Sherwood Forest

Much shivered as he drew his cloak tighter around him, stamping his feet into the cold, hard earth. He wished he was back in the relative warmth of the camp with the roaring, constant fire, the hot bricks placed in every bunk and Eve's rabbit stew bubbling away. Instead, he was out in the woods watching Robin practice his archery, looking up at the sky every few minutes as the weather seemed to get worse.

"It looks like snow," Much said, hugging himself tighter and trying to give Robin a hint. He'd recovered well from his illness over the past few days, and that morning had declared himself fit enough to try his bow for the first time. When Much had argued that it was far too cold, Robin had declared that it was his life and he wasn't expecting anyone to accompany him. Much had looked to Marian to intervene but she'd been uncharacteristically silent - as she had been ever since Robin had recovered.

Not about to let Robin go out alone, Much had put on his thickest cloak and followed him out into the barren and frosty trees until they reached the clearing often used for target practice. But Robin's arm had grown weak from the sickness and inactivity, and he'd struggled to even pull the bow back, let alone hit the target when he let the arrow fly. Half the time it hadn't even hit the target, the arrows careering slowly into the trees and needing to be retrieved.

"Robin," Much called to him again, a little exasperated. "Snow." He pointed upward where the dark skies were looking threatening.

Robin followed his gaze and sighed with clear disappointment. "Alright, Much," he said with a smile. "Just one more?"

Much was reminded of when they both were children, and Robin would spend hours in the grounds of Locksley Manor shooting at his target. Thornton would stand on the front porch calling Robin in to get ready for supper, and Robin would demand "just one more" until he was satisfied that he'd made the perfect shot. Much knew that he didn't have the power to stop Robin now any more than he did then, but hoped that some part of the reckless boy had grown into a more measured man.

Robin pulled back the string of his bow, loaded with a fresh arrow. His technique was perfect, although Much noticed his bow arm trembled slightly with exertion, and his grip was not as strong as usual. The fever had weakened him severely, and Djaq had said bluntly that they couldn't be sure of the long term effects. She would not have been pleased that Robin had left camp and was out in the cold, but he'd planned it well, waiting until she and Tuck had left to administer to the sick still in the villages.

Much cupped his hands and blew into them, trying to warm his chilled fingers. Robin looked pale, his fingers that clutched the bow almost blue, and Much regretted not being more firm with Robin. He should have stopped him leaving the camp by any means necessary, and resolved that he would not accept any more claims of "just one more" if it came to that.

Robin released his arrow, but it did not have the speed and wobbled precariously in the air. It weakly hit the outlier of the target and Robin exhaled harshly and threw aside his bow, swearing under his breath. Much retrieved it hastily, ready to refuse to return the bow should Robin insist, but it seemed that his friend had finally had enough.

"You are still recovering, Robin," Much reminded him as they walked back to camp and Robin dejectedly kicked at the undergrowth. "All will be well again, I'm sure of it."

Robin smiled sideways at him, his foul mood dissipating somewhat. "You're a good friend, Much," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I wish I had your optimism."

"I'll have enough for the both of us then," Much said resolutely, and meant it. It was a miracle in his eyes that Robin had survived, and Much told himself would never lose hope again.

When they returned to the camp it was almost dark, and all of the other outlaws had returned from their various duties. As soon as they stepped inside Much sighed with relief and headed straight to the fire to warm his cold hands. His heart lightened as Eve abandoned her cooking to fuss over him, kissing his chilled fingers and brushing the frost from his hair. He wondered if he would be able to be so positive without Eve's love and strength, and glanced over to Robin where Djaq was berating him for leaving the camp. He was taking it with good humour, but Much didn't miss the small glance over at Marian, polishing her sword by the larder. She was studiously avoiding the scene, and Much sighed to himself.

"What's wrong?" Eve whispered in his ear, leaning in close.

"Robin and Marian," Much said lowly back to her, turning his face to the fire so no one else could hear.

"Ah," Eve smiled knowingly. "Who else?"

"I just wish there was some way I could help," Much said wistfully. He hated seeing either of them in pain, and he wanted to knock their heads together and tell them how stubborn they both were being but he knew it wouldn't make any difference. The more you told either of them what to do, the more they railed against you and did the opposite. Perhaps, Much thought wryly to himself, he should tell them they were no good for each other and advise them to live on opposite sides of the country. Maybe then they'd reconcile just out of defiance.

"Do not worry, my Much," Eve kissed him lightly on the neck. "As you often say, all will be well."

"I hope so," Much replied, and set about helping Eve finish cooking super. It was a hearty meal, and he was pleased to see that Robin ate more than he had in days. It seemed as if the camp had returned somewhat to normal, with stories and teasing laughter floating around the campfire as they ate together. However when the meal ended Little John stood, his immense height dwarfing them all and the top of his head almost scraping the roof of the camp.

"I have something to say," John spoke up, although all eyes were already on him. Much threw a glance at Robin and could see that he knew what Little John was on about - and that he was unhappy about it.

Little John nervously wrung his hands, looking around at the gang. "I..have been thinking for a while about this," he began. "I was outlawed for selfish reasons, and never knew my son. I still don't know him. I'm his father, and I should be a father to him."

"You have been doing good work, John," Marian spoke up from her place by the fire. "Your sacrifice has allowed other families to stay together."

"Yes," John ducked his head. "But there are many of us now," he indicated around the camp which was indeed a tad crowded.

"What are you saying, John?" Will asked, looking a little hurt and Much realised that he had not been consulted about the big man's intention. "You're leaving us?" Djaq put a reassuring hand on Will's arm, and he fell silent.

"I will stay for Christmastide," John told them. "Then go to my family."

"So soon?" Much couldn't stop himself blurting out, and then clamped one hand over his mouth when Robin shot him a look. Slowly, getting to his feet, Robin crossed the camp to clasp Little John by the arm.

"You will be missed, Little John," he said. "You will always be our true friend and greatest warrior. But now your family needs you more than we do."

"Thank you, Robin." Little John looked relieved, and then gave them a rare smile so wide it seemed to split his face. One by one the outlaws stood to embrace John, tease him, give him their good wishes and extract promises that he would visit, until they all dissolved into laughter once again.

And yet for Much it was bittersweet, a reminder that things could never go back to the way they were before. They would never be those few men in Sherwood, still believing that the King would return any day, confident and full of cheer, as if they were on an adventure - a camping expedition as he and Robin had once undertaken in their youth. But Much reminded himself that with the hard times and sorrows there had also been exquisite joys - he was a married man, had a beautiful wife who loved him and who he would be content to worship forever. Their ranks had swelled, Will and Djaq had returned. Marian was alive, and the Sheriff was dead.

Whatever lay ahead for them, Much was grateful for those victories.


The night was drawing to a close, and one by one the outlaws drifted off to bed. Will and Djaq were making use of one of the "nooks" which had been constructed, and since Robin had awakened from his fever Marian had taken up residence in one of the others. She realised that it seemed strange, for she had refused to leave Robin's side during his sickness, and now she was avoiding him altogether. But Marian simply wasn't sure how to broach things with him - how could they find common ground, when they never had before? Still, the forlorn look Robin had given her as he'd left the fireside towards his bunk - the one she pretended not to see - still made her stomach leap. She'd desperately wanted to follow, to allow herself to be held in his arms and not give a damn about anything else. But she'd made that mistake too often before. No, Marian had planted her flag in the earth, and wasn't about to move it no matter how beautifully he looked at her. He was still the same old Robin, and come morning that warm feeling would fade and be replaced by bitter regret. His sweet promises would be broken, and she would feel her marriage close around her like a shroud.

"You're going to burn your eyes out," a sly voice shook Marian out of her reverie. "If you keep staring at the fire like that."

Marian blinked and looked up to see that only Eve remained seated around the campfire, a knowing smile gracing her lips. "I was thinking," Marian said softly.

"What of?"

"Christmas," Marian lied, although she could see that Eve wasn't fooled. "Tuck wants to celebrate Mass in Locksley."

"It is a good idea," Eve said. "It's been many years since Locksley church saw a proper service. I know Robin is eager."

Marian nodded. During his convalescence he and Tuck seemed to have formed a close bond, and the priest would only tell her that he'd had the privilege of hearing Robin's confession. She knew how important Robin's faith was to him, and how bitterly he resented Locksley church being presided over by corrupt clergy on the Sheriff's payroll.

"I worry it will not be safe," Marian shared her doubts. "I fear that there will still be reprisals for the death of Vaisey."

Eve pierced her with a shrewd look. "Not by Gisborne, surely," she suggested. "He's taken up residence in Nottingham Castle - he should thank you for making him Sheriff, not seek retribution."

"Who knows what he is capable of," Marian said softly. He'd loved and despised the Sheriff in equal measure, coveted his position and yet feared it. She had been sure when she stood between him and the King in Acre that he would not hurt her, and yet he had struck. She had been sure in that dungeon that he would trade her life for Robin's, and yet he'd set her free. She once thought herself so clever, that Guy's mind could be easily forged by her will and yet she'd been proved wrong twice over.

"Are you worried about Prince John, then?" Eve asked. "His army?"

Marian shivered - she would never forget that day in Nottingham with the town surrounded by the Prince's men and a blood red sky behind them. The memory had kept her awake after Vaisey's death, that it would bring down the might of London upon them and this time there would be no reprieve for the innocent in Nottingham town - and that it would be all her fault. But Allan had been in contact with his spies in London and there had been no news of Prince John's army being raised. Instead, he was spending lavishly for the upcoming Christmastide and had not even announced Vaisey's death.

"No," Marian told her.

"So it is Robin, then."

Marian looked up. "Robin is fine," she said a little too quickly. "He will be fine."

"He's alive, yes," Eve nodded. "But I mean, about the two of you - your marriage. Are you just going to ignore him forever?"

"I just...don't see how it can work," Marian explained, her heart heavy. "We're both the same people we were before he got ill."

"Are you sure?" Eve asked. "You know better than anyone that almost dying can change a person."

Marian didn't answer, her gaze drifting back to the fire as if her answer was there in the flames. She loved Robin still, and she knew that a marriage bound by a King could not be undone in the eyes of man or God. But the law and her heart were entirely separate.

"When Robin was dying, he had me write a letter for him," Eve spoke up as if it was something she'd been wanting to say for some time. "A letter for you."

"Oh?" Marian looked back up curiously.

"After he…got better, I told him that I had burned it."

Marian understood what she was getting at. "But you didn't."

"I didn't." Eve withdrew a folded parchment from the pockets of her skirts and held it out. "It's up to you whether you want to read it, but I think you should." With that, Eve stood and made her way across the camp. Marian watched as she climbed the wood ladder that led to the top bunk where Much was already asleep and snoring. The Marian's gaze drifted down to the bunk below where Robin slept, far more peacefully than he had in quite some time, although every now and then he would twitch in his dreams.

Marian retrieved a candle from the larder and lit it from the fire, dampening the flames to embers which could be restoked in the morning. Then she cloistered herself away in her own sleeping nook, the one which had been designed for herself and Robin to share, drawing the cold blankets tight around her. She unfolded the parchment slowly, seeing Robin's words in Eve's sloping script and holding the candle close so she could read.

My dearest Marian,

This confession, such as it is, is not meant to excuse my actions, but perhaps explain them. I know now that I will die and I do not wish to leave you thinking ill of me, although perhaps I deserve it.

I have been selfish and unreasonable, and too full of pride to admit that I was wrong. But most of all, I have let my life be ruled by fear. Not of death, but of life. As you have so often said, I have thrown myself into danger so many times without regard for my own life. Others see this as bravery or heroism, but I know in my heart, and can accept this now, at the end, that I am a coward.

I have always been afraid that my life would have no meaning, that I would leave this earth without making an impact upon it. I feared that I would live a life like my father; hold a title, run an estate, find a wife, have children, but that seemed so ordinary. I wanted glory – for the world to have truly changed because of the time I had spent upon it. You would no doubt think this selfish, and it is, I suppose. But, Marian, you of all people should understand the desire to make a difference.

It was this fear and selfishness that led me to ask obedience from you – to demand what I should have always known you could not give me. I thought only of my own loneliness and despair after losing you in the Holy Land, and feared losing you again above all else, for I did not believe I could survive it.

If love is giving someone more than they deserve, I have failed to love you as you should be loved. You deserve to be respected as a warrior as well as a woman, as someone of courage and wisdom, and I have not even done that. I am truly sorry for this, and acknowledge my wrong. I hope that this gives you a small measure of comfort, and know that in my last hours, I understood my error and was truly sorry for the pain it caused you.

Please look after my gang. I can think of no one better suited to lead them in my absence, and they will follow you. They have understood your worth even though this fool did not. I know that you will continue the work you began as the Nightwatchman, the work which in my heart I always admired even if I did not show it. I hope that you will carry the legacy of Robin Hood with you, the legend who was faultless and true and not the man who did not honour you.

Goodbye Marian, my love, my wife. I pray that you forgive me for all the wrong I have done you, and remember not my recent selfish actions, but instead the love and admiration I have always felt for you, that neither time nor death can erase.

Yours always,

Robin