Robin sits quietly in Tanja's small tent; the structure stinks of dog, her ugly little mystery breed sits beside her, a loyal dog, old with grey at its muzzle. Robin sits with Tanja and her mutt, sitting and thinking of other things as he looks at Tanja's hands, at her fingers that move the knitting needles, they are gnarled, frail and thin, the knitting goes slowly, but she has made steady progress on what looks like a pullover, slow but steady, "Pass me that, Gideon," Tanja says, her voice wavering in her age, her breath warbling from her weak lungs.

Gideon has been dead for twelve years, Tanja's son, he is long dead, and it is not always that Tanja forgets, but when she does, when she forgets that she is the last of her family, her husband gone, all her children dead, when she forgets that, it is always Robin she calls Gideon.

"This?" Robin asks, reaching for a new roll of yarn, Robin always, always, makes sure she's brought new yarn whenever there is a trip into civilization, her stores are running low now, the winter snow closing the easier paths and roads out of, and into, Sherwood. Tanja squints at the yarn he holds before nodding, smiling a small smile, half her teeth missing.

"Thank you, son," she says, gestures with her chin for him to place it by her leg, Tanja is the oldest person Robin has ever known, well into her nineties, bent and frail and impossibly old, there is no home for her anywhere but here, but here is a hard life, it is hard and she is frail. "This color will go with Andila's eyes, do you see?" she wheezes, and Robin thinks, swallowing thickly as he does so, that it's likely Tanja will not survive this winter.

Tuck says not to play into Tanja's confused mind, but how can Robin not, when the old woman smiles, sharp shoulders rising by her ears, smiling, happy, all he can do is nod at the old woman, though he has not a clue who Andila was, smiles at the old woman though he knows that the eyes the pullover are meant to match probably closed, closed forever, long years ago.

"Do you know how lucky it is for you?" Tanja giggles, titters out a breathy wheeze of laughter, her fingers steady, looping and knotting and looping, knitting pearl after pearl, even as her body shakes with sickness and with mirth, the old mutt by her side huffs, rearranges itself to lay on its side.

Robin reaches forward to pat the dog, smiling at Tanja, he feels a draft from somewhere, the bitter cold wind finding its way through the canvas of her tent, he is looking for the source as he asks her, "Why is that, babcia?"

She surprises him when the sound of her knitting needles ceases, he looks at her, finds her dark eyes pointed at him, that smile still stretched on her wrinkled face, "Gideon, my son," she says, holds up one of her shaking hands to him, fingers curled and beckoning until he clasps the digits softly, "Andila is your promised half, don't you see?"

The dog sneezes, body jerking against Tanja's side, she's wheezing out another happy laugh, squeezing Robin's hand, her joints swollen and clumsy, "The half of you the gods tore away in their jealousy, my beautiful son," there is such warmth and love in her eyes, as her head tilts and she looks at Robin and imagines him to be the son she lost so long ago, her darling son, "my golden boy, she is your soul mate."

Looking back at it, much later, Robin will think how strange it was, that Regina's pain would come to him at that very moment, the lancing pain, an agony filled blow to the back that has him gasping and dropping the old woman's hand. The dog snorts and sits up, wary, inching before its master as Robin tries to catch his breath.

"Is it Andila?" Tanja asks, gnarled hands on his shoulder, "Robin?"

It is Regina, the same sensation that had overcome him and brought him to the creek the night her fever nearly had her losing her toes to frostbite, the night her fever had her wandering the cold air with no coverings but a nightshirt, it is the same phantom pain that he knows is not his own, it's hers and the panic will come later, the burning questions of how this can be, will come later, he'd done his best to drive them from his mind, but here they are again, impossible to ignore.

Robin lurches to his feet, remembering to bend lest he hit his head upon the roof of Tanja's tiny tent; he fumbles for the flap as another blow has his breath whooping from his lungs. Tanja's voice is shrill from where she still sits upon her thick rugs, "Robin, my son, go to her, go to Andila!"

He stops for his bow first, for his quiver, his whole body shaking with the effort to fight the need to follow the thread that pulls and pulls at him, Marian sees his panic, his sweating face and panting breath as he throws the quiver to his back, she tries to touch him but he's already moving away. "Robin," she calls, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"I have to go," he says, "I have to go."

She snares his elbow, a soft touch, "Robin, wait."

He pats her hand once, looks down at her, barely sees her for his swirling thoughts, Regina is hurt, he must get to her, "I'm fine," he tells his wife, gently lifting her hand from him, "I have to go, the Queen is hurt."

Marian frowns, her brows pinching in concern, "The Queen?" she shakes her head, "Robin, how could you know tha-"

A sharp pull aches in his chest, and perhaps there is a thread wrapped around his heart, pulling him, "I'll be back," then he is running, pelting to the south through the trees, tromping with heavy strides through unpacked snow, each lifted heel an effort, he runs and runs, nearly is thrown completely when a crunching pain strikes at his skull, searing, he raises a hand there, and finds nothing, none of the blood he was sure he could feel gushing down the side of his face, because it's not his wound to bear, not his blood that flows, his panic grows. The Queen's name spilling from his lips, his eyes wide as he runs anew, runs and runs.

He sees Matteo through the trees, not noticing at first the blue shimmer around the other man, not noticing fully that Matteo is frozen in place, he sees Matteo first, runs faster, screaming out to him. He erupts into the clearing, snapping branches as he barrels between two closely twined trees.

Robin is still panting as his eyes graze over the white floor of the clearing, knowing the blow to her skull will have her down, will have felled her, he's looking to the snow to find her. He nearly stumbles back at what he finds instead.

"Unhand her, NOW!" Robin screams, his bow armed in no time at all, the motion so practiced, so easy, even in his panic and now is growing rage. The weapon is a comfort to him, holding it, deadly and ready, but his comfort lessens when the creature does nothing at the threat.

The -man, the gold flecked monster, does not heed him, does not even look up to regard him, continues to cradle Regina in its lap, his hand stained with her blood as he holds it against her hair, against the wound Robin had felt a phantom of on his own body. "DEMON, unhand her!" Robin takes several steps forward, his aim steady, though his entire body shakes and shakes.

And still the man does not heed Robin; a glow comes from between the man's fingers, on the wound that is bleeding in Regina's hair, her dark hair matted with blood, her body limp, her eyes closed. Robin lets loose his arrow. He never misses, there is no risk to her, he lets loose his arrow and watches as it is frozen midair an inch from the demon's down turned eye.

The man makes no motion, stays on the ground with Regina held to him, held in his lap, her skirts are wet with blood, fresh red, Robin takes another step, his vision turning as red as the stains on her dress, flashing in his mind is her in the porcelain bathtub, bleeding and torn apart, her soft white gown ruined with blood, a snarl contorts Robin's mouth, another step taken, another arrow notched.

Robin's body is absolutely unresisting when it is thrown back, violently thrown, he'd not seen the man move at all, had no warning of the blow that flings him halfway across the clearing, leaves him gasping and grasping at his ribs in the tromped on snow. His bow yards away from him, snapped in half.

A wordless bark of frustration leaves his lips, his hand still held against his ribs as he tries to stand, only to be frozen, the same as Matteo, his muscles straining and straining against a field of blue, magic he cannot fight. Robin's lungs constrict, his eyes sweeping to the pair in the snow.

Regina is covered in blood, head wounds bleed, they gush blood, Robin knows that, but his worry, his fear grows worse and worse as he cannot move, cannot be beside her and feel her pulse, being able to feel it thudding against his fingers, her blood pumping through her veins, even that small assurance would be enough to quell his terrible panic. He is useless, immobile, stuck with one foot half raised, body tipped forward still ready to sprint to her side, held there with magic, held there by the man, the monster, with golden and green skin.

Robin can do nothing but watch, breath heavy through his nose, his ribs aching sharply, watching as the man shifts Regina in his lap, as his hand threads into her hair, the light from between his fingers growing, a frown on his twisted features. One hand may be at her head wound, but the other is wrapped around her shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of her bloodied cloak, a desperate grasp that he uses to shake her. She does not rouse as he'd no doubt wanted. Her head wobbles, neck still stretched, muscles still lax in unconsciousness, "Regina," the monster hisses.

The demon knows her name. Robin blinks.

In the not even second his eyes were closed, during his blink, Regina has moved, only purple smoke left in the demon's grasp. She did not make it far, but still, how did she get there, she is several strides away from the green skinned man, blinking her eyes open, fingers digging into the snow, her fingers red from the cold, from being unprotected. The left side of her face painted in blood, her hair matted, her clothes stained, she is panting, trying to raise her torso from the ground, only to find herself face first for her efforts.

"Don't touch me," she breathes, Robin barely hears her, he is frozen and too far from her, his muscles burn as he tries again and again to free himself, she says it as the demon tries to stand, she says as she props herself up on her elbows.

The demon is not without injury himself, Robin realizes for the first time, his lurid clothes, expensive clothes, are ruined with blood, a huge gash cut in the cloth of his shirt and vest, his skin is slashed underneath, a gutting swipe that had not gone deep enough to spill his intestines out.

"Listen to me," the demon growls, grabbing at Regina's hair, but it's not a forceful grip, but the mere action, the mere idea that he thinks he can touch her at all after she has said not too, Robin's blood boils as the man tips Regina's head back, makes her look up at him from where she is still sprawled in the snow. "I told the King nothing."

She shakes her head, as if to dislodge his grip on her hair, but all she achieves is rattling her head wound, she groans, falls from her elbows, the demon lets go of her hair then, instead of pulling it as she falls. And then he kneels by her side, Robin's eyes widen, a sound working itself free, a warning growl, the demon sweeps hair of Regina's face, the action is intimate, the demon had known her name, and he pets her hair off her face, Robin's blood boils.

"He knew," she says, her voice weak, turning away from the man's hand, "how else would he know?" she rolls onto her back with the demon's aid, something she seems to resent, she pushes his hands away after taking his help. Her words are slurred, the head wound is not completely healed, much is closed, but still a part of it oozes blood, "I trusted you," she seethes.

The demon's eyes squint, an almost flinch moves his arm, a barely seen movement.

"Do you know what he did to me?" she asks next, and Robin remembers the stained white gown, remembers Caline with her needle and thread, leaving Regina's side with wide eyes and a haunted expression. "He poisoned my wine with poppy milk," Regina slurs, and Robin has to close his eyes, squeezing them shut, but there is no way to block her voice, no way to give her whatever privacy she may realize she wants, he is frozen. "He held me down and hurt me, Rumple," she whimpers out what must be the demon's name; it's enough to prompt Robin to open his eyes once more.

The demon has a hand once more petting the hair off Regina's face, the vision of a father and a daughter float through Robin's mind, something about the man's hand is paternal, but the thought is there and gone in a moment, as Regina begins to cry, huge sobs that wrack her whole abused frame.

The demon shushes her, and it is exactly the sound one would make to a crying babe, a desperate entreaty that it is alright, that you are safe, all said in one 'shhhh sh sh'.

The sound of clinking armor, of horses heavy on the trail, the sound of men shouting far away, the sound comes then, and finally the demon looks at Robin. The demon still has a hand at Regina's forehead, is still kneeling beside her, his wide, dark eyes, cold but so terribly and horribly human, they dig into Robin, his gaze skittering up and down Robin's form, across his face, his head tilts once, a sharp gesture that looks unnatural, strange and reptilian.

Regina is still crying, the head wound still oozing blood.

An undecipherable shout is heard again, a man's voice, the armor clinking and clinking, echoing through the forest, there is only one road that the company must be traveling. Kings men wear armor, knights.

Robin's panic doubles, triples, grows exponentially…before the demon lifts the magic holding Robin.

"oohmp," Robin grunts, his weight moving with the momentum he'd begun before being frozen, but his mind not ready for the motion, he falls to the ground, his palms biting into the snow.


authors note, alright as you may or may not have noticed, shortish chapter here. the next one is a Marian one and it is HELLA long. so get your reading pants on, because they gonna be some exposition up in here next chapter, and rising action, and then, maybe even the climax, yeah, let's get this done.


Disclaimer: never mine