Disclaimer: All of the characters in this story belong to the BBC/Tiger Aspect, and (except for Kate, Isabella, and Blamire) to legend. If I owned Robin Hood, not only would Guy have lived but so would Robin, Marian, Allan, and Isabella (I'm a big softy!). No profit is being made from this story; it is written solely for my own enjoyment, and that of other fans. Written for rh_intercomm, a collaborative ficathon involving several character-based LiveJournal Communities; originally posted on the Sir Guy Treats You Right (lordgisborne) community. Thanks to taliatoennien for the beta, to Casual Fan for the preview and helpful suggestions, and to all my friends on the Robin Hood Fan Community Yuku board and to all who make the Robin Hood fandom such a lovely place to be.

THE END AND THE BEGINNING

"This is for the lives you've ruined. For all the people you've killed."

Guy whips around. In the tunnel's sparse, eerie half-light, he sees Robin's sword pointed at a cowering Vaisey. His heart thumps harder, his blood running hot from the fight; a part of him resents that he should not be the one to end it, to send this devil back to hell where he belongs—but his own sword is in his half-brother's hands, and he knows that Robin deserves this no less. So be it.

"Now, Hood—" Vaisey squeaks. Unrelenting, Robin grips the hilt and starts to bring the blade down. Just then, movement in the shadows behind Robin catches Guy's eye—and the gleam of a dagger.

Isabella.

Unthinking, Guy rushes forward, bellowing, "Robin!", barreling into him. Because Robin must live no matter what. Together, they fly and crash, and Robin grunts as his back meets the stone floor, Guy landing on top of him. A burst of scorching pain across his thigh nearly makes him cry out, and he momentarily squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth against it. Glancing to his left, he sees the Sheriff scrambling to his feet, sword in hand: the bastard must have cut him. A new wave of pain and anger is subsumed in a rush of relief to be alive, and the shock of knowing that he wants to live, after many long months of being a dead man.

"Mind getting off me, Gisborne? I don't think I'm interested in being that close," Robin says, smirking; always ready with a quip, even now. "And thanks."

Guy rolls off with a groan and sits up. Just as he'd thought, there is a bleeding gash on his thigh, the right one—both of them now marked by Vaisey.

"You're hurt," Robin says.

Wincing, Guy looks up; out of the corner of his eye he sees Archer come over to stand in front of them, sword in hand, warding off Vaisey and Isabella. Then he sees that Robin's neck bears a mark too, a thin line that seeps a dark red.

"So are you," he says, frowning. Robin raises his hand and runs a finger along the cut.

"It's nothing; a mere scratch."

"Oh, it's a little more than that, Robin Hood," Isabella spits, her voice brittle with malice; she lets out a small shrill laugh. "You should be careful. This blade—" she jabs at the air with her dagger—"it could be rusty, or—or even worse."

Guy shivers, an icy chill washing over him, clenching around his heart. His throat is so tight he can barely speak and his tongue feels bloated in his mouth; at last he chokes out a hoarse, "What have you done?"

Her eyes blaze toward him—she is like some witch or demon, her hair flowing wild—and it strikes him that she is mad; how could he not have noticed this before?

"I used your poison on the blade." She laughs again. "Thank you, brother. Or perhaps you should thank me; after all this time, you've actually killed Robin Hood. A few drops in his bloodstream…I'd say he'll be dead within the hour."

Robin lowers his sword, his face crumbling. Guy begins to shake, barely aware now of the pain in his wounded thigh. Isabella's words, spoken only minutes ago—an eternity—ring in his ears: You've destroyed anyone you've ever held dear to you. He struggles for breath, tears stinging his eyes, blurring his vision. I destroyed everything.

Vaisey's cackle cuts through the haze—"Oh, this is too good to be true. You killed Robin Hood!"—and, horrifyingly, Guy does not know if the Sheriff is speaking to Isabella or to him or to both of them. You killed Robin Hood. Two years or two months ago, he would have reveled in those words as the highest praise. He stifles a sob. This is not right, not right—

"Oh, we'll be back with an army, to finish off the rest of you," Vaisey jeers. "Please...wait for me. I don't want to miss the big moment. This way, Isabella."

Raising his head, Guy sees the two of them vanish into the darkness. Archer charges after them; then hesitates and stops and comes back to his half-brothers. The wound in Guy's thigh finally demands to be acknowledged; it burns and throbs, and when he tries to stand the pain shoots through his leg and hip so fiercely that he cries out. Dizziness rolls over him; he must be getting weak from the bleeding. Suddenly, he is seized by the fear that he will pass out before he can speak to Robin. Steeling himself, he shifts his gaze to the man who was once his enemy.

"I'm sorry," he rasps. It is not enough, it is so far from enough; but there are no words that could suffice for this, just as there are no words for—

"You gave her the poison." There is no anger in Robin's voice, just weariness.

"I'm sorry," Guy says again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "She is still my sister; I could not bear to see her hang…" Could not bear to see her go to her death jeered by the rabble, the way he was when was she was going to have him killed; would have had him killed, but for Robin. Robin, dying now because of him. Another sob chokes him, making his shoulders convulse as he hangs his head.

"Perhaps there's an antidote," Archer says. He sounds shaken. "I know a few things about poisons; what kind was it? Gisborne?"

"I—I don't…" He swallows, fighting off another spell of dizziness. "I don't know—it's…" All he knows is that it works—he has seen the Sheriff test it—and that it does not cause much suffering.

"His wound needs to be bandaged," Robin's voice says through the fog. Forcing himself to look up, Guy sees Archer rip a sleeve from his shirt and squat down next to him. Grimacing, he shuts his eyes and clenches his teeth as Archer winds the cloth tightly around his leg.

"Here, drink this."

He opens his eyes groggily to see Archer holding a flask to his lips. The tangy sweetness of the wine fills his mouth, the warmth spreading through his chest, down to his stomach. At least he can breathe again; his limbs feel stronger, and the dizziness ebbs.

"Wait here," Archer says. As he walks away briskly, the crunch of his boots echoing dully in the tunnel, Guy sighs and speaks again. "Robin…I—I wish I could—" He trails off, not knowing what else to say.

"You did not know what she would do," Robin says quietly. "She could have used it on you just as readily."

"Should've been me," he whispers. Self-loathing hits him with full force; it is almost as if he were back in Acre, with the fresh memory of Marian's broken body slumped in his arms. "God, Robin, it should've been—"

"Stop it," Robin says with unexpected firmness. "The poison—what do you know about it? Archer may know a remedy, or maybe Tuck does—"

"Almonds," Guy murmurs. "It smells like bitter almonds. That's all I know."

Archer is coming back, holding something in his hands.

"Is this it?" He gingerly unwraps the cloth; three broken pieces of a glass vial. "I found it over there," he motions toward a column. "She must have dropped it after she dipped the dagger."

Guy closes his eyes. "Yes."

Archer sniffs, then makes a sound of shock or revulsion or both. When he speaks up, his voice is somber. "There is no antidote... None that I know of. Maybe your monk friend—"

"Listen to me," Robin says forcefully. "We have to think about all those people. We have to try to get them out, or they'll be slaughtered when Vaisey returns with his army—"

"The cellars," Guy says.

Robin gives him a puzzled look. "The cellars?"

"There is an opening that leads from the cellars into the tunnel. Bring your people down there and wait until Vaisey has moved his men through the tunnel and into the Great Hall. Then the way is clear and you can get them outside."

"Good," Robin says. Then he holds out his hand. "Come on, let's go."

Guy looks away. "You go, Robin. I can only slow you down."

"And leave you here for the Sheriff?" Robin snaps, an angry edge in his voice. "No one's getting left behind; not as long as I can help it."

"Robin…" The name lingers between them a moment, almost as if there were nothing else to say; but there is. "This is my fault."

This time, Robin's tone is oddly gentle. "And you think that if you die too, that will make it better." He pauses. "Well, it won't. The good you can do—that's what matters, not whether you die doing it."

The good you can do… Guy scoffs inwardly. What good is his life to anyone? And once Robin is gone— Still, he grabs Robin's outstretched hand and pulls himself up with a groan, favoring his left leg. The pain is bearable as he leans on Robin and Archer and they walk toward the doorway together: the half-brother of whom he knew nothing until these past two weeks, and this other man who is neither brother nor friend—is he?—but somehow more, much more.

They are almost at the door to the Great Hall where all the people are gathered when Robin stops and looks at Guy; and, meeting his silent gaze, Guys feels sick to his soul.

"What?" he asks hollowly.

"The others—they must not know how Isabella got the poison."

It makes him sicker still, to know that Robin is protecting him even now. He looks down, shaking his head.

"You too, Archer. They mustn't know. Ever." Robin pauses and adds, "And they mustn't know—anything until our work is done and everyone is safe; you understand?"

Archer nods silently, and a moment later Robin pushes at the door. They are about to face the others. The others who do not yet know what is going to happen.

After that, all goes according to plan. Robin guides his ragtag peasant army down to the cellar to wait while Vaisey's men stomp through the underground passage. Flanked by Robin and Archer, Guy watches through the iron grid that covers the opening from the cellar to the tunnel. He sees Vaisey casts an indifferent glance at the body of his latest henchman, Blamire; sees Isabella look around anxiously, as if searching for something, as if she expected to see…what? Him, bleeding on the floor? Robin's dead body? Her face is pinched and bitter, and she somehow looks smaller than she should. No longer Sheriff but Vaisey's underling, in the power of yet another man who revels in cruelty. He could almost pity her now, in spite of everything.

Then they're gone, Vaisey and Isabella and the soldiers, the last echoes of their footsteps fading. There is a tense moment when the grid will not come off—until Little John hands his staff to Tuck and takes over, and the iron yields to his strength and the way is clear. It is then, while they are waiting for the villagers to file out into the tunnel, that Guy sees a spasm flicker across Robin's face, hears his breath falter. His heart sinks: it is the poison.

When they get out through the opening, Guy leaning on Archer's arm, Robin and Tuck behind them, it happens again. Hearing a gasp, Guy forces himself to look back—just in time to see Robin sway on unsteady legs and lean against the wall, grimacing slightly. Tuck eyes him with obvious concern.

"Robin. What's wrong?"

Robin catches his breath and sighs and looks bleakly at the monk. "I have bad news, Tuck."

Guy dares not lift his eyes while Robin quickly recounts the skirmish in the tunnel, with no mention of the poison's source—but he does look up to see Tuck sniff at the shards from the vial and give a grim, wordless headshake that says it all.

Robin nods silently and squeezes Tuck's shoulder. Clearly, he had expected this: so had Guy, but that does not make things easier.

"Let's move on," Robin says.

As they start forward, Guy still leaning heavily on Archer's arm, Tuck halts suddenly and turns to him. "Sir Guy."

Guy flinches. The monk knows, or suspects something—

"Take this." Tuck passes him Little John's staff. "It will be easier for you to walk if you lean on it." As Guy nods his thanks, the monk adds, "I will stitch up your leg once we are out."

It makes him ill that this man would treat him kindly, unaware of his fault in Robin's fatal wounding. But Robin walks on, and there is nothing to do but follow.

It is not long before they see daylight—and there it is, the way out of the tunnel. A grave; God's mercy, how fitting that it should be a grave. Guy shivers. He is heartsick; he is also exhausted and out of breath, and his injured leg is on fire, and he must force himself to take a few more steps.

Archer and Tuck help pull him up, and he drops the staff and collapses into the grass, panting raggedly, grunting with pain. After a moment he sits up, wiping the sweat from his face. The bandage on his leg is soaked with blood. Tuck offers him some sort of remedy from his pouch, some bitter-tasting bits of herb to chew on that are meant to ease the pain, and Guy despises himself for accepting the offer; surely he deserves all the punishment he can get, and besides, the physical pain at least takes his mind off the mortal anguish of his soul.

Robin climbs out of the grave, assisted by Archer. It is strange that the others do not realize he isn't well; are they that used to thinking of him as invincible? His breath is shallow and wheezy, his face pale and sweat-streaked; he has to rest on his hands and knees a moment, his head down, before his half-brother can help him to his feet.

"Little John," he says hoarsely. The big man steps up, and Robin claps him on the arm, wincing; Guy can see how much effort even the simplest movement costs him now.

"Take the others into the forest. Archer and I—we have a job to finish." He glances at Tuck. "Did you set everything up?"

Tuck nods curtly, his face unreadable.

Robin turns to Archer. "Then let's do it."

They wait, as Robin told them, in the field across from the castle's main gate. A warm breeze rustles through the grass, and the sky is a bright and warm blue, and all Guy can think about is that Robin will not live to see the sunset. He stands, as always, slightly apart from the others, still leaning on Little John's staff. A staff that, Guy thinks morosely, belongs to a man who would likely beat him to death with it if he knew the truth. His wound has been stitched and properly bandaged by the imperturbable, ever-efficient Tuck, and treated with a salve to lessen the pain and prevent infection. For Robin, there will be no salve.

These gloomy reflections are interrupted by a loud, powerful boom; the Byzantine fire, torched by Robin's arrow. Robin Hood's last shot. Underfoot, the earth shakes. Flames shoot out from the castle's windows, and plumes of smoke rise, and then the walls begin to sag and topple and in another moment the billowing smoke mingles with clouds of gray dust. Guy watches as the castle that was once both his home and his prison starts to fall.

Much, Little John, and Kate cheer and laugh and whoop madly, jumping up and down, pumping their fists in the air; so do a few villagers who have followed them here. "We did it! We did it!" Kate shrieks, hugging the big man around the neck, and he hugs her back and they are both laughing and they have no idea and Christ's heart, it is unbearable.

The earth trembles again. Somewhere in those clouds of smoke and dust, his sister is dead or dying in a rain of rubble. Guy lowers his head, his jaw tight. He hopes it was quick. Vaisey is dead too and he should be glad and it should not have happened like this. Not like this.

And then the blonde shrew has to make it worse by shouting, "Robin! Is Robin all right?", and the question rips at Guy's heart because no, Robin will never be all right again, you bloody fool. More cheers erupt, and Much calls out, "There they are!" and Guy looks up heavily to see the two figures racing over the bridge as hell rages behind them. They've made it across the bridge, still running, and then one of them—Robin—stumbles and falls, and the other helps him up. Guy swallows and raises his eyes to the sky. He cannot watch this.

A new round of shouts signals the two men's arrival. Blinking hard, Guy finally shifts his eyes toward them. Much is shouting, "You did it!", and hugging them both, Robin and Archer. Then Robin walks on, the bow in his hand hanging at his side. The villagers are slapping him on the back and cheering, and no one seems to notice that Robin looks anything but cheerful. For an instant, his eyes lock on Guy's, then look past him to the forest. Robin keeps walking toward the low-sloping hillside where the woods begin; then stops and leans forward, obviously battling his weakness. He straightens up and walks on.

"Where's Robin going?" Much asks uncomprehendingly. "He should be celebrating with us!"

"Robin!" Kate makes to go after him, but Tuck grabs her arm.

"There's something you all need to know," he says.

Much gapes in disbelief and babbles about a cure, and Little John seems too stunned to speak, and Kate shakes her head and says, "No, no," tears welling in her eyes; John tries to hug her and she pushes him off at first, her "No!" rising to a high-pitched wail. The big man draws her toward him again, and she collapses against his chest, sobbing. Archer stands still, staring at the ground, only looking up for a moment to meet Guy's eyes.

Robin is still walking. Guy sees him stretch out his hand and slide his palm over the tall stalks of grass; it brings a lump to his throat.

As Robin slowly makes his way up the hillside, Much takes off running after him. Tuck nods to Little John and Kate, and they follow too. Then Archer joins them. The villagers murmur amongst each other, some—both women and men—weeping quietly and others in shock at the imminent death of their hero. They know better than to follow: in those final moments, the only ones near Robin should be his friends.

Guy, too, knows better. He has no right to be there. Leaning on the staff, he bows his head and tries to pray, but the words will not come to him.

"Gisborne!"

He snaps his head up to see Archer running toward him.

"Aren't you coming?"

He looks away. "I think not."

After a brief pause Archer says tightly, "You have to say good-bye."

Guy scoffs, his mouth twisting in bitter mockery.

Archer clasps his arm. "We're family, the three of us. He'll want you there."

We're almost family... Robin said that when he first brought Guy to the outlaw camp.

"All right," Guy says, and follows his half-brother to the forest.

When they catch up with the others on a sun-dappled patch of the hillside, Robin is saying good-bye to his man, Much; his back is turned to Guy, his hands are on the sides of Much's head. "You are already more of a man than I will ever be," he says. He pulls off Much's cap, the mark of servanthood, loosing a mop of ash-blond hair. "You are Much…and you are my best friend."

Guy exhales a shaky sigh and looks up at the leaves overhead, at the shards of silvery sunlight slanting through the trees. He should not have come, he tells himself again. He does not belong here. The truth is also that a part of him is still bitter that this doomed man has so much more than Guy has ever had or ever will have—and he hates that he feels that way.

Much weeps as he embraces Robin. At last Robin pulls back and turns around. Tears glitter on his cheeks as well, and when sunlight falls on his face Guy sees how haggard he looks: his skin ashen, his features sharp.

Robin steps toward Little John, who shakes his shaggy mane and says, "This isn't fair."

"Oh, come on, John!" Robin smiles crookedly, his lips twitching. "Today is…a good day to die!" The two men hug, both of them weeping openly, and Robin says something else that sounds like "Look after them" or "Look out for them," and Little John nods and mumbles something back. They stand still briefly, hands locked on each other's arms, before pulling apart.

It is the girl's turn; "Brave Kate," Robin says, his hand pressed to her cheek. Sniffling, she reaches up to touch his face and it looks as if she will move to kiss him, but then she nestles her head against his shoulder and rests there briefly while Robin strokes her hair. "I'm sorry," he murmurs; for dying, or for not loving her, Guy isn't sure. He has never understood whatever it was that Robin had with the girl, but this isn't the time—and besides, thinking of that makes him think of another woman and he would rather not. His throat clenches and for a moment he cannot breathe, as if he were the one dying of poison.

He only half-hears what Robin is saying to Tuck: words of gratitude for saving him and not letting him abandon the fight, words of encouragement about finding a new leader. "Our work is not done," he says as he clasps hands with the monk and they embrace each other. And now Robin is moving toward Guy and Archer, shuffling his feet on the grass—getting weaker with every passing instant—and Guy is shaking and he doesn't know how he will get through this.

Robin groans suddenly and closes his eyes, his face convulsing; his knees buckle and he nearly falls, but Archer catches him. Regaining control, for now, he grasps Archer's shoulder.

"You…make sure it doesn't finish here," he says fervently. "This…this is where you belong."

"Without you," Archer says grimly.

"They're all your brothers now. You must stay with them."

Archer seems too overcome to speak, but finally manages, "I wish—I wish we'd had more time—"

"Me too," Robin says. He glances at the hilltop, as if there were something waiting for him there and he were impatient to go. Then he turns back to Archer. "I'm glad we found each other. I'm glad you came back."

He moves on to Guy. There: the moment Guy has been dreading.

"Guy." No more "Gisborne," now. Robin pauses, as if not quite knowing what to say. At length he says, "We should have been—allies much sooner."

Their eyes connect and Robin's hand is on his arm, and Guy's shaking hand clutches stiffly on Robin's forearm before they break apart.

"Robin…thank you. For letting me join you." He wants to say that if he had died today, he would have died proud, and all thanks to Robin; but the words choke him.

"What will you do now?" Robin asks.

"What do you want me to do?" Right now, at least, he feels that he would do whatever Robin says, for Robin's sake.

Robin chuckles, then trails off, struggling for breath. "I want you…to decide for yourself." He pauses to rally himself, then half-turns toward the others, raising his voice. "Listen, all of you! I want you to promise that if Gisborne chooses to stay and be a part of our struggle, you will accept him."

"We will," Tuck says; but there is an uneasy silence from the others, and Guy looks down, once again sick with the knowledge of his guilt.

Finally, Much speaks. "We will, Robin. I promise," he says nervously.

"I want you all to know something," Robin says. "When Isabella cut me with that poisoned blade—"

Guy's heart plunges, his mind awhirl; but before he can react Robin continues, "Gisborne risked his life to push me out of her way. It is how he got his wound. If he had not done that"—Robin pauses for breath while Guy struggles against a flood of relief and shame—"she would have stabbed me in the back and I would have died back there in the—"

He breaks off, panting, grimacing; this speech seems to have drained the last of his strength. He reaches out and clasps Guy's hand, his fingers squeezing weakly, and Guy squeezes back and struggles not to weep. Then Robin moves closer and his hands clench on Guy's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace, and somehow it feels right and Robin's whisper brushes Guy's cheek. "A friend of mine—used to tell me that—everything we do is a choice. I—I think sh-"—his voice snags and he pauses for another wheezing breath—"she believed in you, too."

Guy knows he must say one more thing; he must, even if it kills him. "She is waiting for you," he murmurs, his voice thick with unshed tears.

Robin pulls back and gives him a ghost of a smile. It is over. He steps away and speaks up once again.

"I'm sorry that I have to leave you…all of you. But I have to do this alone."

He turns and starts his journey uphill while the rest of them stay behind, looking on. Little John puts his arms around Much and Kate; Guy, used to being alone, starts when Archer's hand comes down on his shoulder. Robin walks on, stopping a couple of times, stumbling once, until he vanishes into the trees, into a silvery mist of sunshine. As Guy watches him disappear, he is suddenly gripped by the overwhelming conviction that if he were to follow, he would see Marian there, smiling and radiant in her angelic splendor—Marian, come back for the man she loves, a man who is not him. He takes a shuddering breath, knowing he would die a hundred times for the chance to see her even once again, to have her smile for him.

Guy shuts his eyes, and for a moment he could swear that he hears a clear, silvery feminine laugh amidst the trees; but surely it's only birdsong.

A short while later, Tuck and Little John go up the hill and return with Robin's body and lay him down on the grass. His face looks serene in the late sunlight. They all stand there, heads bowed, until Kate breaks the silence. Denied a kiss in her last good-bye, she now kneels over Robin, crying, and kisses his dead face again and again. Then she rises and turns toward the rest of them, and the grief in her flushed wet face gives way to anger.

"It's not fair," she says spitefully. "It's not fair." She comes closer, her gray eyes sparkling with tears and fury, looking directly at Guy. "It's not fair that Robin should be dead and this one should live!"

After a tense, awkward silence Much starts, "Kate…" and touches her shoulder, but she throws him off, her voice rising. "No! Don't you touch me! It's not fair, it's not right, it's not right—if someone had to die it should have been 'im—"

"For what it's worth, I think you're right," Guy says. And he means it—but unfortunately, it seems that he cannot address the girl without a reflexive sneer, and it sends her into an even worse fit of rage.

"Don't you dare!" she hisses. "How dare you mock me—"

She charges at Guy and he shrinks back instinctively, mindful of his wounded leg. Before she can slam into him, she is caught in Little John's powerful grip and lifted off the ground while she flails and kicks and shrieks.

"Kate," John says, "Kate. Right now, we must honor Robin."

At last she calms down. There is some discussion of where Robin should be buried. Much and Kate say Locksley, because it was his home and his people should have a chance to say good-bye; Little John and Tuck say Sherwood, because it had become his true home and because Robin Hood belonged to all of the people of England, not just those of Locksley. Guy, whose voice does not count for anything, leans back against the trunk of a tree and stares up at the leafy canopy, its green painted gold by the sun, and thinks of a woman buried in the dry hot sands of the Holy Land.

"Maiden's Glade," Little John's voice rumbles, far away. "It is a short walk from here. We can carry him on a stretcher."

Marian and Robin. They are together now: the two people to whom he owes whatever chance he still has to recover his pride—his soul—before he dies. Two people whose deaths are on his conscience.

He forces his attention back to the conversation. "We mustn't let his legacy die with him," Tuck is saying. "Until England is right again, our fight must continue."

"But Robin is dead," Much says dejectedly. "Our leader. Our friend."

"He would not want us to give up," Tuck counters; and Little John says quietly, "Much…for Robin."

Eyes half-shut, Guy hears Robin's voice in his head. If Gisborne chooses to stay and be a part of our struggle… A friend of mine used to tell me everything we do is a choice…she believed in you, too. I want you to decide for yourself. Decide for himself? It's not as if he has a wide range of options. If he stays… There is no use in deluding himself; he doesn't belong with these people. Besides Robin, the only one of them that he even knew how to be around was Allan, and Allan is dead. At this thought, his eyes prickle hotly once again; blast it to hell, next he'll be blubbering like Robin's bloody manservant.

"Sir Guy?" Tuck's voice jolts him out of his thoughts.

He looks up and clears his throat. "What?"

"We have decided to stay together and carry on Robin's cause," the monk says solemnly. "Will you join us too?"

Kate grumbles something but is shushed by Little John and lapses into a sullen silence. Everyone is waiting. Finally Guy stands up straight, bracing himself against the tree, and picks up the staff and hobbles toward the others. He knows now what he has to do.

"First, I must speak to you alone," he says to Tuck.

"About what?" Much asks.

Guy fixes him with a glare. "If I wanted you to know that, then I wouldn't need to speak to him alone, would I?"

"Right!" Much says sheepishly.

The monk, whom nothing ever fazes, measures him with a curious look. "Very well," he says, and motions his head toward a cluster of trees.

Tuck reacts so calmly to Guy's revelation that Guy wonders, again, if he suspected something like this all along.

"You did the right thing in telling me," he says. "But the others—they mustn't know. I fear that they will not take it well at all, and we must respect Robin's wish."

"You think I should stay, then. Even though it's my fault that—" Guy's voice breaks, and he has to breathe deeply to compose himself. Then he says, "It's true, you know—what the girl said. I should have been the one to die. This is not right."

Tuck puts a hand on his shoulder, and it's all Guy can do not to flinch back.

"Sometimes, Sir Guy, things are right in ways that we cannot see. Perhaps Robin's work here is done, and yours is just beginning… Besides, remember what Robin said: If you had not pushed him out of the path of Isabella's dagger, risking your own life, he would have died in the tunnel—poison or no poison. Without you, he would not have been there to save our people or take down the Sheriff and his army. Or say good-bye to his friends."

It is a very meager comfort—but right now, Guy will take what crumbs he can get. He nods silently.

"As for staying with us—the choice is yours." Tuck pauses, his eyes searching Guy's face. "You seek to atone for your past misdeeds, do you not? Some do so by dedicating themselves to God; others by doing good amongst men." Suddenly, he smiles. "If I may say so, you do not strike me as one cut out to be a man of the cloth."

"You want me fighting for your cause," Guy says slowly. "And yet I cannot even say that I believe in it. You speak of fighting until England is right again. I don't know that it ever was, or ever can be, no matter which king wears the crown."

The monk chuckles. "We're not out to build a paradise on Earth, my friend. We are fallen from grace; there will always be injustice and misery, just as there always will be disease. But that doesn't mean we do not seek a cure—or work to make things better. If nothing else, you can take satisfaction in knowing that you tried."

Guy remembers what he wanted to tell Robin before: if he had died today, he would have died proud. He thinks, too, that his half-brother is here, and perhaps someday they will get to the point where he can call Archer brother and believe it.

"I will stay," he says; then thinks a moment and adds, "For now."

The only one who seems pleased by Tuck's announcement is Archer; but the others are not appalled, and that is something. Even the girl sighs and mutters, meeting Tuck's questioning look, "It's what Robin wanted."

Much clears his throat, looks from Guy to Tuck to Little John. "We're all in, then." He pauses and adds in a hushed voice, "For Robin," casting a look at the body on the ground, now covered with a cloak.

Guy nods, his lips moving soundlessly. For Robin.

"We are Robin Hood," Little John says, extending his hand to Tuck. They clasp hands, and then Much puts his hand on top of theirs and Kate slaps hers over his and Archer follows—and Guy of Gisborne moves Little John's staff to his left hand so that he can hold out his right and put it over the others'.

"Robin Hood," says Tuck; and, when Guy repeats with the rest of them, "Robin Hood," it feels almost right.

THE END