Time flies, but my characters aren't having fun. Except for right here, anyway. :)

Marian, now sixteen nearly seventeen, was in one of her worst pastimes; a sewing circle. She was still under Organa's watchful eye and Marian didn't like embroidery any more than she had when she was fourteen, even if she had improved. At the moment she was working on a tapestry of a grand hunt. In her scene the boar had been cornered in a rock crevice, and one of the hunters had his spear raised above his head, ready to kill the poor beast. Her steel needle went through the heavy cloth, over, and in again. The boar's tusk was nearly finished, and Marian was eternally glad. She had had no end of frustration with the stupid thing.

A knock sounded outside the heavy wooden door behind her. "Enter," Organa called. The door creaked open and young man with chestnut hair stepped inside.

"I'm to deliver this directly into the Lady Marian Fitzwater's hands," he said, holding up a folded parchment. "I went to her home and was directed to this castle." Organa stood, and the page started for her. Just before he handed it to her, Marian snatched it away.

"I will read it for myself," she hissed. "Who sent it?" she asked.

"King Richard the Lionheart sent me, milady. Although the letter itself is from a friend of his." Marian glanced down, and sure enough, pressed into the red sealing wax were three lions stacked on top of each other. She put aside her tapestry and walked to a corner.

Marian cracked the seal, wondering what made this letter so important, and who the 'friend' was. Her eyes scanned over the words, and to the signature below. As she read it, a delight far past any she had experienced before filled her. Robin.

Just to know that he lived would have made her day, but to receive a letter that he had written…it was the best thing to happen to her for quite some time. She pored over every word and sentence. She could almost hear Robin speaking to her. He hadn't made it very long, but she didn't care. Even the news that her father had died didn't dampen her spirits. As far as she was concerned he had died a long time ago, when he lost his wife.

What he had said made her think for a few moments. Had she changed? Yes, she had, but not in a drastic way. She still despised embroidery, wanted her freedom, and hated being told what to do. Marian of Sherwood, however, seemed to have met a different fate. When was the last time Marian had been that girl? Not since Robin's departure.

Wherever you are now, don't let them change you too much. Unless they have already, which would be a shame and I'm serious, it would be. "They haven't, Robin," Marian said in a low whisper.

"Who is it from?" Organa asked with her voice slightly angry.

"My fiancé, he wrote to tell me of my father's death."

"Then why do you look so happy?" Organa asked disapprovingly.

Marian didn't answer, but instead sat back down to work on her tapestry, the letter beneath it on her lap.

Two more years slowly passed, each month seeming just like the one before. And Marian was starting to have strange feelings. Every time she reread Robin's letter her heart beat faster and she grew a bit lightheaded. She didn't like it at all, not wanting the way she felt about Robin to change. But, at the same time, she knew that things could never be the way they were before between them. These facts were eating at her constantly; they were the sole thought that constricted her from concentrating on what she was doing. It annoyed her so much that she put his letter away and didn't touch it again. But, still her mind took up the burden of the possibility that she was in the pit of love, the thing she had always tried to shy away from in her early adolescent years.

--*--

The siege of Acre had finally ended, the Christians had conquered it, now the army had moved on to Arsurf. They were in the midst of a battle that the Turks were losing dramatically. If things kept up this way it would be a sure victory. But, Robin didn't care about anything anymore. His heart was empty, void of any feelings. He could have cared less if he dropped dead on the sand beneath him. Nothing held any merit for him, not even the thought that he had lived through five years of crusading. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed, or even smiled. His world was gone; it had vanished into another time, but the current surroundings remained, and he was still battling Turks.

After he felled one man, he would turn and start on the next one. Each man would fall to the ground and a pool of blood would collect around him. Robin hardly noticed the screams of pain rising around him. He had been hearing them for years, they were a part of his world now. Robin parried the other man's attempted blow. He was getting tired, his sword feeling heavier than it should have. He had a feeling that his life was going to end within the next five minutes. Even so, he didn't care; if anything he was looking forward to it. It would be the end to his miserable, worthless life. He couldn't think of one person on the battlefield, besides Richard, who would care. He couldn't even think of anyone who would care at home. And if they did, they shouldn't. He didn't care, why should they? Why should they care if somebody as wretched as he was died?

A man fell dead to the ground behind him, and he tripped and landed on his back, on top of the dead man, staring up at the blazing sun above him. He didn't think he was too young to die anymore, even as he neared twenty-one. He watched the Turk for the death strike he would surely try for, not even wanting to get up and keep fighting. No, he wouldn't get up, nothing mattered anymore, and his life could end here. Robin threw his sword to the side, giving up and looking forward to his death, and the end of his existence.

The Turk knelt down beside Robin and hissed, "Do you know what I will do now?"

"Kill me. Take your time if you want to, I don't mind. Please, I just don't want to live anymore." The Turk smiled. "Thank you, you're doing me the greatest favor I could ask for." Robin meant what he said, every word. He closed his eyes to life, impatient for breath to leave him.

The hilt of the Turk's blade crashed into Robin's skull, and he dove into the blackness willingly.

I'm cruel to Robin aren't I? And you too! Tell just how cruel I am by clicking right below!