Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first? Okay, I'll start with the good news: I did it; I wrote a third chapter for this. Can you believe it? I bet you had all but forgotten about this story by now. I thought so too, because tried as I may, I seemed to be completely stuck with this. Marian's and Robin's reunion is such a big scene that I couldn't settle on how to write it (I have a million half-cooked versions sitting on my computer to prove it). But I pushed through and I did it! (FYI, I'm doing a victory dance right about now).

Now for the not so good news: it's short -much shorter than the previous chapters. Sorry.

And now for the truly terrible news. Get ready, because this is going to hurt. Okay, here it goes: I didn't technically write their reunion, so this isn't the end of this story. I know, I'm sorry! I'm a shameless teaser, I know. This was supposed to be it. I promised you two chapters. Then I promised you a third. Now I'm forcing you to wait for a fourth (which isn't written yet, so I have no idea when it's going to be posted). I'm a horrible, horrible human being.

All I can say in my defense is that I had a really hard time picking a point of view, which lead to me having to write both of them. This is Marian's. Robin's should be up sometime before the end of the decade.

As usual, feel free to review to yell at me. I deserve it.

By the way, Art Counterclockwise, if you're reading this: I told you I'd post something soon, see?

Chapter III.

The news arrived exactly one week before he did.

She hadn't paid much attention to them at first. Over the years she had heard it all: he was dead, he wasn't dead, he was coming back, he had married a Saracen princess and betrayed the King, he had been made prisoner by the Turks... Of course people talked about him –they always had. Even when he was right there, there had always been a certain aura of mystery and greatness surrounding him that had led to all sorts of stories about him. He had never minded –he had actually enjoyed most of them, she knew.

So, even though he had been gone for five years, the stories remained, each grander than the last.

He would be pleased.

At first she had kept track of every story, trying to separate the truth from the lie. Those stories were her only link to him, her only way of knowing what had become of him (every night she would curse that temper of hers –if only she had kept her mouth shut, she could be hearing news directly from him), so of course she would hear them all, of course she would try to trace them all back to their source. Of course she wanted to know.

It had soon become clear that that was no way of living. Far from bringing the comfort she desperately needed, every new piece of intelligence sent her deeper and deeper into the pit of despair his departure had put her in.

Nothing made sense anymore.

A year later she decided she was done. No more obsessively tracking every bit of gossip that went around Nottingham. No more riding into Locksley after hours to ambush servants. No more dressing up and mingling in taverns to question travellers. No more.

No more Robin.

It worked. For years it worked. Every now and then she would still hear his name whispered around town, but she had learnt not to pause, not to inquire any further –not to care.

But then she had heard the biggest news of all, and it was impossible not to care because... Because Robin was alive. One chance meeting with an old friend of her father's, a simple supper meant to catch up and suddenly Robin was alive again! It was impossible to ignore him after that.

And so she had gone back to her old ways; she had gone back to looking up when she heard his name, back to asking veiled questions to whoever she thought might have heard about him. Robin was alive and he was bound to come back; someone had to know something and she was going to find it out. She was going to be ready to face him.

It had soon become clear that not much had changed during the time she hadn't been looking. Most of the stories that went around were still ridiculous and those that sounded remotely plausible were impossible to trace. If she wasn't so persevering –or stubborn–, she would have to admit that maybe what she was doing was useless. But she wasn't going to give up –not when he was so closed she could almost feel him.

When this particular piece of intelligence arrived, she didn't much care at first. She looked up from the cloths she had been examining with interest, trying to see who it was that was talking –to determine how reliable a source it was–, but instinctively knew better than to keep her hopes up. The news themselves –"I hear Robin is back in England"– were vague enough that she didn't feel like pursuing the lead. Not yet, anyway.

The next time she heard anything on the matter –the very next day–, was another story.

Apparently, though the news that had reached her was that Robin was back on English soil, the original information was that Much –Robin's ever loyal servant and friend– was back.

This was certainly a surprise. For years it had seemed as if people had simply forgotten about Much –a downside of dealing with Robin was that he usually overshadowed everyone around him–, so to hear it had been him who had caught the attention of whoever it was that had started this particular rumour was certainly unexpected, but not at all discouraging. Finally, she thought, something new; something different.

Something real?

Another thing she learnt was that the starting point of this rumour was different than any other she had heard. For one, there was a source –she had never been able to pinpoint the exact person who had brought the news; it was always someone's neighbour who had heard it from a cousin who in turn had heard it from a friend or something along those lines. That's all she had gotten.

Granted, it wasn't as if she knew the man who had brought the news to Nottingham, but at least she had his name. Allan A Dale, a petty thief who had could be seen around Nottingham from time to time. Not the greatest of sources, admittedly, and certainly not the most reliable by even the kindest of estimations, but it was better than not knowing: at least now she knew who to look for, should she wish to know more.

And she did –she did look for him. She wanted to talk to the man who had allegedly run into Robin only a few days ago. She wanted to ask him if he was sure that it had been him. She wanted to know where he was, what he had been doing, how long before he came back. And, above all, she wanted to ask him how he was.

Is he still the man I knew all those years ago?

Unfortunately for her, Sheriff Vaisey and his nobles were making it impossible for her to spend as much time on the subject of Robin as she would have liked. Gisborne was at her house almost on a daily basis and whatever free time she had from him she spent plotting and preparing for her next outing as the Nightwatchman. She kept her eyes and ears open when she was in Nottingham for Allan –or more news about Robin, for that matter–, but there was only so much she could do from her delicate position.

And so, before she knew it a week had passed and he was there.

There was no denying it this time. It wasn't some rumour she had heard passing by. It wasn't some outrageous story someone had made up to make their rightful master look good. This time was very simple.

Sarah broke the news to her one morning after rushing into her bedchamber a little later than usual and certainly more breathless than she had ever looked. Marian had been startled by her sudden appearance –in all the years she had worked for them, Sarah had always appeared completely in control of her own emotions; not even when Jess had been ill had she allowed herself to break down. This morning, however, she looked as far from her regular self as she could be. Her cheeks were blushed, her breathing was shallow and her eyes shone with happiness and relief –a look, Marian would later come to realize, no-one in Nottingham had sported in years.

"Sarah, what is it?" the Lady asked, jumping from her bed and rushing towards the woman who was more like an older sister than a maid to her. It was mid morning already, but the absence of her maid and a rare bout of laziness had compelled Marian to stay in bed for longer than she normally would. "Is everything okay? Has something happened to Jess?"

"Jess is fine," the woman replied. She suddenly felt really guilty for worrying her mistress like that, especially when the news she brought were far from bad. "Everything is fine," she assured her.

"What is it, then?" Marian demanded, only slightly panicked. For years she had lived in constant fear of any of her multiple secrets reaching the Sheriff's ears, so seeing Sarah like this was troubling for her.

"It's about Robin," the maid blurt out. "He's back. In Locksley."

Every single one of Marian's muscles froze into place. She had heard this before, but there was something about this time that felt different somehow. Deep down she knew –she knew– it to be true.

"Are you sure?" she still asked, because she had to ask. She had to be sure before, before–

–before she could allow her heart to burst with joy and relief.

"I heard it from one of Gisborne's men as he was telling one of the guards at the castle," Sarah explained. "Apparently Robin just showed up out of nowhere and made a fool out of Gisborne in front of everyone on Locksley." The maid couldn't keep the smile from her face as she said this. After everything Gisborne had done, not just to those in Locksley, but to Nottingham in general, she thought it was high time someone put him in his place. The fact that it had been Robin of all people –a young man who Sarah had known since her youth and who she genuinely liked, respected and above all missed– who had done that was just an added bonus.

Marian received this little bit of information and stored it in her brain to be dwelt upon when she could think more clearly. She wouldn't hold it against him that he had gone after Gisborne –not yet, anyway. Not before she had given herself to appreciate the miracle that was his return.

Robin had returned to her.

"Did they say anything else? How did he look? Was he okay?"

"They didn't say, I'm sorry. But I did hear something about the man wanting to 'wipe that smug smile out of this face', so I don't think there could be much wrong with him. At least… Well, you know… At least that sounds like him."

It was at that moment that Marian finally broke. Days, weeks, years of worry and regret, of anger and hope, of terror and anxiety –dozens of emotions she had had to battle with every day from the moment she had sent Robin on his way –emotions she had been sure to lock up deep within her– they all came back. They swirled around her body, destroying every single wall she had put up for the past five years. Suddenly her heart felt lighter and the air around her felt fresher. Suddenly the knot at the bottom of her stomach –the one she hardly registered anymore, but had been with her for years– was gone and the hairs at the back of her neck were no longer standing on end.

She was finally free.

"It really does, doesn't it?" she muttered pensively as she plopped down on the bed, a smile that was bigger than any other smile she had ever worn on her face.

She had absolutely no desire to move, but knew she must. News about Robin's return were bound to reach her father sooner rather than later and he would surely want to check on her. She couldn't let him see her like this –no one could. It would ruin everything.

She realized suddenly that the fact that Robin was back home –she shivered slightly at the notion– didn't mean anything in the great scheme of things. Vaisey was still Vaisey and he would continue to do Vaisey-like things. So Marian needed to continue doing Marian-like things –helping people, all the while playing the part of innocent noble-woman who was completely oblivious to all things politics. The fact that Robin was alive –another shiver– didn't change this. She was her own person –once upon a time, they had been a team. Not anymore. He had left and he had made his choice. Now she was making hers.

Slowly she pulled the reins in on each and every emotion that was still dancing freely within her and set everything back to its rightful place. But she didn't lock the boxes this time; she didn't bury them down. Oh, now. She kept them, right near her heart –right where she could feel them. She would not become a shell of her old self –not this time. She would not forget her love for him, but she would certainly not forget her anger either. Or the pain he had caused her.

When Robin came, he would still find the woman he had left behind. After all, that was who she really was at her core –she wasn't going to deny that he was the one who knew her best–, but he would also find she had changed. She had had to live for the both of them and just because he was suddenly back she wasn't about to hand over the reins and be content to take a backseat as he took over her life. If he could accept that, then maybe they could find a way to make it work between them. Maybe.

She really hoped they could make it work.

Half an hour later she was stepping into the living area of her home looking no different than she had looked the night before when she went to bed. She was perfectly composed, perfectly in control of her own emotions. Her relief was well hidden behind a perfectly placed mask of disdain. Her father was just coming from the outside and their eyes met briefly. One look and Sir Edward knew that she already knew what he had come inside to tell her. He was glad. He really hadn't been looking forward to being the one who broke the news to her.

That one look also revealed more to him than she would have liked him to know, though that was probably because he was expecting her to look more relaxed and generally content for once. He was pleased, but knew better than to say anything to his daughter. He would allow her to think her feelings were not written plainly on her face. It wasn't as if anyone knew her well enough to notice –well, Robin did, but he would probably be so shocked at seeing her at all and she would make such a good show of her anger that he wouldn't at first notice all that there was to notice. Hopefully.

"Our house is watched," Edward reminded her unnecessarily. It was his way of telling her that they couldn't afford to be seen with Robin, regardless of how much they both wanted to. Still, it was useless. He knew she wouldn't drop everything to run into his arms, even if Vaisey's men weren't posted by their front door.

"I know."

"Are you sure you're up to this?" he pressed just as they heard trotting in the distance.

By means of response she just walked towards the door and picked up the bow she always kept at hand for protection. She gingerly traced its curves with her fingers –remembering the first time she had shot it, how Robin had showed her where to put her hand and how to hold the arrow in place. It was his old bow –he had given it to her when he outgrew it. She couldn't help but smile when she thought of what he would say about what she was going to do.

She picked a single arrow from the quiver and didn't look at his father as she replied. He didn't need to see her face to know that she looked happier than she had looked in months.

"Oh, yeah," she said and there was a tiny trace of mischief in her tone that her father had all but forgotten that existed. "I'm sure."