Robin Hood is the Prince of Thieves (robinofthehood) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2013-10-14 22:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | marian locksley, robin hood |
Who: Marian and Robin
Where: A room at Eponine's inn
When: Early evening October 13, the day after Robin stole Mal's booze and got blind drunk
What: Much is dead. Feels.
His head was pounding and his stomach was churning. There was still blood and dirt on his clothes from the previous day, still cuts and bruises on his forearms and face. He hadn't been lying to Marian when he'd said the explosion had given him only superficial wounds. Though he could have another dagger thrust in to his side and the pain would pale in comparison to what came with the thought of his friend.
Much was dead. No matter what he did, who he'd lost his temper at or offended, his dearest friend would still be gone. If either of them was to die, Robin had always been prepared for it to be him. He was the one who dragged Much along with him, even when he hadn't asked him to follow. Because no matter what he did, he knew Much would always have his back. It had always been that way. As small boys, Robin had climbed trees far too high and Much, terrified of heights but determined not to let anything happen to his younger master, had followed.
And then the war. He hadn't asked it of Much. He couldn't have. And yet his servant and by then faithful friend had not given it even a seconds thought. How many times had they saved each other's lives? How many times over did he owe his well being, his very existence, to Much? And now, he was gone.
Pulling the dirty shirt off over his head he dropped it at his side, reaching for the taps and letting the water run. Scooping it in his palms he splashed the cool water on his face and neck. He should probably have had a shower, but he didn't think he had the energy. Walking back in to main area of the room he sank wearily to sit on the edge of the bed. He was anxious for Marian to get back. She'd said she was fine now but she hadn't been. She had seemed far from it and if anything happened to her he couldn't imagine what he would do. He wanted her here with him. Needed her to be here.
But it was only a few minutes later that exhaustion won out, and he found himself laying with his head on the pillow and no recollection of lifting his feet on to the bed. He still wore the same pants he'd had on yesterday, and the same shoes. Much's wooden outlaw tag rested tangled with his own, still around his neck.