AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, dear reader(s)! I have a quick little announcement to make. My lovely lady and muse, Resilient Heart, has decided to write a companion piece to this one. If you wish to read the story through Regina's eyes, I suggest finding her story entitled "Queen." I will provide a link to the story on my profile as well. It's a fantastic read, and her Regina is spot-on when it comes to characterization. You won't be disappointed. Besides that, I wanted to thank everyone, again, for the reviews that have been sent in. They sure do bring a lovely smile to this humble writer's face.
"Robin, wake up. The boys have found something."
Grumbling unhappily, Robin opened one eye to find Little John prodding his side. "Wassat?" he slurred, wiping his eyes and trying to gain some form of coherency.
"Much and Alan. They were out on the perimeter and found a truck. An ice cream truck," John explained, giving him a pointed look. Robin sat up, blinking and gave a nod. Right. The Snow Queen. Ever since Marian's curse, she had disappeared from sight. Despite near-constant searches for her, they had all been fruitless. Since the Snow Queen had yet to attack again, however, some slack had been granted in the Merry Men camp. Shifts had been relaxed, though Robin was glad that he had not disbanded them all together.
"Tell them not to touch it. I'll contact Emma and inform her," Robin instructed and pulled off his thick plaid pajama shirt. It was becoming chillier at night. The summer was ending, and he knew that before winter hit, he'd need to figure out better sleeping quarters for his men. They had been working on building a home similar to the one they owned in Sherwood Forest, but it was slow progress with all of the emergencies that were happening. The tools to build with, however, were incredibly helpful. Automatic chainsaws and air-pressure hammers . . . before long, the houses would be building themselves.
As much as he hated to—those houses really did need to be finished—he told John to pull Tuck and Art off of the houses and join the others at the truck, too. Once John had left, he changed into his jeans and pulled on a fresh shirt. Roland was still blissfully asleep, his mouth open just a little bit. Robin smiled down at him and brushed his hand lightly through his son's thick curls. This one deserved to live in a home . . . not a tent. He deserved a mother, too. He deserved . . . so much more than Robin would ever be able to give.
"Hey," he kissed Roland's ear, gently stroking his hair a little firmer to wake him. "Roland. Come on, buddy. We need to get you dressed. Papa has to go take care of some business."
Roland wasn't happy about the early hour either. He whined and argued, but Robin eventually coaxed him out of his sleeping bag and into a fresh set of clothes. Yawning, the Locksley men exited their tent and grabbed a quick breakfast at the fire. John took charge of Roland, and Robin put in a call to Emma. "Robin?" she said, her voice questioning. It wasn't often he called the Sheriff of Storybrooke. In fact, he was rather certain he had never called her before.
"Emma. We've found the Snow Queen's ice cream truck. Apparently, it seems to be empty, but I have my men standing by," he told her.
"Good. Don't let anyone inside. We don't know what she's hiding in there or if she booby-trapped it or what," Emma said. "I'll be done in a few."
The phone clicked, and Robin stared down at it for a moment. It was an odd device—one that had taken a great deal of trial and error to understand it. Some of the buttons still confused him—like the one that was supposed to be 'Speakerphone.' The purpose behind it was a tad foggy. As was the idea of hanging up. Did he have to hang up, too? Or did just one person? Clearing his throat, he glanced around him and then called, "hello?" into the phone. "Emma?" Silence met him, and he nodded. Right. Only one person. Pocketing his phone, he grabbed his crossbow and headed towards the site of the ice cream trunk.
"R-Robin?" Marian's voice sounded weak . . . slurred. By the time he had turned away from his game of cards with some of the Merry Men, she was collapsing to the ground.
"Marian!" he exclaimed, panic erupting in his heart as he kicked away from the table and landed next to her on the floor. Picking her up, he cradled her in his arms, checking her forehead. "God, she's feverish. John, fetch Friar Tuck!" he said urgently to his friend, who ran out of the room to collect their healer and spirit advisor. "Marian," Robin called gently, brushing his hand through her hair. "Marian, can you hear me?"
She had been feeling quite ill for a few days, but she had passed it off as something she had eaten that hadn't been cooked properly. Robin looked at her stomach, which was swollen with their child. She was due but in a few weeks. Lightly pressing his hand to her stomach, he felt for their child. A responsive kick to his hand gave him a momentary respite of relief. At least, thus far, the baby seemed alright. Carefully, he picked her up and carried her to their home in the trees. As soon as he had set her down on their bed, Friar Tuck came huffing into the room.
"What's happened?" he gasped for air as he pushed inside, coming to Marian's side.
Robin fretted, standing and moving to the side, so Tuck could examine her without hindrance. "I'm not sure. She felt a little weak and thirty this morning, but otherwise she said she felt fine. Then, just a few minutes ago, she collapsed," Robin said, biting his lip, his expression pinched with worry. "Is she alright, Tuck? Is the baby alright?"
"Now, now, let me work, son," the Friar said calmly. "Sit outside. I'll collect you when I've finished examining her."
Robin did not want to do that. If Marian needed him, he wanted to be right there at her side. But a stern look from his resident cleric had him begrudgingly leaving the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and paced back and forth. The house itself had been built around the massive tree trunk in which it sat. His hand ran over the surface of the tree as he walked in a circle around it. The house had three-levels, a spiral staircase connecting them. As one might imagine, all was made of wood. Robin had made sure to lend a hand during its construction—which was why it had a zipline at the top of the house that led right to a nearby pond. Marian had told him once their child was born, he had to get rid of it, since it was hardly safe for a child to use.
Bookcases filled with books lined the current floor he was on. They were for Marian's benefit, and not his own, since he wasn't a reader by choice. Marian's touch came with the tinted glass that sat in the carefully carved windows. The light ran through and illuminated the interior of the home with bright reds and blues and greens. His pacing eventually let him out the small door to his left—arriving out on the balcony that wrapped itself around the house. There was only this balcony on this level of the house—the middle level—and it connected to their neighbor's home—which happened to be Little John's—via a rope bridge.
Resting his palms against the railing, he looked down on the forest floor where some of his people were busy walking to and fro. The day's hunters were coming in with their catches for dinner. His appetite, which had been starting to become voracious before Marian's collapse, was now clenched with worry. There was distant laughter as well, no doubt some of the Merry Men's children at play. He envied their ignorance.
Time passed slowly, and Friar Tuck did not emerge until the sun had started to set. Robin was amazed he had not gone mad during the slow turning of time. "Well?" he asked the tired-looking Friar as he came out onto the balcony. "What is it? Is she okay?" The grim look on Tuck's face had his stomach dropping to the ground. "Tuck . . ."
"I'm afraid . . . There is nothing I can do," Tuck said quietly. "It is a disease I have seen before, and . . . and hoped never to have seen again. There is no known cure."
"What is it?" Robin demanded, his voice becoming tight.
"It's . . . a confusing disease. Her body, brought on by the baby, is turning against itself. There is one way to save her, of course," Tuck fretted, "but I'm afraid you must make a choice. The baby can be removed, and if God is merciful, it will live. With the removal of the child, Marian's body may return to its full health. Or you can allow the baby to remain. I will treat her as best I can, and if we are lucky, she may live long enough to term . . . though the likelihood of her surviving child birth is . . . grim."
Robin ran a hand through his hair, feeling older than his young years should have permitted. "So, either I can risk the child for the mother, or the mother for the child. What choice is that?" he asked bitterly. He knew what Marian would ask of him. Hers was a pure heart and a pure soul. She'd want him to ensure their child lived, regardless of what happened to her . . . but he wasn't strong enough to make that sort of decision. "There's no medicine that can cure her?" he asked the Friar once more.
"Not in this world," Tuck replied, his own expression riddled with sadness.
"Then . . . it looks like I need to take a trip," Robin said, his decision made. His brow pressed into one of determination, and he returned to his bedroom where Marian lay still—though she breathed softly.
"What do you plan to do?" Tuck asked him.
Robin grabbed a bag and stuffed it with a few clothes and supplies. "Something I hate doing." He opened a drawer in the desk that was pressed up against the window. Removing the false bottom, he pulled out a necklace in the shape of a six leaf clover. Removing one of the green beads, he attached it to a string and put it over his head. "Find some magic."
Judging by what he could see through the windows, the ice cream truck appeared empty. "Keep your eyes open, gentlemen," Robin said as he walked away from the truck. "This isn't here by chance." If the Snow Queen wanted to ditch her little mobile of terror, she could have just destroyed it. Holding his crossbow aloft, Robin took position on the eastern side of the truck. The forest was still and silent . . . until he heard the sound of footsteps. His finger immediately went to the trigger on the crossbow. Aiming at the disturbance of a tree twenty yards down, he relaxed when he saw blond hair and a familiar leather jacket.
"Sheriff," he greeted with a smile. Behind her, he saw Killian as well and . . . Regina. Of course, he should had expected that she would come if there was news of the Snow Queen. Robin ran his gaze over her. She was dressed in her usual wardrobe—black boots, exquisite skirt and a silk shirt—black, of course—tucked neatly within. All complimented with a coat to match. Even marching through the forest, she looked composed and stunning. His heart gave a traitorous leap in his chest, but to be honest, he had been hoping to see her again. He needed to speak to her . . . about Marian . . . about what he had confessed to her.
"Thanks for keeping an eye out," Emma said, drawing his gaze back to her.
"Gladly," he replied, offering her a small smile. "You're the first sheriff I don't mind assisting." Emma smirked at that, understanding his joke despite never having shared in his experiences. It was common in this town. Everyone knew each other's stories. He didn't, but the others did. Henry had told him once that a great deal of the residents of the Storybrooke had movies made about them. After he had clarified to Robin exactly what a movie was, he had been . . . confused . . . How could millions of people know his name? Not just that, but as a fox? He looked nothing like a fox. Henry had assured him that were different movies about his story, and he wondered how authentic they were. He just might have to make a few calls otherwise.
As Emma and Killian passed, Robin glanced almost nervously at Regina. She wasn't meeting his eye. Right. "Uhm. Regina. I was hoping we could talk," he began, sidling up next to her.
Without looking at him once, she gestured to the truck and continued walking, "um, in case you didn't notice, I'm about to storm an evil ice cream truck." She hurried her steps after that, catching up with Emma. Robin faltered, his lips pressing together grimly. Right. Killian, who had also fallen back, gave him a sympathetic look.
"I feel for you, mate, I do," Killian said, patting his shoulder with his good hand.
"If only my life was as easy as yours seems to be," Robin sighed, staring after Regina. But then he recalled that Killian had finally taken Emma out on an official date . . . "How was your night out with Emma?" he inquired, looking over at the pirate. There was some brotherly love between a pirate and a thief. They were in similar lines of work, after all.
"Oh, it went quite well," the pirate smiled widely. "Quite a few kisses were had."
Robin smiled wistfully. He remembered those days . . . "Well, obviously you two are moving forward. Otherwise, I imagine you'd be clear on opposite sides of Storybrooke."
"Oh, we're moving forward, mate. Very forward," Killian smirked, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.
Robin couldn't help but chuckle. "You'll have to give me the details later. Preferably over something strong and intoxicating."
"You have yourself a date as well," Killian grinned, patting his shoulder again before following after Regina and Emma.
"Mm," Robin grunted, warding off the feeling of melancholy. He was happy for Killian and Emma. The times where he had been able to sit down with Killian and talk, the pirate had usually ended up on the same subject—Emma. Robin knew a man in love when he saw one . . . he just hoped they had more luck than his own love life did. It wouldn't take much, really. As the three busied themselves in the ice cream truck, he kept watch once more. Some of his men were staring at the truck, and he clicked his tongue at them. "Oi. She's not going to appear in the truck. Keep an eye on the trees."
They flushed and turned around. Sighing, Robin maneuvered himself back to the truck. Peering within, he saw Emma holding a piece of paper. "What have you got there?" he asked, setting his crossbow down on the ground against the door. Climbing into the truck, he squeezed in with the others. The close proximity seemed to be too much for Regina, since she quickly slipped past him and back out the end. Yes, she was definitely avoiding him.
Emma showed him the piece of paper. "The Snow Queen has apparently been around for thirty years. At the very least, since I landed here. She's been keeping tabs on me," she showed Robin the folder which was full of news articles concerning her.
His brow furrowed in thought. "What could the Snow Queen possibly want with you?" And if she was after Emma, then why did she attack Marian? What was her reasoning for any of this?
"I'm not sure," Emma bit her lip, taking the folder and picking up a box that seemed full of similar folders. "I have a lot to go through it seems." Robin moved out of the way, so she could start stacking and left the truck in time to find Regina lingering on the perimeter. A fresh dose of determination took over, and he started in her direction. He was going to have it out with her.
"I can't help but think you're avoiding me," he said, coming up behind her.
"Not very well it seems," she replied, moving away from him.
Irritation flared at her inability to look at him. He hated it. It was as if he existed in some form of purgatory where he could see her and smell her, but her back would forever-be turned away from him. Robin realized then that it was a gift to be beheld by her eyes—a gift he selfishly wanted. "You're upset because of what I said. That I'm still in love with you." Robin sighed. "I suppose I should never have told you. Not after I asked you to find a way to save my wife." Where was the fairness in that? Where was the justice for her? He'd likely only further doomed her into further torment. If only she knew she was not alone in that torment.
"That's not why I'm avoiding you," she said, and Robin felt the irritation rise again. If not that, then what was it!?
"Then why can't you even look me in the eye?" he demanded, quickening his step to overtake her and force them to speak face-to-face. Once he was under her gaze again, he calmed. In some way, in some form, his peace had returned—he was looking into her eyes again.
"Because I don't know how to tell you the truth," Regina said, her own irritation rising. He heard it in her voice and saw it in her eyes—dazzling, even in their annoyance.
The anger there spurred him to comfort immediately. "You know you can tell me anything. That has never changed, Regina." His fingers flexed, trying to rid the instinct of reaching for her hands to hold them. Every impulse in his body was geared and prepared to soothe her. Where she was the blazing fire, he was the quiet trickling stream—or if need be—the fallen timber to ignite her flames further.
"I've read every spell book in my possession, experimented with every potion in my vault. I even tried to defeat the Snow Queen, so I could force her to reverse the spell," Regina explained. Robin was entirely unaware of this little adventure. He was touched at her devotion, but he didn't understand why she hadn't informed him. Going up against the Snow Queen was exactly what he wanted. She had done this to Marian, and she would answer to justice. "But nothing I do seems good enough."
At last, he could stop those dark thoughts that were obviously swirling in her head. "But it will be, Regina. I have faith in you. You will figure out a way eventually."
She looked uncomfortable for a moment. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm not sure I can figure it out." Robin paused at that. For some reason, he had never really thought of what would happen if Regina was unable to discover a cure for Marian. He'd been confident in her abilities and knowledge of magic. "Robin, I'm sorry, but if you truly want to save Marian . . . you're going to have to forget about me . . . and find a way . . . to fall in love with your wife again."
Her words were spoken painfully—each one a shard right to his heart. "I can't," he breathed, not knowing if she heard him or not, for she was already moving past him. Robin let her go, unable to find the strength to follow her. He'd do anything to save his wife . . . but she had asked him to do the impossible. How did one stop loving one's soulmate?
He'd do anything to save her. Robin peered at the castle surrounded by wintery mountains. He'd rode his horse to the near brink of death to reach this desolate castle. The rumor that he was following was that the Dark One lived here. He knew the man from a previous encounter, and since he was certain Rumpelstiltskin would not be happy to see his mug again, he had brought along an accessory. Removing the Six Leaf Clover from under his tunic, he twisted the top.
The magic was ignited, and his form changed shape. He became darker of hair with a bushier beard. Though he could not see his reflection, he knew that his entire body had changed. The Six Leaf Clover was a potent glamour enchantment. He was quite glad that he had decided to nick it from Oz. Lowering it underneath his tunic once more, he urged his horse down the path closer to the castle. It was likely that the Dark One had magic spells all over to warn him of unwanted presences. He just hoped he was quick enough before Rumple could return from whatever part of the realm he was doing his nasty business in.
Dismounting, he tied his horse up and made the rest of the journey on foot. According to the records he had read, the room he was looking for was right . . . he stopped beside a great wall . . . here. His gaze moved skyward. That was the room—the study—it held the item Robin was after. Taking an arrow, he tied a knotted rope to it, and then aimed for a window. Loosing the arrow, it flew and right through the glass—shattering it. Not quite his usual stealthy methods, but he was entirely desperate. Besides, he highly doubted he'd be caught . . .
FIVE MINUTES LATER . . .
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed in pure agony as the ringing in his head grew intense. It became so loud that his eardrums burst and blood leaked from his ears. Somewhere in that high-pitched ringing, there was a giggling. The sound receded and Robin gasped sharply as sweet silence replaced it. He was strung up by the wrists to the ceiling, his weight resting heavily on them. All of the blood had gone from his arms—they were numb now. He was familiar with torture. In a few days, if Rumple intended to keep him like this, his arm would fall right out of his socket.
Suffice it to say, his plan had not gone according to plan. Rumpelstiltskin was home, for one. Second, his reliable arrows had done squat against the Dark One's power. So, Robin had been carted off to the dungeons where he was currently receiving his fourth hour of torture. The blood was hot as it rolled down the side of his face and neck. Panting, he rested his forehead against his arm, closing his eyes. To his relief, Rumple had yet to discover his glamor, but that would matter little if he died in this dungeon and was unable to save Marian.
"And that's just the pain I can give you inside of your body," Rumple told him. "Tomorrow, we'll get begin on the flesh," he ran a hand over Robin's chest, his sharp nail pricking the skin. Why did he receive the impression that Rumple wouldn't be using magic at all for that romp? "Rest well, my little pet," he giggled and skipped off.
Robin was disoriented from the dizzying and seemingly endless torture. Had it really only been a day? It felt as though a month had passed since he'd been chained here. Trying to keep his mental faculties sharp, he concentrated on his goal—Marian. He'd endure much and more for her. It was a trick he had learned back in the Crusades. He'd been captured by the Turks and sent to a Prisoner Camp. The torture there had been even worse than what Rumple had bestowed upon him, so far. As long as he kept his mind, he would endure.
Time passed. He could not tell minute from hour. Yet some time after Rumple had left, the door opened again, and the woman he had encountered in the study stood in the doorway. "What, did he send you to finish the job?" he asked.
"Uh, no. No, not at all. Here. Drink this," the woman came forward, and he could see her properly. She wore a fine golden dress. It was quite decorative and seemed to be more of an evening gown than anything. Was she the lady of this house? Did the Dark One have a wife? Whoever she was, she gave him water, and the taste of it on his tongue—clearing his mouth of blood—was restoring. A part of him wondered if this was a wild trick. The kind, caring woman to put his mind at ease . . . until the Dark One returned and shattered him in his vulnerability. "I couldn't let him go on with this. It's inhuman."
"Aye. I couldn't agree more," Robin sputtered with a small laugh. "But I fear now he'll turn his wrath on you."
The woman moved to the rope holding him up, untying the knot on the wall. "If he does, I'll stand up to the beast that he is, because no one deserves to be tortured." The knot was loosened, and the ropes released him. His arms gave way, and Robin fell to the ground with a grunt on his back. Feeling slowly returned to his arms, but only after the intense discomfort of tingling. Flexing his hands to help return the blood to them, he watched as the woman crouched beside him and unlocked the chains around his wrists.
"He may beg to differ," Robin told her, rubbing his wrists once the chains were removed. They were sore and red. Once he was clear of this place, he'd have to rub a balm into them to ensure they did not become infected.
"Well, I don't care. He doesn't frighten me," she said simply. Robin considered her for a moment. Those were brave words. Who was this woman who laughed in the face of the Dark One? He wasn't sure he had ever met a braver soul. "Hurry up," she urged him. "He'll be back soon."
With her aid, he was helped back to his feet. Despite the swimming in his head, Robin pushed himself towards the door. Concern arose for his newfound friend again. "But he will kill you," he said, looking back at her. Unless you run away with me," he suggested. He could find a place of safety for her. Hell, he could use her in his Merry band. She was braver than all of his men put together.
"I can't run," the woman replied. "I made a deal to serve him in exchange for him protecting my kingdom and my family from the ogres. If I were to leave, I may survive, but my family surely won't." Brave and noble. He hoped the Dark One did not corrupt the goodness that was so obviously blazoning in her heart.
"All I can do is wish you luck," he told her in a quieter tone.
"Thank-you. Now go. Go!"
Robin nearly took a step out the door, then stopped. "Wait. What is your name, my lady?" he asked her. "I would remember my savior."
She smiled at that. "My name is Belle."
"Belle," Robin repeated and took her hand in his, shaking it firmly. "It is an honor to meet you, Belle. Call me Robin." She smiled at him, then lightly pushed him in the direction of freedom. Robin nodded at her and rushed out of the room. He leaned against the walls, trying to save his strength. The wise thing would have been to head for the nearest exist . . . but he was here for a reason, and he wasn't leaving without it. Robin made his way back to the study.
There, where he had found it and taken it—and obviously where Rumple had replaced it—was the healing wand. Picking it up, he ran it over himself. The fatigue vanished immediately. As did the ache in his head. The blood remained, but there was no longer a source for further bleeding. It worked . . . he just hoped it worked on Marian. Escaping the castle, he found his horse grazing in some uncovered grass and mounted. "Come on, chap, it's time we returned to Sherwood." As he raced down the path, the horse's hooves matched the rhythm of his frantic prayers that he was not too late to save her.
Instead of gifting Granny's Diner with their patronage, the subject matter of their conversation was likely to be less than kid-friendly, so Robin met Killian at The Rabbit Hole. It was his first time in the pub, and he was beginning to wonder why he hadn't set foot in here before. The alcohol choice was far more expansive than what Granny offered. He had taken his select choice of whiskey and huddled himself into a booth, waiting for Killian. Robin's mood had not much shifted since the end of his conversation with Regina. He was stuck . . . frustratingly stuck.
"Welcome to one of my favorite haunts," he heard Killian's voice and looked up to find the pirate joining him with a mug full of . . . some sort of dark alcohol. Slipping into the opposite side of the booth, he brought his mug to his lips and took a large gulp. He was a happy man. Robin could see it clearly. The envy in his heart grew ten-fold. "I saw you speaking to Regina . . . I don't suppose you two managed to figure out a means to be together."
Robin gave a sad smile. "Quite the opposite, actually," he said quietly, almost inaudible. "She told me I need to forget about her and fall in love with Marian again." Killian winced at that. "If I was a good man . . . a good husband . . . I'd be doing that right now. But I can't," he broke off, his heart aching, "I can't stop thinking about her," he admitted in a whisper.
Killian, after taking another big gulp of his drink, set it down on the table and put his hand and hook on the table. "Then don't. Go after her. Your wife is an ice cube, mate. An ice cube who likely isn't going to thaw. You love Regina, aye?" Robin nodded sullenly. "Then love her. Take it from me, mate, wasting time is doing no one any favors."
"It isn't that simple," Robin sighed.
"Isn't it?" Killian interrupted before Robin could say anything further. "You love her. You don't love Marian. Marian is, and I'm sorry for how blunt this is going to sound, for all intents and purposes—dead. Be with Regina. The only thing getting in the way is you and your bloody honor."
Robin snorted. "I thought that was something you were trying to acquire."
Killian shrugged with a charming grin. "I have my good days and my bad days. It's alright for you to have a bad day, too. Making a mistake—if it even is a mistake—doesn't make a hero suddenly a villain."
"Depends on what the mistake was," Robin argued, bringing his glass back to his lips and taking a needed draught. The sharp burn helped ease the ache in his chest and throat. "I'm weary of the subject. I'll contemplate further . . . likely when I'm not getting drunk," he added with a wistful look at his glass. "Your date with Emma . . . Were you a gentleman?" Robin asked, his lips pulling into a smirk.
Killian grinned back at him. "A gentleman does not kiss and tell, right? Well . . . there was most certainly a great deal of kissing." Robin chuckled at the twinkle in Hook's eye. "But it was our first date. I'm anxious to take things slowly. Swan is still healing from her last dabble with love. I don't want to make a mistake based on impulsive desires. She'll tell me when the time is right . . . but I would not have hated it had been it the other night." This time they laughed together.
"God, it's been years since I've shared anyone's bed," Robin sighed, feeling the absence of that quite keenly. He'd been brought up a good Christian boy when he was a lad. That and his father had made it clear what would happen to any bastards he produced. After the Crusades, he had been too angry . . . too lost. Then Marian had come into his life, and she had lifted him into a higher form of life. Their first time had both been together. After she had died, he had been too heartbroken and riddled with grief and guilt to even look at a woman in that way. Then Roland had grown and . . . there just hadn't been opportunity. Enter Regina, and he felt that absence of sex hit him like a wall.
"Really. I thought you and Regina had knocked a few headboards," Killian mentioned in surprise.
"Mm," Robin smiled and shook his head. "No. We came close a few times, but I think . . . we felt it was too soon yet. Certainly not for lack of desire," he breathed in, sitting back against the booth. "She could seduce Friar Tuck into switching religions," he smirked. Killian gave a nod to the side, taking another drink.
"You should have seen her when she strut around as the Evil Queen," Killian smirked. "Cleavage for days."
Robin chuckled. "Back in that Missing Year, I met her as such. I won't lie and say I didn't hope that she might have held onto a few dresses." The two men chuckled at that, knowing smirks shared. He sobered a little though, staring into the orange hue of his glass. "I'm in trouble, mate," he breathed.
Killian, to his credit, nodded at him. "I know you are, mate."
"I don't know what I'm going to do," Robin confessed.
"Well," Killian gestured to the bartender for a refill, "first things first . . . you're going to drink at least another six rounds with me. If some bold and daring plan hasn't arrived by then . . . we'll order some more!" Robin smiled in spite of himself and clinked his glass against Killian's mug in cheers. Tonight, at least, he could pretend he was just another bloke drinking with his best mate. Saving Marian could wait one more day.
Where were they? His temporary stay in the Dark One's castle had delayed him an extra day. She could be dead now, for all he knew, because of the extra time. Robin fretted as he waited behind a tree. The healing wand was gripped between his two hands, and he squeezed it nervously. This part of the forest wasn't safe. It was closer to Nottingham, and so the Sheriff and his cronies didn't fear searching this part of the woods for him and his Merry band.
But desperate times had called for desperate measures. In an effort to save some time, Friar Tuck had agreed to wheel Marian this far—to save him from having to travel into the heart of the forest to reach her. Yet where were they? Robin felt eyes all around him. Were they in his head? Or was the Sheriff also lurking behind one of these trees?
The sound of horses suddenly caught his ear, and he looked behind the tree to see a wagon pulling up down the road. At last! Rushing over to it, he found Marian deathly pale. "Marian," he breathed, brushing his hand through her hair. "Hold on just a moment longer." Taking the wand, he ran it just above her body, from head-to-toe, and then back up. The color returned to her face immediately, and she opened her eyes.
"Marian," he called, feeling tears sting his eyes. "Marian, are you alright?"
"Robin?" she called blearily. "Where am I? What's happened?"
Suddenly, an arrow shot into the wagon just above Marian's head. The Sheriff! "Come, we must go," Robin urged her and carefully helped her off of the wagon. They'd never escape with that thing dragging behind them. "Easy now." Robin led her to his horse and helped her climb atop it. Mounting behind her, he held her tightly back against him and kicked the horse into a gallop through the forest. He was anxious to ride too hard. Marian was heavily pregnant, and riding so stressfully wouldn't have been good for their baby.
As soon as he determined that they were not being followed, he slowed the horse and moved off, giving Marian more room. Taking the horse's reins by hand, he led him towards their home. "Was I ill?" Marian asked finally. "I remember feeling hot and nauseas . . . and then nothing."
"You were ill," Robin affirmed, "but I found a way to heal you," he said, smiling up at her. Relief was making his legs shaky, and he took a moment to rest against the horse. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you," he told her softly. He felt her hand lightly touch the top of his head.
"It is odd to see you this way. Show me my husband," Marian told him, a mirthful tone in her voice.
Robin had nearly forgotten about the glamor. Taking it out, he turned it and released the spell. "Better?" he smiled up at her, and she took his face in her hands, carefully leaning down to kiss him.
"I'm not sure. Maybe you should put that glamor back on," she teased him before urging the horse forward herself. Robin chuckled and walked beside her, his head resting against her knee. He would not speak to her of the torture he had endured to save her. The price was nothing compared to her life. He'd do it—and more—again to ensure her safety and health. She was everything to him.