Sorry for the long wait, but a longer chapter as a result. Many thanks to those who have reviewed, really do hope you continue, it helps keeps me interested in the writing the story knowing you are enjoying it.

Special thanks to Kegel who has done my betaing for me the last several chapters, and who has probably done a lot more work for this chapter ;)

Read; Enjoy; Review

Chapter Six: Regretful Choices

He had regrets, yes; Robin would have to doubt anyone who said otherwise. There was a mild wonderment, one that fiddled with the edges of his mind, as if mocking him simply because he couldn't grasp the entire concept. The truth in reality was Robin was not sure if he would ever be satisfied with his life.

Years ago he had taken a chance, had made a choice. Everything was a choice, everything that you did. Yet for every choice you made, there was always a reaction. That had always been, and would always be, leaving the only thing that was constant being change itself. What established the good times were the bad, and the rich were simply that because of the poor. Hate was brought forth from the lack of love, and love itself could branch between the furthest gaps of detestation, legends and tales long telling of the times that it had happened.

Yet all of those seemed more like fables, especially now in the position which Robin found himself in. It had grown quiet between the two men who now had nothing to do but to wait, and think, and hope. There was always the smallest of hope; Robin had learned that during war. There were many things he had learned from, he realized, many things he still carried today. But he was ever learning, ever growing, and knew that he too had learned from his men, from his people, from Marian.

Marian.

She was his greatest regret. Though he had spoken his love for her those many months ago they seemed futile now, for what good were spoken words when actions failed to take place? A man could preach about the virtues of life, and commit the gravest of sins by choosing to not follow through on them afterwards. How was he any different?

He had given Marian his heart, then he had left for the war. What had been going through his mind then had not been much; he would be the first to admit so. Somehow a fantasy had played through his mind, that he could return home from war, bathed in glory, and take her as his wife, as though nothing had truly happened. But war had held many surprises, and as the days turned into years, Robin slowly realized his mistakes.

But he couldn't change the past, and with little hold on the future Robin found himself contending with the same feelings as before, when he had first come back from the Holy Lands. Any choice he made would determine the future for another. With the briefest of movement he glanced over to where Much sat across from him, Robin hiding the guilt he felt behind a calm façade.

The man was his loyal friend, and Robin knew that he had sealed Much's death quite a while before. Much would never abandon him, Robin knew, and that was the fatal flaw that he held. For it was this trait that led him to be an outlaw, whereas the man could be residing as a Noble in Bonchurch. Now he would be hanged, a fate that awaited Robin as well.

For the rest of his men, only time would tell. The Sheriff would know that there would be others around. Allan and John were relatively safe, for no one would look at their own in attempt to find criminals. Yet Djaq and Will, though armed, were in a graver situation simply because of their vulnerability. If a fight did break out, innocents would be at risk, and the pair would hold their ground in order to spare lives. The right thing to do, but a death sentence for them.

Robin let out a sigh, his gaze falling back to the floor where his weapons lay. He had been a fool, and now his men would pay for his mistakes. Such was life, as unfair as it could be, and yet he had no control over it. Sadly it was something he should be used to. Born as a noble, most of his life had been planned for him, and he had taken over as the Lord of Locksley at a relatively young age with the passing of his parents. Politics had been in his mind since he was a youth, and he had dealt with power and laws all the while he grew up. Leaving for the war had been one of the few things he had specifically chosen for himself. Perhaps that was why he had wanted it so deeply. For once in his life, Robin had wanted to do something on his own. A poor reason for his own sake, he knew.

Yet his life had been nothing but choices since he fled into the forest. A choice not only for himself, but for his men as well. Robin raised his head, the sounds reaching his ear despite how quiet they were. Without a word his eyes meet Much's, the man nodding towards his unasked question. Carefully, moving slowly as to not make a sound, Robin grasped the hilt of his sword, moving to his feet. His bow was slung over his shoulder, useless in such close quarters as this, he knew, but close by in case he should find a need to use it.

Much had his own sword drawn, standing near the middle of the room, shield in front as he waited for the door to open. Robin took up a stance next to him, listening as the footsteps drew closer, heavy armored boots, metal clanging against metal. How many there were exactly, Robin would not be able to tell merely by sound, but he could get a rough idea, and it wasn't promising.

The scraping of wood, the clinging of metal, and Robin exchanged one last look with his companion, whispering a quiet encouragement should they not see one another in this life again. His heart was hammering in his chest, the sound reverberating in his ears, Robin counting the beats as he controlled his quiet breaths.

Every sense was heightened, his body prepared for the fight it had done so many times underneath the burning sun. His ears could hear what his eyes could not see, faint odors lingering in the air and he could identify them without even thinking. He was a warrior, and every muscle in his body was about to prove that fact in only a few short moments.

Strands of light shot through the opening as the door began to move, Robin first taking a step back to avoid the wide arc of the door, then without a word he charged. He leaned forward, bringing his sword up firmly, meeting the downward swing of the first guard, the clash rendering the unsuspecting guard weaponless in one motion. With a turn, Robin brought the hilt of the sword against the man's head, moving into the fray of the fight even as the first man fell.

He would still hold true to his honor, to avoid bloodshed and killing if possible, but Robin also knew that he would not lose this fight alone. Ducking he avoided one blow, blocking another with his sword, kicking out at the advancing man, knocking him to the ground. Around him were cries, shouts, and screams, but Robin hardly heard them, filtering them through his mind as he done so back in war.

Near him, Much fought with his own method, a combination of jabs and thrusts, plowing over more men with his sturdy shield, using the protective defense more as a weapon than armor. Robin managed a quick glance to his comrade before he was pulled back to the situation at hand.

Though the corridor was plenty big enough for several men to walk down, it provided little room for such a battle and the close quarters were unnerving for the man. In the Holy Land, the spaces had been wide, they had been open, Robin had been more at ease. Now it felt as though he was suffocating, and the harder he fought to break free, the further back he was pushed.

It didn't detour him though. Hard, heavy breaths clouded the air, sweat clinging to his brow, dampening the long locks of hair that had grown and mussed from life in the forest. The dust from the empty room had been stirred up by the sudden forceful motions and now was lingering heavily around them, clouding their vision. Robin was quick to seize the opportunity, breaking through another guard's weakened defense, calling to Much as he pushed through.

He was met with another blow, this one Robin barely managing to stop, Much lending the needed hand as he followed. The path clear before them now, there was no encouragement needed to flee. Robin was wise in choosing his battles, and the man knew that this one was already lost. What was important now was getting out alive.

Fresh air greeted them as they reached the open courtyard, the chill a blessed welcome to their heated flesh as they raced down the stairs. Already more guards were coming, the alarm having been raised. Yet here they were not so trapped, but the difficulty still lay in finding the others, and seeing to their own safe escape. Robin was waiting, and the first blow that came was not a surprise, and he blocked it easily.

Truth be told it was more a dance than a fight itself. Footwork was crucial, and one could not always count on brute strength to win a battle. This was even more true for Robin. His small stature had always been a downfall in other's eyes, but Robin used that belief to his own advantage, playing off on their underestimations. His loss in stature was made up in agility, and speed, and his ability as a marksman only heightened his perception of what was happening around him. This made him a formidable warrior, one that prompted him into the King's private guard without question.

And everything he had learned, he had not forgotten. He was as much a part of war as war was part of him, despite how much he wanted to deny it. He felt it during the day, and saw it in his mind during the nights, the dreams and terrors refusing to leave him in peace. And each time he fought, he was just not battling other men, but his own demons as well.

Even now, as he cut through the fray, searching for an opening, the memories of what he had done, of what he could still do, lingered in his mind, surfacing on the edge like a daunting threat, reminding him of just exactly what he could become. That he could be a man that Robin did not know. A man, that he did not like.

Since leaving the Holy Lands he had vowed to never return to such a state. Though his words were faulty, for he had led himself into a trap when he had taken Guy prisoner after learning of his treachery. And his actions then had seemed reasonable, and though he was saved from doing any great evil, he was still ashamed of his actions, and yet he could feel the same hideous feeling creeping back into his body with each thrust of his sword.

The lust for blood, to do what he knew how to do so well, was overwhelming in the heat of battle, and it took a greater strength to keep it at bay than the strength he needed to defend his own self. This was not a fight to protect any peasants, or a fight for justice; instead it was a fight for his own life, the life of his men, his friends. Robin knew that stakes were higher, that the risks were greater.

Much called out to him, Robin seeing the opening only moments after he had, and without hesitation moved towards it. They were winning, albeit by just a little, yet it was encouraging. Then their exit, the promise to their freedom, was cut off, another branch of guards moving in, this time led by Gisborne himself. Robin held his sword firmly, breathing heavily as he and Much came to a stop, ready and waiting for the charge.

"Master, what do we do?"

"Wait," Robin responded quietly in between his breaths. He needed to draw the guards out from the gates, and then find a way to slip through.

"Hood," Gisborne called to him, acknowledging him by his latest given name, sword in his own hand. "I figured it would be longer before you showed your face around here again."

"What can I say? I enjoy the challenge!"

"A fool's errand. Surely you must have known the Sheriff was expecting you. Did you actually think we would not take any precautions?"

"Luck," Robin informed him with a nod, "we all have our days."

"True, but your day is not today. Kill them."

Trained men they were, but they did not have the same level of experience as Robin or Much. It was the one thing in their favor, and Robin waited patiently as they charged, bringing his sword up at the last moment. The two fought back to back now, countering the blows that came from the sides together, working as one unit. They had done so many times before, and it was no secret.

Slowly they began to break off as the number was lessoned, Robin pushing back towards the gate. They needed to get out soon, needed to find the others. His next swing was met with a clash, Gisborne's weapon entangling with his own. Robin kicked out quickly, dislodging them, bringing his sword up for another strike.

But Gisborne had been expecting it, dropping to a knee instead as the strike sailed over harmlessly. Robin moved quickly to regain his footing, but it wasn't quick enough. From the corner of his eye he could see Gisborne moving already, his clenched hand a blur through the air, the strike landing exactly where it had been planned.

Robin let out a cry as the fist impacted his still healing wound, the pain dropping him to ground as it raced through his body. He tried to move back to his feet, knowing he had naught the time to linger, but he couldn't breathe, the air from his lungs stolen from the fierce pain, and it was all Robin could do to feebly block the incoming blows.

He was not alone though, the next blow being pressed backwards as Much broke through the fray, forcing the other man back, and giving Robin the time he needed. And the crusader was quick, clenching his teeth tightly as he clumsily tried to stumble to his feet. There was not enough time, another guard there, already moving towards him.

Instead of an expected strike, the guard wrapped an arm about his chest, pulling him to his feet. "We go, now!"

"John!" Robin breathed, grasping the other man's arm tightly in thanks. His side was still on fire, and his breaths were coming in short spurts that weren't nearly enough for his starved body and so he nodded in agreement.

"The…others?"

The battle broke open into sudden madness, guards fighting other guards, and supposed Nobles pulling forth weapons from concealment as they joined the fray. Robin still held onto John, fighting off the pain, but the man wasn't going to give him time to rest. Even as the rest of his men fought off the remaining guards, forcing Gisborne back, John was already moving to the gate, helping Robin along.

But Robin wouldn't leave them behind, slipping his fingers into his mouth and letting out a sharp whistle, the best he could offer at the moment. The group was well trained, retreating almost immediately as Robin passed through the gates with John, mounting the guard's horses. Much was up behind him in a moment, and Robin paused long enough to wait for the others before taking the lead, urging the horse into a gallop, the confused creature obeying its new master, and leaving the city behind.

Sherwood was a welcoming sight, one which Robin relished happily. He would not be willing to return to the dungeons of Nottingham so soon, and the possibility of that happening had already crossed his mind more than once. The aroma of the forest held heavily in the air, reminding him that he was indeed home. A funny thing if you could call it that.

They had long ago abandoned the horses, John and Allan ridding themselves of their own guard uniforms in favor of their simple wardrobe that blended easily into the forest. For Will and Djaq they had no other choice but to remain in their clothing until they reached the camp, treading the path cautiously should they happen to be seen in their bright wardrobe.

It was silent between the group, the aftereffects of the close call still weighing heavily on everyone. Robin did not know how the others knew of the trap, and though curiosity pulled at his mind he wasn't about to inquire. His side burned fiercely, and his breaths still came in uneven draws, each movement only adding to the current pain.

It was a weakness; Gisborne knew that he would still be recovering. Robin should have known that the man would use that against him. But Robin had fought without that knowledge, leaving his weakness vulnerable. A deadly mistake in any battle. His men had seen him out of there alive, and for that he was thankful.

"I'm not being funny, but we nearly got ourselves killed back there. That was not a very good idea."

Robin nodded, agreeing with Allan. "We were unprepared. We will do better next time."

"There shouldn't be a next time," Will told him gruffly. "We should stay with feeding the poor; it's what we are good at."

"We feed the poor, but they have no money to pay taxes, so they are thrown in prison or taken to the gallows to hang," Robin replied, "We must fight both, we cannot just choose our battles."

"Robin is right," Djaq spoke up, coming to a stop. "The people are taken to Nottingham, there are no poor to feed. They are poor because the Sheriff takes everything. They are poor because they have nothing left to give. Food will keep them alive, but the Sheriff will kill them because they have no money. We must stop the Sheriff."

"Leave the Sheriff," John voiced sternly. "We help the poor."

"We are helping the poor," Robin argued, "every time we stop the Sheriff, we win. The poor win."

"What about what we want?" Allan wondered. "Or does that not matter?"

"What?" Robin breathed, turning to face him.

"Not being funny, but you've been givin' out orders without asking any of us what we want."

"And what do you want Allan?"

"We should get some of this too. We do all this work, and we give it all away."

"That's what we do," Robin emphasized, leaning against a tree. "It is what we have always done."

"We've always helped the poor," Will cut in, "we aren't doing much of that anymore."

Robin let out a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes. There were always arguments before, but never quite like this. Robin blamed it on the long winter, of having to keep to the woods due to the recent events. Yet the tension was so visible it could be cut with a hunting knife, and even the smallest of things could break the frazzled bond between them if they were not careful.

Robin worked on choosing his words wisely, but was not given the time to do so as the words left Much's lips.

"Fire! There's a fire!"

Robin turned, following his gaze and could see the smoke rising from the trees. He took off in a sprint, ignoring the pain in his side as he worked to keep up with his men. His heart was beating fiercely in his chest again, but this time for an entirely different reason, his fears confirmed as they reached the edge of the sloping hill.

"How?" Much cried, moving down the hill, "How did they find it?"

"This store room was hidden," Allan shook his head. "They couldn't have found it…no one knew this was here save for us."

Robin closed his eyes, lowering his head. "Not exactly…"

"What?"

It was Much who had questioned him, but Robin only shook his head, making his way down the hill to join the rest of his men. "Is there anything left?"

"No," Will answered quietly. "Everything is gone."

He had expected it, of course. Yet there had been a fleeting hope, as foolish as that was. Angrily he kicked a pile of dirt onto the ruined mess. Not only were they out of food now, but the storeroom could no longer be used with its location known. That would put a hampering on them in the future to come.

"Who?"

Robin looked at Will questioningly, raising an eyebrow.

"Who else knew?"

Who else? Robin shook his head, not wishing to think about it. Betrayal was a troublesome matter, and he would not speak grim thoughts such as treachery unless he knew for certain. Certain words were hard to take back once they were spoken.

"It was him, wasn't it?" Will pressed when he did not respond. "It was Collin."

"We do not know that," Robin cut him off. "But I will find out."

"Not being funny but Collin doesn't even know where our storeroom is, how could he?"

"Collin helped me move the food," Will informed him. "When Robin was still hurt. I told you he was with Gisborne now."

"We do not have proof," Robin argued.

"Gisborne was not in Nottingham because he was here stealing our store."

"Gisborne was there," Robin said fiercely, the ache in his side tangible proof to that matter. "I fought him!"

"He did not show until later!" Will cried, "We followed him, how do you think we found you?"

"I will take care of this," he responded, his voice low.

"No," Will shook his head. "I said we shouldn't go, I knew we shouldn't have gone, and now we have nothing!"

"We should have not gone," John agreed, "This, I do not like."

"It was a mistake," Robin agreed, "but we can't change that."

"And we can't afford mistakes," Will cried. "The poor cannot afford mistakes!"

"I can't afford mistakes," Allan agreed.

"Then leave," Robin cried angrily.

The words had left his mouth before he had even thought them through, but he was weary, tired of the constant arguments, tired of being questioned, tired of it all.

"What?"

The emotion that covered Will's face was a mixture of anger and confusion, a spark of fire behind his eyes that burned fiercely with a painful reminder of his past. Robin knew the man felt strongly about this, and could understand his anger, but he wouldn't fight with him.

"Leave," Robin repeated, his voice quiet and calm, an unusual trait for the current moment. "No one is making you stay."

"Robin, no" Djaq shook her head, moving closer to the two.

"You do not agree with my leadership; then do not follow me. The same goes for the rest of you."

"You are banishing me?" Will asked quietly, the anger still written on his face.

"No," Robin corrected him. "Either follow me without question, or go your own way. You feel you can do better, than do better, you don't need me."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," Robin reminded him. "I gave up my house, my home, for your life, for your brother's life. The Sheriff kills each and every day; it doesn't matter if you are rich, or if you are poor, if you are the breadwinner or the beggar on the street. Life is many things Will, but it is not fair. Now make your choice."

There was a stretch of silence, Robin never breaking eye contact with the younger man. There were many things he could say to persuade the youth to stay, but Robin knew that this was a decision Will had to make on his own. Sometimes there were lessons that had to be learned the hard way.

It was not that Robin did not trust Will's word, but rather that the man was listening to his heart rather than thinking with his head. Robin had done that many times before, and it had ended with disastrous results. Unfortunate lessons, but ones that had shaped who he was as a person.

Finally Will shook his head, throwing his hands in the air. "Then I am leaving."

"Get your stuff from camp, be gone by sundown."

"This I do not like," John broke in, stepping forward.

"Then leave as well."

"You just can't…banish everyone," Much stuttered, glancing from one man to the next.

"Would you care to join them?" Robin asked coldly.

"Master, surely…"

"Well?"

Slowly Much shook his head, stilling his tongue. Robin turned to Djaq who was standing quietly, silent tears glistening in her eyes. They were ignored however, as he then turned to Allan.

"By sundown?" There was a look of puzzlement on Allan's face.

"If you are leaving," Robin answered.

Allan let out a sigh, his eyes drifting upward. "Doesn't leave much time then."

"Go," Robin said quietly, glancing around the small group, "the rest of you with me. We have work to do."

TBC