(This little one shot has been brewing in my mind for some time now, and is basically me attempting to make the loss of Robin Hood just a little bit less horrible and senseless, and maybe even to add a glimmer of hope to the situation. It isn't really AU I don't think, more canon divergent/missing scene somewhere between 5x21 and 5x22. I know they probably won't address anything like this in the show – though I think they could, and ought to – and of course I don't own any of them, just exploring the possibilities a bit. Hope you enjoy! I'd love to hear what you think! )
(The title and the lyrics at the story's end come from the song "As I Lay Me Down" by Sophie B. Hawkins, and hearing it again for the first time in years was actually what prompted the story idea, so I definitely wanted to give it credit.)
"As I Lay Me Down to Sleep"
The pen scratches furiously, the sound almost as angry as the bottled emotion violently swirling inside the young man writing as he pushes the rustic utensil across the heavy blank pages of the storybook. He sniffs back tears he has no time for, though a renegade few trickle down his nose from time to time, falling on the page before his pen, and forcing him to stop long enough to swipe an impatient shirt cuff across his flushed, somehow wet face or risk losing the words he is frantically scribbling down.
Breathing hard, Henry Mills finally pauses, drawing in a ragged breath and letting his eyes run back over what he has written so far. His ears prick up, straining to hear the murmur of his adopted mom and her newly reconciled sister speaking together in the dining room below. He knows from taking in the tableau before fleeing up here to his room, that Regina is rocking a shell-shocked Roland Hood in her lap, his small hand clutching her crisp linen sleeve, his face buried against her shoulder as she soothingly rubs his back. Zelena sits across from them, actually looking genuinely sorry as she holds Roland's baby sister.
Henry feels a deep stinging in his chest just thinking of the blank, shattered look on the face of the little boy he already considers his brother. Already both of Roland's birth parents are lost to him, before he is really even old enough to understand. The soul deep pain and below that the smoldering sense of betrayed anger in Regina's eyes scares Henry almost as much, however; for though she struggles to hold it back and tamp it down for all of their sakes, Henry can almost hear her questioning what good it has done her to try heroism and right as if she has spoken the words aloud.
They all need Robin here – his quiet strength and calming presence bolstering his makeshift little band and transmitting safety and love. He should still be here.
And so, now Henry is doing something he knows he should not. Yet…he must, somehow the compulsion is in his blood. He is the Author, and the only one who can make this right. It doesn't concern him at present that the chosen quill was left below in the Underworld, nor that he had previously decided to uphold the honor rightly and not succumb even a bit to the tempting lure of so much power – the ability to shape the story in the way he thought best. Faith and hope have not served any of them well today – the daring, noble legend Robin Hood himself least of all – and Henry knows with a certainty he has possessed since stealing onto a bus to Boston alone to find his birth mother and bring her home, that he is the only one with any chance to improve this travesty in any way, whatever the price he may have to pay in the long run.
He pauses after several more minutes' flurried writing, biting his lip in serious thought as he lets his eyes run back over his work so far. It isn't ideal, and it is not what he had wanted – not for his formerly villainous mom, not for the two orphaned children downstairs whom he had excitedly anticipated calling his siblings, nor for himself, as he had come to happily appreciate Robin Hood's calm, unjudging opinion, his advice in tracking, exploring, and life, who had led Henry to envision a whole and complete family unit, sleeping outside in the forest where Robin's men had chosen to reside in tents under the stars in the summer, learning bird calls and archery from a patient, endlessly impressive expert and an honest, bracing should to lean on from a man who was not taking the place of his father, but becoming one of two stepfathers whom he loved, each in their own ways, and had come to rely on being there for him as he grew into a young man.
Heaving a ragged sigh of bone deep weariness and pressing grief, Henry deems the storybook's newest tale complete. There is nothing more he can do now but to wait and see what happens next. Hefting the ornate and old-fashioned cover up and over to lie on itself, closing the book, Henry sits, gathering his nerve, wishing there were some sign, some way to know for sure now – and not just in some future day, what will follow and if his words have done any good. He allows his index finger to trace along the gold lettering which had once seemed so flawless to him – the book had held all the answers unquestionably when he was ten.
Finally, he sets it aside on his nightstand where he knows his mother will see it when she comes to leave a kiss on his forehead and turn off his light as she always does. Henry hopes his effort has caused a true revision, but he cannot be sure. And if his mom finds his story, reads it, and gains comfort from it, then it has served at least some worthy purpose.
He closes his eyes tightly after pounding his pillow into shape, and rolling around restlessly for quite some time. He is not at all sure sleep will come for him, and for a moment he occupies himself with committing to memory each small detail making up the man he had wanted to someday call "dad", to memorize the crinkles of good humor at the outside of his eyes, a seemingly wide and varied collection of green scarves and handkerchiefs to wear around his neck and heavy scuffed boots that told of his simple, no-frills approach to his environment and life in general. The man had possessed a rich, booming laugh and not been afraid to release it at corny jokes Henry shared with him, his son's toddler antics, or whatever harebrained scheme he had been asked to be part of before rolling up his sleeves and doing his part. Henry almost chuckles tearfully at the memory of Robin asking sensibly enough how they even thought to get to the Underworld back when they had set out to rescue Killian, but the former thief had set off without hesitation all the same despite the fact that no one had offered him a very good explanation. The most admirable thing of all was that Henry truly believed Robin would have made the very same decision even if he could have known the end result would cost him his life. That thought almost derails his whole line of thinking into tears again. Instead, Henry forces himself to replay the story Robin had told he and Roland just a week or so ago of how he had first met "Little" John and their humorous exchange on a forest bridge that had left Robin soaking wet and the two of them friends for life. Finally, at envisioning a happier time and the man still alive, Henry feels his eyelids growing heavy and his eyes drifting closed. Though it is fitful and haunted, he succumbs at last to sleep, where his dreams are at least kinder than his reality has proven to be.
~~~~~~OUAT~~~~~~OUAT~~~~~~OUAT~~~~~~
Hours later, when she wearily comes upstairs to check on her sleeping son and tuck him in, Regina finds and reads Henry's story – as he had intended. Ruffling his disheveled brown hair softly, in a way he rarely allows when awake these days – too full of embarrassed teenage self-reliance and bravado burgeoning into manhood in public, she then pulls his covers up to tuck warmly under his chin and turns to see the storybook lying open on Henry's desk, pen still resting on top from where he had ceased writing, and she is unable to resist seeing what her son – the Author – has managed to say about the atrocity wringing all of their hearts dry.
Pursing her lips in concentration, Regina's eyes begin to follow the lines of his scrawled bare emotion, pressing her mouth closed even tighter to hold back tears when she begins to absorb both the pain and healing in her son's words. His knowledge of the book's many previous tales and his love of a good story and what makes a reader care and pulls them along, is evident in what he has set down on paper – be it for his own release, her comfort, loving tribute to Robin, or a mix of all three. As Regina reaches the closing of Henry's added story, she feels a momentary easing of her sorrow, a tremulous smile even touching her lips for a brief second as she closes the gilt-edged tome reverently.
Her heart flutters a bit erratically, knowing her son has bent the rules a bit, and she takes a minute to pray that if a price or penalty is exacted for making Fate's ruling just a bit less harsh, that payment will come from her and not the sweet young man sleeping here before her, rapidly leaving childhood behind, but not his kindness or his knightly heroism.
Surely, in this case, perhaps the author can be granted a bit of leeway? Henry hasn't taken back Robin's sacrifice, returned him to life or restored him to his family as if consequences don't exist. His change to the story they have just lived through like a waking nightmare is not nonsensical, for his own ruthless entertainment, or to gain himself any sort of power, fame, or benefit. If anything, it merely returns some meaning to the story once more – what happened now at least has some reason and grants a bit of closure. Her beloved boy has scripted an epilogue that allows her some sliver of hope for some future day when she might at last find her elusive happy ending.
Bending to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, Regina vows to speak to Henry first thing the next morning – apple turnovers may be in order for breakfast – to take a moment to make sure he is alright himself with the loss and to make sure he knows that she appreciates what he has done, agrees with him that it is right, it is what Robin deserves, and she will stand beside him whatever may come from the decision to bring Robin's untold chapter to life. Even just half an hour ago, she had wanted nothing more than to collapse into her bed and howl her bitter agony into her pillow until the bleak emptiness washed away. She wants to hide in the dark of her room, try to imagine the feeling of Robin's larger frame curled protectively at her back, arms encircling her one more time, and to never emerge. She can't though – she now has two fatherless boys and an infant girl needing a mother, and she cannot abandon them even when nearly overwhelmed by her own grief. It might be tempting to let her outrage at the injustice engulf her as she did once before, let it twist and warp her back into the monster she had been. But she sees Robin's twinkling eyes, that smile he gives her, lower lip tucked into his teeth as he holds back his mirth, looking at her and seeing more than the Evil Queen , and she know that is not the path that he would want for her to travel, and certainly not in his name. He brought the light back into her darkness, and she will not extinguish it again. She will let it burn so that Henry and Roland and his little girl – his namesake – will always know it from here on out.
As she stands to leave Henry's bedroom, Regina douses the lights and turns back in the doorway, the smallest trace of a smile lingering on her lips. The words Henry wrote for her, for her True Love, for his own once-again orphaned heart repeating in her mind:
Robin Hood steps into the dappled light of the forest clearing, enjoying the fresh breeze of the misty, dew-drenched morning. Sherwood has never looked so green and full of life, as the birds swoop and trill overhead. He feels a deep and abiding calm – unhurried, yet waiting on something, or Someone. He is not sure yet, but he will know when it appears, and until then he is happy in his element.
The sunlight casts its happy glow upon the trees and ground, and the beauty and peace which surround him remained unbroken. The thought filters into the archer's mind gradually that he has never felt so untroubled and at ease, without trouble or care, before, as time seems to not so much pass as flow gently by in no calculable way that he can discern. He harbors no fear of being caught as a thief, of his band being in danger, of how he will keep his children fed and clothed, nor any of the lingering grief at Marian's premature loss which has been his companion for many years. Then it comes to him with certain clarity, slipping into his mind and taking hold – he must be in his version of Heaven, of paradise. Though he is relieved and honored that a mere thief with a code would merit such reward as a welcome here – some of his concerns in life return to bear when he remembers what had happened with Hades and the look on Regina's face as she reached for him while his physical form faded away, of Henry so close to being a man, so eager to learn and so accepting of the guidance he had offered now and then losing yet another male figure in his young life, and of Roland and his tiny daughter now orphaned in a world not their own.
The worries creeping back in to settle once more on his shoulders are just beginning to truly block the golden light of the sun in this haven, when a familiar, beloved voice calls his name.
"Robin, are you here? …Robin!" He turns to see Regina emerging from a path in the trees, and the cry of delight when she spots him, the laugh of surprised joy, and the way she then barrels toward him at a run, crashing into his open arms as unbound, happy, and lovely as he has ever seen her, his Queen.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her dark head as she presses herself as close to his body as she can get, Robin feels his chest swelling, overcome with the miracle of seeing his match once again. He has to ask though, mind whirling, not understanding how no longer existing and ceasing to be has somehow turned into a thrilling, miraculous reunion.
"My Love, how are you here? You're not… Hades didn't… Regina, you aren't dead as well, are you?" He can hardly breathe waiting for her answer, not daring to hope that she is well, safe, unhurt, and living the life he had to leave behind, cannot bear to think her boy has been left without her as well.
She shakes her head gently, pulling back to gaze up at him with deep, bottomless affection in her dark, beguiling eyes and reaching up to trace fingertips down the side of his face. "It's alright," she assures him softly. "The children are grown; they're happy and have families of their own. All is well. It was time for me to move on. I could come here to find you – my True Love – at last."
"How did you know I would be here? How did you know we could be reunited?" he asks, still trying to put it all together and marveling at the feel of her in his embrace. He has so many questions: How are his children? Who have they grown to become? How much time has passed? Where are they? But he senses there will be time for that now, and he finds he wants to simply hold her now, a desire Regina clearly shares. He leans in to rest their foreheads together, and to brush his nose against hers, nudging playfully in affection as he had done apparently long ago in that dark tunnel below the mayor's office when he swore she was his future before plunging forward to meet his destiny and heroic end.
Regina only smiles up at him, tightening her hold at his shoulders and contentment lighting her face. "Because somewhere along the way – between my son, the Author, and you, the bandit hero who was able to see me as more than a villain, I found my own hope."
The laugh lines she loves so much, and has missed painfully, crinkle at the corner of Robin's eyes, and as he looks down at her with love, the thief and the regal begin their happily ever after."
Moving down the hall to her own bedroom, Regina makes sure all of the lights in the house are off and all seems well, but the heaviness, the cloud of anger and pain weighing her down for the last 24 hours, has finally abated a bit. Slipping into a deep green silky nightgown that has always reminded her of the forest Robin had loved so well, she brushes her hair and crawls into bed in the quiet dark.
She tries to believe that the book will come to fruition, and that Henry in his role as Author has given her the best gift possible. Someday, though the road before her – the lonely wait of the years between – may be hard, she will see her love again. Robin will never be forgotten. He will be remembered and honored as he should, because once again he has lived, and lived well. With the promise of someday, her faith is restored. The tragedy still exists, but it is no longer final. That is the blessing of faith.
"…I'm still recalling things you said to make me feel alright,
I carried them with me today
Now
As I lay me down to sleep
This I pray
That you will hold me dear
Though I'm far away
I'll whisper your name into the sky
And I will wake up happy
…I'll run to meet you barefoot, barely breathing
…It's not too near for me
Like a flower I need the rain
Though it's not clear to me
Every season has its change
And I will see you
When the sun comes out again
…Though I'm far away
I'll whisper you name into the sky…