Robin paced back and forth underneath one of his favourite trees. He had slept in its branches, drawn idle designs on its bark with his knife point, eaten below it with friends. Tonight, he found no peace near it. The evening breeze mocked him through the branches, and he could hear Marian's low, furious voice. "Oh, everything's a choice. Everything we do. Grow up."

He had grown up, he thought in frustration. He was no idle lord's son, the kind she despised. He lived off his own bow, asked comfort from no man, and took care of those who came to him for solace and justice. It was not as if she was the only one working to feed those with no food, to shelter the innocent from the sheriff's cruel whims. Just because he worked in the the open and had small patience for slow plans and waiting, was that so wrong? Did she want him to become something he wasn't? He had thrown everything he had into being there for the people he cared for, and it still wasn't enough.

"... And what about the people you are so honourably protecting? Who will protect them when you're dead?"

He hit the tree in frustration with his fist. Why did that even matter? Why did she care? How many handsome nobles looked after her graceful self? It wasn't as thought he meant that much to her, or anyone, anyway. He was a fighting man. If he died in the fight, so be it. He cared little for his own life. That it go to serve others, so be it.

A little mollified by his logic, he climbed up to the topmost branches, a favourite spot. From there, he had a rare glimpse of some of the village roofs. He refused to look toward the castle where Marian was, probably still angry at him. He took a rare moment to relax and look around at the land he cared for. He'd loved the East as well, in a different way. Some days the sand still drew him, even if he wouldn't admit it. And there was sometimes a sense of unrest that tugged him somewhere new, that somehow lived in harmony with the love he felt for this green place. Sometimes Marian looked at him in a way that made him nervous, almost guilty, as if he'd fallen in love and married some dark skinned girl while traveling. He hadn't. But if he had, perhaps it would have felt like this. Wanting one thing while being welcomed by another. His tent in the corner of a sun scorched field in the Holy Land- was that any more or less home than this tree here in his beloved England? Marian would see it as treachery, likely. When he was gone she understood it as footlooseness, yet when he was here she never told him he was a good, steady man.

He shrugged and smiled wryly. As if he could be a good steady man. But she could trust him, even if he was not. She could trust him to be him. At least, he had thought she could. The way she smiled at him, some moments, gave him hope that she could see past the rough clothes and absentmindedness, through the dreams and recklessness, and just love him for him. He would never be a solid man. He had hoped only that he might still be strong enough for her to hold on to. Tonight shook those hopes though. She had minced no words in saying that his loyalty was a sham, that his words were nothing but sparks in the air. His heart had lit up when she walked into his cell that day to rescue him, and she had thrown cold water on it.

"You could have stayed here in the first place... if you'd cared so much about your precious people. But you didn't."

He'd heard the hurt below the anger. In a rare serious moment for him, he hadn't made a joke, argued back, tried to soothe her.

"What is this about?"

"It is about you saying that you care about the people of Locksley when the truth is that you ran off to battle, thousands of miles away."

He'd reached out to touch her cheek, and she'd slapped it away. Those moments, it had been just her and him, and he knew the memory would stay crystal in his mind. The rest of the day went quickly. They'd talked, she'd helped him escape, he'd made his way back to the forest. Adrenaline and relief carried him through the rest of the evening, with a small measure of glee that he had shamed the sheriff on the way. He knew he might hear a scolding from her on *that* later as well, but it was worth it. He was who he was. And now, back in his tree, he was a very tired man. The emotions of the day dripped away slowly as the stars came out and the woodsmoke drifted on the wind.

She had the right of it, in many ways. He had said he cared, and left. For him, the two were not enemies. They were part of life. In the same way, he knew he loved her, but he did not look to her castle and she did not come to him. Perhaps one day everything would be one road or the other, but not today. Something Friar Tuck said came to him, a word from the Holy Writ. "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face." Some day, the Friar had nodded wearily, all would be clear. For now, it was not, but there was hope for those who held on to it.

As Robin drifted off to sleep, tucked under a blanket of leaves and stars, his last conscious thought was that perhaps some day he and Marian would see face to face and hope for them- and for their people- would not be so dim.