Finally!!! Here comes the final chapter + epilogue.

A lot of R/M, probably due to the season finale-- Thanx for reading/commenting.

Enjoy
Trix

Chapter 17:

What myths are made of

It had been ordered by the abbess that a sister should be by Lady Marian's side, every hour save those moments that required all the sisters gathered on a different location. Thus there was a constant mumbling of Latin prayers in the sick-room, rhythmically broken by the rustling from a rosary and from time to time overshadowed by a short whispering conversation between the two lovers. Even as Marian got better Robin did not dare leave her side, he sat watching her sleeping form as a hawk, noting every sign of distress with irrational worry. In fact she was getting better, considerably so, and the sisters assured him the bleeding was under control. Her pale cheeks had some of their rosy complexion back, and she had periods when she was awake when he could loose himself in the dozy blue eyes. Robin had been glad for the sisters' company in the beginning, when Marian was pale and wobbling on the very brink of death he savoured the comforting mumbling that had an almost hypnotic effect. However now that Marian was waking up their company was not so welcome, and as Sister Etienne let another pearl on the rosary slide through her fingers she could practically hear the young man grinding his teeth over her presence.

There were nuns that became nuns because it had been chosen for them, that lived their lives in the convent much like they would have lived their life in the outer world. Although every man and woman knew that God did in fact exist the same way that the sun existed (and circled around Earth) not everyone was pious and obedient. Even inside God's house there were people that made a rather earthly career out of their position rather than threw themselves into worship and prayers.

Sister Etienne Lacroix, however, was certainly not one of those. She was a woman of strict religious conviction that had frozen her features into a constant air of dissatisfaction. Her lips wrinkled as if she had bitten down on a lemon whenever she puckered them in discontent, and her forehead seemed constantly split by a deep furrow between the bushy eyebrows.

Now the nun pursed her lips and sucked on her teeth before she inhaled for another Ave Maria. Her eyes were watching the couple cautiously, the man's hands resting on the edge of the woman's bed only inches from her body, their eyes locked into each other with those faint smiles never fading. She knew that some of the other sisters cared little about the couple's intimacy, but she was not so light hearted. He had gotten her into this mess, leading the poor girl on and shuffled her down the path to hell. Now three souls had been doomed, one of an unborn child and these two fools that had the nerve to keep smiling. If they had any sense they would take up the cloth, life a chaste life apart from each other and spend their days trying to repent and save their immortal souls. But instead they savoured this short, fickle, earthly life like the lost spirits they were. There was lust in the young man's eyes when he watched his beloved, sinful craving that the abbess didn't have the guts to condemn, but at least they would not get the chance to taint the monastery on Sister Etienne's watch.

Sister Etienne was pious and strict. Thus she considered every touch that passed between this couple nothing less than an abomination, an offence to God in his perfect heaven. She clenched her bony and around the rosary and gave the man another severe look. His fingers were edging closer to Lady Marian's hand that rested relaxed on top of the rough linen sheets, their fingertips moving like spider legs and bumping into each other. The feather light touch made the grin in Robin's face grow and it was mirrored in Marian's like some foul reflection.

There was an annoyed hawking sound as Sister Etienne cleared her throat and made a pause in the mumbling prayers, lifted her head and gave the couple a sharp glare. Robin's hand shied away almost instantly, withdrew to where it rested on the edge of the bed again, and he straightened up with a blush on his cheeks.

"Sorry Sister," he murmured and Sister Etienne noted that Lady Marian turned away her head in something annoyingly like amusement.

For a while the only sound was the mumbling prayers, a bit sharp and displeased as the rosary ran swiftly through the sister's fingers.

"Robin," Marian finally said, and there was a pause in the Latin as the nun cocked her head to give the couple a wary glance.

"Yes, my love."

"I'm—you do not resent me? For what I did?"

"Marian—"

"Robin, we need to talk about this! Properly—there is so much guilt."

Sister Etienne cocked her eyebrows and her voice rose into a high-pitched whining, the tone trembling and sharp like a knife's edge. She did not quite approve of this conversation, but then again there was very little in this world that she approved of.

"Marian I could never resent you!" Robin answered, rapid upset words spoken with conviction that would be better used in church. "Sometimes life makes you do things—things that are beneath you. Horrible things—I have seen the act of warfare, trust me Marian. There is darkness in the best of men."

"And you?"

"What?"

"You do not resent yourself either?"

Sister Etienne looked up and glanced at the young man. His head was cut off by the brim of her wimple but she could see that he was uncomfortable. His movements were tense and he leaned back, putting a distance between himself and the woman as he sighed and looked at the ceiling, the floor, the wooden cross on the wall – anywhere but directly into Marian's eyes.

"Robin!"

"Marian, I did this to you," he burst out, then glanced at the sister and lowered his voice to a hushed tone that didn't echo through the room. "I did this—"

"No Robin, we did this."

"But I should have known better!"

"Why? Because you're the man?"

"Yes! As a matter of fact!"

Marian sighed and let her head relax down into the pillow in a way that looked annoyed and frustrated.

"Robin," she continued and her neck tensed as he lifted her head slightly to stare at her lover. "If we do not forgive ourselves then our love will be doomed! You being outlawed may not part us, nor Guy of Gisbourne's misdirected affection or even a Holy War. But guilt can."

Sister Etienne cleared her throat and threw herself into a Padre Nostrum that came out loud and snappy. Guilt was a sensation that could save their souls from the worst depths of eternal damnation, they needed guilt and regret. Yet the words made Robin's forehead furrow in thought, and he relaxed on the hard wooden stool.

"We have made mistakes have we not?" he murmured. "Both of us—"

"All humans make mistakes, ours may be severe but we cannot let them be unforgivable," Marian smiled and put her hand on his, gripping around his fingers. The nun tensed and straightened, interrupting the prayers as she reached out to part their bodies from each other even though the touch was restricted to the hands and would be chaste in any other setting.

"This is a house of the Lord," she snapped. "Show respect!"

The couple reluctantly moved away from the touch again, sighing like chastised children. Then the door was practically thrown open and a huge man blocked the opening, sweaty and flushed as he drew painfully strained breaths in order to get some air into his lunges. The hair was a dirty, tangled mess, his features coarse and savage, and Sister Etienne found her self gasping for air at this—this apparition.

"John!" Robin exclaimed, taking the chance to grab Marian's hand when the nun was occupied by the intruder. "What is wrong?"

"The—" the big man wheezed and removed the cap he had on his head at the sight of the nun. "Forgive me sister," he mumbled. "The—Nottingham—Nottingham Robin!!!"

"Nottingham?" Robin frowned and looked worried, pushed Marian's hand tightly and wouldn't let it go when the nun wrinkled her nose in discontent and started to tug them apart again.

"Yes! Nottingham!" Little John panted and took a deep breath. "There is a riot and you need to stop it Robin. Before everything is doomed!"

---

Sheriff Pippin Vaysey was not a brave man. He was comfortable on the top, behind guards and castle walls he was strong and powerful, a man made to lead armies as long as he didn't actually have to take the lead. But now he found his world was shrinking like boiled wool cloth around him, and with every inch of his realm that was lost so was a part of his strength. He had been pushed back, gradually confined to his quarters where he was currently locked up with the choir of chirping birds and Sir Guy who was sweating like a pig.

"Gisbourne it has never occurred to you to take a bath every once in a while, hm?" he sneered. "You will pass into history as Gizzy the Sissy, the one who wetted himself in the face of danger."

Gisbourne opened his mouth to protest against the accusations, but instead he simply rolled his eyes and restrained a loud sigh. He was used to being treated like this, the sheriff took out every failure on him but never praised him for the successes, and he had long since given up any hope for respect. You could force people that were your inferiors into respecting you, but those who were above you were not so easily won. There was a loud crash as a stone was plunged through the window and shattered it into the room. A cheer rose on the caste yard and Vaysey moved away form the opening.

"Giz, go take a look!" He yelled. "Those fools are ruining my castle!"

Gisbourne drew his sword, an act that was redundant this far from the enemy yet made him feel sheltered and safe, and inched towards the window.

"There seems to be a pyre, my lord," he mumbled.

"A pyre!? What? What are they doing, Gisbourne, what are they burning?"

Gisbourne squinted into the early light and watched the dark shapes that practically danced in joy as they fed new items to the fire.

"Looks like the tapestries from the southern hall my Lord-- chairs from the breakfast room—"

"What? No, no not my tapestries— My beautiful tapestries!"

"With all due respect sir," Guy snapped. "I think the tapestries are the least of our concerns!"

"Really? What more are they burning? Not my high chair?!"

"No— No, the chair is fine—" The high chair stood on the middle of the castle yard and in it a fat, red-faced man sat casually swinging one leg over the edge and the other tucked in under him. They were openly mocking the sheriff, yet that was of little importance. "The chairs and tapestries come from this side of the castle," Guy continued, deciding not to tell Vaysey about the chair. "They must be at our door—"

Hardly had those words been spoken before there was a loud cracking noise as something was thrust hard into wood, and the two men turned to the door. It was bulging from the pressure, shaking with every new hit that was preceded by a muffled 'ho-hey!' from the men on the other side. Vaysey and Guy stood side by side watching the door give away, Guy's sword half-heartedly raised in some sort of defence. Guy had not planned to die for the Sheriff, he didn't even like the man. If he had any feelings towards him it was loathing, and in the end he had only been standing by his side for personal gain. Now the door cracked and the crazed townspeople almost tumbled into the room, triumphantly cheering and grinning over the victory. Guy lifted the sword at them and got some amused sniggers.

"Look who's defending his lover," a young woman taunted Guy in a shrill voice and was followed by a choir of ragged laughers. "I bet you're the man in the relationship big boy, isn't that right? Ay, I can always tell, female intuition that is. I tell you what, let down that nasty sword and you may remain a man." She gave Guy a grin filled with crooked yellow teeth, pointy and sharp like fangs, and he found himself lower the weapon. What use was a sword when they were so many and some of them carried hayforks?! Guy and Vaysey were surrounded by angry, mocking people, jeering and heckling them in the bold light of this new power balance. The sword looked pathetic in Guy's hand, an iron blade that hung limp against his dejected shape and dangled like an image of scorned manliness.

"Lads, lads, lads," one of the men said and made a gesture for the crowd to calm down. "Now that our goal is reached, the villains captured, it will only be fair to give this men the same treatment that they have granted us, aye?"

The crowd fell silent down and waited in anticipation for what this temporary leader was about to say next.

"A fair trial it is then," the man laughed. "And our conscience will be clean as a privy when they hang at dusk!!!"

---

Save Nottingham. Save England. Save the king. Save the whole bloody world! But who saves the hero, who rides so fiercely through Sherwood Forest, who dashes through the bushes and leaps over the streams? Who saves the saviour whose head is whipped by green leaves and wet with morning dew as it scrambles for a solution that eludes him? His head his heavy from lack of sleep and his heart lingers with the love he left behind. The memory of her eyes is still fresh before him, her hand still rests softly under his, warm with life in spite of everything. He rides because she asked him, begged him to be a hero when he wanted to me merely a man. To love a hero is no easy thing - it takes a special kind of woman. And to love that kind of woman is worse still. All she had to do was ask him to stay, but she would not be Marian if she did and Robin would not be Robin Hood if he didn't dash through the bushes vainly pondering a way to save the world yet again. He only had snippets of the truth, puzzled it together from the random words of little John who only knew snippets himself and kept them in a disorganised mess in his simple mind. So Nottingham was falling fast from the pressure of its own fury, but who was he to tell these people to stop fighting when their fight was righteous? They doomed themselves with a war that would be lost if it was won! All in all there is nothing harder than saving a person from herself, no good deed quite as ungrateful as the one where the victim and the perpetrator is the same.

The man I love wouldn't sit and hold my hand when England needed saving!Marian's words still rung in Robin's ears, and they stung because in their passion they planted the possibility that perhaps Robin could not be who she wished him to. Somehow Robin Hood had grown into something bigger than the mere man behind the name, a concept that left him with a feeling of alienation and inadequacy during the long lonely nights. When he spoke to Marian about darkness in men it was himself he spoke about, the Robin that was battle weary and worn out by the horrors of his short life. But then there was her, the woman he needed like a castaway needs the debris that carries him to the beach. He drew energy from her, used her to make his life bearable and his battles meaningful. She gave him hope and faith and made him believe that perhaps he wouldn't fail in this futile mission, perhaps there was a way to save Nottingham from being razed to the ground. She was the one who saved the hero.

----

On the streets of Nottingham there was a feast or a war, a festive war or a feast gone feisty. On the streets of Nottingham there was dancing and fighting, drinking and kissing, laughing and quarrelling. On these streets people lived in limbo, where there were no laws but instead a semi-structured chaos with few restrictions.

Will Scarlett shuffled his way ahead surrounded by the maids in their linen kerchiefs, trying to make some sense out of the surrounding mess. These were people, normal people, his kind of people. Surely they wouldn't be impossible to reason with! Yet they seemed so crazed, confused, dejected, euphoric— He could feel himself tremble, the nerves seemed to have crawled out of his skin and sparkled like burning pine needles, and in this moment he felt alone in a way he had never felt before. Djaq and Allan were still in the cellar, Robin, Much and Little John were God knows where—On their way here? He hoped they were because he had no control over this inferno, he needed help desperately. Any sane man in an insane world will soon start to doubt his own sanity, since sanity exists in numbers and our fellow humans are the meter on which we measure ourselves.

Will stopped when he saw the gallows before him, once again surrounded by a sea of people. But this time the men on the platform were Sheriff Pippin Vaysey and his right hand man Guy of Gisbourne. Will gasped for air as he watched their shackles, bound to hands and feet and let to the slaughterhouse. How often he had wished to see them like this! The sight made something stir in his chest, a joy over the victory even though he knew it to be fatal. There was a self-appointed jury that scorned and humiliated the two men, a jester conducting a mock trial that drowned in the roaring from the crowd. It might as well be a pantomime; his movements were exaggerated into absurdity as he caricatured the sheriff. The jokes were sexual and crude in the manner that was fashionable during this time and place, hardly refined but bold and profuse. They spurred on waves of roaring laughers from the crowd and Will heard a choir of sharp giggles from the maids that still accompanied him. Robin would have to come or they would hang the sheriff – they were actually hanging Sheriff Vaysey

---

Robin dashed through the city gates as the sun was sinking towards the dying of the day. The streets were eerily abandoned and seemed hollow like a ghost town, drained of life, with the shadows long and menacing. The soft ground of the forest was replaced by the hard stone paving of the main street and every step echoed through the town. It smelled like smoke and he could hear the slightly muffled sound of distant laughers spurring him on. There were random people first, standing some distance from the gallows with wary expressions in their faces, and Robin threw himself off the horse. He got a couple of curious looks as he started to press himself into the crowd, pushing and shuffling people that pushed and shuffled back.

"Robin!"

Robin spun around, or rather forced his body to squeeze past two heavily built townspeople until he was turned to the voice.

"Will!" He took a deep breath and forced himself through another tiny gap in the crowd, got a sharp elbow thrust into his side and moaned from the pain. "Will—" he panted. "Will what is happening?"

"Well, they are hanging the sheriff—"

"Yes I can see that! Why? No—Do not bother with the 'why', they have reasons enough—Little John said Allan was wounded. I for one do not care but he seemed to find it important. I do not understand this!"

"He helped us Robin—Allan helped us. Anyway he will live. Marian?"

"Marian," Robin nodded and a smile grazed his lips in spite of the dire situation. "She too will live."

"Robin," Will gave his friend an honest smile and pulled him into the kind of rough, back-thudding hug men give each other. "I am so happy for you my friend."

"Marian is saved," Robin still smiled sheepishly as he spoke of Marian, but the grin faltered and faded when he continued. "Allan—you say he is back with us and is saved. For that I am glad—" He sighed and stared at the gallows where the jester still made rude gestures at Guy and the Sheriff, the former was red by rage and the latter stared into the sky in a sort of dejected curse at the world in general. "For the ones we have to save now I am not so glad," he finished in a mumbling voice.

"No—" Will agreed. "But it has to be done."

He was right. It had to be done. But how?! People weren't listening to the mock trials so why would they listen to him? How did one man quench a roaring forest fire, or how did a single cupped hand force the mighty river to change direction? How?! "How," he breathed out and stared at the mass of rioting people. "How can I stop this?! I am but one man!"

"No," Will shook his head. "I am but one man, you are Robin Hood - people will listen to you!"

"Will they?" Robin laughed hoarsely and shrugged. "This is like no war I have fought, Will. Wars have leaders, to a certain extent they are controlled and organized—This is something else! This is—How can I stop this?!"

"You have to try Robin—"

Robin sighed and nodded. He had to try. He was Robin Hood, it was his job to try the impossible and still live to see another disaster. He looked at the people that had started to chant some sort of popular tune where the words were hazy and slurred by the uncoordinated choir and the melody was a mere suggestion. He was still in the periphery. To get the attention he needed to be in the middle, right in the blazing centre and cool it off from there.

"Will," he exclaimed. "I want you to spread the word. Get it into people's heads that they can stop this, that the town they love will be razed if they don't. Don't waste time arguing with the unarguable, go for the ones that listen and secure their help."

Will nodded severely. "And you?"

"Me—" Robin sighed wearily and focused his eyes on the scene at the gallows. "Me, I'm heading right into the pyre, and so help me God—"

---

This was the day that went to Nottingham history as the Day of the Final Stand. In hymns and ballads the leaders of the rebellion were praised for years, the Friendly Lot Twittle and Arthur the Wellspoken were sung about like heroes of the olden days. But in time the memory of the rebellion faded and when the ones that were children on this day got old, they did not mention Lot or Arthur or even Jess Littlelamb. Neither did they talk of the maids and the young man that bit by bit calmed the rebellion from the outside, made the edges of the riot ragged as people hesitated and withdrew. The one image that stayed in their minds was the one of a scruffy outlaw with a strangely curved bow ("Magical it was, the bow of his. Could hit a man right in the heart two miles away."), who leaped up onto the platform with one swift jump. For a while he seemed to fly ("His feet didn't touch the ground, nay, neither did hand nor knee.") as he swung himself on the gallows and landed gracefully in front of the self-appointed jury. The crowd hesitated for a while, saw him take his bow and put an arrow to the string, and one by one the people fell silent by the power of curiosity.

"I," The man spoke and released the arrow so that it went in a perfect arch and hit the wooden beam of a building. "—am Robin Hood." He put another arrow to the string, released it and the people watched in awe as the second arrow hit the exact same spot as the first one and made it break and fall down ("You could have used them pieces as toothpicks so tiny they were!"). "And you," he continued as he had the full attention of the puzzled and curious crowd. "—are the people of Nottingham. The building that my arrows hit is your building. These burning streets are your streets. Perhaps you think I cannot understand how you have suffered, but you are wrong. I too have had my life stolen from me by these men, and trust me when I say, that I hate no one more—" He seemed to hesitate, took a deep breath and continued with renewed strength. "Hate no one more than these men you are about to hang!"

There were cheers from the crowd and some random applauds.

"But," Robin Hood continued addressing the crowd. "Even though these villains are right to hang, the time for that is not today— No! People of Nottingham, do not drown my words in complaints! Listen to me! I am Robin Hood, I fight for you. Like I once served the rightful King of this country I now serve every single man and woman that walks these streets. I beg you to listen to me!"

("And ay, we listened alright," the stories went. "He was Robin Hood after all. He could split an arrow into two!")

"If you hang this man today then this town is doomed. Even though your intentions are well, and right, and just, you steal away your children's future if you hang the sheriff," the heroes voice echoed over a town that was perfectly silent now. "I almost lost someone the other day—Someone dear to me, someone I would do anything for. My Nottingham, if you will. My home. My love. And yet she nearly died for my mistakes. We acted out of love and affection, much like you act out of love—Love to your town, your families—Everyone that has been abused and mistreated. But even when the intentions are good the results may not be!!! You cannot act without regarding the consequences."

The people listened to the pleading words of Robin Hood as he begged them, from the smallest child to the oldest widow, to consider the consequences there and then. ("And then he asked us—Every single one of us. And we listened we did! Saved the town—every single one that was there saved the town that day. We were all heroes!")

All in all it all starts with one man or woman, and a crowd is ultimately only the sum of its parts. Somewhere in his words there were things that got stuck in the minds of the listeners. He spoke of his own mistakes, of the Holy Land, the king, his love, his friends. He spoke of the world as you wished it to be and the world as it was – two things entirely different from each other. He spoke of loss and sacrifice and in the end his voice was hoarse and the people in the crowd suddenly realised how tired they were. They started to disperse and head home, saw the town around them with new eyes as a man may regard the forest differently when he leaves it, as opposed to when he stands in the middle of it. Some furious people still remained on the streets when the Sheriff and his right hand man managed to get back into the castle, for the first time scared stiff of the populous. Very few heard the last words Robin Hood spoke to the sheriff, but in time they made their way into the stories and hymns all the same.

"You have seen the wrath of your people," Robin Hood hissed. "You know what they can do if they are driven too far. Next time they will not listen to reason and I will not bother to stop them. Go home, Vaysey. Go home and dig deep in your silver chests, because this will cost you. You have a town to rebuild. Never forget this Sheriff; on this day Robin Hood saved your life."

And on that day, the stories said, more lives were saved than the cleverest of friars could count to. The people went home and choose life instead of revenge, cared for their children, went to bed and made love to their spouses, started to clean up the mess in their houses. Robin took his bow and went down to Will, gave him a thud on the back and crawled up on his horse again, only to slide down the other side from mere exhaustion. All over town people slept and Robin and Will found a place in Gareth Barber's cellar where they curled up and dozed off. When morning came it was a new day, and for the first time in a very long time the world wasn't about to shatter into pieces.

---

When Robin stepped into Marian's room in the monastery she was dressed and packed, stood steady by the window and gazed out with her hand resting lightly on the frame. She had a troubled frown in her face before he made himself known and he studied her with worry.

"Are you leaving?" he finally asked softly and leaned casually to the wall.

Marian twitched and turned to him, and in an instant the frown disappeared and gave away to a smile.

"Yes—" she responded. " I need to get back to the castle."

"No!"

"Robin my father—"

"Is not there. I made sure he was released during the chaos."

The forced smile on Marian's lips turned into something like genuine joy and gratitude and Robin felt his heart up its pace. She could not leave for the castle! Not now! He suppressed the urge to rush up to her and shake some sense into this stubborn woman, his restrained movements tense.

"Still so—I am useful in there Robin."

"Marian, I know you think you are the rational one—" Robin bit his lip and hesitated. This would be a difficult conversation, yet he knew he had to try. He threw out his hands and walked to her, putting his palms gently on her shoulders. "—and you are right. You are—you are rational, and brave, and strong. But I am not." He looked at her, big pleading eyes, forcing himself to be vulnerable because he needed it to reach her. "I need you," he continued in a trembling voice. "I need you to be with me—be by my side. I do not wish to look back on us with regret, Marian. I know you think it is best to be always rational, but you are wrong. You cannot lift the world while you are falling, my love. And that is why I need you—"

"Robin—"

"—you are the one that lifts me up."

"Robin!" Marian exclaimed. "We fight the same war yet you make it sound likeyou are my cause, that I am here just to make your battles easier—"

"No, I am not saying that," Robin sighed and tried to calm his racing heart. Right now this seemed like the hardest battle he had ever fought, and he felt like he was fighting with his own soul at stake. If he lost her, then every single moment that they had spent apart would have been a wasted moment, every heartbeat without her would be a heartbeat in vain, and every single day in solitude would have its memory tainted by eternal regret. "Just—do you not need me?" he asked cautiously, they way a person poses a question he's not so sure he want the answer to. "Are you so strong that you are rather on your own? Because look where it has brought us."

"You do blame me—" Marian looked dejected, took a step away from him and he reached out to stop her and tug her back into his arms.

"No!" he exclaimed. "If anything I blame myself. But we are in this together and we need to stand together." Robin pulled Marian closer, cradled her and rested his head on hers. "I am stronger with you than I am without you, and if you could listen to that voice I know you have deep inside you, then perhaps you could allow yourself to accept that you are stronger with me as well. My love—" He swallowed and inhaled the scent of her hair, a bit flowery from the bath and slightly smoky. "I am begging you not to abandon me."

Robin felt Marian tense at the last sentence. It was spoken so softly, hardly anything more than a trembling whisper, but it seemed louder than any coaxing words or stubborn arguments passed between them. Marian was used to being strong and independent but she was not without weaknesses. How could she deny him what he wanted when she shared that longing with every desperate inch of her soul?

"It is difficult to say no to you—"

"Then say yes!"

A couple of seconds passed in silence, Robin could feel Marian trying to answer him and his heart sunk, dreading what she was going to say. If she still declined then he would have no choice but to let her go back to the castle. And she would decline. She always declined his help when he offered it.

Marian inhaled deeply, buried her face against his shoulder and blew out a warm puff of air that went through the cloth in his shirt. Robin felt a shudder run through his body, suddenly painfully aware of how soft and alluring she was and how good it felt to feel her nearness. She cast a spell over him, this stubborn brave woman, but it was a spell that ripped his senses clean. With her he lost control, for her he would sacrifice everything, and if there was one thing in this world that could plunge him into heaven or hell then it was she. Her power over him frightened him, his need for her was so strong it left him naked and defenceless. "Then say yes—" he murmured again, whispered it into her hair and wished his pleading would not simply pass right through her.

Marian cocked her head and met his eyes, planted a tantalizing kiss on his lips and smiled faintly. "Yes—" she answered silently.

"You will come to the forest?" Robin forced back the smile, swallowed the cheer that went through him like a shock and made his skin itch and tingle.

"Yes, I will come to the forest."

She said yes! Robin pushed back the smile but felt it tug his lips into some sort of sheepish half-grin and reached out to pull her closer. He felt her body tumble against him and fall into his embrace as easily as if it had been made for her, crafted to fit every curve on her body. Her hand clenched around the cloth in his shirt when his lips found hers and he felt his head become light and hazy as her touch scratched his skin. His mind was overpowered by memories of their night together, the taste of her salty skin, the feeling of her back to his palms that curved and arched up against him, the sensation of—He shut his eyes and pulled her closer with a low moan, burying his head against her neck with slow sucking kissed that he knew would make her tense and gasp for air. There was a trace of guilt, a nagging feeling of being out of line. He was playing with the very same triggers that had put them here in the first place, and still she was so willing to follow him there again. Her hand moved down to his belt and made its way in under his shirt, grazing the naked skin on his chest lightly as if her fingers were feathers dancing in a gentle breeze. Robin clenched his teeth and forced his hands away from her, using every inch of his will power to put his palms on her shoulders and push her away from him.

"Marian, in time—" he heard himself say behind the violent beating of his heart. Marian smiled and tugged back her hand from under his shirt, putting it around his neck to pull his head down to hers until their lips met again.

"In time—" she mumbled with a smile. "We finally have time—"

When Sister Etienne came into the room the couple was entwined into a tight embrace, their tongues playing and his big hands stoking over her back, tainting her with his lust. The nun gasped and gave out a sharp yell, but they only broke the kiss and remained embraced like the ivy hugs the oak. She pursed her lips and twirled around, walking out of the room with rapid, upset steps that echoed against the floor. As she shut the door behind her she heard two muffled laughers that followed her down the corridor and burned her pious soul like venom.

Epilogue:

Every end is the beginning of something new

There are mistakes in life that seems like harmless acts when committed and only in the light of their consequences gain the full range of their devastation. Sometimes such mistakes make us fall so hard we never rise again, they leave an imprint on our souls like a permanent watermark and split our lives into 'before' and 'after'. At other times we pull through, put the mistake to the records and shut the drawer.

There was a couple walking hand in hand through the streets of Nottingham on this day, covered in hoods and keeping to the shadows while searching the stands on the Nottingham Wednesday Market. The man shifts his hand to the woman's back as they lean in over a section of 'Gareth Barber's Exotic Goods', putting the palm to her waist and letting his rough cheek press to hers.

"Robin your beard is tickling me," Marian smiles and starts to go through the box filled with trinkets, drawing a hoarse laughter from her lower.

"You wouldn't have it any other way, admit it."

"I will admit no such thing—" she gives him a quick kiss and pulls out a gold ring with a single oval-shaped turquoise from the box. "What about this?"

Robin frowns and looks at the ring. "It is a bit small—simple. Isn't it?"

"I like it."

"Are you sure you want to pick the ring? I could choose one myself, we can afford better than that."

"I know you my darling," Marian smiles. "You will find one that is bigger and fancier than the one Guy gave me just to beat him, and I have no love for boastful jewels. I am an outlaw now, as are you. This is the perfect ring."

Robin rolls his eyes and gives the ring another critical look. It seems so small and simple. "One day we will be nobles again," he points out. "The other noblewomen will laugh at such a ring. They will say your husband is cheap and does not value you."

"And I will tell them he valued me enough to let me choose the engagement ring," Marian smiles and turns to Robin, giving him a coaxing kiss.

"Oh well," he sighs. "If that is the one you want—Mr Barber!"

Mr Barber comes carrying his youngest child on his hairy arm, lifting the sobbing boy to his broad shoulder where the tears turn into a puzzled expression and he grabs a handful of the father's hair. The couples' eyes freeze for a moment when they see the child, Robin's grip tightens round Marian's waist and he pulls her closer until his lips are grazing her ear. Her hands fall down to her stomach where there used to be a child growing and for the first time Robin finds a drop of grief over the baby they lost. The anger over the unborn child is gone and left is nothing but the slightly melancholic 'what if—'. Marian leans to him and sighs, feeling a reassuring kiss to her head and then the moment is over. The couple pulls apart a bit and Robin takes the ring, reaching it to Gareth Barber.

"Aye, a good choice, young Sir Robin!" Gareth exclaims. "All the way from Constantinople this one! I was told it was worn by the women of the King's harem—"

"Constantinople is a Christian city," Marian points out and cocks an eye brow at the salesman. "And don't they have an emperor?"

Gareth Barber looks a bit taken aback for a moment, then gives the amused couple a wide smile. "Ah but rings such as this one, they get around my good lady. Do you mind telling me what the occasion is Sir Robin? It is not like the men of the forest to buy trinkets."

"It is not," Robin says and pulls out some silver coins to pay for the ring. "Nor is it like the men of the forest to get engaged. Yet here I am. Have a good day, my friend, may God be with you."

---

In another part of the town there is a house being built. The men work with the swift hands of experienced workers, bit by bit letting the house grow and evolve around the steady frame. Will Scarlett sits in the shade with a flask of very light ale, wiping his sweaty brow and resting the axe against the wall. It has seen much blood, this axe of his, yet the feeling of the blade cutting into wood makes serenity fall over the young man, his spirit as peace with the world. His heart still aches for the woman that will never be his, but every day a washing maid called Linnet comes with lunch and a bashful smile, and he finds himself looking forward to those moments. He notices how her hips sway when she walks and gives her a crooked smile that makes her blush and turn away, shy like a girl facing a budding first love.

Jess Littlelamb comes over, shadowing her eyes with a hand that is strangely big and coarse compared to the rest of her finely built features, sitting down next to Will with a sort of content sigh.

"It is looking good," she says as Will tears his eyes away from the maid.

"Yes," Will agrees with a absent smile. "We will be done by next new moon. Are you sure you want it painted dark?"

"Aye, it is my trademark," Jess grins. "The Black Sheep cannot very well be white now can it?"

Will shakes his head and looks around. One of the other houses has already been rebuilt and he gives the handicraft a pleased look. Will Scarlett is good with wood.

"Are you sure you want to stick around?" Jess says. "We can do without you now that the frame is put up—"

"No I need to do this—I really do."

Will leans back towards the wall and takes another sip of the watery ale. This is his redemption, his way of moving on from the horrors of the last couple of weeks or months. He inhales the smell of fresh timber and squints at the building site bathing in sunlight. He was partly to blame for these buildings falling and he will be here when they are rebuilt. With a friendly smile at Jess Littlelamb he raises from the short break, takes up his axe and lets it rest comfortably in is hand. Then he moves the grip up to the blade and starts to knock slices of wood from a log with small, precise movements. There is a muffled thud-thud-thud from the blade hitting the wood, and he finds himself smiling absently from mere pleasure of the calming labour.

---

We do not choose the ones we love, but on another street in Nottingham Town an unlikely couple walks hand in hand. She is small and dark and laughs at a joke the man has told - a slightly accusing laughter because the joke was crude and a bit raunchy. The ally where they stroll is narrow and green from the stubborn grass and weeds, the grey walls of the houses lean in a bit like they are about to collapse and there is laundry hanging between the windows. The couple stops when they reach an open space, he moves his arms around her until her back is pressed tightly to his chest, and gives her throat a wet kiss. For a moment there is a question hanging in the air, like it always does when silence falls between them, if this is where they wish to be. They are such an odd match, and yet the days and nights shuffle them closer together. They sleep entangled like rodents in a lair, defying the world because rules are bendable and they have both had too much pain and loneliness. So the Saracen woman and the Christian man keeps walking side by side, her good heart and his treacherous spirit keeps seeking each other's company and in the silence there is intimacy that took them by surprise. The scar on his side is healing, the consequences of his treason fading even as all hope seemed lost.

There is a group of children on the open space and Djaq and Allan watches them from the shadows. A red headed kid with a real outlaw tag around his neck stands in the middle with a sour expression, co-leading the game together with a bigger kid that throws annoyed expressions at this new threat to his authority. A young girl with snot running down her nose is in the centre of everyone's attention, her wrinkled face red and wet from weeping and the hem of her dress brown with grime. Her hair is braided into a thick, golden tail that has been sun bleached and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Once the sobbing is under control she stares at the ginger haired boy with open hostility, knits her little fists and draws a trembling breath.

"No' fair," she sniffles and puts down her foot hard to the ground. "I want to be Allan!!!"

Fin