Robin was being quiet. Too quiet. It made Poppy nervous as she ventured toward him.

He sat alone in an alleyway, his head low and the fingers of his hand curled into a tight fist around a glass bottle. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, his blue eyes cloudy. "Poppy," he greeted. "I look a mess, don't I?"

"Robin," she said softly, her tone one of concern.

"You only use that voice when you don't want to upset me," Robin said, a half-smile teasing his features. "I must look terrible."

"Robin."

"I'm not a child. There's no need to mince words, Poppy," he snapped. "You want to say something, just say it."

She flinched at his harsh tone. "Just wanted to see how you're feeling."

"I'm feeling perfect, Poppy. Yes, I'm feeling completely fantastic."

He shook his head fiercely. "I'm miserable, Poppy," he said finally. "A child is dead and it's all my fault."

"We were all there," she said. "It wasn't just you."

"I'm supposed to take care of all of you. I'm supposed to be there if you're hurt. Falyse... she's dead. She's dead because I wasn't there!"

Poppy let out a soft sigh. She hated seeing him like this. In the two years she had stayed by his side, she had only seen him so upset one other time. When the red cloaks came to take away a boy named Maron.

They had tried to bring him to the Wall. Maron had fought them and gotten his throat cut in the process. Maron had been fourteen, and he had been close with the then twelve-year-old Robin.

They had buried Maron behind a blacksmith's shop where he had once hoped to become an apprentice. No one had dared to speak of Maron in a long time, fearing what Robin would do if they did.

Poppy stepped into the darkness, shivering despite herself. She'd always hated the dark, ever since she was five. Her mother had been a Septa, and the High Septon seemed to think that Poppy's existence was against the Gods. He'd commanded Poppy be locked away until she converted to the Faith of the Seven. She had only been a little girl then, but Poppy had known that no God would wish such a fate upon a child.

But Poppy's mother had listened. Poppy's mother always listened to the High Septon's words, and she'd always tell Poppy that the Gods knew what was best. Poppy wondered what her mother had thought about her precious Gods when a man slit her throat and threw her body into Blackwater Bay.

Poppy had been eight when the red cloaks visited her house near Fishmongers Square, bringing her the terrible news of her mother's demise. They had forced her to leave the house so it could be sold to someone who would be able to pay for it.

Robin had found her after that, alone and scared and begging the Gods that had wronged her so for her mother back. And she had stayed with Black Robin ever since, never daring to question why his right arm ended in a scarred stump rather than a hand.

Robin had friends and he had food and he was almost as kind as her mother had been. He treated Poppy well and he taught her how to steal. How to sneak and run. She supposed that, over the years, she had grown to love Robin.

But in all the time that she had known him, she had seen his tears few times.

He got to his feet on unsteady legs and stumbled a few steps toward her. His head was low. "Poppy," he murmured. "I... I don't want to have to be in charge anymore."

"No one's forcing you," Poppy said.

"Everyone is forcing me," he interjected. "I'm the oldest. I've seen the most. I... I'm Black Robin. And everyone is counting on me."

He swung his arm up, and from the bottle spilled out a deep red liquid. "Where'd you get wine?" Poppy asked him.

He only shook his head. "A tavern, maybe? I don't know."

He giggled faintly. "It's almost empty."

"Robin, you're drunk," Poppy said.

She forgot her fear as she made way toward him, trying to take the bottle from his hand. He pulled back harshly, taking a step back. "Mine," he stated.

"Robin, please."

"Mine!"

He threw his arm back, wine spilling out across the cobblestones. Poppy let out a sigh, gently taking his right arm. Once she never would have even considered the act, but she held him and looked him in the eyes. "Robin," she said softly.

And he gave in to his tears, dropping the bottle to the ground. It shattered in a burst of red, leaving shards of glass all across the ground. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, even despite Poppy trying to hold him up.

A sob escaped him, and Poppy slowly lowered down to meet his gaze. "Robin," she whispered. "It's all right, Robin. It's all right."

Neither of them knew how long they sat like that. Robin sobbing as Poppy held his arm. When his tears finally stopped, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"It's all right, Robin."