A Good Person Would
EF - Missing Year Outlaw Queen Angst
The anger's long since gone, dissipated at the bitter end, left a familiar ache of nothing in her chest. She can't even manage a derisive snort, although the audience demands it, she's not in a giving mood right now.
They can have her presence and her silence and be grateful. She turns her head towards the window, tunes out the 'all is not lost' speech that Snow and David vainly struggle through.
She can't look the girl in the eye, not right now, not tonight, doesn't want to see the truth that lies there, that this time even the ever hopeful Snow White is struggling to believe her own words.
She longs for silence, inside the room and inside her head. The attack replays over and over, years of plotting ruses, setting traps, marking out battlefields, plans and strategies have sharpened her mind, she can see the exact moment they started to lose but the cold indifference she used to have, is gone.
The attack was quick, vicious, they were completely unprepared, weak and they suffered. Ten men dead, ten men, so few yet ten too many. Hundreds have died faceless in her name yet the faces of those men linger in her mind. Is this what its like to be good? To feel something when the loss is not personal? Ten dead, ten less mouths to feed, ten less fighters in their war, five merry men, she cannot look at Robin.
The room has fallen silent, all eyes rest on her, David presumably repeats his question to her
"Do you have anything to add Regina?"
Does she? What is there to say? What does she want to say?
Regina pushes back her chair, stands as tall and proud as ever,
"This won't happen again"
Says it with a certainty she does not yet feel but with a resolve she finds she means.
She turns, gives them the exit they expect, sweeps haughtily from the chambers, pretends not to notice the gratitude in Snow's eyes, the small, almost inaudible puff of relief from David, the fact that Robin has turned away. For the first time, he looks away from her, won't meet her eyes.
Its late, very late but sleep eludes her, frustration chases it away. She's used to the sleepless nights, the rare nights that she does manage to get some rest, she always wakes surprised.
This is the first night that sleep runs from her with a name on its lips that is not Henry, with frustration that rankles not borne from this unwanted return nor from the memories that chase her through corridors, lurk in every room and mock her with their very existence.
HE keeps her awake, him and the defeated look that painted his face almost unrecognisable, the pain he wore so openly, as vivid as the bright red blood on his shirt. His un-waiving determination to bring every fallen man home with dignity and care, it keeps her awake.
She stayed and listened to his words when they returned, stood silently, off to the side busying herself with cleaning the mud from her boots but she heard every single word. He didn't say much but what he said was true, she felt the weight of those words, saw strength instead of weakness in the comfort they gave.
Asked her herself the question again, the same question since the return, is this what good looks like? Is this what good sounds like?
Her mind is too awake, the thoughts that spin turn her stomach. The battle has shaken her more than she is ready to admit, she needs a distraction. The book she wants she left in the reading room, could easily be summoned by magic but she is still dressed, although she changed her gown after the battle and left her hair down, she is still more than suitable attired to roam her castle.
A castle that is never quiet, never empty, they leave her be, some watch when she walks the halls, some avert their eyes, some in bright daylight nod a greeting but at night everyone pretends not to see her wandering.
His men are still in the great hall, celebrating their fallen brothers, she can hear snatches of conversations as she passes, low voices, bark of a laugh she recognises belonging to the ironically named Little John.
She cannot see him, assumes he is with his boy.
The reading room is small and comfortable, despite it being a favourite of Snow's in years past, she finds she likes the cosy room, likes its clutter, its faded flocked green leaf wallpaper, likes the large padded window seat best of all.
She picks up her adopted shawl from the table, a simple linen, cream with gold embroidery, more Granny than Queen but its lightweight and wraps around any of her ostentatious gowns easily, it smells like pine needles and musk.
A lone candle burns, flickering yellow light on green leafed walls, leaf patterns that seem to sway in gentle breeze, a trick of the eye, a pleasant one for once.
She lights the fire the old fashioned way, rubbing sticks and kindling, cups her hands and blows the flames to life.
"Who knew a Queen could catch a fire alight the peasant way"
He has startled her for the first time, no matter had quiet his tread she has always known he was there, heard his approach makes her wonder if he was never trying to hide it but she had closed the door, no one could open a creaky wooden door with absolute silence, which means he was already here, in the room.
She turns to face him still kneeling, she is in no mood for a fight and if he has left his men and his boy to seek quiet here then neither is he.
"Who knew indeed"
His eyes never leave hers as she stands. He sits straight backed in a hard wooden chair, she recognises that posture.
His eyes follow her as she walks across the room to retrieve her book from the window seat, follow her journey back through the room to the door.
"Its a cold night" she gestures to the fire, her hand is on the door handle already turning when she remembers "there's a bottle of whiskey behind the bookend third shelf" she tells him.
His reply is one word, a simple one but the word hangs heavy in the air.
"Stay" he says.
A good person would stay, offer him comfort, words of solace, he would stay and offer her such. She fights with herself, she wants to leave, what is there to say? What can she offer? Empty words? Promises she may break?
He doesn't ask again but he stands, walks to the third shelf and despite herself she turns and watches him retrieve the hidden bottle.
Robin uncorks it, wipes its neck with his sleeve, a clean shirt, clean trousers and he has shaved she notices. He takes a long draught, adams apple bobbing three times as he swallows in quick succession.
For once his eyes give nothing away, she cannot read his expression, he offers the bottle to her,
"Regina?"
A good person would drink less of the whiskey, give him the lion share but she doesn't. It feels good the way it burns her throat, numbs the tip of her nose, besides she can refill it when it runs dry.
He says very little, seems content to sit in front of the fire, passing the bottle back and forth. He had settled cross legged on the rug in front of the hearth and she found herself joining him there.
The fire has caught well, warming the room, the shawl lies in her lap, her cape discarded on the floor. She wonders what anyone would make of it if they saw them now, the Queen sat on her bum on the floor, sharing whiskey sans glass with a common thief, bare necked and bare legged, scratchy skirt hitched to the side, bootless feet, painted toes wiggling in the heat of the fire. She wonders and finds she doesn't care.
"I wondered where that had gone" he says, answers her look of confusion by pointing at the shawl "it was my mothers, Roland is often misplacing it"
"I didn't realise" she had just found it here, hadn't given any thought to who it belonged to.
"Roland wont mind if you borrow it" he tells her as she tries to give it back, seems rude to scrunch it back up in her lap, so she folds it carefully and places it by her side.
Robin has removed his scarf, shirt unbuttoned by three, she has counted them, leans back on his elbows, legs stretched next to hers, just a whisper of material grazing her legs as he settles.
"Tom" he says "Tom was a butcher by trade, quickest fingered bastard I ever met"
"Jim was a drunk by night but by morning, you'd never know it"
"Timothy, he had a hard life, he was different you know? A squire once, until gossip ruined his life? nothing more than a lad when he joined us but the best damn marksmen once trained, a natural. Says, said the gossips did him a favour, gave him freedom"
"Did you believe him?" Suddenly she wants to know, wants it confirmed.
"Yes" Robin nods "he was a forgiving type, more forgiving than me I'd wager, always saw the good in others, understood what fear, ignorance, does to people. A good man" he sighs.
She listens as he recounts the little details that made each man unique, doesn't interrupt again, doesn't believe him when he says a better man than I more than once. Robin is a good man everyone says so, she is not so blind to it, can see he is good to his men, good with his son, good to her, even when she scoffs at him, belittles and mocks. He doesn't deserve it she knows that but sometimes when he looks at her, she is unsettled by what he sees and the words fall from her mouth before she can stop them.
He falls silent again and remains so, she finds herself uttering those empty words,
"Its not your fault" "I know"
Silence falls again and she fills it by drinking, holding her liquor is not a problem and the whiskey is weak.
"Thank you" he says, chuckles low at her raised brow.
"What for?"
"For saying its not your fault, I know how you disapprove of such sentiments"
"Its not a sentiment" she bites out "its the truth"
Robin chuckles again "Because you say its so"
"Yes and I am the Queen so what I say goes"
He laughs this time, a laugh she has heard many times, much better than the mirthless chuckles that have escaped him all night. The firelight is kind to him, her eyes are drawn to those three undone buttons, she flicks her eyes up, he is watching her, teeth digging into his bottom lip, that annoying habit of his that draws her eye to his mouth time and time again.
His laugh dispels the knot in her stomach, one that is tangled in the worry that he shares the same thoughts as the others, that its her fault, her sister, her fault, replaces it with a flutter.
A flutter she pushes away, that little voice inside makes its doubt known, but why then wouldn't he look at her in the war chamber? Surely he must blame her a little. Its unnerving how he makes her feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
"You blame me, thats why you couldn't, you didn't" god what is she saying "look at me in the chamber earlier" its out and now she waits for the inevitable,
He weighs up his answer and she searches his face for the lie that she is hoping he will tell, a good person would lie even to a not so good person.
The answer he gives is so unexpected, her only reply is a small "oh".
She should leave, say something, then leave, he hands her the bottle and she takes it, mind whirling.
He stayed, asked his men to stay, stay and fight with them, not only for the safety of castle walls but for, as he put it "a selfish desire to get to know a certain Queen better".
"And now you do, was it worth it?" escapes as a whisper, foolish thing to say nothing is worth the loss of his men.
"I think so" he says, offers her his open palm.
She stares and stares at it, wonders what will happen if she takes it, imagines his callous skin wrapping around hers. His eyes are dark, drinking her in, he is waiting for her and if she takes his hand, will he will pull her to him? wrap his arms around her? hold her tight? Does she want that?
Yes
No
Yes but what then, he stayed for her and his men died, too much blood on her hands already. Henry is where she keeps her heart, keeps the best of her and he is gone forever. She can take from Robin, take everything he offers and give nothing back, that's what a selfish person would do, she makes her decision,
"You are wrong"
He doesn't stop her when she stands, walks to the door, whiskey bottle in hand, doesn't turn to look at her when he says
"I think not"
The door creaks when it opens and creaks when she closes it, her tears surprise her, she thinks maybe she can't hold her liquor after all.
Authors note - In case anyone missed it, Trapped was updated earlier this month. Can be found chapters 1-5