Note: Thank you to all of you who left comments on the previous chapter! Honestly, I can't express how happy your words made me!

This chapter focuses on the days after the night in the cave. In which Robin is warmly welcomed back by the Merry Men and they help him get back on his feet. Unfortunately, his old adversary's condition takes a turn for the worst. Robin feels bad that Will has no one to be there for him and asks around whether anyone knows where to find his mother…

Chapter 3: Annabel Scarlett

Robin awakened to the distant chatter of the Merry Men. He stretched his arms with a yawn.

Every muscle of his body ached in protest. He groaned and rubbed his face profoundly.

The sound of crackling fire registered in his mind. He opened his heavy eyes in surprise. Their torch should be long dead. As he saw his surroundings, a flicker of realization shone in his clouded eyes.

This wasn't the cave. The damp ground beneath him was replaced by the luxury of a makeshift bed. The familiar scent of the forest, of pine and damp moss, was replaced by the smoke of a nearby hearth.

Robin found it with his gaze. This was the only tent with a fireplace in the camp as it was Azeem himself who built it.

He was in Azeem's tent.

A shiver, not of cold but of fever, racked his body. The effort to sit up felt like scaling a mountain, yet Robin pushed himself to a semi seated position.

He counted the number of sheets he was covered by. One, two, three… He lost count. There were too many, yet he still felt a chill.

His hand instinctively reached for his forehead and found it clammy with sweat. A fever was to be expected, considering how he spent the night.

A distant voice echoed through the camp. It was Little John. Robin couldn't quite make out what he was saying, he couldn't focus on the words.

Will. Where was Will? Robin murmured the name, half expecting a reply from his side.

And there he was. The flickering light from the hearth cast a warm glow on Will's calm features sleeping on the other side of the tent's ground, also mounted by blankets.

The sight tugged at the edges of Robin's consciousness, jolting him further awake.

They were saved!

"Will," he called out again but his voice hardly complied. Robin rubbed his sore throat, his eyes on the only other person in the tent. Was he breathing? Instead of calling out again, he sent a - his eyes stopped on what lay beside him - a pillow at him to check.

Right on the face. Robin aimed for the chest, not the face, but that could do? His aim wasn't as precise as usual.

Will stirred and removed the pillow with a slow movement of his hand. Robin smiled in relief when Will looked at him wearing a long face. Obviously in a foul mood. Without saying anything, he turned his back on Robin.

Robin eased himself down. Last night they talked a lot, didn't they? He faced the ceiling of the tent and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. Were the conversations from the cave just feverish dreams or did they really bond?

The tent's entrance rustled, drawing Robin's attention as a familiar figure stepped into the subdued glow. Azeem's gaze settled on Robin. "You're awake," he said, his words carrying a weight of relief.

Robin managed a weak smile. "Azeem."

His friend placed a palm on his forehead, checking his temperature.

"I worried we might lose you," Azeem said.

Robin's brow furrowed as he struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory. "What happened?" His voice was hoarse, the words emerging with effort.

Azeem filled a battered mug from a pan simmering by the crackling fire. The steam rose in wisps, carrying the pleasant aroma of herbs.

Robin cradled the mug in his hands when Azeem handed it to him. The warmth of the tea seeped into his chilled fingers.

"When the storm subsided, we scoured the forest at first light," Azeem started speaking. "John Little led us into a cave. You were lucky he had used it for a shelter before and we found you and Will inside."

Robin's gaze fixed on Azeem.

This explained the torch that possibly saved their lives. He ought to thank Little John later.

"You were both unconscious," Azeem continued. "We carried you back to the camp. Or rather, I simply accompanied the others as they didn't trust me near you."

"You can't be serious."

"This is what I told them too when they wished to put the two of you in your respective tents. Mine is the only one with a fireplace, you see."

Robin took a sip of the tea, the liquid warmth a soothing balm against his parched throat.

"Your genius is ahead of us."

Azeem's gaze shifted toward the other slumbering figure on the makeshift bed. The flickering firelight painted shadows across Will's face, revealing the paleness beneath his dirt-streaked skin.

"He stirred briefly," Robin said, his eyes lingering on Will. "But consciousness eludes him, or so it seems." He didn't know Will Scarlett well, but it was quite possible he was feigning sleep so he didn't have to talk to them.

"Give him time," Azeem advised, his eyes meeting Robin's. "The storm must have taken its toll." As Robin took another sip of the herbal tea, the warmth courses through him, dispelling the lingering chill in his bones.

Soon after he once again succumbed to the healing embrace of sleep.

The news of Robin's awakening spread among the Merry Men like wildfire. One by one, they came to visit the tent throughout the day. Robin saw genuine relief on each of their faces. Little John's massive frame filled the entrance at one point, his booming laughter echoing through the camp as he clapped Robin on the shoulder, expressing both joy and concern in his own gruff way. Robin forgot to thank him about the torch.

Tuck, the jovial friar, arrived with a steaming bowl of broth, muttering prayers for a swift recovery.

Much too ventured in with a hesitant smile, bearing a handful of soaked wildflowers he had collected from the outskirts of the camp.

Many more came and went. Robin would be ashamed to admit but he didn't know the names of all.

None of the visitors expressed any concern for Will. They came for Robin. Barely anyone spoke any well wishes for the second person in the tent, aside from perhaps Fanny, who after leaving some warm soup for Robin, did the same at Will's side. But unlike Robin who slowly rose spoonful after spoonful, Will didn't even get a taste. Robin watched as Fanny stood by Will's side for a while, trying to get him to wake up, to no avail, so she began to exchange cold towels on his forehead instead.

Will had only himself to thank for that. Both the fever and the fact that people tended to avoid him. He should start making friends aside from enemies for a change, and use that head of his for more than following whatever reckless ideas came to his mind. Robin drew in a deep breath and stood up on his shaky feet to place the empty bowl by the used mugs. Anger bubbled inside him, he didn't know why.

The visits continued for what felt like hours.

Each time, the good wishes and the happy faces of newfound friends filled Robin with warmth, as well as a surge of energy. These people gave him a purpose. He needed to recover as fast as possible, for them, for their cause.

He didn't know when exactly he lost consciousness again.

Robin awakened rested and, even if he tried, couldn't sleep any longer. His strength was slowly returning, he could feel it. His feet were shaky as he made his way to look outside the tent. It was night. The few people who were awake were tasked with staying vigilant of the camp. Robin waved at the one who noticed him.

On returning to his makeshift bed, he glanced at the only person he had for company. Here they were, once again stuck together. If Robin thought earlier Will was quiet because he preferred not to talk to him, he no longer trusted one could have such a dedication in remaining still. Especially someone as temperamental as Will Scarlett. Robin called his name. No response came. Robin came forward and bent by Will's side to shake his shoulder. Will didn't even stir. Yet his chest rose and fell evenly, reassuring Robin the worst hadn't happened. Robin placed a hand on his sweaty forehead and clenched his jaw. He was burning up.

The brush of his fingers left his palm drenched in sweat and uncomfortably warm under the touch.

Robin cursed under his breath. He had faced foes on the battlefield, countless of them, but the fear he felt in battle didn't bother him as much as this invisible enemy that rendered him powerless each time. Memories resurfaced in his thoughts, reminding him of past encounters with illness during his time in the Holy Land. Of the fever that took his mother away.

Gritting his teeth, Robin began to rummage through the supplies in the tent that were scattered next to the fireplace. Will Scarlett was not going to die, dammit. Not right beside Robin's side.

Azeem, probably having heard him from the opposite tent that was Robin's, entered quietly. The two men exchanged a glance.

"Are you unwell, Christian?" Azeem asked.

"No, I am fine. My body aches but not more than it's to be expected. He is worrying me."

Robin tilted his chin towards Will and turned around to continue smelling the herbs stored in glass jars. Azeem went to check on Will, then silently joined Robin's side.

Together, they created a brew Azeem claimed to be known for its healing properties. The small fire crackled as Azeem's hands moved with practised efficiency, his years spent in the pursuit of knowledge beyond the familiar borders of England showing.

Once the mixture was ready, Azeem filled it in a mug and handed it to Robin. "This will help your friend."

His friend. That was a strange way to call Will Scarlett. Yet, he no longer considered the younger man his adversary, so perhaps this made them friends.

Robin hovered over Will and leaned in with the mug. Will's breathing had become a ragged cadence. Earlier tonight, his lungs made no sound, yet now his difficulty breathing was audible in the silence of the tent.

"Will," Robin's voice was a gentle murmur. He placed a steadying hand on Will's shoulder, with the other he offered the herbal brew. "You need to drink this. It will help you fight the fever." When he got to reaction, Robin tightened his grip on his shoulder and gave it a stronger shake.

Will stirred, his eyelids fluttering in the dim light. The fever had robbed his eyes of their usual fire, leaving them dull and distant. Robin urged Will to take the healing beverage with an unwavering gaze. The mug lingered near Will's lips.

Yet, Will remained unresponsive, lost in fevered dreams. Robin's frustration simmered beneath his stoic exterior. "Will, please," Robin's voice took on a firmer tone, but a plea was edged with the command. He pressed the mug closer, the herbal scent wafting through the air. "You will get better."

The battle between consciousness and fevered delirium was non-relenting. Will's lips parted, but the words that escaped were unintelligible whispers. Robin's patience wore thin and he guided the mug to Will's lips. The herbal remedy met its reluctant recipient. Robin held his breath. The flames cast elongated shadows on the two men as Robin watched, hoping for Will to swallow the remedy. The liquid spilled down his mouth corners. Yet Robin persisted, hoping at least some of the beverage would make it into his throat. Only when Will broke into a coughing fit Robin relented and allowed him to ease back. He watched for a sign that the potion would work its magic, as if a miracle would happen before his eyes. Yet the only thing which took place was Will falling into slumber yet again.

"You need to stay in bed, Christian, you are sick too." Azeem's firm hand gently guided Robin back towards his makeshift bed. Robin complied, allowing Azeem to have the remedy. His limbs ached as he settled under the covers. Immediately, he relaxed to the soft shield against the chill. His eyes fixated on Will. He watched as Azeem cleaned his mouth with a cloth, then tucked him in.

"Last night," Robin began, "Will left during the storm. I thought it was madness, but he insisted on finding food. He was gone for so long, I started to fear the worst. He returned soaked to the bone. He had a rabbit," the last part he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, yet his eyes revealed a hint of admiration despite the exasperation.

"He caught a rabbit in the storm?" Azeem asked, his eyebrows reaching his hairline. His gaze shifted between Robin and the shivering figure of Will.

"I was just as impressed. However, I'm also beyond furious, Azeem. This was a reckless act, we would have survived the night without dinner too." Robin shook his head, his eyes darkening. "So reckless. Don't get me started on the other acts I was a witness to. I had never in my life met a person whose very being angers me as much as with this one."

"A few minutes ago you didn't look all that angered. Just concerned."

The tension in Robin's shoulders subdued and his facial muscles relaxed in defeat.

"You surprise me, Christian," Azeem continued. "I didn't think you'd be so compassionate towards someone who wished you ill. If I am to be honest with you, I wasn't sure whether to let the young man share the tent with you. The others insisted I didn't. I, however, judged him harmless in his current condition."

"You judged right, my friend. Despite our turbulent history, I believe Will Scarlett isn't as bad as he tries to come across."

Both their gazes lingered on the shivering form of the man in question.

"He mentioned he had a mother," Robin said out of the blue, a thoughtful shimmer in his eyes.

He could feel Azeem's gaze turn to him.

"You know the rules," Azeem said, reading his mind without Robin having to voice what he was contemplating. "If someone comes to Sherwood forest they can't leave."

He knew Azeem was right. But still...

Looking up, he saw Azeem adding a wet towel on top of Will's forehead. Not a muscle in the youth's face moved in relief or discomfort. He simply laid oblivious to what was happening.

"What if her son passes away without her saying goodbye?" Robin sighed and rubbed his troubled face. "Maybe someone in camp knows of her?"

Once done with tending to Will Scarlett, Azeem came to his feet his and on his way out of the tent placed a hand on Robin's shoulder. "We'll make inquiries discreetly. For now, focus on healing. Both for you and for the rest of the people.""

Robin rested his head with a resigned sigh.

When Azeem left him alone with his thoughts, Robin's eyes, heavy with fatigue, drifted toward Will's still form. Bloody idiot.

Bloody idiot or not, there was nothing Robin wanted more at the moment than for Will Scarlett to get better. The fever that had Will in its hold was stubborn and persistent, exactly like the young man himself. His temperature hardly went down on the next day. They no longer knew whether he would make it. Afraid that the worst might indeed happen despite their attempts to prevent it, Robin began to ask the merry men whether they knew anything of Will Scarlett's mother.

John was the first to nod his head, touching his thick beard, having come to visit Robin on hearing of his question, "Aye, Annabel. Annabel Scarlett is her name. She's moved so many times, I have no idea where she lives now. My wife might know. But is it safe for us to go back to town to look for her?"

While John was looking at the limp form of Will Scarlett, Robin had a difficult time maintaining his composure. He quickly agreed with John that this was indeed not a safe idea and admitted to be unwell, so John left him to rest. Only when he was sure to be alone did he allow himself to stare ahead of himself in silence, consumed by bubbling dread.

Annabel Scarlett. Robin recognised the name. Annabel Scarlett. This name was deeply embedded in his mind. It was the name of the woman who had replaced his dead mother. A name he thought he had left behind in his memories.

Could it be the same woman? Could Will be the son of the woman who became a replacement for his mother during his father's lonely moments?

Robin recalled vague details of Annabel – she was blond, just like his own mother. Just like Will. Her cheekbones were very prominent, like Will's. That was about all that he could recall from the one time he saw his father's mistress.

What were the chances that he'd one day meet the son of his father's mistress?

No wonder Will and he didn't get along. He must have felt it in his bones. Robin rubbed his face profoundly, appreciating the humour in this coincidence.

Hold on.

The traces of a smile disappeared.

He was twelve years old. When his mother passed away. When his father found a mistress.

His eyes began to dart around the tent in alarm.

Why did Will's age match perfectly with the time of his father's affair?

Eighteen years – the span between his mother's passing and the present. A pregnancy took almost a year and Will was exactly seventeen. These calculations unnerved Robin to the point where he couldn't sit still any longer. Suddenly he found the strength to leap on his feet and pace the tent. Every now and then he would cast a glance down at Will's sleeping face.

He needed some sort of confirmation that his mind was running wild with impossible assumptions. Surely if his father had had a son with his mistress he would have told him. What was he saying? Will looked nothing like his father. Then again, neither did Robin.

Annabel Scarlett.

Could his father have concealed such a truth from him? The strained relationship between them. The refusal of communication. Obstacles that would make such a revelation improbable kept surfacing in his mind.

Robin refused all kinds of communication with his father so telling him anything couldn't have been easy, let alone of a son with his mistress.

This was ridiculous. Surely he was losing his mind to fevered delusions.

Will stirred beneath him. Robin shifted his gaze on the makeshift bed next to his feet as Will's eyes fluttered open, revealing a hint of confusion.

His gaze met Robin's.

Robin offered a forced smile. "Will," he said gently, "How are you feeling?"

Will blinked, his gaze drifting around the tent as he tried to orient himself. His lips parted, but the words came out weak and hoarse. "Never been better."

Robin smiled, relieved at the touch of humour. This was the first time Will gained consciousness for longer than a few seconds. He was even focusing on his surroundings now. The reality of their situation slowly dawned on Will, staring at the makeshift bed. Confusion furrowed his brow, and he turned to Robin with a question in his eyes.

"We're in Azeem's tent," Robin explained, anticipating the unspoken query. "You and I, we got caught in that storm. They found us in a cave and brought us back here."

Will's gaze sharpened.

Robin eased the mug filled with a steaming brew into Will's hands. "Drink this. Azeem's special remedy. You'll feel better."

Will complied, taking hesitant sips. A flicker of colour returned to his cheeks.

Robin searched Will's face with an intensity as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"What?" Will asked, lowering the mug on his lap.

"Nothing."

Robin looked down at his hands and curled and uncurled them. Feeling Will's wary gaze on him, Robin sent him a tired smile. "You had us worried there, pal."

"Worried for me? Please don't make me gag." Leaving the mug on the ground, Will rolled to his side and hissed in pain. "Why are we in the same tent?" he asked in irritation.

"Why do you think?"

His smart-ass question was met with silence.

Robin watched Will's shivering back for a while. The amusement on his face slowly fading away.

Surely it was all just a coincidence.

But if it was just a coincidence, why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

"God Almighty, what are you doing here?" Fanny asked when Robin entered her tent.

"Robin!" Wulf exclaimed in excitement and rushed to hug him. "I was so worried about you!" He buried his face in his chest and tightened his hold around him. "I wanted to come see you but mom and dad didn't let me."

Robin brushed over the back of Wulf's dark hair, smiling down at him.

"That's why I came to see you."

It wasn't a full lie. Yes, he was here because of Fanny, but he also wanted to see Wulf.

"Really?" Wulf grinned, his eyes shining with adoration.

"Come, Wulf, let go of Robin, sit Robin, sit. Save your strength."

Robin gladly eased himself on the stump Fanny pointed at. Despite feeling well enough to be on his feet, his limbs already ached more than they did a few minutes ago. He knew he shouldn't be up and going for too long. Last thing he wanted was to worsen his condition.

"Mother, could you please make tea for Robin?" Fanny asked the elderly woman that was brushing the hair of a little girl next to an improvised table.

"For who else would I do it if not for Robin of Locksley?" The elderly woman said and leaped on her feet like moving about posed no issue for her age.

"She doesn't make tea for me," Little John said, entering from behind a curtain. Robin could see a few small children playing with sticks before John concealed them with the curtain.

"You have hands, don't you," Fanny's mother snapped. "Isn't it enough I take care of your children for you?"

Robin exchanged a look with Wulf. Wulf waved it off and came closer to fill Robin in, "It's normal. That's how they talk to each other."

"Robin, what brings you here?" Little John asked as he turned away from his mother in law with a long sigh.

Robin hesitated. He wanted to speak to Fanny privately about the matter, in no way did he wish to have such a big audience. Yet, this was to be expected as Fanny's family was big and the weather cold, naturally all of them would be seeking the warmth inside the tent.

"I was hoping to gather more information on Annabel Scarlett from Fanny."

Robin crossed gazes with Fanny as he voiced his intention. John waved it off with a loud huff, "Are you still onto that? I told you this woman is impossible to find."

"No, she is not," Fanny said.

"Didn't you tell me you also don't know where she is?"

"I told you I don't know where she is exactly. You know as well as I do her devotion requires her to travel."

Robin watched the husband and wife, trying to understand their conversation. From the looks of it, they both knew Annabel Scarlett personally. Which was good. All the more information he could gather from them.

"Her devotion?" Robin asked, drawing their gazes to him.

Fanny's mother returned to the tent, wearing a mug in her hands. "There you go, Robin, to warm you up."

Robin thanked her softly and embraced the warm mug.

"Hand him a blanket, woman," John said, pointing at the blankets stacked behind where Fanny was sitting.

"Hand him a blanket yourself! I'm pregnant, can't you see?" she snapped, resting a hand on her growing stomach.

"I don't need a blanket," Robin tried to dissolve the argument by raising his hands, smiling softly.

He received a blanket around his shoulders and he thanked Wulf for bringing it.

"Her devotion as in Anna serves the lord and she'd often be sent to tend to those in need," Fanny decided to answer Robin's previous question.

A brow raised on his warm forehead.

"Does Will have anyone else I could search for that you know of?" Robin decided to play oblivious. "A father perhaps?"

John and Fanny exchanged a meaningful look.

"No, no father that we know of," Fanny answered with a shake of her head. Robin couldn't help but feel like they knew more than they were letting on.

As if reading his question, John decided to add, "Lad doesn't have a father."

"Everyone has a father," Robin said.

"I know Anna since we were young women," Fanny said. "She moved to Locksley all by herself when she was still a girl, to become a healer. This is how we met. She is such a sweetheart, this woman. Not like her son. We became close very quickly. Ten years we were neighbours! I got to know John through her. Let me tell you, it was not love at first sight."

"Woman!"

Robin looked between them, his mouth corners threatening to lift.

"I'm just telling the story as it goes. Doesn't mean I don't love you now," Fanny said and as John came to her side, she hugged him around the waist. John smiled down at her and caressed the top of her head.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. For ten years I was best friends with this girl, only for her to one day tell me she was with a child and she would be returning to Mansfield to her parents. She was from Mansfield, you see. As I told you, she moved to Locksley all by herself." Fanny scratched her eyebrow and shook her head in exasperation. "With a child, from who? It came like a lighting-bold from a clear sky. She had never mentioned a lover before. That is why John and I think that…"

Fanny hesitantly glanced at John. As he was scratching his beard, he lifted his large shoulders and faced Robin, "Poor girl was probably molested by some dirt bag."

Disturbed by the turn the story was taking, Robin glanced down at the warm mug he was holding. Strangely, despite the horrible revelation, he couldn't help the weight that was lifted off his shoulders. This couldn't be the same Annabel Scarlett. His father had been many things. A monster wasn't one of them.

"But when I asked her, Anna said this wasn't it," Fanny continued. "She told me she fell in love with some lord and blindly trusted in his promises that they would spend their lives together. John and I think she created this story to cope with what must have happened to her…"

All colour drained from Robin's face.

On leaving their tent, Robin felt sick. He didn't want to return to the tent he shared with Will Scarlett. He couldn't. The chill of the day surrounded Robin's trembling body in a cold embrace. A few of the passers-by would send him funny looks. Sighing, Robin forced his legs to carry him away. Last thing he wanted was for the people to worry about him.

Instead of entering Azeem's tent, he went to his own.

"Christian," Azeem's voice greeted him, having moved here for the time being. "Do you need anything?"

"I need to talk to someone, Azeem." A sigh escaped him and he lifted his tired gaze to look at his friend. "There's something I haven't told you about myself. Now, it has come to haunt me."

The two men sat on the soft blankets covering the ground of the tent, facing the exit together. A layer of animal fur covered Robin's back, as well as Azeem's. His friend must have thought this would be a story about Robin's fear of losing people to a fever as Robin began to recount his mother and the weeks that led to her death. Then he told him of the mistress that came a few months after.

When Robin mentioned how on learning Will's name was Will Scarlett, it never once crossed his mind that the name was not simply a mere coincidence, Azeem turned to him with a funny look, not quite following how this had anything to do with the story he told him of his past, but he didn't once interrupt him. He just let him tell him about what was weighting on his heart.

Looking at nothing in particular, Robin's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "Annabel Scarlett. That was the name. My father's mistress."

Azeem's gaze met Robin's, his eyes widening comically. He had never seen his friend so shocked before. Nothing ever really surprised Azeem. But this was truly not a revelation one could see coming. "You think Will might be...?"

Robin nodded, uncertainty shimmering in his grey eyes. "The timing matches up, the name, so do the details surrounding her story... it can't be a mere coincidence."

Azeem tore his gaze and his thoughtful eyes started searching the empty space before them.

"Speak to Will, Robin," he said after some deliberation. "Don't dwell in the shadows of uncertainty. If this is true, he deserves to know, and so do you."

"I don't know if I want it to be true or not," Robin admitted, his gaze drifting toward his boots.

"I assure you it's not up to you," Azeem said with a hint of humour. Robin didn't react to his attempt to lift the mood, so Azeem continued to say in his calm soothing way he spoke, "Either it's true or it is not. Knowing you, if it turns out not to be true, you'd be left disappointed."

Robin lifted his head with blinking eyes. "Why would I be disappointed?" He snorted. "I'd gladly take Wulf for a younger brother, not the anger-filled whippersnapper."

"Perhaps there is a reason behind his attitude towards you," Azeem mused. "Could it be that you wronged him somehow?"

Robin's amusement died on his face and his eyes wandered yet again. "I asked him the same thing when we were stuck in the cave. Yet he kept repeating the same superficial reasons. Like how he doesn't like rich boys or how I am leading the people for selfish gain."

"Did you believe him to be telling the truth?"

Robin shook his head. Will was holding back from telling him the true reason behind his animosity, that was the impression he got.

Robin's eyes snapped wide open and faced Azeem, "Will must know."

His whole body tensed as his friend nodded in agreement.

Confusion clouded Robin's eyes, then hurt shone through. "If he knows, why hasn't told me?" he asked in defeat. "It's been a month since I came here, he's had plenty of time to come talk to me." Then the answer resurfaced in his mind. Their conversation from last night. Will admitted he didn't care about sharing the same blood with a stranger.

"Is there a reason for him to trust you if, from what you've told me, his experience with you would be that you drove his parents apart?" Azeem's question snapped Robin out of his thoughts. This was the first time to consider how what Robin did must look from Will's eyes. If this assumption that they share the same father would turn out to be true that was... it might all be just a product of his imagination.

Sensing his unease, Azeem placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Accept whatever comes, my friend. Go talk to Will."

As he stepped out into the camp, the tent's flap rustled behind him. The cool air was heavy with the promise of rain. The flickering light of the campfire illuminated the path toward Azeem's tent. As he followed it, doubt took a grip over him and his eyes clouded with uncertainty. He halted before he could move the flap.

Talk to him and say what exactly? 'Hey, my head is running wild with the possibility that you and I might share the same father?'

Robin breathed in deeply the frosty air, his expression grim.

He didn't want Will Scarlett to be his brother. How weird would it be to suddenly learn he had a stranger for a brother?

This was what Will said when they were talking about it in the cave, wasn't it? Will refused to look for the brother he didn't know because they were strangers, blood relation or no. Yet Robin claimed he would do the opposite if he were him.

Here he was now, not daring to seek out the stranger. Why was that? Robin slowly breathed out. What was he so afraid of?

If they would indeed turn out to be brothers he could already foresee what difficult times would await. Will Scarlett's character wasn't easy to get along with. Everyone in camp would describe him the same way: rude, untamed, angry. As if life for Robin wasn't difficult as it already was.

However, this wasn't the full face of Will Scarlett. Before leaving the tent of the Little family, Fanny also mused how intelligent, capable and charming he could be. He just rarely showed it.

Besides, he was still a boy. Seventeen hardly counted for a man. Robin rolled his eyes. His quick temper possibly had something to do with his age. Many youths went through rebellious phases. He would know. No one here would be able to recognise Robin as the angry boy he used to be back in the day.

Was he comparing himself to Will Scarlett now?

Robin shook his head, trying to clear such thoughts from his head.

This uncertainty was making him mad.

Curling his hands into fists, he knew what needed to do.

He needed to talk to Will.

A few curses escaped his trembling lips and he reached out for the tent's flap. Ready or not, he was going to face whatever may come.

Note: The chapter I was writing was getting ridiculously long, so I decided to cut it into two halves. Next week you will get the continuation. Sorry for leaving you hanging at the most interesting part hah!