Note: FINALLY. I've had a lot going on at work lately, then got sick, etc. etc., but here's the next chapter. Sorry if I've been neglecting responses; I'll get to them as soon as I can, but please know that your feedback is much appreciated. It helps me finish these difficult bits!

Note the second: Thank you anonymous reviewer for telling me I uploaded the wrong chapter! Ugh, ridiculous. Here's the real new one.

Marian's been sick for days, but there's no telling what it is: the change in the weather as winter creeps in, that bit of undercooked chicken at Bonchurch Lodge.

Or something else.

On the fifth morning she begs off work once again, leaving Robin to settle disputes and organize the harvest, as he's done all week. He is always good-natured about it, and though on the first morning he made a joke about how lazy she's getting as the lady of the manor, by now he's mostly worried.

"Do you want me to go and see Matilda?" he asks, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead, concern in his eyes. "Or Djaq? Someone should take a look at you."

"It's nothing, really," she assures him, trying her best at a normal smile. "Just a cold, I'm sure."

Robin frowns. "If you're sure."

"I am. Thank you," she says, and she means it. "If I'm not feeling better by the afternoon I'll go and find Matilda."

"All right." He still looks worried, and for a moment she's sorely tempted to tell him what she thinks it is, but - no. Better to be sure.

Marian kisses him goodbye and watches him go. He gives her one last grin over his shoulder as he heads down the stairs and out to the village, and through the open window she hears him call to one of the villagers.

He is a good man, Robin. She always knew it, of course, but it is good to see him restored to his proper place. When she compares him to Guy - but there is no comparison. Guy took little care in matters of Locksley village beyond collecting taxes and periodically terrorizing peasants for information. Robin, on the other hand, knows everyone's Christian name. He knows which of their goats has died and that little Maggie loathes carrots and that John at the mill wants to marry Catherine the blacksmith's daughter. This is Robin's home, the home of his ancestors, the home his children will inherit.

His children, Marian thinks, warmth spreading through her. She'd quite like to meet them.

By mid-morning she works up the resolve to walk to Matilda's. Ever since the king returned she and Rose and the baby have been back in Locksley, mending wounds and blending poultices once again. She and Djaq were wary of each other at first, but they've come to some kind of peace; occasionally Marian sees them gathering herbs together in the forest.

Marian knocks on the door, softly at first, then a little louder when no one answers.

"Coming, coming," calls Matilda's voice from inside, and she opens the door just far enough to see who it is. Her look softens. "Ah, Lady Marian," she says, opening the door the rest of the way. She gestures for Marian to sit on the rough-hewn chair by the fire. Something is cooking over it, though from the smell Marian is not at all sure that it is food.

"I have been unwell," Marian begins, a little hesitant. She can never quite tell what Matilda thinks of her.

Matilda puts up a hand to stop Marian from continuing, and eyes her from a few feet away. The scrutiny makes Marian distinctly uncomfortable. After a moment she walks over, presses her cool hands against Marian's neck and stomach, and finally flicks at the sides of her breasts. Marian winces, as she has for weeks every time Robin touches her there, even gently, and works up the nerve to ask, "Am I-"

"Aye, you're pregnant, you don't need me to tell you that," says Matilda, cutting her off a bit snappishly, but there's a glint in her eye. "Robin'll be pleased."

Failing entirely to hold back a smile, Marian says, "I hope so."

Matilda rolls her eyes. "Oh, of course he will. A bonny girl. No man would be happier, I'll wager. No man would be a better father to a girl, either."

"D'you think it's a girl?"

"You get a sense for these things," says Matilda, and she pats the younger woman on the shoulder. "Go on home, dear, and rest up. I can bring you something for the nausea later on, if it's troubling you."

Once she gets home, Marian can't seem to relax - her stomach roiling, and she doesn't think it's the baby's fault this time. Instead she putters around the house and garden, pulling weeds and sweeping the floors, though they were already clean enough. Clean as they will be in dusty fall, anyway.

While she's outside tending to the tomatoes, Robin comes home and spots her. "Marian!" he cries gladly across the field. Marian turns to watch him come, half-jogging to get to her that much sooner. He takes her in his arms and kisses her soft, saying, "You must be feeling better."

"I am," she says, and she barely recognizes her own voice. She feels somehow like she is floating, watching herself and Robin from far away. How bright her eyes must be. How close he stands to her, always, like he could guard her from all the horrors of the world. "You make me so happy," she says quietly, pressing her hands to his face. "Have I ever told you that?"

He grins. "Not in so many words, no." He leans in to kiss her again. That's something incredible to her: that after so many kisses, each one still feels new. "What's gotten into you? Not that it isn't nice to hear."

"Robin, I have something to tell you," she begins, and what a beginning it is.

Marian wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of a furious whisper, and the sight of her husband kneeling on the floor by the window. "Robin?" she asks, her voice heavy with sleep. "What's going on?"

He stands up quickly and turns to her, looking guilty. "Nothing."

There are candles on the floor, their wicks still glowing, and she raises an eyebrow. "Robin, were you praying?" Crusades or not, Robin is not a religious man. She hasn't seen him pray since he was a boy in church, and even then he spent half his time flicking pebbles at her or playing games with Much. She suspects he's read more of the Qur'an than the Bible - his Latin was always terrible. Yet another of Robin's mysteries: his complete ineptitude with a language he'd studied since childhood, and the ease with which he'd learned an entirely different alphabet.

"Yes?" It is incredible how guilty he looks for praying. Indeed, she doesn't want to chastise him for it, but it is so strange that she can't help digging in a little further.

Marian climbs out of bed. She resents how challenging that small movement is, now that she's only weeks away from giving birth. Her body is heavy and awkward and unfamiliar, and while she cannot wait to meet their child, she could do without this pregnancy business. She crosses to him, and he does not meet her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Really, it's nothing."

She waits. She can almost always outlast him.

What he says next surprises her, though. In a rough whisper: "What if you die?"

Instinctively, she places a hand over her belly. "What?"

Robin finally meets her gaze. "Women die all the time in childbirth. My mother did."

"I'm not going to die," she says softly, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. "Everything is going to be fine."

"You don't know that."

Marian sighs, exasperated. "Just like I never knew if you were going to come home alive, and need I remind you that there were many, many times when you nearly didn't? Robin, you rode off into a war that almost no one returned from. You would show up to an ambush with nothing but your bow."

"Yes, but I was in control."

"No, you weren't," she says firmly. "You depended at every moment on other people. All your gang. You depended on the sheriff's incompetence. You depended on the wind to carry your arrows true."

He is unconvinced, but she soldiers on. "Just so, I will depend on Djaq and Matilda to do something they are quite capable of doing, that they have done plenty of times before. And you, to stay strong, and my body not to betray me. We all do the best we can, Robin, but do not pretend that you relied on others any less than I must now."

"I can't lose you." There is a desperate edge to his voice now, one she hasn't heard there for a long time.

Taking him by the hand, she leads them both back to bed. She tucks the blankets around him, then slides in facing him. His hands warm around hers, between them.

"If I die," she says, and a choked sound comes out of Robin, but she continues anyway. "If I die, and rest assured I do not intend to, you will do the best you can. You will raise up our child to be good and brave, and if it is a girl then Djaq and Eve will help with those things, though I still expect that you will teach her to wield a bow and sword. You will find her a fine tutor for her sums, because I certainly do not want her to learn them from you." Robin actually laughs at that, which is reassuring. "And then when she is older and wishes to marry, you will give your blessing whether she looks to an earl or a farmer." She can't help the way her voice cracks at the end. "Or an outlaw."

"I love you," he says, his voice breaking.

Marian can only think of her own father, and how proud he'd have been in the end, of the life she had made. "There. I have just taught you to be a good father. You shall be fine." She had been, after all. The world is full of motherless girls, and Robin is better equipped than most fathers to handle one. He knows from headstrong women, in any case.

Robin kisses her then, with all of the hope and fear that's in him, and there in the dark and the warmth Marian can only believe in a generous God, who gives more than he takes and who has counted all their losses. She can feel the baby moving, nearly ready to greet the day, and Marian is ready, too.

Robin has been pacing the hall for hours.

From inside their bedroom - through the thin walls and the closed door - all he can hear is Djaq's voice, low and soothing, and occasionally Matilda's - significantly less soothing - but he can't hear Marian.

He's been around women giving birth before, and he thought he knew what to expect. Groaning and cursing. Screams, even, but not this silence. He hates to hear her in pain, but this - this is impossibly worse, not knowing anything.

Djaq had seemed remarkably unconcerned about it all when he'd brought her to the manor. "She is young and strong," she'd said. "She has been through much worse." And then she started to shut the bedroom door, leaving Robin alone out in the hall.

"What if something happens?" Robin said desperately, leaning against the door to keep it open. "I need to be there if—"

"If something happens," Djaq said, pushing back just as hard, "there will be time enough."

Even hearing Djaq acknowledge the possibility was too much for him. "Djaq, please—"

"Absolutely not." Matilda appeared at the door, hands on her hips. "Look at you, Robin, you're a mess. You'll make things worse. Stay out here and for God's sake, try to stay calm."

And so Robin has been trying, though with little success. A few hours in, Will stopped by to bring him some ale and a chunk of good fresh bread, very nearly forcing Robin to eat - he'd picked up some of Djaq's tendencies, Robin noted with some displeasure - but since Will left, Robin has not stopped moving.

A brief visit from Much only makes things worse. "I'm sure Marian's fine," he says at top speed, "unless she isn't, of course, but I'm sure Djaq will do everything she can, she's very good at what she does, you know - but Marian is probably fine—"

"Shut up, Much," Robin roars, holding his head in his hands. "Just go."

And Much does. And Robin paces.

Day turns into evening, and Robin finally loses steam. He slides down along the bedroom wall, sitting upright with his legs sticking out. Here, with his head against the wall, he can finally hear Marian. Her voice is soft and maybe she's crying, oh God, and Robin clenches his fists and swears he won't break the door down.

And then he hears her scream.

He hates how familiar that sound is, how many times he's heard it; what kind of life has he led her into? And this, he realizes, is his fault too.

The second time she screams, Robin stands up and knocks on the door. Bangs on it, more like. A few seconds later Djaq opens it, looking harried. "What?"

"Is she—"

"Everything is fine, Robin," she says firmly.

"Can I—"

"No." Djaq sighs. "It won't be long now. Just - try to relax. Breathe." And she slams the door in his face again.

A million worst-case scenarios run through Robin's mind. What if the baby dies, what if Marian bleeds to death, what if she seems fine but three days from now she—

And then he hears a new sound.

His heart stops, and he hears it again, and he is sure this time, it's a baby crying, and beneath it he hears Djaq exclaim and Marian - oh God, Marian - he hears Marian laugh. That bright bell sound, and his heart beats like it should but he still can't find a way to inhale.

Long moments pass. He can hear them talking behind the door, and Marian sounds normal - what does that even mean - but what could they possibly be doing back there that takes so long—

After half an eternity the door opens, and it's Djaq.

"It's a girl," Djaq says, beaming, as she holds the baby out to him, clean and swaddled in white. Robin registers the baby, just barely; it - she - is bright pink and impossibly small, but he has other concerns.

"And Marian?" Robin asks. Trying not to sound desperate, failing.

Djaq nods to the baby. Robin takes her, but he can barely feel her weight until Djaq says, "Marian is well," and he can finally breathe again.

In his arms, the baby reaches up to him, her arm flailing in the air for a moment before Robin offers her his left hand. She seems content to grab his thumb, and Robin looks up at Djaq. "Can I-"

"Go ahead," says Djaq on a sigh, stepping back to let Robin and the baby through the door.

Marian is half-sitting, propped up by pillows, and she is pale and her hair is damp with sweat and she looks, quite frankly, rather miserable - but she's alive.

She beams when she sees him, and carefully, carefully, Robin walks over to the bed and sits down next to his wife. She curls up against him, looking at the child in his arms.

"She's odd looking, isn't she?" Marian says softly, and then she giggles - giggles - like a girl. A pure, happy sound he hasn't heard from her in years.

Robin grins as he looks the child over. "So were you, once," he says, teasing. He kisses the top of Marian's head. "And you turned out all right." Now that he is assured of Marian's health, he can finally really look at the baby. She is perfect: tiny hands and somehow already a great deal of hair. And Marian's eyes, blue as the sea.

Marian reaches a hand out to stroke the baby's head. Already she's curled against her father's chest, on the verge of sleep. "She's ours," says Marian, her voice full of wonder.

The baby coos in agreement, and Robin holds her, and Marian, just a little closer. "What's she called?"

"Katherine." Marian looks their daughter over, dark hair to tiny feet, and nods. "Yes. She looks like a Katherine."

"Then Katherine she shall be."

It is the middle of the night and Robin feels like he's been up for days. Marian beside him, and their daughter - an impossible dream, but he is certain he is awake. They fall asleep within moments, but Robin stays up until morning. Watching them sleep. Keeping them safe from the dark.