Chapter 11: Guilt

The fire had burned down to a pile of dying embers, Cassie was buried beneath her blanket and snoring quietly, and owls were hooting softly in the trees as Will sat staring into the darkness. He was tired but could not sleep; Tristan's tale had inspired a flood of memories, images that flashed behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.

His father, standing in the market place defying the Sheriff because of what he, Will, had said. The knife, glinting in the hand of the guard. Panic, pain, and an uncontrollable surge of anger. Djaq's hand resting upon his chest. Stalking his prey, the Sheriff, through the castle. Poisoning the jug. Slamming the door shut, trapping Djaq. Robin choking as he drank the poison.

Will was a man accustomed to dark silent nights, to listening out for danger and reacting to every tiny disturbance, but he was so lost in memories that the sound of a cough and the rustle of leaves made him jump, his hand flying to the hatchet that rested upon his hipbone. His tense grip relaxed as he realised it was only Tristan rolling over; but in the dim light afforded by the moon he could see the man's eyes were open.

"Tristan?" Will asked tentatively, in case he was actually still asleep.

"Something wrong?" the man mumbled in response, sitting up and pushing his dark tangle of hair off his forehead.

"I can't sleep either," Will offered, waiting to see if Tristan would take the invitation and talk to him. He didn't respond so Will continued carefully. "Your story, it reminded me of something that happened to me." He could see Tristan watching him intently and carried on, speaking quietly to avoid waking Cassie. "My dad was killed by the Sheriff's men, right in front of me. The way I felt…" He shook his head. "I can't explain it, and no-one has ever understood. But I know you do."

Tristan nodded slowly. "Like the world has stopped. Like your own heart has been pierced…" His voice drifted off as he hugged his knees to his chest.

"Everything froze," Will agreed. "Then my mind was just infused by this cloud of furious anger. I couldn't think of anything else, all I wanted was revenge."

"You too?" Tristan whispered, his voice full of hope. "I thought I was bad, because all I wanted was to kill the men who had hurt them."

Will smiled slightly. "That's human nature," he assured the young man. "I'm not saying I was an angel before that happened, but I always tried to do the right thing. Then that happened, and I changed…its enough to change anybody. I lied to my friends, I betrayed their cause – I tried to kill the Sheriff, even though I knew that if I did, the whole of Nottingham would be destroyed! All I could focus on was revenge, it was all that mattered." He gave a tiny smile. "I even locked the woman I love in a cupboard, to stop her getting in my way. I didn't care about anything else."

"I wanted revenge too," Tristan said in a rush, as if he was finally saying words he had waited two years to be able to share. "I went to London, to try and find Prince John. He was behind it, and I wanted to make him suffer. I wanted him to feel pain, I wanted him to feel his life ebbing away from him…" Tristan's eyes, which had darkened into intense hatred as he spoke, suddenly softened. "I scared myself," he whispered fearfully. "I'm not a killer."

"I know," Will comforted him, his heart wrenching as the young man became a scared orphaned boy before his eyes. "I know you aren't."

"I was there for months, waiting, waiting for my chance. And then when it came… I had a clear shot, I could have killed him, but I faltered." He bit his lip. "I felt like I had failed, and I still had no sense of peace. I hadn't avenged my family's deaths. So I returned to the village and took shelter in the forest, waiting to wreak revenge on the villagers. They hadn't done anything to stop the soldiers, they just stood by and watched! I've been doing small things ever since; killing livestock, salting the vegetable patches so nothing will grow. But it wasn't enough. So I decided to burn it down."

"The villagers just stood by and watched?" Will repeated. He knew he was taking a risk but continued regardless. "So did you."

Tristan's eyes widened and his fists clenched. Will watched warily as he made to stand up, anger distorting his face; but suddenly he crumpled back to the ground, dissolving into tears. "I know!" he wailed, turning his tear-stained face heavenward as if asking the stars for forgiveness. "And I feel so…"

"Guilty?" Will supplied. "Ashamed?" He shuffled forwards until he could reach out and rest a strong hand on Tristan's shoulder. "I don't want to upset you, I just want you to accept that your reaction was perfectly normal! I felt guilty; I was standing right there, and he still died. But I couldn't have done anything, and neither could you. The soldiers would only have killed you too, and there would have been no-one to care for your sister."

"I couldn't save her either," Tristan muttered, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"You aren't a physician," Will reminded him. "You were there for her during her last days; that's all that matters." He waited to see if his words had an effect, satisfied when Tristan met his eyes at last, and they were finally calm. "You have to let this go, Tristan. If you had burned down the village you wouldn't have felt at peace. You would have felt guiltier."

"How did you cope?" Tristan asked, obviously desperate for a solution.

"The only way I coped with my father's death was by channeling that anger and passion into something worthwhile," Will replied. "Every day I work to help people suffering under the Sheriff's regime. In an indirect way, that is revenge in itself, as well as helping all those who cannot help themselves."

"So I need to do something good?" Tristan questioned. Will nodded. "Protecting Esther and William," Tristan said slowly. "Do you think that will help?"

"More than you can imagine," Will agreed.

"Then I will do everything I can," he vowed, before settling back down on the uneven ground and pulling his blanket over him. "Thank you, Will," he added in a voice muffled by the blanket. It wasn't long before his breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep. Will, satisfied that he had helped in a small way, soon found himself falling into slumber too.

Author's Note: I'm back! After a nice, if wet, holiday!

First, apologies for the blatant lie that I told in my last update...I said I was going to update as much as possible, and then didn't add anymore! But I got distracted by shopping and packing and all holiday good stuff. But now I am back!

My second apology is for the short chapter. Originally it was going to be at the end of the last chappie (so when I read your review, Biancaneve, it made me smile because you were so perceptive and already picked up the guilt/revenge connections between Tristan and Will!) but then I changed my mind...

Partway through this chapter, being the totally ridiculous fangirl that I am, I got quite excited by inadvertently dropping in the Dr Who/ Harry Lloyd reference! Sigh...

Oh, also, when I was away I drafted out the chapter outlines for the third and final part of this trilogy :) so I kind of know where the whole thing is going now! So, weee! I always write better if I have a direction to take it so I'm excited to reach the climax of this story and embark on the next one. Even though gulp it involves a major character death... (the sequel, not this story).