ROBIN
"May I speak plainly?" John says, walking to Robin's side and he does not wait for an answer before continuing, "The men grow restless, the safety of this castle is obviously a false claim, Robin, when will we leave this place?"
Robin turns a baleful eye to the much taller man, "There is a siege being laid is there not?"
John snorts, "We are sneaks of the highest caliber are we not? And to escape a fortress is far easier than to enter after all."
Robin has no rebuttal to that, and he turns to look forward once more, at sweet Roland who is squealing that Arthur is a dragon as the man in question crawls on hands and knees and roars, it's quite a violent game really, as over and over Roland holds aloft an imaginary sword only to swipe it's unreal blade down on Arthur's neck.
"I am conflicted," Robin admits, and John's eye roll is so monstrous that Robin thwacks a hand at the other man's chest.
"Share your thoughts," John urges and leans back against the wall.
"Regina," Robin says after a pause, her name almost whispered in reverence, there's pain wrapped up in every syllable, hope too, an agonizing mix, it's bare to John.
"Surely you know she would accompany us?" John turns his head down to catch Robin's gaze, "We did not mean to leave her, Robin, for your sake and Roland's," John shrugs uncomfortably, looks away, "for her sake, we would not leave her."
"You are so certain she would be eager to muck in the backwoods?" Robin says, but he has thought of it in the night, watching as she has slept peacefully and beautiful next to him, he had thought of running far with her, Roland, and his men with nary a look back, he has held her limp and tortured form too often in these walls for him to every truly think her safe here.
John lets out a chuckle, "I am certain of nothing, nor are you," John shoves off the wall, rounds to stand before Robin and clamp a hand on his shoulder, "speak to the woman, Robin."
Robin nods, and it's with a vaguely discomforted look all around then John lifts his hand off Robin's shoulder and begins to walk away, "Sooner is better, my friend, death lurks within these walls," John shudders and walks to Roland and lifts the boy over his head with easy strength and Roland screeches.
Robin turns away from the sight, a small smile on his lips, but he shakes his head as he walks to the large windows at the end of the hall, hands coming up on either side of the frame and he thunks his forehead dully across the pane, eyes closed.
He doesn't know why he ascribes such hesitancy to Regina, a part of him wholly believes that she would go anywhere with him, all he need is ask, there's a niggling needle that tells him that she'd be unhappy though, that she would follow at the cost of her own wants, own needs, if only to appease him. He does not want that, never wants her to surrender parts of herself for him, he wants all of her, not the parts she thinks he wants. He's haunted by her devastated features as she sat and told him of the potential children she'd lost, and she had told him to find another woman, madness, it was madness of her to think there was any woman in the world for him but her. It was madness of her to think that he would so easily leave her, he can't deny the heartache that had assaulted him, that vision of those fluttering little angles, tiny Regina's with dimples like Roland, the vision of them floating in his mind like brightly colored butterflies had piece by piece fallen from him. His words to her were more truthful then anything, she is enough, always, enough, all of her, and she would go off into the wilderness merely because Robin asked it.
With a sigh Robin opens his eyes, focus on the dirty glass an inch before him until he broadens his gaze and looks out through the pane, what he sees has his brow furrowing, confusion for a second and then a deep rage that only grows the longer he watches.
So small as to be barely recognizable from so high up, but the difference between men and little girls are easily spotted and Robin bares his teeth, growl escaping without his knowledge as a figure down far below in the courtyard throws a little girl to the ground, a child with bright red hair and that is all he can distinguish of her.
A hand is on Robin's back, and it's George. George gasps and turns at once towards the door, but Robin does not move from his spot, eyes intent on the scene before him. His breath catches as he looks further, disbelief clouds him, horror washes over him, there is a stake propped up in the center of the courtyard, kindling piled high and the girl is thrown towards it by another man.
"My god," Robin says, flings himself from the window, "my god," he's running the same way as George, but the distance from this lofty hall to the courtyard is a long way, Robin pales thinking of the time it will take to run there, and his men start running behind him after seeing his distress.
Robin won't make it, he won't make it, my god, his feet pound against stone, his blood pounds through his ears and there's a pulling sensation in his chest, and the need to protect the child swells in him, the horror that he cannot make it has him choking, as he erupts through the doors of the hall he feels it, a nasty pulling as if he is being squeezed through a tunnel, but the tunnel is limitless, a chasm, and yet it squeezes the very air out of Robin's lungs. There's smoke in his eyes.
He falls in a crouch before the red haired girl, gasping with sunlight bright on his face.
Magic, he thinks, magic, and he catches a wisp of deep dark purple smoke clearing by his feet when he stands and pulls his dagger from his belt in one fluid motion, continuing it as he steps forward, slashes a man's fingers right from his hand when he reaches for the girl.
The, now fingerless, man reels back screeching, he's a light haired man approaching old age, but he's got fire in his eyes when he looks at Robin, "Caster," the man snarls, but he seems to sink into shadows as another man approaches. The little girl crying behind Robin; she latches onto his leg, curls around it, sobbing, the girl is beaten and his mobility is shortened terribly by her shackling herself on his ankle, but he won't kick her off and he will make do.
Robin hacks at the new man, deflects the long blade that comes at him, it's not difficult and the tactician in Robin notes that this man has never trained with a blade. An unlucky thing for him as Robin takes an opening in his defense to grab his arm and force him upon the dagger; the stabbed man has wide surprised eyes that only grow rounder when Robin twists the blade.
The arrow that thwacks into Robin's shoulder, it's a terrible surprise, there's no pain, just awful pressure, and Robin looks down at the arrow sticking out of him completely stupefied, he lets the stabbed man slip free of blade and stumbles back, fist on the shaft of the arrow, he trips over the girl wrapped around his leg, falls heavy onto his back and the arrow must have pierced straight through him because the shaft jerks up at his landing.
Before he can rally a boot clad foot stomps at his ribs, then down on his gut, the girl is dragged away by her red hair, screaming and crying, clawing nails on the hands of her attacker, a man built like boulder who wears no expression as he drags her to the stake.
"No," Robin says, turns and begins to crawl after them, gets another kick that sends him sprawling, gasping in agony.
Where are the Merry Men? Robin climbs back up, makes it to his knees before he gets a heel to the face and blood gushes from his face, from somewhere on his face, but he doesn't know where and he doesn't care as he tries again to rise, "Stay down!" a frenzied voice screams and another kick has Robin on his back, dazed.
The girls screams cut through the fog, he can't get his body to move, he strains and strains, manages to roll half over, the arrow pressed against the ground and it pulls inside him, agony sears through him but it's nothing to watching uselessly as the little girl is tied to the stake, a rope wrapped around her narrow waist and cinched by the boulder of a man.
Where are the Merry Men? Where is anyone? Blood leaks out of Robin's mouth in a stream and he makes a gagging groaning sound as he makes himself rise to his hands and knees by sheer force of will. A torch, there's a torch held in the hand of a woman that smiles in terrifying glee, and the red haired girl is sobbing and sobbing, her bruised face contorted in hopeless horror, a crack rips through the courtyard and a barrel launches through the air, the aim is poor and it misses the torch bearer by a three feet.
"No," Robin says again and shuffles a foot forward before a hand grasps savagely at the hair at the crown of his head, Robin's neck is pulled back, wrenched painfully, hot breath ghosts across Robin's ear, the stench of rotten teeth suffocates him.
"This little witch bitch first, Robin Hood," a low voice whispers to him, "then it'll be your whore we come for."
The torch is thrown to the kindling and it erupts and the girl screams and screams, fire at her toes before it's all sucked away in a huge column; Regina appears in a cloud of smoke that clears away and that spinning and spitting column of fire wraps around her frame, her face is twisted, a snarl that would put a rabid wolf to shame, the beast in her let loose once more.
Robin is thrown down into the dirt, he lands face down and the arrow shaft snaps under his weight, and the agony that it causes has dark spots in his vision, he's tired, tired and his eyes can't stay open. He blinks, turns his head to see Regina, that fire dances around her in the air, waves of it coiling outward like a huge whip and the torchbearer is cut down by the flame, the man with the bow that Robin only now notices is felled with a blow to the face, screaming, they die screaming. Robin sees many running though, those not inclined to fight the mad beast that Regina has turned into, they seep into shadows and through doors, disappear, but there is nothing for him to do when he can't even keep his eyes open, unconsciousness tugs him down into darkness.
"Robin!" his name, it sounds far away, but its Regina's voice, her voice he hears before he knows nothing.
It's the smell that rouses him, the smell of the deep outdoors, moist, humid, there's no other smell in the world like it and the familiarity has his eyes blinking open.
"ggnnna?" he gurgles, and when he tries to move its pain beyond telling, but he's a fool and he keeps at it, rolls to his side and he's on a cot, next to a fire, he frowns, eyes narrowed, it's all a blur, but there are shapes, shadows moving around him beyond the circle of firelight. "nna?" Robin is trying to call Regina's name, and the failure to do so only adds more fuel to his foolish nature.
He rolls off the cot, had meant to have his legs catch him and hold his weight, but that is decidedly not what happens. His nose is buried deep in the rich black soil of the forest; he doesn't think his arms have the strength to even move him an inch.
Hands on his shoulders draw him up, large hands, the hands of a man and Robin's frown only deepens, it should be Regina, her graceful fingers that hide strength and hold magic. That swirling column of magic and her snarling face drift through his haze, she'd cut down the attackers and it should be her here now, helping him.
"Robin?" the hands draw him up sitting, his back against the cot he'd fallen from, "Robin, can you hear me?"
Arthur, it's Arthur, Robin looks and looks at him before his gaze moves elsewhere, Friar Tuck and Farouk, Aniol, they all gaze at him and how did he get here, he was…the courtyard, Robin looks down at his chest, sees strips of linen over the spot that had just held the arrow.
"rre gnnna?" Robin asks, his head tilting to the side without his permission. Where's Regina? He is screaming in his mind, where is she. Roland, Regina, and that girl, the red haired girl, where
Arthur puts a steadying hand against Robin's neck, helps him straighten it, "Robin," he says, and his tone breaks through the dizziness and drowsiness that assails Robin, Robin raises his heavy hands and scrabbles at the tunic Arthur wears.
The younger man's face falls, "She's alright," he assures, it's plainly not the truth, and when Robin shakes Arthur, weakly, barely at all the other man moves, Arthur closes his eyes, face tilted down, "She is, she," Arthur falters and Friar Tuck lays a hand on his shoulder, the other on Robin's.
"Where?" Robin says, but darkness is on him again, a heavy thing that drags him down stretch by stretch though he is fighting with all he has.
"Robin, she's here," Tuck sooths, "she's here, don't worry."
Robin blinks up at the Friar, "whaa castle?" Robin dredges up, his hands dropping from Arthur, dead weight on his lap and he can't lift them, his head is lolling back against the cot. Why aren't they at the castle, how did they leave it, when, and why when Robin was wounded, a burden for them to carry when he could have walked when he was well?
Friar Tuck's chin wobbles, both of them, he's got torment in his eyes, "The castle fell, Robin."
Authors note, someone said I should make it clearer whose pov is happening, I think i'll start doing that now, but as for going back and adding it idk man that's a lot of work, just trust me it is, so idk man
DISCLAIMER: not mine yo