Chapter 25
Under Gisborne's orders, the soldiers fell back. Each of them understood the consequences of this defeat, though Gisborne would bear most of the Sheriff's displeasure, as he always did. Of course, the Sheriff's anger translated into Gisborne's anger, and Gisborne was far too capable of making lives miserable.
One soldier, in particular, watched the exchange between Robin Hood and Sir Guy of Gisborne – watched as the outlaw knocked Gisborne out. Considering Gisborne's none to endearing personality, the soldier, Arthur de Lacy, might have found it amusing. But Arthur de Lacy had stood guard at the gates to Nottingham when the mysterious mercenary calling himself David of Doncaster delivered Robin Hood, bound and unconscious – obviously, Arthur realized now, a clever plan to infiltrate the castle. Then, Arthur had allowed the older man, claiming to be a servant of Lord Hastings, pass with a wagon full of ale – ale which was, in fact, drugged. And he also suspected not all the barrels had contained ale. That must have been how the other outlaws snuck inside Nottingham.
Now, the Sheriff might not concern himself with the names and faces and positions of his soldiers, but Gisborne did. Gisborne viewed them all as worthless, replaceable things, just like the Sheriff. But Gisborne knew names and faces and positions. Of that Arthur was certain. Gisborne would remember that he, Arthur, had stood guard at the gate. And when the Sheriff's rage turned to Gisborne, as it inevitably would, Gisborne would then take his own anger, his own frustration, out on the soldiers – especially on the ones he could find most likely to blame for the enormity of this failure.
Arthur believed he would be one of those soldiers – one of the men used as an example. And he wondered whether or not it was worth suffering the consequences.
In the end, he decided it wasn't.
While the outlaws fled into the forest, Arthur departed the recent battlefield, disappearing like Robin Hood and his friends without even a backward glance. No one spared him so much as a word. Some men scrambled to Gisborne's side. Others sorted through the fallen soldiers, searching for survivors and confirming the identities of the dead.
As he passed, Arthur recognized some of the soldiers while others he did not. Still, it didn't matter whether or not he was acquainted with the faces he saw. In this moment, their thoughts were identical. Arthur knew that each and every one of them wracked their brains, trying to think of a way to avoid Gisborne's wrath, to avoid punishment, and to deflect blame on others. In defeat, every soldier attempted to slink beneath Gisborne's detection, throwing fault on others if necessary. Arthur knew this because he'd done it himself so many times before.
But he wouldn't do it this time. This time, he'd find another means to survive, another way to keep food in his belly and a roof over his head. It wouldn't be easy. It never was. Yet he confronted the uncertainty of tomorrow with less trepidation than he would have the consequences of this failure.
Only a few short hours ago, Djaq never imagined she'd see the forest again, but relief over their triumph was fleeting. And Djaq realized it wasn't even truly a victory, not yet. If Allan died … she pushed the thought from her mind, the sense of foreboding as she glanced at Allan, unconscious and now draped over the back of a horse being led by John.
Allan had done what he could, forcing his body to respond beyond all reason. But adrenaline and sheer determined will only lasted so long. Both of those had abandoned Allan. Before they lifted him onto the horse, Djaq feared what she saw. She recognized the pallor of pain and exhaustion – that sickly, unnatural whiteness that stole over a person's face – the shade of death. She had seen it so often before. She had seen it only the other day, except … Marian had survived.
And Djaq clung to that despite knowing Marian and Allan were not in the same situation. Marian had been stabbed; Allan had been injured with red hot irons, leaving burn wounds along his chest and stomach. He wasn't dying, not yet, anyway. But the skin was damaged, reminding Djaq of a fire victim. It wasn't a matter of if the wounds would become infected. It was a matter of when and how severely. She couldn't just stitch up his injuries. This was entirely different from a stab wound.
Djaq ignored the turn of her thoughts, refusing to think about what might happen. In battle, they turned to Robin to lead. But this battle belonged to Djaq, and dwelling on the potentially devastating outcome would hinder her. She forced everything else aside, thinking only of the things she would need – water, plants, bandages. Silently, methodically, she went over it, like a checklist, detaching herself from the enormity of the situation that confronted her.
They arrived back at camp, greeted by Tuck. Djaq had nearly forgotten about the older man, who had played his role and departed Nottingham long before the fighting broke out, returning to Sherwood with a chest of gold – the bounty the Sheriff placed on Robin's head.
So Sarah, David, Wat, and Tuck had their compensation, their means to a new life. Djaq expected them to count their treasure and depart without another thought or backward glance. She never expected David to help John carefully lower Allan from the horse or Sarah to ask how they could help.
They all looked to Djaq. She was the leader in this arena, and she took that responsibility to heart … she took Allan's life on her shoulders. If he didn't survive, Djaq would never think about how the Sheriff and Gisborne tortured him. She wouldn't question how things might have worked out differently if they hadn't been ambushed by David and the others. She wouldn't fault Marian for choosing to stay at Knighton in the first place.
Djaq would blame herself.
Despite understanding the irrationality of it and despite realizing there was more to this fight than her knowledge of medicines and injuries, she would look at Allan – she would look at herself – and know she failed.
But she couldn't think about that, not now. Instead, Djaq issued instructions, showing a steady confidence she didn't, at the moment, necessarily feel. It wasn't because she doubted her competence, because she didn't. But some things went well beyond skill, and, in her heart, she feared Allan had become one of those things.
Marian picked the plants Djaq described, stuffing them into a bag on the ground beside her. Robin tried to keep her at camp, telling her to rest, but resting was the furthest thing from her mind. She needed to stay busy, to keep moving though every movement felt automatic. It was as if she weren't living and breathing but only a shell, numb and hollow. But if she stopped working, her thoughts would catch up with her, and she didn't want to think. She didn't want to consider the man she'd killed, and she didn't want to recall Allan's torture – every excruciating moment which was etched forever, she was certain, into her memory. She didn't want to accept the fact that Allan would likely die, and it was her fault. No matter what Robin or anyone said, she blamed herself. Yes, of course, she hadn't been the one to torture Allan. But she was the reason he'd been in the dungeon. She was the reason the Sheriff and Gisborne had the opportunity to hurt him.
After everything, she felt tired and weak. Her stomach throbbed, her injury aggravated. Despite that, Marian continued to rip the plants out by their roots, shoving them into the bag though the bag was nearly full – though she had already done more than Djaq required. But she didn't want to stop, not yet. Absorbed by the mechanical, almost comforting, motion of picking and stuffing the plants into her bag, Marian started, almost shocked by the contact, when someone crouched next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Though, when she glanced over her shoulder, she wasn't surprised to see Robin. He had reluctantly let her leave camp with Sarah. Not unfamiliar with arrow injuries, Robin remained at camp, tending to Much with Djaq's advice, leaving Djaq to focus most of her attention on Allan.
"Marian," he said, "you should rest."
"How is Much?" Marian returned, evading the suggestion with a question.
"He decided to cook, saying everyone will need it. I did not have the heart to tell him no one really wants to eat. So Much is fine. He is in pain, but well enough."
Marian nodded, silently accepting the blame for Much's pain as much as Allan's. But at least Much would live.
"Djaq should look at your wrist and check your stitches," Robin said, directing the conversation back to her.
"No," Marian replied, annoyed by the concern she heard in his voice. Why should he worry about her now?
"Marian - "
Flinging his hand away, Marian jumped to her feet, turning on Robin. She didn't want his concern, his sympathy, or his comfort. In her heart, she didn't believe she deserved it, not when she was the cause of all of this. "Maybe you forgot, but Djaq is a little busy at the moment. I hardly think she needs to be bothered by such trifling wounds."
"Trifling," Robin repeated. "You nearly died."
"Well, I am not nearly dying today," Marian snapped. "Allan is. Save your concern for him, not me, Robin." She dropped back to the plants, yanking them out with a renewed ferocity.
"Marian, stop." Robin paused. "You have collected more than enough."
Taking the full bag, Marian stood again and shoved the bag into Robin's chest. "Good. Then you can return it to Djaq, and I will collect more." Once more, she turned her attention back to the plants.
"Djaq does not need anymore."
"She might," Marian returned. "And it would be better to have more than not enough." Intently, she focused on her task, blocking everything else out. She barely heard Robin instruct Sarah to return to camp with the plants they had already gathered. But then, Robin hauled her up from the ground, forcing her to face him, his hands securely around her upper arms.
"Marian, stop," Robin said.
She tried to shrug out of his grasp, but his hold was firm. He kept her standing and facing him. "I am not troubling Djaq. I am not relaxing. I will not sit about while everyone else works."
"All right, fine," Robin returned, though Marian could tell he wanted to argue. "But unless you plan to pick the whole of Sherwood Forest clean of leaves and grass, we are done here. If you want to help, we can go back to camp."
But Marian didn't want to return to camp, especially because she knew Robin was lying simply to make her go back. There was nothing for her to do there that wasn't already being done. At least here she could do something instead of standing around helplessly, watching Djaq tend Allan's possibly fatal wounds – wounds she caused.
Marian shook her head. "Djaq might need more."
"She doesn't."
"How do you know?" Marian snapped, angry that he was trying to drag her back to camp and upset that he didn't understand why she couldn't go back, not yet. "Are you a physician now?"
She felt his hands tighten around her arms. "Stop this, Marian. You cannot keep pushing yourself."
"Do not tell me what to do."
"Someone has to," Robin returned, his irritation evident. "You are being ridiculous. You are still recovering from a wound that nearly killed you."
"I am fine."
Robin studied her silently for a moment. "What is this about?" he finally asked, though Marian suspected he already knew the answer. "You are in pain, and you are exhausted. I see it in your face."
Marian sighed, briefly closing her eyes. She didn't want to argue. That route would get them nowhere; it never did. "Robin," she began, "I am not dying. So just let me be … please." She paused. "There are other people you should worry about now, not me."
"I have enough to go around," Robin replied. "Trust me."
"And I know better than you what I am capable of. I do not need your concern, and I do not need you telling me what I should and should not do."
Again, he remained silent, watching her. Then, he said, "Unless you plan to run away, you will return to camp eventually. Whether you do it now or later makes no difference."
Irrational anger bubbled up inside of her. Marian wanted to shout at him until he understood – until he quit acting like this wasn't her fault. She didn't want anything from him right now because, somehow, it only made her feel worse. Robin knew what would happen if she stayed at Knighton. He told her as much the night before.
Glancing away, Marian said, "Do you remember what you said to me? You told me that I would be putting your men in danger when you had to come rescue me." She hesitated. "How can you pretend this isn't my fault? I did endanger them. One of them will probably die because of me."
"Marian …" For a moment, Robin looked at a loss, which was unusual. Robin always knew what to say, though Marian guessed she surprised him by recalling his words – words he had spoken out of frustration, unable to imagine how very true they would become. Yet he recovered from the momentary lapse quickly and continued, "If you want me to blame you for Allan, I won't. I was angry when I said that, but it does not mean … it would never mean that I would hold you responsible for this. You must know that." He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't even known had fallen.
"I will always blame myself."
"You cannot," Robin said. "You cannot blame yourself for the cruelties of other men. The Sheriff did this to Allan, not you. If you carry the weight of another person's sins, it will haunt you forever." He paused. "Do not become me."
Startled by that admittance – a confession that Marian was certain Robin would view as a weakness – Marian met his eyes. She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. But then, she realized she never really expected him to. It was enough he had said that much, and Marian imagined he referred to things he had seen in the Holy Land as much as the atrocities the Sheriff inflicted upon the people of Nottingham … things he himself hadn't actually committed but still somehow held himself accountable for. She understood that he would never really tell her about the five years of his life he spent at war. But though she appreciated what he said, it didn't ease her guilt.
"I wish it were that simple," Marian finally said. "I wish it were easy enough to tell myself the Sheriff is to blame. But I was the reason Allan was there. And if you cannot forget the crimes you've seen – the ones you blame yourself for – how do you expect me to?" They were, after all, different in some ways but so very similar in others.
He didn't answer immediately, and Marian guessed he realized there was no answer to that. No matter what he said, he couldn't change how she felt. Though, after a moment, he replied, "Just know that I will never blame you. No one will."
Marian nodded but said nothing. She knew the guilt would haunt her, but she couldn't hide from it. She would have to return to camp eventually, and Robin was right. Whether she did it now or later made no difference.
A/N: I definitely plan on a lighter scene for Robin and Marian before this story is finished. It just didn't seem very appropriate at the moment.
Many thanks to … scully42 … I'm so happy to hear you're still reading! I don't blame you for being upset with the show. Mentally challenged doesn't begin to describe it as far as I'm concerned. Robin and Marian are supposed to live happily ever after. That's the legend, that's the way it's supposed to be. Thanks so much again. I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying … rosebud23 … Thanks so much! I hate writing action, honestly. I think that's why I went with so many POVs. I just felt I couldn't write it from only one or two perspectives. I'm glad to hear it worked out. Thanks again! … MontyPythonFan … Thanks so much! And yes, I do think Gisborne deserved a good punch! :-D Thanks again! … Lady Chekov … Thanks so much! I'm glad you like my Allan writing. I find him a difficult character to write for, and I'm always happy to hear I've done him justice! Much is a wonderful character. Obviously, this story doesn't have a great deal of Much, but I really would like to get into his character more if I end up writing sequels to this story. Thanks so much again! … Capt. Cow … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the action. Honestly, I hate writing it. And, yes, it's true, I shot Much :-( But he'll be fine, I promise :-D Thanks so much again! … Rivan Warrioress … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying. And I'm happy to hear I've done justice to the bonds between the characters. There are great relationships on the show, and I'm glad to hear I've been able to show that in writing. Thanks so much again! … BigBadWolfyBoy … Thanks so much! I really appreciate it. I love reading action/adventure, but it is terribly difficult to write. It is definitely trial and error, which means rewrites galore. I'll never be comfortable writing it, but I guess, as with anything, practice can only make it better. Again, thank you so much!