It's alright to cry, Robin. Go on...cry. Everyone will understand.
Marian didn't feel how very tired she was in her concern over Robin. His father's funeral ceremony was long and depressing, and had reached its final stage in the graveside prayers offered now over the closed coffin. A cold wind, stronger on the hilltop overlooking Locksley, whipped Marian's hair in her face and fanned her cloak away from her body. The little girl shivered, and stepped closer beside her father's warm, protective presence, feeling Robin's loss even greater, for he had no father now to depend on to shield him from life's trials and dangers.
Richard of Dover, Archbishop of Canterbury, presided over this funeral of one of England's highest peers, not to mention war hero. Humble Friar Tuck, as different as day from night from the pompous, glorious archbishop, assisted, shedding tears for the dead, as well as for the young surviving orphaned heir.
Cry, Robin, Marian's heart was pleading. Friar Tuck hasn't stopped crying, from the Absolution ceremony performed in your house, to the Requiem Mass and prayers said at the church, to these final prayers and sprinkling of Holy Water on this hilltop. Please cry. You don't have to be so brave, you know.
Marian had cried herself, at the church, when the late Earl's war-horse had been paraded down the aisle of the church in full accoutrement. "Why," she'd whispered to her father, "did they bring Baron to church?"
"Lord Locksley died a war hero," Lord Knighton answered quietly. "It is customary for a passing hero's mount to be led to the altar, to honor the hero's sacrifice."
Squeezing her father's arm, Marian thought about how sad it was, and how sad Baron must be feeling without his master. She was glad her own father had not gone to Ireland, yet she felt respect for the late Earl, and a sense of awe at him for dying a hero's death, for England.
Is that why Robin wouldn't cry, she wondered. Was his pride in his father so much greater than his sorrow? His boyishly handsome face was pale and expressionless, missing its usual vitality, and his chin was set and determined.
The people of Locksley were crying, Much more than anyone else, and once the coffin had been lowered into the freshly dug grave, sprinkled with yet more Holy Water, and covered with dirt and stones beside Robin's mother's grave, Marian watched as Robin sought to offer comfort to those who mourned.
"Thank you," she heard him tell the Widow Tannerson, Will Stutley's occasional bedmate. "They'll both be missed. Stute died a hero, too, you know, even if his body wasn't brought home for burial. We'll honor him with a ceremony, soon, I promise. And if you need anything, anything at all, feel free to come to me. I want to help everyone, and be a just, true lord to you."
"Bless him, his heart's as big as England, but what good can a mere lad do?" Marian overheard several serfs complain.
"Father," Marian asked, pulling on the sheriff's sleeve. "Who will help Robin? And why won't he cry?"
"His tears will come in their own time," Sir Edward said gently. "And we will help him, Marian, you and I, and all his people who love him so much."
"I do love him, father. But how can I help him?"
"By just being you, child. Now, let us go pay our respects to him, as is proper."
...
(Note: I haven't updated this story in ages, but when I noticed it was OCTOBER 14th, Robin Hood's birthday, I just had to update! Not exactly an enjoyable chapter, but the earlier chapters of this story are quite fun, in my humble opinion.
Thanks to all my loyal readers! I'll continue the other two stories still ongoing, never fear!)