allan asked.

"If he doesn't I will." Little John snapped.

"Surely he will wait for the King and his justice?" Much supplied.

"Don' be t' sure o' that." Allan laughed humorlessly. "Nottingham's going to turn into a right ol' blood bath, ye can depend on it."

Little John and Much both stared at Allan, both thinking the same universal thought: If there was going to be a battle, what side was Allan going to be on once the fighting got underway?

Not quite sure how long this story is going to run for, to be honest. I'm just going to ride with it and see where it takes me.

Do remember to review! :)