Chapter 1: The Fire
"You know something Robin, you're taking too many chances." How many times had Little John said something like that to him? Now with the growing flames around him, Robin couldn't help but think that his dear friend had been right. He'd been taking too many chances. He could only thank God that it was only him in this mess right now. He'd never forgive himself if his dear trusting friend were in this precarious situation right now. Oh no, as much as he selfishly wished he didn't have to face this alone and that he had his best and truest friend at his side, at the true heart of the matter he was glad John and the others were far from this danger far from the flames.
The Sheriff of Nottingham lunged at him, the ominous torch in his hand seeming to reach out with its fiery breath to lash at him. Robin reatreated farther and farther into the stone castle, he feared might be his tomb, as he continued to meet each of the Sheriffs attacks with his own defenses using a splintered piece of wood from the falling ceiling. But as his make-shift weapon broke Robin was left unprotected against the fiery torch thrust upon him by the advancing gruesome sheriff.
"Ahh" Robin cried out in pain, as he was seized by an agony he'd never experienced before. His hand shook in terror as he gently touched the singed fur around his face, his eyes watered at the world around him grew blurry.
Icy fear spread through him, compelling him to move to flee. The world around him continued to blur until he could barely make out shadows and phantoms of light. Robin couldn't tell if this shift in vision was from the ever growing smoke or from the sparks that hit eyes. Guided by the light or the lack thereof, Robin raised to any space free from the glimmer that indicated fire. He found himself rising higher and higher, the ever encroaching flames ever at his feet, until there was no place left to run but the roof. The cool blast of air on his face helped him find the window in the blur around him. Terrified and running out of time he hastily scrambled onto the roof, with the flames biting at his heels.
As he scrambled to the highest point on the towner, he couldn't help but wonder if Little John and the others had made it to Sherwood forest by now. If they truly were safe. Oh God, please let them be okay, keep them safe; he prayed as the flames climbed after him. He knew without a doubt in his heart that Little John would continue on. He hoped that Little John would continue their work, and care for the people until the true king of England returned and set things straight. He hoped Merriam would be happy. That she would have the life she deserves, and all the happiness he could wish for her. As the flames climbed higher and higher, the heat all encompassing even in the cool night air, Robin thought of his friends. He sent up a prayer to God, repenting for his sins, asking for the Lord's protection for those he loved, and hoping this wasn't the end but fearing it was.
Robin wished he could have done more. He wanted to make a difference in this world. He was never one to sit by and watch as things happened. Crime was never a path in life he ever conceived of taking, and as he'd told Little John: they were only borrowing. Rob was such a negative word, he didn't want to harm anyone. He just wanted, needed, to help those in need. So, he just borrowed from those who could afford it. Those who didn't care for the poor, like the Sheriff or Prince John. He thought about what the Friar had said, how History would remember him as a hero. As the smoke grew thicker and the flames leapt at his feet he hoped for the Friar's words to be so. He hoped Little John and him were remembered as do gooders and not as thieves.
He could barely make out the flames anymore. At the moment he could care less if it were from his burning eyes or from the smoke. Over the roaring fire and the pounding of his heart he could distantly hear the lapping of the water below and remembered the moat. He knew that he needed to make a choice. Between choosing to stand still or take a risk, he'd always been the type to choose the latter. But for once he hesitated, just momentarily, as he couldn't see the water. Robin swallowed, he didn't want to jump blindly but he didn't have a choice. Taking a deep breath, he angled himself away from the building, and dove, praying he'd hit water.
The cold water greeted him like a hug compared to the furnace encompassing him just seconds before. But as soon as his head emerged from the water two frightening things hit him at once. First, he realized how hazy and dark the world around him was. Surely he should be able to see something, but all he could make out were hazy distant features. Number two, was the shrill voice of Prince John calling 'Fire' and 'Kill Him' and before he knew it, arrows were raining down on top of him. Frightened, Robin paddled, diving down occasionally to avoid the arrows but having to surface occasionally for air.
"They're getting good, you have to admit it" he had said it in jest back then. A means of shaking off Little John's fear and apprehension, but now with the arrows raining down around him with startling accuracy his earlier jest had a foreboding tone. A searing pain spread through him as an arrow embedded in his shoulder. In agony, exhausted and out of breath, Robin felt himself sinking below the water before darkness claimed him.