A/N: No, I am not dead! Hehe. I almost did die from finals (beastly, that Latin one), but I rose from the ashes like a phoenix. (haha. Only question I got write on Latin final!) But anyhoot, sorry about Gisbourne's language last chapter. But that's how I wanted him to come off – one of those loser guys who likes picking on other people and swears because he thinks it makes him cool. rolls eyes Yeah, you could call him a "foil". (hah! One of 3 questions I got right on the English final---) So in one way, I'm glad he offended you, but on another level, I'm not. Lol.

Also, I know the little mock fight is uneccesary and has nothing to do with the plot, but I needed practice for later climactic fight scene. So tell me if it makes sense, and if not (the more likely! ;-)option) could you tell me how to make it easier to get? Because I have so many comprehension problems when it comes to action scenes. So don't think you'll sound stupid if you say 'I had no idea what was going on'. You have no idea what stupid is until you've seen me translate a Trojan battle sequence in Latin. Flashback "Excuse me, Mr. Maher, but why did Hector's mother drag Achilles and his chariot's dead body around the mural three times?" jk jk. I didn't dare ask that. It was just going on in my mind. Lol.

Enjoy!

Will blew air from his mouth irritably. "David…" he began, but the other fighter was already stuttering. "This is not bloody fair! It's not fair by any bloody standards of any bloody game in all of bloody England!" Ignoring David's blatant overuse of a certain adjective, Will held out a hand to help him up. They had been practicing the outlaws' fighting skills for nearly two hours, and still not a one of them could take him. Of course, it was sword against dagger, but that was how they would end up fighting the higher ranks of foresters.

"Aye, Will, it's hardly a fair expectation on your part. Nobody could take a swordsman with only two daggers in their hands." Hal added. And after a pause, "Even if a fellow were to do his best."

"Robin can," Will mumbled, eyeing his cousin, who was praising some new peasant for a supposed "improvement" on her fletching. Noticing that the arrow's feathers were split a dozen different ways, he wondered what the former attempt had been like.

"Prove it," Ellie snapped, crossing her arms and arching a skeptic's eyebrow. She looked all too much like Sara. "Very well," Will replied, and her mouth fell open; she'd been sure he was bluffing.

Robin, as usual, was not happy about being "summoned as braggart", but he agreed to help demonstrate. As word got around camp that Robin was going to fight Will, a group of onlookers moved slowly towards them. John, who was supposed to skin a rabbit, quietly made his way through the shade of the trees to the edge of the group. Like the rest of the outlaws, he heartily enjoyed watching Robin manage by miracle after miracle to best a man twice his size.

"Am I allowed two daggers, Will?" Robin asked, disarming himself quietly. The dagger hidden up his sleeve; in his boot; strapped to his leg – and those two he wore on his belt. Rolling his eyes at Robin's paranoia, Will nodded. "You with two wooden daggers; I've my wooden sword." They practiced with wooden weapons for obvious reasons, and it was considered cheating to have any metal weapons on you, even if you didn't use them.

"How are we starting?" Robin continued, slipping from his "boots". (What Robin defined as appropriate footwear differed greatly from the norm. His present choice of boot consisted of two broken soles stitched clumsily to various filthy rags, the whole lot of which was bound clumsily to his legs with rope)

Will shrugged. "How are foresters trained to begin?" he asked.

"Ox guard," Robin replied, spinning the practice daggers once to check their weight.

Will muttered a curse, as he thought ox guard to be a willing submission to chest wounds, but he complied unwillingly, bringing the sword level with his forehead. Both hands kept the hilt firmly between one another, and one of his feet came forward. Ox guard was basically a preparation for one quick killing downward blow. It was a bit crude, and so that explained its popularity among trainers of Sherwood's foresters.

Robin decided to counter by beginning in cross-guard. Since Will was going to have to come down hard, the defensive stance, with the flat faces of both weapons against his crossed arms, was best.

The crowd counted to three best as they could, some adding a five or nine, and then the two cousins went at it.

Will's blade came down straight for his opponent's chest, but Robin countered by locking the sword between his two daggers. But he did not have half the strength of his cousin, and he knew it. He could only hold it for a moment before his arms fell.

Will tensed once and then gave his sword a tremendous shove. It came downward with irritating accuracy through Robin's outstretched defense. The latter dove to the right so that the blade lodged itself in the earth. David cheered, but it turned into a cry of warning as Will swung his blade around to catch Robin unawares.

The dagger-man ducked down to avoid it, and Will kicked him in the head so he fell backwards. Cursing his stupidity, Robin rolled to the left and got to one knee. As the larger man approached, he kept him off with a few haphazard slashes of the dagger. Will's hesitation was just enough to give him time to stand.

A moment later, Will brought the sword towards him again, and he barely managed to keep the weapon from his chest by crossing the daggers again. His arms trembled with the effort of keeping Will at bay. The sword felt so bloody heavy, despite its wooden composition. Maybe he was only weak; but it had to have been the sword-man's strength. Saints, Will was tough.

Failing, Robin backed away, and Will's blade tripped him at his ankle, knocking him onto his stomach. The shock hit his arm first, and he hissed at the bruise born in his elbow. That was going to hurt later.

Something wooden shot downward from above, and in a quick panic Robin locked both daggers round the ankle nearest his head and pulled it towards him. Will landed with a grunt on his back, and the small assailant dove for his exposed opponent with the wooden murder weapons, but was sent staggering backwards by the vicious flat of the sword. Being thin was Hell.

Will had really knocked the wind from him, though he likely hadn't meant to. He never did. Gasping for breath his lungs stubbornly refused to accept, Robin made a hasty retreat.

Will paused for a moment, worried he'd hurt him. Maybe he had rammed that thing a little too hard into his cousin's ribs. Did he break any? Sara would KILL him if he did; those bloody bones had taken so long to heal. Oh, curses of all the saints, did he---

"Don't be soft on him, Will!" someone called. Robin heaved a weary breath and stubbornly returned to cross guard. His cousin sighed and brought the sword erect. The dagger-man began to circle, frightened at his ignorance of Will's next move. The sword-man was smiling, keeping that sword high and matching Robin no matter the angles of his circle.

And that was when the smaller pacing man got his idea.

He struck suddenly, crossing his two daggers like scissors and locking them round Will's neck and sword. The wooden blade was pinned flat against its owner's shocked face. Using all the strength in his twig arms, he forced the larger man up against a tree and dug his daggers into the wood. Satisfied that his opponent was trapped, he took a bow, smiling wearily.

The group of students cheered happily at their leader's improvisation, but their cheers turned to groans of disappointment when he released Will's neck. "Fourth watch, get out there!" he called, grinning as he tore the practice weapons from their hold. "That means you, William of Norwell," Ellie sneered, dropping a few arrows into her quiver.

"That's not my name anymore," Will barked angrily. He hated being a nobleman's son; he hated the nobleman whose son he was. He hated the pomp and the title and the unmatched cruelty--

"Well, pardon me, my LORDSH--"

"Leave it alone, Ellie," Robin snapped. She blew air from her mouth and rolled exasperated eyes at him. "It was only the truth."

"Ellie, I told you to leave it---"

"Shut your stew hole, Rob," Will interrupted, "I can defend myself."

Ellie snorted. "Well, judging by that fight, I'd have to say---"

"ELLIE!"

Robin sighed to himself as the discontented fourth watch stalked into the woodlands. Now Will and Ellie were angry with him, and the list just seemed to mount by the minute. He needed to learn to keep his condescending mouth shut.

Nan came up to him and murmured something about his ribs. He scowled. Little vanity as he had, it still embarrassed him to have everyone in camp stare at his scars. And so he was stubborn unnecessarily and refused to let her see. "Good God, don't coddle, Nan!"

"Rob, it's me or Sara who'll be looking at you. And you know she'll make such a ruckus over your 'foolery' that the whole forest will hear." He frowned as she arched an eyebrow at him and obediently lifted his tunic. "See? Nothing broken at all!" And for once there really was little wrong with him, but she still didn't like being able to count all his ribs. She mentioned quietly that he ought to eat a bit more, eyeing him meaningfully. While she knew that irritated Robin, it didn't seem to bother him half as much as the looks he got from some of the others when they saw his scars.

"Heavens, Rob, we aren't so overcrowded you must limit your meals to once a week," Nan remarked sarcastically. Ignoring her, he jerked his tunic down as the last tolerable compassionate glance fell on him. That was quite enough pity for the moment. "Rob, are you listening to me at all?" Nan snapped. "Good God, I think some of the children have larger waists than you do!" He rolled his eyes dismissively. "And I thought Sara was the one who exagger---"

"I do what, Robin?" Sara asked, cocking a challenging eyebrow as she returned from her turn on privy duty.

"Nothing, Sara."

She walked towards him, holding out a palm that was bleeding right below her middle finger. "Now, dove, THIS is what I do! I stay on privy duty for an eternity and hurt myself because of a certain scarecrow." Robin hadn't exactly defined two digs as an eternity, since each lasted a half hour, but he still felt badly. "Sorry, Sara," he said.

"Ach, you gullible fool, I just fed you a heaping load of blarney." She plopped down on a nearby log, smirking with self-satisfaction, and ran fingers through her hair. "It doesn't hurt at all, and it's really David's fault, anyways." She glared at the sixteen-year-old, who was pouting at his own outstretched hands. He looked up at mention of his name in exasperation. "Don't yell at me again! I already said I'm awful sorry-like for telling you it was fine to pick out the calluses, Sara," he murmured, trying to clot his own wounds on his leg, "Didn't think they'd bleed or anything like that, but – well, I heard Will telling Allan that picking the calluses open makes them feel better! So don't yell at me when it's your bloody love's fault. And don't yell at Robin either!"

"I'm not yelling at Robin about that, you barmy fool!" She paused, leaning forward with spread legs like a man. "But it is unfair that you let the fourth watch come in so soon, Rob. I saw them on my way in; they're already heading back! Why the favoritism, eh?" She tested the stew with her finger. "Eh, not so good as mine. But, really, Rob, why do they get to come in early? I'd marry Allan if it would shorten mydullwatch." She propped her feet on the log and leaned backwards. "Your English foresters never do anything exciting. Now, if they were Irish---"

But Robin wasn't listening. Let the watch come in early? He had never said---

Will, who led the fourth watch, entered camp snarling and threw a breathing heap of green cloth onto the ground. The obviously fine fabric splattered in the damp spring soil as Sara froze in her rampaging to stare. The girl draped in the wool groaned from the pain of impact, and struggled to her elbows. Auburn hair slipped from a loose braid as she gasped, and Robin paused to watch her recover. David started forward to help her up, easing away from the threatening Irishwoman. However, Will grabbed their guest roughly round the upper arms and forced her to stand, heedless of the wheezing noises she threw forth. She drew her head upward, and her proud face shifted to the left as she tried to snarl at Will. Her delicate profile stood out against the deep green of Sherwood, marred by a few simple scratches and one of the forest's filthy olive kisses.

Marian. Marian. Marian. Marian.

She looked up at Robin, and he noticed a scratch across her left eyebrow, likely from the twigs of Sherwood. Her proud eyes sank to fear as Will yanked her arms even father behind her back. Hair long as her cry of pain fell forward into her face, and she winced pleadingly at him.

"Gisbourne is coming!" she screeched, and her voice strained pitifully, "He is already here, Robin, and he is hired to kill you all!" Will yanked her arm up even higher behind her back, and she cried out, leaning forward to ease the sting. "Will," Sara warned, and he eased his grip – slightly.

Robin only watched. His breath grew shallow and quick, so that he drew air like the criminals of the wastes. Will, who still held Marian fast, stared furiously at him, as if sentencing her to death was obviously the only way to handle the intrusion. Robin blinked a few times, still breathing rather quickly.

He looked over at Marian, and she scared him. Please do not lie…Please let her be telling the truth… She was so calm now, slumped comfortably while Will held her arms fast behind her. No pleading, no fear…why was she so immovable? Why was she so calm in her helplessness when he was scared witless in determining her fate? Why did she not cry out? Why in God's name did she still make him tremble?

"I – she may be telling the truth," he said finally, and his head snapped round to look at Will for approval. He knew she had lifted her head, and her eyes bore two holes in the side of his temple, but he tried to ignore the sensation. His cousin scowled. "And if she isn't?"

Robin glanced nervously at Marian, only his eyes darting to hers. And if she had shown any fear of him in that moment, he would have forgiven her instantly and set her free. But she only stared at him, that wrenching, waiting, expectant expression lying immobile on her face. She must be telling the truth…By the Rood, she must. He gulped. "If we find that she lies, we kill her."

He was sure of himself in that choice.

He was confident.

He knew what he was doing.

He was lying through his chattering teeth.

And when it was late and cold out, he could lie to himself no longer. Countless times he would sit bolt upright, gasping in fear of some forgotten monster in his sleeping mind. He had this sort of trouble sleeping often, which was why he habitually volunteered for the night watches, as he was one of the few able to stay awake.

But it was a cloudy night to be awake, and a slight mist of rain was falling onto his shoulders as he sat trying to name that latest nightmare creature. He shivered in the chill of night, wondering vaguely if he should be asleep. He decided it was most unnecessary, as his watch was in a half hour or so. Will would want him to sleep, as would Sara, but he could not. Not when guilty thoughts drifted through his swimming head.

He often wondered if his new status as outlaw leader was the cause of these frequent bouts of restlessness. It was always difficult to sleep when he knew someone was out on watch. They were his responsibility, and if he was sleeping while they were hurt or captured or killed or—he'd never forgive himself. But other times he was sure the cause was a cowardly fear of foresters. And other nights he would wake in a terror that only the dungeons could have been in his dreams.

But tonight he knew it was her. He knew it was the sleeping smile on her lovely face and that ---

Nay. It was the weather, was it not? Rain was positively irritating.

Ah, but the rain was, thankfully, staying at a slight drizzle. Robin blew air out of his mouth irritably. What use was living in a forest if you couldn't even keep the rain off your back? He stood to meander through the fringes of tree at their camp's edge. Hopefully those leaves would be enough to keep him relatively dry. In the cloudy night, there was little available moonlight to fall on those who dreamt in the clearing, but it was clear enough to show their leader how many bare heads were pelted with rainwater. Robin traveled around to all the sleeping outlaws and pulled their hoods up. There was no need for them to catch unnecessary chills and colds when they could prevent it.

But the peasants, huddled together in the center near the fire, were another story. Most of them did not have hoods, or even decent clothing. Robin hurried over to the storage cave, tripping over someone's sleeping body. The walls of the cave were still damp from an incident earlier that day when Will and Sara had both been chasing Allan around with water buckets, trying to soak him. They had, unfortunately for the minstrel, succeeded as Robin came in from watch – just in time for Allan to knock their leader onto his back as Will's badly aimed bucketful of water ruined a dozen arrows. As he thought about it now, Robin had to admit to himself that it had been rather funny to watch Allan point an accusatory finger at Will, scowling as his perfect curls sagged round his face. And he may have spent too long lecturing Will on the dozens of illnesses that damp clothes could breed in the night. Aye, mayhap two watches was a bit long.

Feeling rather disappointed in himself, he yanked out a good deal of extra blankets, and used them to cover the peasants. There beside him was Jack, who had run away from his abusive father; the poor thing clung to the edge of Robin's tunic constantly, afraid that his father was going to appear at any moment. Robin was sure to tuck the edges of the blanket under the boy's feet, and then he dropped a blanket over wild little Taine, who had blindly followed her older sister into Sherwood. Taine's older sister was covered next, a bad-tempered woman whose husband had been murdered by the sheriff's guards, who had later been murdered by this woman. After the murderess, the thrashing blacksmith Devon kicked the wool draped over his shoulders, as he had once kicked a nobleman's hunting dog – square in the eye, maiming it – for attacking his youngest son. Even in his violent sleep he cradled the arm from which a hand had been cut off as punishment. Ah, well, at least he did not weep and scream the names of his children as he had the night before. Robin walked around covering the rest of their refugees – beaten apprentices, battered wives, scarred rebels, overly punished peasants, victims of the forest laws, struggling fathers ashamed to beg…Oh, aye, they could not take on Gisbourne if they tried.

He retreated quietly to the protection of the trees. There. Now everyone was taken care of – he hoped. John and Gatty were still on watch, so they'd have to be looked after. But they looked after one another, so they should be fine. His weary eyes fell together, and he slumped against an oak tree. Traitor.He jumped, eyes jerking open in shock. Oh, God, but it was true; he had betrayed them all with that wicked kiss he shared with Marian. He had betrayed them all in letting her live. Oh, but he could not kill her. And on Allan's wedding day, God, she had been so beautiful – so bloody gorgeous, like some ballad's nymph. Queen Eleanor herself was incompetent and hideous in the face of his Marian, no matter the temper and cruelty that second lady had shown him.

He wanted to tear his useless heart out as the ache returned – the painful self-hatred of the dungeons. Lord, the hole grew larger with each glimpse of her. Would it not leave him? He prayed for the pain inside of him to fade. He begged the saints to let the agonizing minutes heal him. He wanted the countless moments of loneliness to fade into some damned numb oblivion as they spiraled together, each pang canceling another out until time had become the poultice on his wounds. But he had been waiting months for that, fortnights of tortured solitude; sennights of elusive nightmares; days of baring his sore wounds to make them callous; hours and watches and moments spent watching her in his mind, trying to find her among the faces. Damn it; damn it; damn it. Time heals nothing, he thought bitterly, sinking down to the ground. Lord, it only made things worse. The appeal of that kiss was undeniable, but --- by the Rood, what had he done? How did he meet their eyes? Allan was right; he deserved the dungeon. He deserved the pain echoing in his body. He deserved it all for the inadequate, self-centered traitor that he was. He wanted her to laugh at him again, jab her spiteful finger at him in evil ridicule; he needed a penance for his sins. Restitution had to be made for that betraying kiss. But even more than that, he wanted her to love him. He wanted her to see the cowardice and the vanity in him, and love him despite it. He longed to tell her how he hated Will sometimes, how ungrateful and rude he wanted to be; he wanted her to answer every selfish sulking confession with the blind and selfless love he had returned for her treachery.

But that would never happen. Pigs would be crowned and dogs would command armies before anyone could see all the wickedness in him and still feel anything even remotely like love.

So why did he still hope for it?

Someone stirred in their sleep and knocked a wrist against the nearby tree trunk. Robin smirked. David was the most restless sleeper in all of England. Any village fool could see that. He remembered someone joking that the foresters could sneak as close to camp as they fancied at night, but the noise of David's sleep would drive the fellow away before he could get a shot at anyone. He grinned, trying to remember who had said it.

Marian.

He gulped and fingered the tattered edges of his sleeve, determined not to look at her. I will conquer this. I will conquer this I will- He ran fingers through his hair in frustration. If I conquer this, the dead will rise. The rain had decided to increase out of what he was sure could be nothing but pure spite. He shuddered. Why? Why? Why? Why did she still trap him in the gaze she gave in memories – the gaze of friendship and worry, the smile of a shared jest, the rolling eyes of lighthearted irritation. Why did he kiss her? Why? What had she done to apologize? What HAD SHE DONE?

"My, lady, have you come your father?"

"I did it to save my father!"

Yelps of memory tore across his confidence, shredding all surety in their wake. He shuddered, closing his eyes. There it was; there was the reason he still held out hope that she would love him. He would believe her soon; was there no defense against her words? Will's sneer chased off the memories, spitting out scorn at the proposition. "Bloody bitch thinks we'll be victim to her lies again. She's damned wrong, she is. For her father? Pfft! In the country up my arse she did." Robin had smiled tolerantly, mild amusement shoved forth onto his face because he knew Will wanted him to smile.

But he had heard her with his own ears. He had heard her plead for her father; she had sounded so nervous as she pleaded for that old man… and for him. "What ever he has done, he does not deserve Hell!" God, then why did she send him to the living Hell? He buried his face in his hands, feeling the self-hatred creep up his neck. It loomed over him like the inevitable. Fool! Fool you are, to trust her word. What good has it been to you? Have her promises of before held out? Have they? And were you truly such a fantastic idiot that you were convinced they would?

She was a liar, a traitor, a selfish lady of noble birth, but he could not kill her.

And he could not trust her.

Robin slowly took to his feet and crept towards her, gently removing the gag from around her mouth. She stirred in her sleep soon as he touched her and blinked in surprise at both his kindness and his actions. God, how she looks at me… He frowned slightly at himself. "Leave."

Marian arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing? Why are you--?"

He clamped a hand over her mouth. "I cannot kill you, milady. Please leave before I am forced to betray the band to their faces."

"Robin, you---"

"I am a coward; milady." Demons, I am the worst coward. "I can't say that – I can't say that to – to Will." You know I am too weak; you know I am a damned weakling. "I can't admit this pointless weakness. Please."

"Robin, I do not lie. Gisbourne is coming."

Good God, could she not show him mercy? The other outlaws had already seen him at his most pathetic when he was raving weakly with that fever. They had seen tears come from his eyes; they had heard him screaming for Will as he had when barely five winters; they had seen him cower in fear and whimper in pain. They would not see him cringe from murder. They would not.

"Mercy, milady. They cannot see how weak I--"

"They will not. I promise it." She denies it no more than I do. "Gisbourne comes for your head, and I do not lie. Trust me."

His eyes were guarded and cynical, spinning into despair. "I cannot."

For one moment, the cruel disregard faded from her face and she dropped the confident mask to reveal a hidden disappointment that played unnerving mirror to his own. "Then you will learn of my honesty through experience." She gestured with a sad jerk of her head to the disregarded gag. "Be wary; John comes in from watch."

A/N: oooh. Robin has issues again. Big surprise there! (Note sarcasm)

Will has issues (another shocker)

Marian IS an issue. (I'm just pulling these out of my ear, ain't I?)

Lol. Sorry. I was just in desperate need of sarcasm.

Hope you liked! I'll try to update sooner next time!