At last the M- and T-rated versions of this story merge again.

Thanx for the comments! This story got a random POV but focuses on the Marian storyline. The next chapter will be focusing on Allan/Djaq/Will.

Enjoy!


Chapter 11:
Fear

Marian is dying.

No it had never been spoken, yet the words were filling their heads, burned on the insides of their eyelids, stinging their swollen lips. Everyone was thinking it but no one dared to voice it out loud, as if the words held a magic that made it true. Instead the outlaws hurried into town in thick stifling silence. What do you say when every thought is a question too sore and dangerous to ask? When every question is an accusation? When every accusation might shatter the world you live in, a million splinters under your skin?

They ran in regret and sorrow, and cloaked by the silence lay treacherous thoughts, then guilt and with the guilt shame. Marian might be dying and someone was to blame. Marian was dying. If you boiled down the stew of conflicting emotions one sensation alone lay naked before motley retinue: A terrified sickening Fear. The kind of Fear you write with a capital letter. A Fear so strong it is alive, a grinning monster on you back, spikes through your heart, a jaw full of knife-sharp teeth closing around your head. Fear's putrid breath made it hard to breathe, but you knew you had to so you breathed too much instead.

Robin had been here before. He knew this feeling of not getting enough air, how your body caved in and leaped out of control at the same time. It was a sensation so strong, the very essence of fear. His body told him he was dying but he wouldn't listen, ignored the pain in his chest, his fingers going numb, the mere struggle to get air past that lump in his throat. Somehow the world was too bright and every sound too loud and yet not loud enough to make sense. His mind felt dulled and slow and his heartbeats so hard and fast it almost hurt.

"Master," Much broke the silence as the walls of Nottingham appeared before them, the cursed city that looked so much like a prison under the sheriff's rule. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Robin hissed but his voice was hoarse and strained as he forced it past the clenched teeth.

"Yes? You don't look fine. You look pale."

"Much! Be quiet!"

"Well we need to talk about it don't we! We can't just pretend everything is fine… We need o talk, we never talk."

"About what, Much?" came Robin's restrained voice as he glared at his old manservant.

"Well about… Allan said…"

"Allan said what, Much?"

"Well… Allan said… Allan said…" Much's voice trailed off as he realised that the outlaws were looking at him with every sensation between open hostility and mild irritation. "Well, never mind what Allan said. We all heard it. Is it true?"

"How should I know," Robin mumbled. His recollection of the events in the camp was rather blurred, little snippets of sounds and visions like random pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He had been so tense when Allan was cut down from the tree that it only took the vague comprehension that Marian was in trouble and Allan might be to blame to send him over the edge. Marian. Pregnant. Blood. Not my fault. BAM! His body and mind had reacted as if Allan just admitted to having murdered Marian, and after that the world was painted in red hot rage. There had been stories about Robin in the Holy Land, stories about the gentle man who became a monster in battle, his sword a flash of silver that no one saw up close more than once. They called him a berserker, and from time to time he would not even remember the battles. There was the beginning when you saw the faces of you opponents and begged God for forgiveness, then the red chaos took over and you knew the hours passed yet only existed in the present moment. He would wake up again when the fighting ceased, see the blood on his sword and his clothes, feel the exhaustion in his muscles and wonder in a moment of bewildered confusion whatever happened during the hours that he lost. It was a side of himself that frightened him, the red rage that didn't carry any mercy and defied all moral control.

"But it could be?" Much insisted.

"What?!"

"It could be true? It wasn't… you know, Immaculate Conception?" Much laughed nervously. "That kind of thing…"

Robin gave Much a sharp look, closing the subject for any further discussion, and turned to stare at the approaching city gates.

"Ah," Much said. There was a hint of disapproval in his mind, an unusual sensation of criticism against his closest friend. It confused him since his loyalty was usually so spotless. He had made Robin's life to his own, followed him wherever he went, fought his battles and shared his joys and sorrows. A servant didn't judge his master, and even as a friend he had always remained in a somewhat subordinate position. Robin never actually forced his power upon him, yet Much choose to follow. The fact that he had a choice only made his devotion stronger, turning into something reminding of idolisation at times. Now the feeling of his own thoughts conflicting with Robin's actions made him feel guilty and painfully alone in the world. What was he if there was no Robin by his side?

Not that anyone would care. Much practically oozed the kind of kick-me attitude that made people trample all over him, then walk back an extra turn just to wipe off their feet. During their travel to the Holy Land Robin had sometimes scoffed at him for being such an easy target, but that was merely the actions of a nervous young noble man trying to win some poise. No one wants to be associated with an underdog and Much had sucked it up with the same martyrdom he showed every punch to his abused pride. At least Robin always begged for forgiveness in the evenings when no one could hear them, giving Much the biggest piece of meat to lessen the guilt. It was not malice that made young Robin take out his frustrations on Much. The young noble man had been insecure faced with those men that he looked up to like living heroes of the ancient sagas. Much could relate to that. And Robin was still, in spite of his smug demeanour, insecure in certain settings. He was insecure when it came to Marian.

And Marian was dying.

The Black Sheep was very nearly empty when the group walked through the main room and up the stairs around the backside. Allan's little room faced the tiny garden that Jess Littlelamb mainly seemed to use as that place in the wardrobe where you shuffle everything that you don't know where else to put. The soil was notoriously bad in this part of the town and everything you planted ended up crumpled and pathetic, and Jess had better use for her yard. You needed to be anoptimist to be a gardener in north Nottingham, and no one unlucky enough to live there were quite that naïve. Today ropes were tied over the little garden forming a sort of chaotic spider web where very nearly white linen sheets danced solemnly in the breeze. In a corner Jess Littlelamb's niece was standing over a big tub of steaming hot water and turned another load of laundry with the wooden shovel, her face red and sweaty by the heat and tiresome labour. Allan gave her a smile and she glared back at him for using up so much linen. There were still faint impressions of red stains on some of the sheets, and Much found himself dreading the scene that awaited them in Allan's room. Much would dread Allan's room under any circumstances simply because it was Allan's, but that would be at least partly irrational. Much had been afraid for years, afraid of everything between battles and rats and those snide French menservants, and he knew the difference between irrational fear and the bad kind. The bad kind was the one that you were right to feel. It was the kind that wouldn't yield to logic because logic simply told you that the fear was rational and healthy considering the circumstances.

This was the bad kind of fear.

Allan's room over the Black Sheep was small and untidy like a room not actually used for living. He slept and kept his things here, and thus he felt no need to keep it spotless. There was a piece of dark wool cloth over the window, shutting out whatever little light might penetrate the window shutters in case you wanted to sleep through the day. Jugs and plates took up the little table, some worm-eaten apples and a flask of something not likely to be water. A heap of clothes lay discarded on a stool in the corner and Allan gave the room a sort of excusing shrug when he showed the outlaws in. This was really only a place to sleep and the bed took up most of the space, currently occupied by a mess of twisted sheets and blankets cradling a pale young woman. Marian was conscious but she had a worn out, slightly perplexed expression, as if she didn't quite know why she was here. The world was moving too fast for her mind that was dulled by blood loss, and when she saw Robin she first looked relieved, a moment of almost childish joy, then a shadow fell over her face and she tried to shy away from him.

"Robin…" she said, her eyes blank with tears as she moved her hand to her lips. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry Robin… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" That one word… In Robin's mind Allan had worn it out and he felt like he would scream by the bare mentioning of those hollow letters. Now she asked forgiveness, the one person who he could forgive anything and he couldn't understand why she had to ask him. If anything he'd wronged her! He had moved up to the bed and kneeled down by the pillow to get their eyes into level, but didn't dare touch her. The skin looked so pale and frail, as if a butterfly could crumble her to dust. "Why?" he said. "Why are you sorry? Marian don't…"

"Robin I killed your child! Your child is dead because of what I did…"

His child. The mentioning of the reason for her condition cut trough Robin as a knife. He felt nothing but resentment towards that child, an ice cold hate against anything that could steal her away from him again. He swallowed the rage, forced a smile and gingerly put a comforting hand on her pale forehead. "It's alright," he whispered. "Hush…" He expected her to chastise him for hushing her, but she just shut her eyes, too tired to speak. Hush. He told her to hush when he wanted to scream. Robin drew a shivering breath and looked over to Djaq.

"Djaq?" he said, posing the question with his eyes because it was too difficult to speak. How is she?

Djaq had climbed up onto the bed and kept a whispering conversation with Jess Littlelamb, as she carefully examined what little she could see of the damage. "It is not good Robin." She shook her head in empathy and regret for what she had to say. "And I am not skilled… I cannot do this. I know that she is losing blood but how to stop it…" She watched the pale woman before her, the female body a mystery to her, and felt a wave of helplessness. She wished so hard to help this patient, not only for Marian but for herself and for Allan. Too much was at stake for her to simple admit that she was useless here, yet that was all she could do. When you cannot help, delegate. When you cannot delegate to anyone of earth, delegate to Allah.

"But surely there must be something you can do?!" Much exclaimed. "She is bleeding… shouldn't you put a… a pad on it or something? Oh God…" He turned away as Djaq tugged a piece of linen sheet out from under Marian and saw it stained with deep red blood.

"But it is inside," Djaq said. "I'm… I'm as lost as any of you here. I cannot… If we cannot stop the bleeding then she will be dead by dawn - that much I can say." This time her knowledge of medicine could only quench their hope, not restore it.

"Dawn!?" Robin exclaimed and looked at Djaq with pure, unshielded horror. Marian's eyes shot open and stared at the Saracen. Dead by dawn was a simple fact, she could take it in. In a twisted way it made sense, the world got back at her for going against it. Be obedient and meek. Succumb to reality. Resign yourself to fate. Dawn. She would never see another sunrise.

Marian scanned the room and let her eyes rest on the window where a warm honey-coloured light trickled through the shutters. "It is dusk?" she said, trying to get some sort of idea regarding how far away dawn was.

"A couple of hours away still," Jess Littlelamb responded calmly.

Hours. You didn't count a life in hours. You counted it in years. Marian felt a warm, rather coarse hand against her jaw and turned to look at Robin. He trembled a little, his thumb grazing her cheek with swift almost vehement movements as if he was about to implode from the sheer mass of emotions pushing on his senses. She had seen that silent desperation in him before, his eyes so endlessly sad, and somehow it made everything more real. She had wanted to heal him, be his salvation and solace in this life, but instead she had to abandon him to his demons and worries. He needed her. Yet no love could change the fact that she had to leave him for a place from witch you did not return.

"I'm sorry…" she said again and he shook his head, wordless facing this disaster. "Don't shake your head," Marian continued. "Listen to me. I am sorry, I never meant for this to happen. I made a poor choice Robin. You have to let me ask you for forgiveness. There is so precious little time…"

The room around Marian was crowded with people. Six pair of eyes watched the scene between the couple by the bed, six lungs shared the air and made it stifling, six hearts throbbed in disharmony. In Marian's head it became one of those cribs you built for Christmas, Mary and Joseph in the middle with the entire world watching. Sheep and shepherds, the wise men, every star in heaven focused on that one scene. But while the wise men smiled this group of ragged outlaws frowned, and instead of beaming with joy Joseph cried. This crib was full of shame and guilt. She felt unattractive and embarrassed trapped under their unyielding eyes. Look at her, what a pity really. They weren't watching the dawn of something new, but rather the end of the world as they knew it. In that moment she hated them for watching her. What right did they have to be here? All those people staring at her nakedness and shame, feeling sorry for her. They invaded her privacy and she had never wished to die with an audience.

Robin's thumb lay still on Marian's cheek now and he followed her eyes as they flickered around the room. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear, sending a tingle down her spine. "You want me to send them out?" he whispered and she nodded wearily.

It would have come as a surprise to Marian that Robin seemed so calm and willing to resign to fate, had she only been her normal sly self. It would indeed be a surprise to anyone who knew Robin, realising that he now stood up in the middle of the room to tell everyone that they should leave Marian to die in peace. It would have been a surprise to Robin as well, if this had if fact been what he had in plan. As it was, however, his mind was struggling down a much more Robin-esque line of thoughts. Robin only seemed calm and resigned because he was working feverishly under the surface.

Robin licked his lips in concentration and scanned the room. There was Allan, a pathetic figure leaning casually against the wall with an impressive purple bruise decorating his left cheekbone. Will looked tense like a statue and stared at Djaq, then at Allan, then back at Djaq, and Much and Little John stood by the door as if they didn't know weather to leave or not. Jess Littlelamb and Djaq were still by the bed. They all watched Robin quizzically as he paced nervously, cocking his head then tilting it, mouth open then closed, forehead frowned and then smooth. Finally he stopped and nodded to himself before turning to Djaq.

"You say you cannot help her," Robin said. "You cannot. But somewhere there is someone that can. There has to be."

"A physician perhaps?" Djaq sighed and shrugged dejectedly. "Or one of your wise women..."

"A nun!"

The room turned to look at Much.

"Well," he explained. "That monastery outside Merton. That is where they go, the poor. And the rich. Ladies in trouble…"

"Robin," Djaq shook her head. "Se has very little time. Are you sure you want to take her from this room, take her across the town, travel all that way to a group of nuns who…" Djaq stopped herself before she ended the sentence '… who can only tell you that Marian is dying with more certainty'.

Robin watched Much, then Djaq, and nodded. "If that is the best option… I cannot give up, we will not give up!"

"No," Little John exclaimed. "That is cruel, Robin… You have to let her go." He lowered his voice, suddenly aware that the object of the conversation was watching. "Marian would not want that. If you ask her she will not deny you anything. Don't do this to her Robin. Trust me."

"I have to," Robin mumbled, his voice thin and trembling but still determined. "I have to save her."

The discussion had gradually moved away from the bed and everyone except Will stood pressed into a corner, some gesturing wildly while maintaining a hushed argument. Every now and then a word reached Marian, usually Robin's voice that became more forceful the more desperate he felt. He didn't have much of a case to argue. Most of his objections seemed to have the form of 'have to' or 'cannot', since he really only tried to impose his own irrational will on the rest of the gang. Marian sighed. She felt so tired, yet she was about to die and Robin had to live on. In this moment his feelings mattered more since they would last longer.

"We go," she said, and Will raised his eyebrow. He didn't take any part in the discussion and thus he was the only one that heard her.

"Marian said to go," he said a little louder.

The hushed argument continued undisrupted.

With a sigh Marian took a wooden jug from the bedside table and launched it to the wall with a loud thud. "I said," she said when everyone's eyes finally remained glued to her. "We go. It is my decision."

"Are you sure?" Djaq said. "It will be difficult."

It would be difficult, Marian felt sure of it, but there was a sparkle in Robin's eyes that she couldn't deny him. He had hope again, a solution to put his entire future into even though it was tiny, fickle and ultimately vain. How could she deny him that?

"I am sure," she said. "There might be a chance, and I want to take it. Robin and Much can come with me."

"Not being funny or anything," Allan said. "But shouldn't Djaq?"

"Not sure she would be welcome." Robin gave Allan a quick glance - he would have to deal with him later. "Djaq, prepare Marian for the trip. I want Little John to go back to the camp, there is still work to be done…" The world doesn't stop, not even when it should. "Will can go with him…"

"I stay here," Will snapped.

"Okay… As you wish. John can do it on his own. Djaq and Jess make Marian ready for the journey, Much and I will get transportation."

So it was done. Half an hour passed and Jess Littlelamb abandoned them as her ale house filled up with customers. Finally Robin gingerly scooped up Marian from the bed with the sheets and blankets wrapped around her as a cocoon and carried her down to the waiting carriage. Djaq and Much followed as Djaq gave some advice to the nervous manservant, eager to help with what little she could.

"Listen, they must not bleed her or leach her - that is important," she said. "Make sure they don't do it…"

"Yes… No… Why?" Much stammered. "Is it… will it put her fluids out of balance?"

"No, it will drain them," Djaq responded calmly.

"Drain... Oh God… Right, no bleeding no leaching, got it… Anything else?"

"Pray your God will listen. Allah be with you." Djaq put a comforting hand on Robin's arm but he shook it off and bluntly ignored her.

As the carriage disappeared down the street Djaq felt a gentle touch to her shoulder and leaned back to rest against Allan. He wiggled in his arms under her folded ones and cradled her as he lowered his mouth to her ear. 'I love you too Djaqie' he whispered in a puff of hot air, and then there was a smile, a faint ghost of joy brushing against Djaq's Saracen lips.

From a window on the second floor Will watched the scene, and for the second time that day the world was painted in uncompromising red hot rage.