Once again, big warm hugs to all of my reviewers. That last chapter was a bit short, so I hope this one makes up for it a bit. Enjoy!

MINOR SPOILER NOTE: This fic is, generally speaking, based in the first season, and spoiler-free. This chapter, however, references a character introduced in the second season who would have been living in Locksley for the first, so I thought it would be okay to use her. It's a fairly minor spoiler, and I don't mention any plot specifics of the second season.

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"Robin's been poisoned."

Marian blinked. Djaq had an efficiently blunt manner in times of crisis, and it took her a second to stomach. She went cold, but her face remained blank, as though she half-believed it to be a tasteless joke.

"Robin's…"

"…been poisoned," Djaq finished her sentence for her. "We think the Sheriff tricked him into stealing poisoned ale from a false merchant. I need to know what kind of poison it was if I am to find an antidote in time. I need you to… where are you going?"

Marion was already halfway to her horse, slipping a bit between its teeth, and notching the various clasps and buckles of its tack with nimble, practiced speed. "I'm going to him," she said shortly. "I need to see him."

"He won't even wake up!" Djaq insisted, trying to push between Marian and her horse and make eye contact with the distraught woman. "I've checked them, there's no more that can be done for him…"

Marian refused to hear these words, sidestepping Djaq to continue her saddling. "If Robin is ill, I will go to him," she said simply. The idea that Robin might be facing death was so singular in her mind that none of Djaq's pleading words penetrated her defenses. All she could think about was that long night when she had been stabbed, and Robin's voice, his gentle hands and reassuring presence had been the only thing that had held her to this life. She had to be his anchor. She had to be by his side, to do otherwise was simply unthinkable. Abandoning him was not an option.

Djaq caught Marian's busy hands and held them firmly in an attempt to force her to listen. Marion froze for a moment, then gripped Djaq's hand and twisted her wrist painfully, making her wince and turn slightly to alleviate the pressure.

"I said, I am going to him," she hissed stubbornly. "And you are not going to stop me."

Djaq's steely will arose, easily the equal of Marion's, and she yanked her arm free and stepped directly between Marion and her horse, holding her eye with a sharp stare. "And what good will you do him? Weeping and wailing at his bedside will not bring him back to life if I can't find the antidote in time. He will die, whether you hold his hand at the time or not, unless you help me. Robin doesn't need a silly girl right now, he needs the Nightwatchman. Which are you, Marian?"

Marion froze, slightly chastened, and stared at the side of Djaq she had rarely seen before. Her words had touched a nerve, broken down her determined, purposeful wall and forced her to confront what was really happening. Tears threatened her, tearing at her eyes and throat, but she forced them down, along with her pride and irrational anger at Djaq.

"How can I help him?" she asked quietly. Djaq relaxed slightly.

"By going to the castle and finding out exactly what he was poisoned with, and what the antidote is. Trick Gisbourne into telling you, or the Sheriff. Break into his records or… anything. Anything you can think of to get this information. Marian, everything is at stake now."

Marion nodded, and stepped towards her horse, this time with level-headed determination, and Djaq didn't resist. She threw her leg over the saddle and settled herself briefly. She looked down at Djaq, whose face was still grave but now with a slight glimmer of hope behind her eyes.

"I will be waiting just outside the castle walls," Djaq told her. "Send word as quick as you can."

With a sharp nod, Marion kicked her steed and shot off down the dirt road, her horse's hooves beating a rhythm akin to her heartbeat.

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Will was pacing. This was not something he did often, and it looked strange on his lanky frame, like he itched inside his very skin. He loped back and forth, fidgeting, and glancing about like a rabbit watching for prey. His usual approach to dangerous situations was to quietly watch and listen, or to charge in with everything he had – there was no middle ground. But here, in the painfully tense stillness Djaq had left behind, there was nothing to do but wait for her return, blindly and helplessly. So, he paced like a caged animal, trying not to think about the devastating chemicals raging through his friends' veins.

Of course, he had argued when Djaq had told him to stay home like some caretaker or nursemaid. This wasn't so much out of pride as it was the desperate urge to do something; however even he had to concede that there wasn't much he could do in these circumstances, and somebody needed to stay with the gang in case Gisbourne showed up. He didn't like sending Djaq and Marion on this mission alone, either, and the thought of either of them hurt or captured made him ill. Fighting alongside Djaq had given him a new perspective on women on the battlefield, but he was still imbued, deep down, with an unshakeable sense of chivalry, and it annoyed him no end to be left babysitting while the women fought their battles. He should be there to protect them. He should be there to protect her.

With a sharp exhale, he forced himself to look at the limp bodies of his companions, and his stomach sank at the sight of them. Were they a little paler than before? Weaker? He knelt beside Allan, who was lying by his foot, and tentatively laid his fingers on his forehead, as though afraid to touch him. He withdrew with a gasp, moving on to the others, one by one, feeling their faces and hands as well.

There was no mistaking it. Their skin was clammy and cold, much colder than when they had been discovered. They were still breathing shallowly, but they no longer twitched or reacted when he slapped or shouted at them. They were getting worse.

Will stood, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. What good was he doing here? He was no doctor, all he could do was watch them waste away. Even if Gisbourne did show up, he was only one man – what was he supposed to do? There must be something, some way he could be useful.

Will grabbed his axe and slid it into its holster on his back. One thing was for sure; sitting around here was pointless. He needed someone who knew what she was doing. He needed Matilda.

Djaq had always been unimpressed by English doctors, claiming they killed more patients than they helped, and Will had to concede that Djaq seemed to understand a lot more about the human body than any English doctor he had met. Matilda, however, was not a doctor, she was a wise woman, one who had been treating patients longer than Djaq had been walking. She would come running if she heard Robin was hurt, and if this was a poison she would surely recognize it. Anything was better than hanging around here.

With a long, regretful stare at the limp bodies of his friends, Will turned and ran off through the undergrowth as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving them helpless and alone under the open sky.

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As the Nightwatchman stepped warily, yet confidently, into the damp cellar of an alchemist's lab, her nose was assaulted by a rich, discordant mix of smells, some sharp, some sweet, some putrid. She easily put the guards out of action, and crept towards the oak tables in the cluttered room. Djaq had been here once, when the Sheriff tried to force her to create her Saracen chemical, and glancing an eye over the dusty, untouched tables Marion wondered if anyone had been here since. She stepped carefully amid the tables, touching this, smelling that, but understanding nothing.

Every second she wasted here Robin was weakening, and Marion took a deep breath of impatience and worry. She was running out of options. She began to rifle through the various debris with slightly panicked fervor, no longer caring if anyone heard, no longer caring what happened to her so long as she cured Robin first. It had been so long since the Sheriff had had an alchemist that nothing in the cramped room was free of the thin, silky layer of dust that coated everything, floor to ceiling.

Nothing except one item; a plain wooden box had clearly been placed only recently onto the greyed shelf, and was polished and clean of dust. Marian carefully lifted off the lid to reveal a flat, round bottle, twice the size of her clenched fist, resting on the deep red cushion within the box. It was filled with a colourless liquid, resembling water, and the cork had been sealed tightly on with wax. A brown label was tied to the neck of the bottle, and Marion turned if over to reveal some incomprehensible writing; delicate curves and flicks of the pen formed a foreign but clearly rational script. Saracen writing? Marion tucked the poison into a pocket at her hip.

"What did you think?" a cold voice drawled from the doorway, "That we would leave our newest weapon so poorly guarded?"

Marion's breath caught in her throat, and she turned around slowly. Sir Guy and several nasty-looking guards blocked the doorway. A cruel smile played about his lips.

"Good to see you, Nightwatchman," he sneered "Now, I'll have that bottle back."