83 Weakness

He couldn’t quite believe it was the 18th. And to think it was Locksley himself who reminded him of the day, he scowled. He had no right to remind him it was his mother’s birthday, or that it would have been. Of course, Locksley didn’t know- nor would he have cared.

He felt her approach more than he heard her. She brushed past him, her hand falling on his shoulder for a second, and sat down a few paces away. She didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge him outside the brief second her hand had touched him.

She looked a little like his mother- around the eyes and her hair, if it wasn’t for all the plaits. He lowered his head onto his knees, only noticing the angry tears when he tasted them. She never moved from her spot but he felt her hand in his hair.

It was hard to say how long they both sat there- crying silently while she stroked his hair- but when he was done she stood and leaned over him, pressing a kiss into his hair, and walked away.

36 Flower

He watched Meg run from one side of the clearing to another and sighed heavily as he dropped down to sit at the base of a tree. When Anne had asked him to take care of her while she helped Elle treat another sick child, he’d thought he was getting out of doing the truly hard work. She had conveniently forgotten to mention, however, the amount of sheer energy the little girl had.

She had nearly made him fall in the river, had him trek through half the forest (or so it seemed to him), talked his ear off, and had all but demanded that he take her somewhere she could pick flowers. When he had tried convincing her that there were no flowers she’d given him a straight look, put her hands on her hips, and pursed her lips. He’d laughed so hard he’d nearly cried. She couldn’t have been any more than six years old but she’d mimicked her aunt’s look so perfectly that he felt as though it had been a younger Anne, and not her niece, demanding flowers.

So now he sat, watching her pick flowers, and knowing he might as well have been looking into Anne's past.

53 Earth

The fall was not quite so hard as she had expected; she found her pride more injured than her rear, or even the food she’d been carrying. She’d made a face and glared at the dirt beneath her before turning to glare at whoever was laughing at her.

While she didn’t immediately recognize him or remember his name, she soon realized she’d seen him before. She had spotted him on the streets every now and then, heard the villagers talk of him, knew him to be something of a trouble maker; Elle had already marked him for a life as an outlaw. Huffily, she stood and dusted herself off. “Glad you’re amused.”

He laughed again and threw a “Very.” her way before he came forward and began gathering what she’d dropped. She kneeled down as well and dusted off a loaf of bread before putting it back in its sack. Dropping the last loaf in he stood with the rough sack and handed it to her when she had straightened out.

Almost grudgingly, her pride still stinging, she thanked him and, after a moment, introduced herself. “Anne.” She said with a nod.

52 Fire

“Bull, pass the mead.” He held his hand out expectantly, staring at roaring fire in front of him. Or, perhaps, just past the fire at the whelp trying to woo Anne. He was young, blue-eyed and baby-faced, and he’d been grinning at her all day.

Anne, despite sometimes frightening men away, was a very sociable person and had made little, if any, attempt to dissuade the boy in his conversations. He was sitting a little too close, in Will’s honest opinion, and was grinning far too much to be trusted. He saw her lean away from him as the boy scooted closer.

He was up and moving across their circle before he realized what he was doing. The fire cast shadows across his face as he looked down at the whelp, making him seem a frightful, foreboding figure. When the boy had scurried away he sat himself down beside her, ignoring the look she was giving him.

25 Party

            The festivities were well underway; Fanny had born a strong son and was yet living herself, that was enough for a celebration. The fires were bright, the music lively, and the Maid Marian Locksley had brought looked quite lovely.

            “May I have this dance?” She took the flower gladly but Locksley was there in an instant, claiming his territory. Once more he had been bested by Robin Hood. Scowling, he moved away from the festivities. Anne stood a few steps from a hut.

            His face brightened on seeing her- she looked rather comely, if not for the pursed lips and sour face. “Anne, dance with me.” He held out his hand.

            She scowled- worse than him, he thought. “Go to hell.” She stormed past and, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out how he’d been rejected twice.

96 Watching

            The past months had been nothing but trouble, in his very esteemed opinion. Who did he think he was, this Locksley noble? Who was he to come back from his stupid holy war and decide he was like them? Who was he to risk their lives? Who was he to become defender of the people?

            His sulking brooding was interrupted when a hand thwaped the back of his head. He turned but he had a good idea who it was before he even saw the plait draped over her shoulder.

            “Stop staring, Scarlet. People will start talking."

"He's going to save the world."

I glared at the floor between my legs for a few minutes longer before looking up. I wanted to say 'What if I want to save the world' possibly 'I hope you rot' but that second one sounded too much like him.

The tile under my boots was glaringly white. I purposely scuffed it before looking up. First at him, lying there, asleep and completely obvlivious that people were plotting out his destiny for him. Then at the ceiling, cold, gray, like the rest of the building, and everyone in it. 

I swallowed roughly, looked down at my dark purple nails, and sighed.

"I know."

The future was written in the sands of the desert where time and wind and man himself could shift it. Erasing completely one line for another.

And the gods did say "How silly, these mortals, they cannot see."

And the mortals replied in style "How silly, these gods, who do not know us."

This was ridiculous. The crowd was dead. I couldn’t stand this any longer. I shoved and elbowed my way out of the listless mob of people.

Someone stepped on my shoe. I growled angrily as I threw open the back doors.

“Goddam!”

I groaned. I knew that voice.

“Christ! Are you out to kill me?”

“Well, now that you mention it, it’s not a bad idea.”

He glared at me. I smiled.

He pinched his nose gingerly. He winced and doubled his glared.

“Oh stop being such a baby.” I made a face at him and bent down to examine my shoes. My eyes narrowed at the sight of my, now soiled, shoelaces. Stupid people.

“I see. Clearly your shoelaces are more important than the fact that you could have just broken my nose.”

I didn’t miss a beat. “Yep.”

He growled, a little like I had earlier, and through his hands up in the air.

“Does that bother you?” I grinned.

“What?” He scoffed. “The fact that your shoelaces matter more than me?” He scoffed again.

“You didn’t answer.” I said sing-songly. Because that was obviously a word, a proper adverb, you know.

He didn’t bother to answer. Instead he walked away, down the side of the building.

“You are so sensitive.” I said, standing with a sigh. “Just like a child.”

“Better than a maniac.” He shouted over his shoulder.

“Hardly.” I brushed my jacket off.

“Besides, I’m not the one who kissed the maniac.”

He shrugged from where he was.

“I wasn’t the one who kissed back.” It was my turn to glare “Pedophile.”

His leg shook nervously.

It was driving me mad. I roughly kicked him with an olive green converse, falling apart at the seams, with bright white shoe-laces (I hated dirty shoe-laces).

He looked up at me, a strange mixture of nervousness, anger, and insult on his face.

It made me laugh.

He scowled and crossed his arms, leaning back in the seat.

I rolled my eyes and played with the hem of my shirt.

Strange time to start singing commercial jingles. Stranger for me to care.

Now he rolled his eyes. His leg shook nervously.

I glared and lifted my foot to kick him again. He stopped. Smart boy.

His lip curled disdainfully. It’s a word he’d probably use to describe it, too. Figures, I was starting to talk like him.

“Would you stop that?”

I grinned like a cat. “Is it bothering you?”

I leaned forward on my knees and sang to him. Just to irritate him. Just a little.

“Yes, it’s bothering me.” He leaned away.

“Good.”

“I hope you rot.”

“Christ.”

“Just shut up.” He tried to cram his head between his legs.

“I swear, I’ll shut you up.”

I didn’t even react when he stood up. Till he kissed me.

“Yes, there’s a chance that I’ve fallen quite hard over you.”