Heh, okay, forgot the disclaimer. Here ya go:

Robin Hood, and all stuff associated with it, are the property of the BBC. I just play, and put them back where I found them when I'm finished.

And this is annoying me now. Whatever I write in dialogue for the characters, it sounds wrong! Argh! So, again, I apologise if everyone's really OOC. Meh.

Anyway. R&R is much loved, and enjoy!

Unintended Consequences

Chapter 1 - Sleep

Pain shot through him; sudden and agonizing.

Marian's face abruptly vanished and he jerked backwards, his head making sharp contact with the tree behind him with a solid thud. His hand flew to his thigh, unconsciously seeking the source of the incapacitating pain, and made contact with a horribly familiar wetness.

"Robin? Robin?" He felt her hands on either side of his face, holding his head still. "Robin!"

He dragged his eyes open, just in time to witness another arrow whip overhead and thunk into the wood barely a foot above his head. Any conscious thought was scrambled, but he still had the presence of mind to pull Marian down, just as another impacted where her head had been mere seconds before.

With a groan he forced the pain to the back of his mind. "We need to move," he hissed through clenched teeth. She nodded, worry in her blue eyes. Nothing more was needed to be said; she helped him to his feet and they limped away, hidden in darkness, as deadly arrows cut the night around them.

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The relaxed atmosphere of the camp was shattered the instant John looked up from the remnants of rabbit au burnt bits, and saw two hunched figures, silhouetted against the trees. The big man was instantly on his feet and running towards them.

"What happened?" Much asked, horrified, on his feet the second the pair entered the warming glow of the fire.

John waved Marian away from Robin and took the other man's weight onto himself. She turned to Much, barely contained worry on her finely-crafted features. "Robin was shot," she replied tersely.

"Yeah, got that, thanks," Allan murmured, staring fixedly at the broken arrow embedded deeply in their leader's thigh.

"Look," Robin stated, his voice tight, "can we save the questions for later?" John eased him down to the ground and he hissed with pain. "Allan, Will, Much," he bit off, "keep watch. Carefully. Whoever shot me is still out there." Another spasm of pain ripped across his features and his eyes screwed shut.

"Go!" John hissed to the aforementioned three, and they scattered, grabbing weapons and slipping into the darkness, not without many many worried glances back at Robin. The big man relinquished Robin to Marian and Djaq and moved off to join the others, watching in the shadows.

Marian crouched down beside Robin, interlacing her fingers with his. "Djaq?!" she called, half panicked.

The Saracen woman joined Marian beside Robin. She glanced up at him. "The arrow must come out before the wound can be cleansed," she said softly.

"I know."

The unspoken "It will hurt" hung in the air.

"Get it over with," Robin bit off.

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Vaizey, Sheriff of Nottingham, was still awake. It was past midnight, well past midnight, but he still found himself here, padding the corridors of the castle like a night time thief. Anxiety roiled in his belly – an odd occurrence for the middle of a calm night.

But, then again, he had his reasons.

A theatrical swish of black fabric announced the arrival of his elusive acquaintance – hidden, as always in the darkest of shadows. The Sheriff smiled; a viper's seductive smile to the sweetly naïve mouse. "Ah, you return," he greeted softly.

The mask over the figure's face didn't move as the shadow-man spoke. "It is done."

Vaizey's face lit up with undisguised glee. "You got him?"

The figure nodded. "In the leg – as you advised."

The Sheriff jumped with excitement. "Yes!" he hissed – loud in the still air. He squinted at the shadows, barely able to make out his masked assassin. "How long before he is dead?" he questioned.

A shrug. "A two days, maybe three. If he is strong. If not, less."

Vaizey grinned, flashing yellowing teeth in the dim candlelight. "Well, yes," he said. "Thank you for your services, etc., etc…"

"Sheriff." A glove hand was held out. "My fee."

Fake surprise was written across the Sheriff's face. "Your fee? What fee?"

The figure didn't move. Hand extended. Waiting.

"Oh, that fee!" Vaizey dug in the pockets of his night robe and produced a leather bag. He reluctantly tossed it to the shadow-man and smiled disconcertingly. "Fifty pounds, there in cash."

The bag disappeared. "You promised a hundred."

Vaizey bobbed on his feet. "The other fifty when he is dead."

A pause. And then a slow nod. "Very well."

And then the shadow-man was gone.

The Sheriff peered around in the shadows. "Nice doing business with you!" he called. There was no reply, and he wrinkled his nose.

He began to make his almost-silent way back to his rooms in the castle. "Must tell Gisborne this of this," he muttered to himself. "He might like it… But just where is Gisborne?" He glanced around, remembered it was the middle of the night, and shrugged. "Probably snug in bed," he derided. "Dreaming of his lovely little Marian – now never to be his. How heartbreaking…"

Vaizey reached his rooms and stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. "Sensible girl," he murmured, before slipping into bed.

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With careful precision, Djaq pulled the thread tight over the ragged hole in Robin's flesh and quickly knotted it off. "It is done," she said softly.

With Marian's careful help, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He glanced down at the neat stitches in his leg and let out a long breath. "Are you alright?" Marian asked, her hand still gripping his.

Robin didn't reply. He'd caught sight of his trousers, and the ragged tear in one leg. He pulled a face. "I liked those," he complained.

Marian smiled and relaxed, her gaze never leaving his face.

Djaq merely rolled her eyes. "They can be mended," she pointed out bluntly. "You have torn them worse before."

He shrugged, and winced. "True."

"Robin!" Much's delighted voice rang out over the camp. "You're okay!" He came jogging in; bow in hand, a joyous grin on his features.

"Of course I'm okay," Robin answered, smiling. "It was just an arrow. I'm fine." He regarded Much for a second, winced briefly, and then added. "Shouldn't you be on watch?"

"Oh, whoever shot you'll be long gone," Much reasoned. "Why would they stick around?"

"He has a point," Djaq commented.

Robin narrowed his eyes at Much. "You may be right," he finally admitted. "Go get the others back here."

Much nodded, still smiling, and jogged back into the darkness. He was back, the other three in tow, within minutes. Robin looked up.

"Are you okay?" three voices asked in tandem.

Robin exchanged an amused glance with Marian. "Aside from just having been shot, I'm fine," he placated. "Now sit!"

They sat.

"Did any of you see anything out there?" Robin asked, one hand still hovering near his wound. Djaq swatted his hand away, and he grimaced. "Anyone?"

"No," John answered for all of them. "Whoever it was, long gone by now."

"Maybe this should wait 'til morning," Will interjected, watching as Robin winced, yet again. "You should probably rest."

"Who made you a doctor?" Allan chipped in.

"Will is right," Djaq added. "Sleep would be best."

"I agree," Much spoke up. "You push yourself too hard—"

"And you always have," Marian completed, a smile toying at her lips.

Robin flung his hands up in the face of their united front. "Fine!"

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He still had to be cajoled into bed, despite agreeing. He was like that – always arguing. But, eventually, he lay there peacefully, eyes closed, asleep. The rest of the boys followed him soon after, sprawled around the dying embers of the fire. Two pieces of meat still rested in the embers, forgotten, even by Much.

But Djaq and Marian? They couldn't sleep, and it wasn't for lack of trying.

Marian sat beside Robin's head, her fingers gently stroking through his hair. She glanced up, her fingers stilling, as Djaq approached. "How is he?" the Saracen woman asked softly.

Robin stirred roughly, a frown creasing his forehead, as if in answer to her question. His lips parted and he seemed to be about to say something, but he stilled. Marian glanced up at Djaq. "He is restless."

Djaq nodded and knelt down. "You can tell, can't you?" she said quietly, a whisper in the moonlight. "There is something more."

Marian closed her eyes briefly. "Yes," she admitted. "He has been shot before, but this time…" She shook her head, eyes full of worry. "It hurts him more. I can tell. I do not know why, but something is different."

Both their attentions shifted abruptly to Robin as he arched up, off the leaf-litter, and moaned in obvious pain. Fear flashed in Marian's eyes; she brushed hair off his forehead and softly shushed him. One last groan, almost a whimper, slipped free from his lips and he subsided. Marian gently brushed her fingers against his: his fingers closed around hers instinctively.

"He dreams often," Djaq murmured. "Bad dreams."

Marian nodded. "The Holy Land. He tells me nothing of it, but…"

"But you can tell." Djaq watched her keenly.

"It is because he refuses to speak of it." She stroked his forehead with her free hand – it calmed him. "He always hides what hurts him the most." A shadow crossed her features. "And now…"

"There is something wrong," Djaq completed. "Something that he does not tell us." She reached out and lightly touched Robin's wound – oddly enough, he didn't seem to notice, even in sleep. "Something that…"

They both knew what she was about to say.

Neither of them was willing to say it.

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