Disclaimer: Robin of Sherwood and all characters from the series are all property of Richard Carpenter (and whatever is left of Goldcrest.) No infringement is intended. This is strictly an amateur work meant for the enjoyment of the fans and no money has been made.
Rating: G
Summary: A very young Robin says goodbye to his mother.
Notes. This was the first RoS fic I wrote. There are others and I'll hopefully have them posted soon.
Shoot at the Moon
By NorthernStar
"The target's too far; I've lost my aim."
"Then aim again."
"For what purpose? To what end?"
"There is no end and no beginning. It is enough to aim."
He knew she was dying. Even though he was barely four summers old, he knew and he understood. His father had once told him that there were things he could sense that others could not.
Robin leaned over his mother's bed and into her sweat-soaked face, hoping she would see who it was and smile. Or move or blink…anything to show that she knew who he was. But she continued to rave to herself, delirious with fever. Her head tossed restlessly as she mumbled to the terrible images only she could see and her eyes, moist and red, rolled up in her head as she fought the dreams. Tears filled his eyes at the fear he could see on her face. She was so afraid. His mother was never afraid.
He wanted to comfort her. Tell her what he knew.
She would be at peace soon.
There was no need to be afraid.
His father lay a hand on his shoulder and led him away to the back of their hut. He lifted the boy onto his bed and, kissing his brow, told him to go to sleep. But he couldn't. His worry and the frightened sobs of his mother kept him awake.
Robin lay there, for a long time, listening to his mother's weakening voice, muttering to people only she could see. And then as her voice stilled, another sound replaced it, one that left him sick and scared, clutching the fur covers to his chest in fright.
His father was sobbing.
And then, as first light filtered into their home, Ailric came to his son's bedside and took his hand.
"Your mother is gone." Ailric said quietly. Robin frowned, confused at his father's words. 'Gone' seemed to say she was still here, just not in the room. As if she was washing clothes in the river, or collecting the water from the well.
"Is she dead?"
Sadness filled Ailric's eyes, and in there was a measure of pride in the boy too. "Yes, son."
***
They buried her that morning. A cruel east wind battered the mourners as they lay his mother in the ground and covered her. Robin shivered as he watched Matthew fill the hole with dirt again. The cold was as bitter as his father's thoughts and the wind howling through the trees sounded as full of despair as the cries locked inside Robin's heart.
Ailric listened through the Christian prayers, numb with grief. Robin's hand felt like ice in his, and some of the villagers looked on, disapproving of his decision to let Robin watch the burial. They thought the boy was too young, and maybe in truth he was. But they did not know Robin as he knew him, his son was stronger than many a man. To deny him a chance to say a proper goodbye to his mother would be wrong.
Just as it would be wrong to exclude him from another goodbye Ailric wanted to say to his wife, a very private goodbye.
Sometime later, as the sun was dipping below the trees and the moon was already high and bright in the sky, Ailric lead his son to the edge of the lake just outside of Loxley. He carried a bow across his back, a quiver of arrows in one hand and a lighted torch in the other.
When he found a space amidst the greenery that was quiet and secluded, he put the torch down and began to make a small fire. His son sat beside it to warm himself and yawned, exhausted by the day's events and by the sleepless night before.
"Do you know what I will always remember about your mother?" His father asked.
Robin shook his head.
"Her laughter. She was laughing at the very moment I first saw her." He held up an arrow. "That's what I'm going to think of when I let this arrow fly."
And he held the tip in the flames until it caught and burned.
Ailric notched the arrow into his bowstring and taking Robin's hand in his, walked to the very edge of the lake. He let go of the boy and concentrated, pulling the bow, aiming at the sky.
A moment passed and then…
The arrow lit the sky with flame, arcing and then falling and finally extinguishing in the water. And Robin felt a shiver run through him, as if he'd heard his mother's laugh just one more time.
His father looked down, "what will your memory be, Robin?"
The boy met his father's eyes, unable to answer. There were so many things, far too many to list… But then the flicker of an idea came, like a ripple on the tide. Whenever she'd kissed him, on the cheek or the brow, her nose would always bump his skin first, just before her lips touched.
He took a breath, "her kisses." He told his father.
Ailric smiled and knelt down. He held out his bow and Robin took it. The boy was already a good archer, but with the small, child's bow his father had made for him, not the full sized version Ailric used.
The man saw the hesitation on the boy's face, "you're ready, Robin." He lay a hand on his shoulder. "Have faith."
Robin turned the bow until it was comfortable positioned in his hand. His father lit the end of another arrow and helped his son notch it in place. Together they pulled back the string.
"What do I do?" He asked. Ailric took his hands from the bow and stepped back, letting the boy do this on his own.
"Remember your mother."
Tears fell from his eyes, "where do I aim?"
"Shoot at the moon."
Robin looked up at the silver crescent and felt the ghost touch of his mother's lips on his forehead and the arrow flew free…
And so did his mother soul.
***
Sixteen Years Later…
The raid on Castle Belleme had nearly killed them all. The outlaws had barely escaped alive; some of them had not. Robin had led them deep into the forest, until they had reached a hillside, not far from where Loxley had once stood. It was one of the most beautiful places in Sherwood.
That evening, their oath reaffirmed, he took them to the very spot he had stood with his father so long ago for another goodbye, this time to their fallen.
One by one, they all stepped forward to light their arrows, but Marion had paused a moment. He understood; she was a Crusader's daughter, a Lady, she had not had cause to learn to shoot a bow.
"What should I do?" She asked him. "Where shall I aim?"
His eyes were shadowed, "shoot at the moon." He murmured.
~~FIN~~
© T S "NORTHERN STAR" FENN