(Untitled)
Who: Robin and Much
What: A heart-to-heart
Where: A cave near Wadlow
When: January 1st (backdated due to my extreme laziness)
( If there was one thing Much hated more than Robin not talking to him, it was Robin not talking to him while they were trapped in a cave during a snowstorm. )
What: A heart-to-heart
Where: A cave near Wadlow
When: January 1st (backdated due to my extreme laziness)
( If there was one thing Much hated more than Robin not talking to him, it was Robin not talking to him while they were trapped in a cave during a snowstorm. )
Hated himself for causing it, and more for not being able to fix it.
Until now, he had been able to arrange it so that they were never alone together. It had surprised him when Much offered to go with him on the deliveries today, and he could think of no acceptable reason to turn him down. Then, of course, the snow had kicked up, and now they were stuck in a cave-- not helping Robin's mood-- and Much was pacing and prattling on. Worse, he was prattling about an incident Robin would really rather leave forgotten.
From where he was leaning against the cave wall, staring outside and willing summer to come to Nottingham now, right now, Robin scowled. "We're not going to die, Much," he snapped, his mood turning even fouler now that he had likely made their situation even worse.
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Hesitantly, he stopped pacing and moved to stand next to Robin. "But if we do," he continued, "I don't want it to be like this. I mean, I don't want this to still be between us. Please, can't we talk?"
He couldn't die with Robin still angry at him. Of course, Much's words would probably make him even angrier, but he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't try.
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While he was no more concerned for their lives than on any other day, the combination of the hurt in Much's voice and the opportunity to at least patch up this thing between them made his anger begin to diffuse. All the same, discussion of the Holy Land was not high on the list of things he was willing to deal with just then. "I do not like it any more than you do." His voice still carried a degree of frustration, but was not as heated as it had been a moment earlier. With a shrug, he said, "So, talk."
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Outnumbered a dozen to two…panic seized him and he couldn’t move…until one of them advanced on Robin and prepared to strike, his sword gleaming with near-blinding brightness as they emerged into the daylight…a surge of hot anger, his blade slicing through the enemy’s flesh almost of its own accord…“I don’t know what came over me!” he shouted, as if his voice would drown out the sounds of his memories. “I just knew we were going to die, but I had to protect you if I could, and then the next thing I knew, I was…and they were…oh, God, their faces ( ... )
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His words were quiet, hovering somewhere between an admonition and a plea. He could not do this-- could not revisit those memories, could not comfort Much about them. There was a reason he refused to do so before now, and he had explained himself, and yet that clearly did not matter. Despite his denial of the memories, they began to nibble on the edges of his consciousness, bringing with them the panic he experienced whenever they surfaced.
Bringing with them the pain, pain which defied physical definition and went straight to the center of his soul.
Why could they not have taken shelter in a barn?
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Shut up, Much. No one cares what you have to say. Fine, then; I won’t talk.
“Maybe you should have gone with Marian instead.”
All right, now I won’t talk. He rubbed his forehead in frustration -- not only at Robin, but also at himself, for he had most certainly ruined their chances of patching things up; and at the fact that they were still stuck in this God-forsaken cave. This dingy, freezing cave which smelled of moldy bread.
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He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back. "Maybe I should have," he agreed. Letting out a quieter breath, he looked back at Much. "But, I did not. Here we are, so we should make use of this time." Trying and failing to gather a proper thought, too thrown off by the memories which continued to seep in now that they had begun, he demanded, "Why must we talk about that? What will it help to re-open those old wounds?"
Which was almost exactly what had started this whole thing between them, but he still did not understand.
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Why should he bother to explain again? Robin would never understand. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine, I won’t talk about it. I won’t talk about anything. I won’t say another word until we’re out of here.”
He rose to his feet and walked to the opposite end of the cave; then, to show that he meant his words, he sat down again with his back to Robin.
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When Much went to sit by himself, it was Robin's turn to roll his eyes. Finding a good place to sit where he had been standing, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He highly doubted that Much would be able to go long without speaking.
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Do you think I haven’t tried? Do you think I don’t wish I could make them go away just by ignoring them? But he couldn’t, and neither could Robin; otherwise, he wouldn’t have discussed them with Marian.
“It’s my fault I don’t understand why you’ll talk to Marian, but you won’t even listen to me?” he continued. “I’ve done everything you ever asked of me; the least you could do is listen.”
Twice now, he had given up everything to follow Robin. For more than ten years, he had constantly put his master’s needs before his own. Yet apparently, none of that mattered. Much let out a frustrated groan and pulled his cap over his ears.
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Not as soul-wrenching, although certainly guilt-inducing, was the reminder of how loyal Much had always been to him. It was one of the many regrets which often crept up on him when his guard was down, and which he had to ignore in order to get through each day. Whilst he had been having enough trouble handling the fallout from his conversation with Marian and, to an extent, feared that another conversation so soon would prove literally impossible to handle, he could not ignore a plea like that. "There must be some sort of compromise here." It was a plea of his own, even if his voice was more frustrated than begging.
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He sighed when Robin claimed he hadn’t wanted to talk to Marian. He could say that all he wanted, but the fact remained that he had talked to her, while he continued to push Much away. What could he do but accept it, though? He couldn’t see any compromise here; it was clear that nothing would sway Robin on this matter.
“Forget it,” he said, his shoulders sagging in resignation. “You’re right. This isn’t helping anything.”
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Frowning at Much, he found himself asking, "Why must you speak of it? How does that help you?" The question was an honest one. He was aware that his manner of dealing with things was not the most common, but he had never been able to understand the urge to discuss such painful memories. All it could do was reinforce the pain, as far as he could tell.
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He didn't see the point in continuing this conversation; they weren't getting any closer to understanding each other. Still, he couldn't resist replying to Robin's question with one of his own. "I suppose talking to Marian didn't help you at all?" he challenged.
Perhaps if he could get Robin to admit that it had helped him, he would be able to see where Much was coming from.
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"They are no longer grey or few. They are renewed, and vivid." He turned and took a couple of steps away. "Not that they need to happen in order for me to remember. I cannot forget."
He needed to forget...
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It still stung that Robin refused to even listen to him, but he couldn't continue to press the matter if it was so painful for his friend. "Sorry. I won't ask you to talk about it again."
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