***** **** ****
A/N: I had major trouble writing this chapter, because I was fitting a lot of info in a little space. Why else, you ask? Because I am almost finished writing the story! There are like, 29 chapters. Not bad for me. I tend to go on too long. And I was so busy scribbling down the ending that I kind of forgot to work on this and make it sound nice. It took a lot of Alanis Morrisette and Matchbox 20 to get this finished. Music inspires me, but my poor CD player did some overtime. I'm still not proud of it, but I can like it.
Anyways, I need your opinions. I like ending stories with little Latin quotes, because it makes me feel special, OK? So, I'm wondering which one you think I should use to end this one. I narrowed it down to three from my collection of five.
There's "Ave atque vale" (means "Hail and farewell") or "vita non est vivere sed valere vita est" (means "life is more than merely staying alive") or "Aeternum vale" (means "Farewell forever") If anyone's got some suggestions of their own, go ahead and tell me. Those are only a few I picked out from my own collection. (Remember, I DO only have five of them! Hee-hee) Now Robin has his last painful experience (yay!), and Will nearly has a heart attack as a result. After this, he'll be good. (Even if he gets the fever *of course I'm not telling* he'll probably be delirious, so no more suffering there!)
***** **** ***
A sennight later, there was fog everywhere in Nottingham. Everyone was on the edge, especially the foresters. They were itching to catch an outlaw. I figure I would be too, if I had stripes laid upon my back every time there was a robbery. That was what had really gotten to Robin about being an outlaw. Some of those foresters had been his friends, and now they were out for his head.
The sheriff was in a horrible mood. He kicked at every dog, struck at every servant, and bellowed at every messenger. The fog did NOT help his mood. If anything, it made him angrier. He rode out to Sherwood every day to scream at the Chief Forester and beat the foresters. It didn't work. They still couldn't find Robin's outlaws. They did manage to catch seven poachers, though. It amused me to see the powerful sheriff in such a state. It also pleased me that Robin was probably half-dead for most of the time, yet still able to best the sheriff. That had the peasants of Nottingham laughing for weeks afterward.
In this thick fog, I slipped from the manor house, fully dressed and cloaked. I crept easily past the few guards we had. They were too tired to resist slumber for any matter of time when it was so early. And I did not hold it against them. Whoever wanted to attack my home at THIS hour could go ahead and try. I could handle them. Our old steward had remarkable skill with the candelabra. He'd managed to knock five robbers senseless with it, all by himself. And our head cook was a menace with the broom. Just ask the kitchen lads.
It was lucky that I did not live in Nottingham, else it would have been quite the trek to arrive at Sherwood. But since my manor was closer to the forest than that, I only had to travel across my father's lands to reach the woodland.
I entered the trees and followed the path I knew so well. As I meandered around the ancient yews and oaks, I noticed that there was evidence of passage littered everywhere. New outlaws. I figured that it was Will who had taken them out, because beside the clumsy footprints were the marks of a larger, almost indiscernible, foot. Robin left no traces whatsoever, so I could never tell if he was the one who took them out to learn the way back to camp. It was eerie, but worked very well when new outlaws whined about how "no one can be that secret". Robin would get up and smile. "Well, maybe you're better trackers than tracked, eh? I am going to walk in a straight line from camp. See if you can tell which way I took." It seemed easy enough, especially when he smiled innocently like he did. Straight lines were the simplest to track. They fell into the trap consistently. They would come back hours later, still unable to find which one was touched by Robin's feet. Only Robin could find traces of his passage.
I heard voices. A lot of swearing, some yelling, and Sara's voice above all, demanding quiet and order. I moved still closer. Robin would collapse if he knew how easily I had escaped his sentries. It was his own fault, though. I had told him time after time that the eastern side had a sentry loophole in it, but he was as movable as a stone. Of course, there was only a loophole when David was on watch, because he tried to flirt with Ellie, something I hadn't brought up. Maybe if I had he would have listened to me.
I walked noiselessly forward until I was at the very edge of camp. In front of me was an impressive oak. On one side of this oak, it was untouched forest. Beyond this perimeter of tree was the robbers' clearing. I crawled into the oak and peered into the camp.
*** *** *** ***
Robin was still a serious mess. Even through the leaves at this distance I could tell that. His face was unrecognizable as ever, and he was having trouble breathing. He was hunched over at the edge of camp, under a tree and wrapped in a blanket.
He bent over and vomited for the third time that day. His hair still had the appearance of an abandoned bird's nest, though Will was constantly saying that even the birds would refuse that disarray. It fell into his face and was covered in puke.
He groaned and clutched his stomach. The upheaval of his insides reopened the wounds from my sword, and now his hands were bloody. I winced for him. Sara swore loudly enough for any forester within ten miles to hear. She dropped her fletching and ran over to him. He tried to push her away, but his arms were too weakened by the stay in the dungeons. She flung his arm out of the way and knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, pushing his hair out of his face. He nodded dumbly, and then retched again.
Sara ran fingers through his hair. "Hush," she murmured, as he began to groan again. He threw up three or four more times before his stomach finally rested. "By God, what did you eat?" she asked angrily, fumbling in her pockets to find something she could tie his hair back with. He shrugged. "Nothing."
"Nothing? You idiot! For how long?"
"Not my fault if the Sheriff refused to feed me."
Sara sighed, catching sight of his hands. "For how long?"
"Well, how long was I in the dungeon, lackwit?"
Sara gave him one of her most annoying suspicious looks. It was one of those gazes that seemed to be condescending and equal at the same time. "You know bloody well what I mean," she snapped, eyeing him warily.
"Seven days."
"Seven days? You blundering idiot! That better be counting the days in the dungeon!"
"I don't know."
She cursed. "I swear I'd knock you if you weren't so hurt already," she promised. Robin puked again, nothing surfacing but yellow bile, which landed pathetically in his lap. My pity ran so deeply for him right then that I almost felt like vomiting myself. Sara obviously forgot his stupidity in light of her sympathy, for she murmured something soothing to him, immediately forgoing her anger, and he only moaned. I felt like the dirt beneath their feet. That was my fault. My fault! I buried my eyes in my knees for shame. How many nights had I spent berating myself over this as sleep evaded me, yet it still ached as if Robin were pointing a critical finger at me.
"Why is your tooth chipped like that?" Sara asked quickly, pointing to a broken tooth near the front of Robin's mouth. One way to make people forget their pain was to change the subject, and Sara was a master of the art. Robin smiled slightly, looking quite satisfied with himself. "I bit him," he replied, clinging to his stomach. "Bit whom?" Sara asked, blinking in bemused surprise. His grin grew even wider. "I bit one of the guards. Forgot he had chain mail on, though." Sara laughed loudly. "Quite the rebel, aren't we?" she commented, ripping a piece off of her dress to clot Robin's wounds. He nodded slowly. "Jackass to the end," he said, "It's in the family blood."
Will joined them, looming protectively over his cousin. Robin looked up at him and smiled frailly, then threw up on his own shoulder. Will flinched when his cousin vomited, and his face twisted with concern. Robin looked up at him plaintively. "I'm sorry, Will," he murmured. Will arched both his eyebrows. "Sorry?"
"I failed all of you. I screamed when they flogged me, you know." Sara rolled her eyes dismissively, giving up the search through her pockets. "And it was only two score lashes!" Robin cried, as if he were yelling at himself, "I begged them to stop; I did! I disgraced you all with my cowardice." He stared at the ground in shame, so convinced of his own worthlessness. Robin had prided himself on his ability to resist crying out. And now he'd pleaded with his tormentors - begged like a beaten dog. In his eyes it was a momentous, indefensible failure. Sara ripped the sleeve from her dress and held it against his bleeding stomach to clot the opened wounds.
Will shook his head. "You don't need to apologize for anything, Rob. I would have howled like a dog if they touched me even once with that whip. Anyone would have cried out." Robin blinked a few times and then winced as if his failures caused him actual physical pain. Either that or Sara was pressing that wool just a little too roughly against his stomach. She did have a bad temper. "But I was your 'leader'. I was supposed to be strong!" Will lifted one of his eyebrows. "The fact that you're alive proves some strength right there, eh?"
"Ignore him," Sara ordered, wiping her hands on her old dress as she stood up. "He's being insecure and telling himself lies again." She turned to frown at Robin. "I'll get you something to drink," she murmured, forcing his hair out of his face again with her left hand, and motioning for Will to follow with her right. I cringed as they neared my perch, Sara's fingers reaching to fill a cup with water. If I made one slight rustling movement, I would be found out. I froze, even my breath halting within me.
"So, what have you been able to get out of him?" Will asked. Sara sighed. "Insofar, I figured out that they flogged him four times a day, beat him eight, and that twice they burned him with the iron rods. That means he was tortured more often than any other prisoner in the dungeons. Other than that, nothing about Marian or what could have provoked her to this - besides her usual tendency to lose her temper, but that's common knowledge."
"Obviously. I'm surprised that you got that much out of him." He grinned.
Sara smiled sadly at him. "Will, I - I have something to tell you that you probably aren't going to like," she murmured, letting her eyes fall to Robin. She dipped the cup into their water bucket. Will caught her look, and his brow twitched. "What is it?" he asked, meeting her eyes with desperate concern. Her fingers tightened round the cup. "I - I think Robin has the - the beginnings of the fever," she replied, eyes downcast. I shuddered. None in Nottingham had survived the fever, though I had heard stories of those few in other shires who lived through it. Will hissed. "Sara - he cannot --"
"Of course, I am only an amateur healer, not like my mother. But his forehead is --- oh, Will, it is warmer every day. And he still screams in the night - he screams that he is burning -- burning, burning, burning." Her voice trailed slowly off as she gazed over at him. Robin was coughing madly, hacking up mucus and a splatter of blood; also trying, in his proud way, to conceal it. It wasn't working, considering he was bent double over and everyone could see full well he was in pain. "But he --- he has not fallen into the sleep of the fever yet. I could be wrong!" She was desperate for evidence against her own reason. "And those dreams - it could be the brands he fears."
"Sara, you have not been wrong yet."
She shivered. "I understand, Will. But for once, I want so badly to be wrong." She sighed and went back over to Robin, who was shuddering and pale. "Here," she said softly, "drink this." Robin's trembling fingers locked themselves round the crude cup in a death grip, as if he should never let go. "Thank you," he replied calmly, though his face was deathly white. "Drink slowly now," Sara warned, hoping to appease the cough with the liquid, "or your stomach won't take it in."
I slid down my tree, unable to take any more. I could not watch Robin die while I stood helpless. The priests always claim that the Lord has a plan meant for the greater good. Might I ask what the death of Robin Hood does that is so perfectly good? So undeniably benevolent?! I knotted my fingers into a tight fist of rage. I sensed tears springing in my eyes when I thought of the fever grabbing Robin's life by the neck and choking the strength from it. There had to be SOME way to keep him alive - sell my soul - anything! By God, there must be a way.
*** *** *** *** ***
A/N: Well, that's over with. I'm going to try to add four more chapters before summer is over. After that, updates will probably be pretty slow. That's why I had to finish the thing before school. Now I only have to work on editing during the school year. Anyways, your reviews are appreciated as always!
A/N: I had major trouble writing this chapter, because I was fitting a lot of info in a little space. Why else, you ask? Because I am almost finished writing the story! There are like, 29 chapters. Not bad for me. I tend to go on too long. And I was so busy scribbling down the ending that I kind of forgot to work on this and make it sound nice. It took a lot of Alanis Morrisette and Matchbox 20 to get this finished. Music inspires me, but my poor CD player did some overtime. I'm still not proud of it, but I can like it.
Anyways, I need your opinions. I like ending stories with little Latin quotes, because it makes me feel special, OK? So, I'm wondering which one you think I should use to end this one. I narrowed it down to three from my collection of five.
There's "Ave atque vale" (means "Hail and farewell") or "vita non est vivere sed valere vita est" (means "life is more than merely staying alive") or "Aeternum vale" (means "Farewell forever") If anyone's got some suggestions of their own, go ahead and tell me. Those are only a few I picked out from my own collection. (Remember, I DO only have five of them! Hee-hee) Now Robin has his last painful experience (yay!), and Will nearly has a heart attack as a result. After this, he'll be good. (Even if he gets the fever *of course I'm not telling* he'll probably be delirious, so no more suffering there!)
***** **** ***
A sennight later, there was fog everywhere in Nottingham. Everyone was on the edge, especially the foresters. They were itching to catch an outlaw. I figure I would be too, if I had stripes laid upon my back every time there was a robbery. That was what had really gotten to Robin about being an outlaw. Some of those foresters had been his friends, and now they were out for his head.
The sheriff was in a horrible mood. He kicked at every dog, struck at every servant, and bellowed at every messenger. The fog did NOT help his mood. If anything, it made him angrier. He rode out to Sherwood every day to scream at the Chief Forester and beat the foresters. It didn't work. They still couldn't find Robin's outlaws. They did manage to catch seven poachers, though. It amused me to see the powerful sheriff in such a state. It also pleased me that Robin was probably half-dead for most of the time, yet still able to best the sheriff. That had the peasants of Nottingham laughing for weeks afterward.
In this thick fog, I slipped from the manor house, fully dressed and cloaked. I crept easily past the few guards we had. They were too tired to resist slumber for any matter of time when it was so early. And I did not hold it against them. Whoever wanted to attack my home at THIS hour could go ahead and try. I could handle them. Our old steward had remarkable skill with the candelabra. He'd managed to knock five robbers senseless with it, all by himself. And our head cook was a menace with the broom. Just ask the kitchen lads.
It was lucky that I did not live in Nottingham, else it would have been quite the trek to arrive at Sherwood. But since my manor was closer to the forest than that, I only had to travel across my father's lands to reach the woodland.
I entered the trees and followed the path I knew so well. As I meandered around the ancient yews and oaks, I noticed that there was evidence of passage littered everywhere. New outlaws. I figured that it was Will who had taken them out, because beside the clumsy footprints were the marks of a larger, almost indiscernible, foot. Robin left no traces whatsoever, so I could never tell if he was the one who took them out to learn the way back to camp. It was eerie, but worked very well when new outlaws whined about how "no one can be that secret". Robin would get up and smile. "Well, maybe you're better trackers than tracked, eh? I am going to walk in a straight line from camp. See if you can tell which way I took." It seemed easy enough, especially when he smiled innocently like he did. Straight lines were the simplest to track. They fell into the trap consistently. They would come back hours later, still unable to find which one was touched by Robin's feet. Only Robin could find traces of his passage.
I heard voices. A lot of swearing, some yelling, and Sara's voice above all, demanding quiet and order. I moved still closer. Robin would collapse if he knew how easily I had escaped his sentries. It was his own fault, though. I had told him time after time that the eastern side had a sentry loophole in it, but he was as movable as a stone. Of course, there was only a loophole when David was on watch, because he tried to flirt with Ellie, something I hadn't brought up. Maybe if I had he would have listened to me.
I walked noiselessly forward until I was at the very edge of camp. In front of me was an impressive oak. On one side of this oak, it was untouched forest. Beyond this perimeter of tree was the robbers' clearing. I crawled into the oak and peered into the camp.
*** *** *** ***
Robin was still a serious mess. Even through the leaves at this distance I could tell that. His face was unrecognizable as ever, and he was having trouble breathing. He was hunched over at the edge of camp, under a tree and wrapped in a blanket.
He bent over and vomited for the third time that day. His hair still had the appearance of an abandoned bird's nest, though Will was constantly saying that even the birds would refuse that disarray. It fell into his face and was covered in puke.
He groaned and clutched his stomach. The upheaval of his insides reopened the wounds from my sword, and now his hands were bloody. I winced for him. Sara swore loudly enough for any forester within ten miles to hear. She dropped her fletching and ran over to him. He tried to push her away, but his arms were too weakened by the stay in the dungeons. She flung his arm out of the way and knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, pushing his hair out of his face. He nodded dumbly, and then retched again.
Sara ran fingers through his hair. "Hush," she murmured, as he began to groan again. He threw up three or four more times before his stomach finally rested. "By God, what did you eat?" she asked angrily, fumbling in her pockets to find something she could tie his hair back with. He shrugged. "Nothing."
"Nothing? You idiot! For how long?"
"Not my fault if the Sheriff refused to feed me."
Sara sighed, catching sight of his hands. "For how long?"
"Well, how long was I in the dungeon, lackwit?"
Sara gave him one of her most annoying suspicious looks. It was one of those gazes that seemed to be condescending and equal at the same time. "You know bloody well what I mean," she snapped, eyeing him warily.
"Seven days."
"Seven days? You blundering idiot! That better be counting the days in the dungeon!"
"I don't know."
She cursed. "I swear I'd knock you if you weren't so hurt already," she promised. Robin puked again, nothing surfacing but yellow bile, which landed pathetically in his lap. My pity ran so deeply for him right then that I almost felt like vomiting myself. Sara obviously forgot his stupidity in light of her sympathy, for she murmured something soothing to him, immediately forgoing her anger, and he only moaned. I felt like the dirt beneath their feet. That was my fault. My fault! I buried my eyes in my knees for shame. How many nights had I spent berating myself over this as sleep evaded me, yet it still ached as if Robin were pointing a critical finger at me.
"Why is your tooth chipped like that?" Sara asked quickly, pointing to a broken tooth near the front of Robin's mouth. One way to make people forget their pain was to change the subject, and Sara was a master of the art. Robin smiled slightly, looking quite satisfied with himself. "I bit him," he replied, clinging to his stomach. "Bit whom?" Sara asked, blinking in bemused surprise. His grin grew even wider. "I bit one of the guards. Forgot he had chain mail on, though." Sara laughed loudly. "Quite the rebel, aren't we?" she commented, ripping a piece off of her dress to clot Robin's wounds. He nodded slowly. "Jackass to the end," he said, "It's in the family blood."
Will joined them, looming protectively over his cousin. Robin looked up at him and smiled frailly, then threw up on his own shoulder. Will flinched when his cousin vomited, and his face twisted with concern. Robin looked up at him plaintively. "I'm sorry, Will," he murmured. Will arched both his eyebrows. "Sorry?"
"I failed all of you. I screamed when they flogged me, you know." Sara rolled her eyes dismissively, giving up the search through her pockets. "And it was only two score lashes!" Robin cried, as if he were yelling at himself, "I begged them to stop; I did! I disgraced you all with my cowardice." He stared at the ground in shame, so convinced of his own worthlessness. Robin had prided himself on his ability to resist crying out. And now he'd pleaded with his tormentors - begged like a beaten dog. In his eyes it was a momentous, indefensible failure. Sara ripped the sleeve from her dress and held it against his bleeding stomach to clot the opened wounds.
Will shook his head. "You don't need to apologize for anything, Rob. I would have howled like a dog if they touched me even once with that whip. Anyone would have cried out." Robin blinked a few times and then winced as if his failures caused him actual physical pain. Either that or Sara was pressing that wool just a little too roughly against his stomach. She did have a bad temper. "But I was your 'leader'. I was supposed to be strong!" Will lifted one of his eyebrows. "The fact that you're alive proves some strength right there, eh?"
"Ignore him," Sara ordered, wiping her hands on her old dress as she stood up. "He's being insecure and telling himself lies again." She turned to frown at Robin. "I'll get you something to drink," she murmured, forcing his hair out of his face again with her left hand, and motioning for Will to follow with her right. I cringed as they neared my perch, Sara's fingers reaching to fill a cup with water. If I made one slight rustling movement, I would be found out. I froze, even my breath halting within me.
"So, what have you been able to get out of him?" Will asked. Sara sighed. "Insofar, I figured out that they flogged him four times a day, beat him eight, and that twice they burned him with the iron rods. That means he was tortured more often than any other prisoner in the dungeons. Other than that, nothing about Marian or what could have provoked her to this - besides her usual tendency to lose her temper, but that's common knowledge."
"Obviously. I'm surprised that you got that much out of him." He grinned.
Sara smiled sadly at him. "Will, I - I have something to tell you that you probably aren't going to like," she murmured, letting her eyes fall to Robin. She dipped the cup into their water bucket. Will caught her look, and his brow twitched. "What is it?" he asked, meeting her eyes with desperate concern. Her fingers tightened round the cup. "I - I think Robin has the - the beginnings of the fever," she replied, eyes downcast. I shuddered. None in Nottingham had survived the fever, though I had heard stories of those few in other shires who lived through it. Will hissed. "Sara - he cannot --"
"Of course, I am only an amateur healer, not like my mother. But his forehead is --- oh, Will, it is warmer every day. And he still screams in the night - he screams that he is burning -- burning, burning, burning." Her voice trailed slowly off as she gazed over at him. Robin was coughing madly, hacking up mucus and a splatter of blood; also trying, in his proud way, to conceal it. It wasn't working, considering he was bent double over and everyone could see full well he was in pain. "But he --- he has not fallen into the sleep of the fever yet. I could be wrong!" She was desperate for evidence against her own reason. "And those dreams - it could be the brands he fears."
"Sara, you have not been wrong yet."
She shivered. "I understand, Will. But for once, I want so badly to be wrong." She sighed and went back over to Robin, who was shuddering and pale. "Here," she said softly, "drink this." Robin's trembling fingers locked themselves round the crude cup in a death grip, as if he should never let go. "Thank you," he replied calmly, though his face was deathly white. "Drink slowly now," Sara warned, hoping to appease the cough with the liquid, "or your stomach won't take it in."
I slid down my tree, unable to take any more. I could not watch Robin die while I stood helpless. The priests always claim that the Lord has a plan meant for the greater good. Might I ask what the death of Robin Hood does that is so perfectly good? So undeniably benevolent?! I knotted my fingers into a tight fist of rage. I sensed tears springing in my eyes when I thought of the fever grabbing Robin's life by the neck and choking the strength from it. There had to be SOME way to keep him alive - sell my soul - anything! By God, there must be a way.
*** *** *** *** ***
A/N: Well, that's over with. I'm going to try to add four more chapters before summer is over. After that, updates will probably be pretty slow. That's why I had to finish the thing before school. Now I only have to work on editing during the school year. Anyways, your reviews are appreciated as always!