A/N: Remember when I said I'd update quickly? I lied. Yeah, I know. I'm a bad kid. Sorry!

Thanks again to Eh, Man for her beta magic on this! The first part was a beast to edit, I know. It was a combo of two different things and it barely made sense. So yay for my favorite beta-er!

And thank you guys ssssoooooo much for staying with this story! I have the best reviewers on fanfiction - don't let anyone say differently! ;-)

Sara swore and brought her dagger downward with a vicious thrust onto a forester. The hilt seemed to fit perfectly in the soft spot at the back of his neck, knocking him senseless as if that were its purpose. She grinned with satisfaction at the wreckage that she and the peasants had been able to accomplish. The foresters had not been prepared for the dozens of arrows that had spilled from the trees; they had been shocked near to fainting at the nets and holes built along the road. The green-clad fools had been utterly unprepared for the fiery rebellion they found in 'simple forest folk'.

And the 'simple' folk had finished off Nottingham's woodland warriors. The Chief Forester had seriously underestimated his enemy and was paying for it dearly. But although the victory gave Sara a light feeling in her chest, one worry was constantly bearing down on her. The outlaws had defeated the worst fighters, because those were all the Chief Forester had brought along, but what in Hell were they going to do when the great swordsmen show up? If the elite foresters came, she knew the outlaws were finished. Holy Mary, keep those brutes away from me and I swear I'll never lose my temper again. I'll be forgiving and hold my tongue and---

"SARA!" David's high-pitched cry broke across the road, and the Irishwoman turned quickly to see the cause of his fear.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

Cornelius White Foot, Boarsman Stone, Cur Roger, Devon Silvertip – Nottingham's finest swordsmen were all coming down the High Road, their blades unsheathed. She did not even bother trying to stop the weaker peasants from fleeing. They could not best these men. Cornelius alone was rumored to be able to take three men at once; Devon had supposedly once taken five. Not for the first time, Sara wished she had Will with her. But he was out looking for Robin, and she was going to die without him.

Slan go foill, Will. Goodbye for now, but we'll both roast in Hell together, won't we?

Standing stubbornly before the best blades in the shire, she held her two daggers in cross-guard. "Come on then," she cried, "Come on then, you cowards!" She was scared witless, knowing that only a fool does not fear death, but she would die a brave Irishwoman despite it. A whimper rose for a moment in her quivering throat, but she would not let it take her. David smiled weakly at her; what in God's name was he doing here? He couldn't fight these men; he could barely fight Allan. And why were some of the coal miners still standing in the road as if they could last half a minute against these men? And Ellie? Ellie had a spear in her hands and was staring down their new opponents, trying to resist the urge that they all had to hide behind the immense John and his quarterstaff. There can't be more than ten of us that can fight, though over a score of us are here. She almost laughed at their predicament. Wouldn't it be odd if Robin was the only one of us lot to survive? Wouldn't it be the oddest thing if he could best Gisbourne? But that would never happen. They were all going to die. Except Will. She knew Robin would be dead by the time his cousin found him, but she still held out a hope that --- well, it was foolish. She had already seen Will for the last time. The last face that she would see would be that of a leering forester drawing his sword from her.

In the least she could spit on the bastard.

She charged at Cornelius, opening the fight. There was a moment when her brain told the rest of her she was the most fantastic idiot ever conceived, but then there was an incredible rush as the others joined her, and her anger suffocated her common sense.

Cornelius arched a sneering eyebrow at her, but condescended to face her. With the old war cry of her clan she went for his heart and throat doubly, hoping desperately that her dagger would strike either for a fatal wound. He parried her almost lazily and then knocked one of the daggers from her hand. She whipped another out from the belt around her waist, but he was quicker than even her fingers. His sword cut across her arm in an arc and swept under her armpit as if to cut off her arm. She brought her arm above the blade's reach and then ducked into a crouch, but he kept advancing. With a hissed curse she swung out a leg to trip her assailant, but his sword came down into her knee. She screamed with the pain, though the healer's mind thanked Heaven's stars that it was not her kneecap he had cut. But holy saints, it hurt. Cornelius grinned, satisfied with her inability to escape. She snarled and drove a dagger through his thigh with her right hand, tearing another from her belt with her left. But Creation curse him, he saw the left-handed attack coming and ripped the sword from her knee to send another attack against her. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Sara rolled her torso away from danger and plunged her weapon into the side of that same thigh she had struck before. Oh, it was sweet to strike the monster, but it was a short-lived sugar. He took aim with the blade again in response, and she was forced to twist away once more. If only I could move the dead weight of this knee and stand. But suddenly there was his foot on her chest, pinning the only mobile part of her to the ground.

Cornelius's sword rushed downward at her again and she glared at the demon for all she was worth. "Diabhoil," she hissed, praying to all the saints of Ireland that the Gaelic would frighten him. It seemed to, for he paused, his eyes wide with fear and distrust.

And that moment was all she needed. Someone from above hurtled the diabhoil out of the way, grunting. "Sara? Sara?" Familiar dark hair blocked the edge of her vision. "Sara, I swear I'll rip his head off…just tell me you're alive. Tell me you won't die!"

She smiled in relief at her savior, the pain in her knee eclipsed like the rest of the world. "Will, you arse, you've taken my honor now."

He grinned wildly at her. Oh Lord, she was safe. He'd been crossing the High Road…he couldn't find Robin…and he'd seen her there at the mercy of Cornelius. And the guilty thoughts at the back of his mind said it could have cost Robin's life, but if he hadn't stopped he might have lost them both. Drawing back, he winced in sympathy. "Your leg; we have to get you out of here; come and help me look for Rob…I…"

"Hush, you great lummox, and help me stand before Cornelius takes your head. You've only got one; I have two knees." She smirked and tightened her grip on his arm. "I believe they've noticed you're here." Will blinked at her and then turned to survey the crowd of fighters around them. Everyone had frozen at the sight of Will, and the sword-playing foresters were whispering to one another, some eyes wide with fear.

"It's William of Norwell; I'd recognize him anywhere."

"Isn't that the man who almost beat Gisbourne?"

"He's the best swordsman in lower England."

"He's taken on an entire army by himself, I've heard."

Will arched an eyebrow at Sara and she shrugged. "Ach, so I exaggerate your skill in the taverns," she whispered, "but only a wee bit."

"I-I have to find Rob, Sara. I'd help but--"

Suddenly David yelped, clutching at his arm. Boarsman Stone grabbed the arm and made a move as if to cut the outlaw's hand off.

And all was chaos again.

Ellie took her spear and hurled it at Boarsman's head from behind, a protective rage in her eyes. The weapon landed in his shoulder, and he roared in fury. With a snarl he turned around and sliced her across the face and neck, advancing forward all the time. In fear, the poor girl staggered backwards and fell on her tailbone. Her eyes went wide as he grabbed the front of her dress and brought her face to his. His breath smelt of ale and meat, and his sword tip bit into her stomach. She wondered if anyone would be left to bury her…she wondered how it would have felt if she had lived to kiss David…

David ran from the side and shoved Boarsman to the ground. The collision not only slammed the forester onto his ribs, but also brought the accelerating David to his knees. Boarsman turned his head to scowl at the persistent little wood-chopper. Why wasn't he running? And his little wench, too – she had no idea what sort of mire she and her friends had sunk their legs into. Stubborn snotty paupers getting out of line – that was what this was. He'd seen it before, outlaws with high ideas, but this group topped them all. They thought themselves quite condescending, didn't they? Leaving their earlier attackers alive and donating stolen goods to the poor. They were nothing though! Nothing! The fools had no skill, no strength, no organization – yet here they were, fighting and nearly besting Nottingham's foresters. Why were they fighting? Their leader was surely dead by now; they had very nearly entered open warfare with the sheriff; they were lost. The stupid ignorant mules! They deserved to rot. The forester looked up from his position, eyes brimming with irritation.

And there was that moron from Norwell, pinning Cornelius White Foot to the tree. "Well?" the nobleman snapped, "Where is Robin?"

And Boarsman had finally had enough of the outlaws.

"Dead!" he roared, attracting Norwell's attention. "We've already gutted your leader." Norwell dropped Cornelius, and the Celtic-looking woman beside him clutched at the cross round her neck. Even the other foresters stopped; this was news to them. Boarsman smirked. "Aye, we killed the outlaw dog," he sneered, "That is, once Gisbourne was done with him. You should have heard the coward squeal for his life." He smirked at the great lot of green fools before him. That ought to result in a very neat surrender.

Sara dug her nails into her cross. Oh, dear God. She turned her stricken face to Will, and waited for him to despair. But he was trembling. The rage began in his fists, trembling fingers twitching around the hilt of his sword, but it quickly spread to his clenched jaw and ricocheted towards his eyes. The fury had struck him so unaware, the shock rushing through him like bold electricity. Sara watched it all with both relief and pity.

"Cowards!" he roared, his furious voice tearing like lightning through the air and lingering like thunder. Even Sara jumped at the sound of it. "You cruel, hell-bound cowards!" He started towards Boarsman, hefting the sword into both of his hands and bringing it upward. "Could he even stand when you killed him, you whoresons?"

Sara looked out at their opposition. Oh, what an unexpected demon you just brought down.

Boarsman Stone quickly stumbled to his feet and dove at Will with his blade, but it was…well, futile. Will was thought of as the best swordsman in lower England, and Sara hadn't seen him this furious since a forester had tried to get under her skirts. She watched with grim satisfaction as Will parried effortlessly and then blasted through the other man's defense to plunge into his leg. The forester cried out in pain, cringing out of his assailant's path.

"Anyone else?" Will sneered vengefully, eyes dark with hatred. I could kill them all. He mercifully let Boarsman continue his retreat. I bloody well SHOULD kill every single black-hearted one of them. He choked on something in his throat. O, brilliant, fool. Cry later, for Christ's sake. Do you want to lose Sara, then? Want the cowards to take the only person left, eh?

Over his dead body.

Nay, nay. Over their dead bodies. They had nearly maimed Sara and killed his cousin and he would murder them for it. He would slaughter them like the pigs they were. Oh, God…but his stupid cousin, his stupid forgiving dead cousin would never want anyone killed. He shut his eyes against the rage in him, trying to calm himself.

Don't kill; don't kill; don't kill. Why in Hell not? His eyelids burst open, unable to contain the rage that was suddenly such a part of him. Why should he listen to Robin? Why should he show mercy? Where on God's green earth had that ever gotten anyone? Dead. That was where. Dead. Dead. Bloody well dead. Why shouldn't he kill them? Why in all bloody Heaven shouldn't he kill them when they had killed Robin? He was becoming more and more convinced that there were two types of people in the world – those going to Heaven and those who had to defend them. And he had long ago accepted he was going to Hell anyways, so he should defend Robin, who was damn well going to Heav – Oh, saints. Those bastards had killed him before he had confessed that murder. They had sent him straight to Hell – dead with a mortal sin on his soul. Will's fist tightened around the pommel of his sword. And when these whoresons were doing slaughtering children in camp, they would head off and be absolved for merciless killing. But they had sent Robin to Hell over self-defense! Why should they have a chance to confess their sins with Robin didn't? Why did they get another chance when they had already stolen one? Why in God's name did they have life when his cousin didn't? Well, they wouldn't have it for long; he was going to send them straight to the Hell they deserved. "Leave us be, you whoresons, or I'll kill you all! Run now and I'll spare your worthless lives!"

Cur Roger paused, thinking of the family that needed him. And he thought of William of Norwell's reputation. Some men would have called his actions cowardice, but he would leave no more widows and orphans on the Earth than he had to. Quietly he turned into the trees, dragging Devon Silvertip, father of nine, with him. They would head home along the forester's trails. Cowardly, mayhap, but your life isn't yours to throw away once it means something to ten others.

Sara watched Will charge at Cornelius. Having Will there had given the others spirit, and they took up the attack again. God help the foresters.

Then she looked down at her knee and thought of what they could do to everyone else.

God help us.

"I surrender!" Robin screamed, hand shooting upward as if to defend himself. What? Robin was no coward; I knew that. He was not craven enough to beg for his own life. Gisbourne arched a single eyebrow. "You coward," he snapped, pressing the point of his sword against Robin's throat. "Do you wish for your own life, then?" Robin nodded fervently. "Oh, aye; please, milord," he gasped in a servile voice. He really sounded in earnest; his face twisted with fear, and every breath brought a shudder of pain.

And Gisbourne laughed.

"Nay, nay," the knight corrected, obviously enjoying this "You know damn well what awaits you in Nottingham. Despite the fool I know you to be, it isn't possible you've so little memory. It is for another reason you do this." He smirked, cocking his head. "Mayhap to save the others?" His mocking voice rang out across the clearing. "You sacrifice yourself for their sake." He sneered at the shock on Robin's face, sarcasm dripping like venom from his voice. "Oh, how noble. It's a waste; foresters are coming for the louts, but I shall have to tell them before I send them to meet you." He brought the sword high and sent it plunging downwards.

I screamed and ran at Gisbourne. Almost instinctively he darted to the side and my swinging sword barely grazed his chest. But even as I watched my own blade strike him uselessly I saw the sweeping arch of metal coming towards my neck. I jerked to the side and readied a parry.

But Gisbourne just stood frozen.

I don't know who was more surprised - Robin or Gisbourne. The outlaw was paler, but I think that was from loss of blood. Gisbourne gasped. "Lady Marian?" he cried, ramming his sword quickly into Robin's chest, letting the blade sink in slightly. I held up my own sword, fighting the gnawing pain in my side. "Come now, Gisbourne. Why should you be so ashamed of fighting me?"

He arched a scornful eyebrow, malicious amusement in his eyes. "And why should you be fighting me at all? We both want the same thing - to get this outlaw out of the sheriff's way. Or," he continued, sneering at Robin, "to be more precise, in his dungeons."

Robin spit in his face. "Go fight the maid – mayhap you can beat her honestly!"

Gisbourne threw him to the ground with frightening ease. "Pathetic," he replied, pressing his sword tip into the small of Robin's neck. "Reach for your dagger, louse, and I'll send this straight through you." Then he turned to me, smirking. "As you can see, I have this stripling under control. So why not let me take the little rebel, milady?"

I growled, "Nay."

"What?" He blinked once or twice. "Ah, I see. He's your dog to beat, non?"

"Leave him be. The only dog here is you, Gisbourne."

Gisbourne paused, unsure of what I meant. "Do you mean to fight me?"

"You are a knight, non?"

He caught my mockery and the deadly hatred behind it. "Very well. I suppose I mus-" He swore in shock and turned back to Robin, whose quaking hand held the naked blade of his broken sword. The outlaw, lying on his stomach, smirked shakily at his handiwork. The blade was deep into Gisbourne's leg, nearly a crippling wound. In his arrogance, Gisbourne had worn only a mail shirt, leaving his legs as well-protected as a farmer's.

With a gasp, Robin spat at his adversary: "Welcome to Sherwood."

Gisbourne punted him ferociously in the head, and I winced when his neck snapped backwards. Both eyes shut, and he did not stir. Gisbourne gave him another hard boot in the ear to be sure he'd fainted, and then turned to me. "Whichever of us is left alive," he snapped, "Wins this wretch."

"I will win."

He arched a skeptical eyebrow and wrenched the sword from his leg with little but a wince. As he lobbed it carelessly across the clearing, I readied myself for his attack. Go ahead, Gisbourne. I'll kill you, I swear it.

And we went at it. I could feel my own confidence with the sword, and the rage that I knew drove Will to greatness with swordplay. I could feel Gisbourne's almost lazy self-assurance when we locked hilts; he knew he was the best, but he couldn't shake my grip. Mayhap I couldn't best him, likely I couldn't, but I would not let him shake me. Stab me…he could do that. Meeting his vicious eyes and remembering what he had done to Robin, I forced my weight against him, driving at his hilt with my own. Die. Die. I was fighting harder than…oh, Lord, than I'd ever wanted to, but Gisbourne was good. Good Lord, he was so blasted good.

He broke my defenses so many times. He did; Holy Mother, he did; and I was sliced again and again. I cried out with the pain of each one; it hurt so much, those light scratches. He would sneer at me and retreat, as if he had allowed me to come away with such a little wound. He expected me to flee after my first taste of steel in the belly; I forced myself to stay. But they hurt.

And the big scratch hurt even more.

I yelped with the sharp pain and my whole lower body went numb. For a trice, my middle was floating off somewhere in limbo. And then it came jerking back to my awareness, stinging and wrenching and twisting. My knees went weak with the anguish and I tipped backwards to crumple in a heap. I curled and broke into a sweat all at once. Come now, come now. Get UP. But my body refused me, and I didn't have the strength to fight it. I'd always thought I was brave and strong, but cold winters and wrestling Richard were nothing to this.

Gisbourne stood over me, smirking. "Seeing as you're a lady, I won't leave you in agony."

I looked over to Robin's prone body, too weak to try and escape my fate.

And he wasn't there.

With a cry of either pain or rage, he tackled Gisbourne to the ground. The two of them wrestled furiously on the earth, grunting and cursing. I could only watch them through a filmy haze as I struggled for consciousness. Robin's legs were flailing and Gisbourne's arms were locked around his neck. I watched them in a daze of shock and pain. Gisbourne should have finished with Robin by now, but Robin's survival instinct was kicking in…or rather, lashing out.

With a ferocious kick, Gisbourne sent Robin rolling across the clearing. In an instant, his knightly training took full force and he had grabbed his sword, leapt to his feet, and sent the deadly weapon for Robin's heart.

In one last act of desperation, Robin dove for the blade that had recently been snapped from his hands. Face down in the dirt, he sensed Gisbourne's sword coming for his head and he twisted round to position himself on his knee. Both of them attacked at the same time; Gisbourne's sword digging into Robin's thigh as the outlaw shifted position, Robin's broken blade locked between the knight's eyes.

Gisbourne staggered backwards, the first to move away. I looked away as he struggled for his last two or three breaths, not wanting to see the look on his face. There was a thud and a rustle of slick grass, and I knew it was over.

Robin collapsed onto his side, clinging to life with every wheezing breath. I crawled over to him, not daring to look at the dead body to my side. "Marian…" His voice was scratching and it hurt my ears. "What the hell are you doing?"

None of the birds for a few miles were making a sound. Every animal in the area was absolutely silent.

I stared at him for a few moments. What in Hell was I doing?

"You're bleeding," he continued softly, blinking with surprise. I peered at myself, as if noticing it for the first time as well. "Aye."

"Mari, I'm sorry." He stared at the wound for a moment. "That must hurt."

I drew a shuddering laugh and dropped down beside him. "Aye."

Suddenly, he swore violently in Latin and then smirked apologetically at me. "If you – holy Saint Loy – if you crouch it hurts less," he offered. I smiled gratefully and curled into fetal position. It did feel better for a few moments, but then another pain went spitting from my shoulders down. "Eugh."

"We're pathetic," he whispered, and his eyes clamped shut as agony wracked him. In a spasm of pain, he reached for my hand. I locked fingers with him and squeezed hard. The fiery broken feel in my knuckles seemed to cancel the wound in my side.

"The others," I warned suddenly, "They're fighting the foresters on the High Road." Robin looked over at me, breathing heavily. I figure I must have seemed to be a deer or rowan tree, because he looked ready to faint. Not that he would allow himself to.

"Eh, suppose we'll have to--" He hissed for a moment, biting at his lower lip. "--have to go help them, eh?" he gasped, leaning against a tree to help him sit up. "And we – we shouldn't just sit here all day. I just – just a trice, Mari, just a --" He closed his eyes and slumped against the trunk, wheezing. It soon turned into a cough and my head spun from the noise. The world was doing cartwheels up and down my nose bridge - or maybe it was left and right? I staggered to my knees, trying to escape that awful racket. What was he doing? Why was his nose close to the tree? And why did my head hurt so badly?

Suddenly, he slumped to the ground, knocking his head against the trunk with a sickening crack. He'd fainted. Flat-out swooned. I knelt down, wincing, and shook him. He didn't move. I grabbed him frantically and rocked his head back and forth so quickly I swear his brains hit the side of his head. At least he was still breathing. But all I could see were the snapped-shut eyes and stony pale of his face. He screamed of death.

I felt tears pooling in my eyes. "Open your eyes," I sobbed, voice a moaning wreck. Stubborn bastard. He just lay there like some useless rotten log and wheezing like a crone near her grave.

I whimpered and groped blindly for the sword in his thigh. It was like ice in my shivering fingers, and the cool hilt felt awkward in my sweaty grip. I tore the awful weapon out of the wound and threw it down beside him. But the only response I got was a brief twitching of his limbs and heavier wheezing. I screeched and swore a French obscenity at his wan face. Open your eyes! Open your God-forsaken, Devil-sent, cursed ---

"Marian."

I whirled around like a cornered boar to see a very confused John staring awkwardly from the edge of the clearing. I hissed loudly from the ferocious pain in my side, and his eyes went wide. Will swore from behind him. "It's not bloody Marian, John, you clod. That heathen she-demon is probably dancing with the Devil on--"

His face froze, the black scowl iced over with smooth relief. His mouth slipped open a pinch, and the corners of his slack lips were tilted upward. "Whoring midwives, he's alive." The grateful whisper kept him calm for a few moments as he watched the rise and fall of Robin's chest like a knight would watch the Grail.

And then he remembered me. "And you were trying to kill him, you wench." Fear shot through my veins and broke my vision. I grappled for sight as the shadows encircled the scene, framing Will with their growing fingers. The grey claws grew, coiling about my throat, mobbing the glade and swarming over the approaching Will. The shadows grappled for control of everything, multiplying and growing. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't even move. All I saw was grey. And the ugly mass exploded, scattering neon colors everywhere, so bright I became nauseous.

And then came the black.