Who: Robin Hood What: Narrative or open to Locksley House residents (or Lydia B) if they want to share in all the angst ever When: Mid afternoonish Where: Locksley house
He knew Marian's sleep had been little better than his, that she was suffering from nightmares too, though true to form they had not discussed it. Accustomed as he was to them, he had foolishly thought he would simply ride them out, deal with them until they were done with. Because they couldn't last forever. But these had been no ordinary nightmares, if any could be called ordinary. They had kept him awake hours on end, leaving him exhausted, his mind vulnerable and triggering the things he had only recently become more adept at coping with, had only recently started to get rid of.
It had been late the night before when they had first come back. As tired as he was, at first he'd thought he was still simply dreaming, and had ignored them. But then again this morning, from the corner of his eye as he'd been eating breakfast with Much he'd seen them walk in to the room. Four of them. They were often the same ones. He still hadn't figured out why they were the ones, except that he could remember their deaths so vividly. Could still remember the pull of the blade as his sword had left their bodies. And that morning, as they trailed blood across the carpet and moved closer to the table, his appetite had left him along with the last of the sense of peace he'd worked so hard to get back, so recently. He couldn't do this again. They were always there. If not right beside him than in the corner of the room. Doing nothing but watching him with judgement in their eyes, blood dripping from their wounds. Even if he closed his eyes he could hear the steady rhythm of it hitting the floor, couldn't block out the taunts and accusations. No matter how much he told himself they weren't real.
He'd come home early, needing the quiet, needing to be away from people as he felt less and less like he could hold it together. Much he was sure he could convince easily enough, if only because he knew his friend well enough to know how to distract him if he became at all concerned. Marian was the problem. He knew it wouldn't take her long to see something was wrong. And though he had come to a point where he could open up to her, it was always the fear of worrying her, upsetting her, that stopped him. Particularly now, when she was suffering through her own nightmares.
He'd tried all the techniques Claire had taught him, and none of them had worked. So he sat on the couch he and Lydia had picked out together, focusing intently on the tv as people baked bread and other people judged it, and did what he could to ignore the figures standing in the corner, trying to capture his attention with harsh whispers in Arabic.