Original: Five Things Robin Stole (Before He Became an Outlaw)
Title: Five Things Robin Stole (Before He Became an Outlaw)
Characters: Robin, Marian, John, others
Summary: Robin started his career a little earlier than he might have supposed.
Warnings: Violence, death of unnamed characters
Notes: Written for the "caught in a robbery" square on my origfic_bingo card.
1. Stolen Apples
He was four years old when he attempted to steal something for the first time. He and John had managed to escape their guardians, which wasn’t too difficult, as they were wrapped up in something to do with the King and his sons and his wife- something dull and adult and completely pointless to worry about when there was fun to be had.
It was fall, and the apples were ripe to be picked. Some were hanging low to the ground, almost low enough for them to reach up and grab one. But the best ones- the ones that they knew would be crisp and sweet and just tart enough to make their mouths pucker- those were on the top branches, too high to reach. Not that that had ever stopped them.
John- who, at only two months older than Robin, was several stone heavier than him, and almost a hand taller- gave the smaller boy a boost, and he scrambled up the branches with deftness, if not grace. Unfortunately for both of them, they hadn’t thought of the possibility of being caught, and an angry yell from one of the men coming in from the fields startled Robin so badly than he fell off his perch on the branch. In the subsequent scramble to see if he had broken anything, the thought of scolding them seemed to slip the adults’ minds, but the memory was enough to make both boys steer clear of the trees after that.
2. Stolen Ribbons
Marian first got involved when Robin was six, though she might dispute that fact if she was asked. She’d been brought to Locksley by her parents, who wanted to negotiate something or other with Robin’s father. The details didn’t especially concern him; all he knew was this this girl- whose smile made him feel strangely queasy, even if she did have a missing tooth- wouldn’t talk to him.
It wasn’t that she was ignoring him, exactly- at least not on purpose. She sat next to her mother, head bowed, concentrating on putting neat stitches into a piece of needlework. Robin stood to the side and watched her helplessly. He wanted to talk to her, and he knew he probably should- both their parents seemed to hope that they would- but he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to begin a conversation. He’d never talked to a girl before, at least not a noble like him. The only girls he knew were the servants’ children, and girls from the village, who played tackle with him and didn’t seem to mind getting their clothes dirty. Looking at Marian’s spotless blue dress, he doubted she would be quite so accommodating. Then he saw the matching ribbon that trailed from her braid, and got an idea.
He edged over to where she was sitting. The adults paid no attention, wrapped up as they were in conversation. Her braid was hanging over her shoulder, stopping just short of her elbow, tied with a ribbon that was tied in a neat knot. He edged a little closer, waiting to see if she would look up and say anything. When she didn’t, he resorted to his second plan: grabbing the ribbon, pulling it loose, and dashing away.
He heard an injured yelp, followed by a shout from one of the adults and the sound of running feet. He tried, but his small feet were no match for the adult who was chasing him, and he found himself caught by the collar before he even managed to get out of the room. The ribbon was summarily pulled from his hands and handed back to its owner, while he was dragged off. As he was pulled out of the room, being scolded all the way, he caught another glimpse of Marian. She was clutching her now-wrinkled ribbon to her chest, sniffling. He felt a sudden stab of guilt, and privately vowed to get her a new one when they were married.
3. Stolen Kisses
They got along better than could be expected after that first meeting, though it took them awhile to get there. At first, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him or John, sailing past with her head held high whenever they approached. It was rather unfair in John’s opinion; why should she hate him when Robin was the one who’d pulled her hair? They scuffled over it when he said as much to Robin, and had to be pulled apart by an exasperated tutor.
Peace was restored when Robin plucked up his courage to apologise, telling Marian that he hasn’t meant to pull her hair- not really- and giving her an apple as a peace offering. She accepted, her wounded feelings patched, and they were fast friends from then on. It wasn’t all that different, playing with a girl; she wore dresses and plaited her hair, but she was also happy to hike her skirts up to scale a tree, and could out-shoot both of them at twenty paces. The last point wounded his pride a little, but then he beat her at thirty paces and felt better. If she let him win, he pretended not to notice.
Things changed when they reached thirteen. She came to Locksley for her birthday, and when she stepped out of the carriage, Robin suddenly found it difficult to keep his jaw from dropping. She’d changed in the six months since he’d seen her last; in the intervening time, she’d shot up in height, carrying herself with an ease that spoke of confidence. She’d grown in other ways, too; the bodice of her dress was pushed out by the flesh underneath. Eyeing it, Robin swallowed hard and found himself suddenly wishing that their wedding was in a few months instead of years.
She wasn’t the same playmate, either. She didn’t climb trees anymore (though he didn’t either, really; he’d given it up for childish) and while she was still an expert with a bow and arrow, they no longer teased each other about their skills the way they had when they were young. She’d taken up sewing, and brought a basket of fancywork with her to keep her hands busy. Robin watched her nimble fingers pull the thread in and out of the cloth, cursing the fact that he seemed to have become suddenly dumb. She was beautiful; she was sweet; she was incredible; so why couldn’t he manage to say any of that out loud? It was like being six all over again, only now he was too old for ribbon-stealing. He slid next to her on the bench, and she smiled, but didn’t say anything.
Impulsively, he gave her braid a gentle tug. She laughed. “What-“
He leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t spectacular; if he was being honest with himself, he got more of her bottom lip than her mouth. But when he pulled back, blushing furiously, she was laughing. For a horrible moment, he thought she was laughing at him, but then he saw her eyes and knew she wasn’t. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t a bad afternoon, all things considered.
4. Stolen Happiness
Their marriage was rushed, for reason that everyone knew but no one wanted to acknowledge. His mother was dying; it was obvious to everyone. When Marian arrived for the wedding and saw her, her mouth dropped open and she barely restrained herself from crying out loud. Robin took her arm and led her away.
There was feasting and dancing after the wedding, and Robin led his bride in the first dance. As they spun around the floor, he caught sight of his mother: milk-pale face, almost skeletally thin, clutching his father’s arm partially for support, and partially to keep from moaning from pain. Feeling sick, he turned away.
She died two weeks later; a month later, Marian told him she was with child. He held her close in those months, feeling their baby grow and swell and kick insider, feeling hope for the first time since they had first seen the blood in the corner of his mother’s mouth. An heir to his father’s estate. A family. Happiness. For the first time in almost a year, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
The baby never drew a breath. After the midwives delivered the corpse and bundled it away, Robin spent hours on his knees in the chapel, begging for an answer- something to explain why this had been taken away from them. Why were they being punished like this? He wondered, in the darkest hours, if he would ever feel happiness again, save for brief moments like the ones he had experienced in the past months. Staring into the impassive eyes of the Madonna, it seemed as though he never would.
5. Stolen Lives
He didn’t consider lives taken in battle as stolen. The men he fought were heretics, barbarians. They held the Holy City hostage, and when his sword sliced through them, they bled for Christ. That didn’t stop him from seeing the ugliness, feeling it seep into his bones and weigh them down like lead. As he lay on the desert sands at night, watching unfamiliar stars circle overhead, he would hear echoes of battle in his ears, the cries of his opponents and the sickening slice of flesh being split. The sounds followed him into his dreams, leaving him haggard and red-eyed the next morning. John looked at him, worried, but Robin brushed off his concerns. He was a soldier. It was his job. He felt no regrets.
Acre was different.
They waited for days for a response from Saladin, staring into the fierce sunlight instead of looking at the prisoners. Robin sometimes chanced a glance at them, then looked away feeling worse than before. There were small children clinging to their mothers, boys of barely sixteen trying to stand guard over their mothers and sisters. Still, they waited. They didn’t know what was happening between Richard and Saladin, only that the terms hadn’t been fulfilled, and the prisoners remained. Rumours ran wild; Leopold and Philip had abandoned the crusade, Conrad was attempting to crown himself king, civil war was going to break out between Guy and Conrad. No one had any idea what to do with the prisoners, so they remained.
On the twentieth of August, the order came. They were to march the prisoners out into the desert, in view of Saladin’s army. Robin led his captives with a sickening feeling of foreboding, not knowing what was to come but sensing that some kind of disaster was imminent. When they reached the hills where the tents were set up, they stopped. There was a moment of stillness, then the order came: “Kill them.”
The other soldiers fell on the prisoners without pause. Some began to scream; others huddled over their family members, trying to protect them from the blows. Robin stood rooted to the spot, mouth open in horror, watching blood spurt from the bodies of their hostages. He gripped his sword tightly in his right hand, knuckles stiff and white, unable to move. He was jostled on both sides by others, eager to get at the prisoners. More screams rose up from the hostages, and some yells of fury could be heard from Saladin’s men, who were watching from their camp.
There was a sudden warning called, and Robin swung his sword up automatically. Saladin’s men were descending on them unable to stand by while their compatriots were being killed. Robin fought them with a strange sort of gladness, though he could still feel his soul weighed down with what he had seen. These were opponents. He could fight them. These were not unarmed women and children, and he did not need to feel guilty.
Except that it wasn’t over. When the opposing forces were driven back, Robin’s fellows fell on the captives with renewed ferocity, and he felt himself being pushed forward, sword in hand. There was a man in front of him; maybe a few years older than he was, staring with a defiance that blazed from his whole body. The man next to him was shouting, Do it! What’s taking you so long? Robin swallowed hard and raised his sword.
They didn’t speak of it later. John- who had been tending to the injured and missed the whole thing- took one look at Robin and declined to ask. He tried putting a hand on his shoulder, but Robin shook it off. He didn’t want sympathy.
Most of the others seemed to think nothing of it, falling back into their routine as though nothing had happened. Some made jokes, glad to be free of the burden of watching the prisoners. But there were some like Robin- bleak faces, mouths turned down, shaking hands that still seemed to bear the blood of those they had killed.
“After all, some of them were soldiers.” one said, with a shrug that fooled everyone but Robin. “We would have killed them anyway, eventually.”
Robin said nothing. He couldn’t have voiced what he was feeling, even if he had wanted to; some unknown, incomprehensible grief held his tongue in place. But he couldn’t help but think, in the days and months after the slaughter, that he had taken something he had no right to
Characters: Robin, Marian, John, others
Summary: Robin started his career a little earlier than he might have supposed.
Warnings: Violence, death of unnamed characters
Notes: Written for the "caught in a robbery" square on my origfic_bingo card.
1. Stolen Apples
He was four years old when he attempted to steal something for the first time. He and John had managed to escape their guardians, which wasn’t too difficult, as they were wrapped up in something to do with the King and his sons and his wife- something dull and adult and completely pointless to worry about when there was fun to be had.
It was fall, and the apples were ripe to be picked. Some were hanging low to the ground, almost low enough for them to reach up and grab one. But the best ones- the ones that they knew would be crisp and sweet and just tart enough to make their mouths pucker- those were on the top branches, too high to reach. Not that that had ever stopped them.
John- who, at only two months older than Robin, was several stone heavier than him, and almost a hand taller- gave the smaller boy a boost, and he scrambled up the branches with deftness, if not grace. Unfortunately for both of them, they hadn’t thought of the possibility of being caught, and an angry yell from one of the men coming in from the fields startled Robin so badly than he fell off his perch on the branch. In the subsequent scramble to see if he had broken anything, the thought of scolding them seemed to slip the adults’ minds, but the memory was enough to make both boys steer clear of the trees after that.
2. Stolen Ribbons
Marian first got involved when Robin was six, though she might dispute that fact if she was asked. She’d been brought to Locksley by her parents, who wanted to negotiate something or other with Robin’s father. The details didn’t especially concern him; all he knew was this this girl- whose smile made him feel strangely queasy, even if she did have a missing tooth- wouldn’t talk to him.
It wasn’t that she was ignoring him, exactly- at least not on purpose. She sat next to her mother, head bowed, concentrating on putting neat stitches into a piece of needlework. Robin stood to the side and watched her helplessly. He wanted to talk to her, and he knew he probably should- both their parents seemed to hope that they would- but he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to begin a conversation. He’d never talked to a girl before, at least not a noble like him. The only girls he knew were the servants’ children, and girls from the village, who played tackle with him and didn’t seem to mind getting their clothes dirty. Looking at Marian’s spotless blue dress, he doubted she would be quite so accommodating. Then he saw the matching ribbon that trailed from her braid, and got an idea.
He edged over to where she was sitting. The adults paid no attention, wrapped up as they were in conversation. Her braid was hanging over her shoulder, stopping just short of her elbow, tied with a ribbon that was tied in a neat knot. He edged a little closer, waiting to see if she would look up and say anything. When she didn’t, he resorted to his second plan: grabbing the ribbon, pulling it loose, and dashing away.
He heard an injured yelp, followed by a shout from one of the adults and the sound of running feet. He tried, but his small feet were no match for the adult who was chasing him, and he found himself caught by the collar before he even managed to get out of the room. The ribbon was summarily pulled from his hands and handed back to its owner, while he was dragged off. As he was pulled out of the room, being scolded all the way, he caught another glimpse of Marian. She was clutching her now-wrinkled ribbon to her chest, sniffling. He felt a sudden stab of guilt, and privately vowed to get her a new one when they were married.
3. Stolen Kisses
They got along better than could be expected after that first meeting, though it took them awhile to get there. At first, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him or John, sailing past with her head held high whenever they approached. It was rather unfair in John’s opinion; why should she hate him when Robin was the one who’d pulled her hair? They scuffled over it when he said as much to Robin, and had to be pulled apart by an exasperated tutor.
Peace was restored when Robin plucked up his courage to apologise, telling Marian that he hasn’t meant to pull her hair- not really- and giving her an apple as a peace offering. She accepted, her wounded feelings patched, and they were fast friends from then on. It wasn’t all that different, playing with a girl; she wore dresses and plaited her hair, but she was also happy to hike her skirts up to scale a tree, and could out-shoot both of them at twenty paces. The last point wounded his pride a little, but then he beat her at thirty paces and felt better. If she let him win, he pretended not to notice.
Things changed when they reached thirteen. She came to Locksley for her birthday, and when she stepped out of the carriage, Robin suddenly found it difficult to keep his jaw from dropping. She’d changed in the six months since he’d seen her last; in the intervening time, she’d shot up in height, carrying herself with an ease that spoke of confidence. She’d grown in other ways, too; the bodice of her dress was pushed out by the flesh underneath. Eyeing it, Robin swallowed hard and found himself suddenly wishing that their wedding was in a few months instead of years.
She wasn’t the same playmate, either. She didn’t climb trees anymore (though he didn’t either, really; he’d given it up for childish) and while she was still an expert with a bow and arrow, they no longer teased each other about their skills the way they had when they were young. She’d taken up sewing, and brought a basket of fancywork with her to keep her hands busy. Robin watched her nimble fingers pull the thread in and out of the cloth, cursing the fact that he seemed to have become suddenly dumb. She was beautiful; she was sweet; she was incredible; so why couldn’t he manage to say any of that out loud? It was like being six all over again, only now he was too old for ribbon-stealing. He slid next to her on the bench, and she smiled, but didn’t say anything.
Impulsively, he gave her braid a gentle tug. She laughed. “What-“
He leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t spectacular; if he was being honest with himself, he got more of her bottom lip than her mouth. But when he pulled back, blushing furiously, she was laughing. For a horrible moment, he thought she was laughing at him, but then he saw her eyes and knew she wasn’t. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t a bad afternoon, all things considered.
4. Stolen Happiness
Their marriage was rushed, for reason that everyone knew but no one wanted to acknowledge. His mother was dying; it was obvious to everyone. When Marian arrived for the wedding and saw her, her mouth dropped open and she barely restrained herself from crying out loud. Robin took her arm and led her away.
There was feasting and dancing after the wedding, and Robin led his bride in the first dance. As they spun around the floor, he caught sight of his mother: milk-pale face, almost skeletally thin, clutching his father’s arm partially for support, and partially to keep from moaning from pain. Feeling sick, he turned away.
She died two weeks later; a month later, Marian told him she was with child. He held her close in those months, feeling their baby grow and swell and kick insider, feeling hope for the first time since they had first seen the blood in the corner of his mother’s mouth. An heir to his father’s estate. A family. Happiness. For the first time in almost a year, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
The baby never drew a breath. After the midwives delivered the corpse and bundled it away, Robin spent hours on his knees in the chapel, begging for an answer- something to explain why this had been taken away from them. Why were they being punished like this? He wondered, in the darkest hours, if he would ever feel happiness again, save for brief moments like the ones he had experienced in the past months. Staring into the impassive eyes of the Madonna, it seemed as though he never would.
5. Stolen Lives
He didn’t consider lives taken in battle as stolen. The men he fought were heretics, barbarians. They held the Holy City hostage, and when his sword sliced through them, they bled for Christ. That didn’t stop him from seeing the ugliness, feeling it seep into his bones and weigh them down like lead. As he lay on the desert sands at night, watching unfamiliar stars circle overhead, he would hear echoes of battle in his ears, the cries of his opponents and the sickening slice of flesh being split. The sounds followed him into his dreams, leaving him haggard and red-eyed the next morning. John looked at him, worried, but Robin brushed off his concerns. He was a soldier. It was his job. He felt no regrets.
Acre was different.
They waited for days for a response from Saladin, staring into the fierce sunlight instead of looking at the prisoners. Robin sometimes chanced a glance at them, then looked away feeling worse than before. There were small children clinging to their mothers, boys of barely sixteen trying to stand guard over their mothers and sisters. Still, they waited. They didn’t know what was happening between Richard and Saladin, only that the terms hadn’t been fulfilled, and the prisoners remained. Rumours ran wild; Leopold and Philip had abandoned the crusade, Conrad was attempting to crown himself king, civil war was going to break out between Guy and Conrad. No one had any idea what to do with the prisoners, so they remained.
On the twentieth of August, the order came. They were to march the prisoners out into the desert, in view of Saladin’s army. Robin led his captives with a sickening feeling of foreboding, not knowing what was to come but sensing that some kind of disaster was imminent. When they reached the hills where the tents were set up, they stopped. There was a moment of stillness, then the order came: “Kill them.”
The other soldiers fell on the prisoners without pause. Some began to scream; others huddled over their family members, trying to protect them from the blows. Robin stood rooted to the spot, mouth open in horror, watching blood spurt from the bodies of their hostages. He gripped his sword tightly in his right hand, knuckles stiff and white, unable to move. He was jostled on both sides by others, eager to get at the prisoners. More screams rose up from the hostages, and some yells of fury could be heard from Saladin’s men, who were watching from their camp.
There was a sudden warning called, and Robin swung his sword up automatically. Saladin’s men were descending on them unable to stand by while their compatriots were being killed. Robin fought them with a strange sort of gladness, though he could still feel his soul weighed down with what he had seen. These were opponents. He could fight them. These were not unarmed women and children, and he did not need to feel guilty.
Except that it wasn’t over. When the opposing forces were driven back, Robin’s fellows fell on the captives with renewed ferocity, and he felt himself being pushed forward, sword in hand. There was a man in front of him; maybe a few years older than he was, staring with a defiance that blazed from his whole body. The man next to him was shouting, Do it! What’s taking you so long? Robin swallowed hard and raised his sword.
They didn’t speak of it later. John- who had been tending to the injured and missed the whole thing- took one look at Robin and declined to ask. He tried putting a hand on his shoulder, but Robin shook it off. He didn’t want sympathy.
Most of the others seemed to think nothing of it, falling back into their routine as though nothing had happened. Some made jokes, glad to be free of the burden of watching the prisoners. But there were some like Robin- bleak faces, mouths turned down, shaking hands that still seemed to bear the blood of those they had killed.
“After all, some of them were soldiers.” one said, with a shrug that fooled everyone but Robin. “We would have killed them anyway, eventually.”
Robin said nothing. He couldn’t have voiced what he was feeling, even if he had wanted to; some unknown, incomprehensible grief held his tongue in place. But he couldn’t help but think, in the days and months after the slaughter, that he had taken something he had no right to