Herne's Son

by Sigrina


He's watching me again. Even with my back to him, I know he's watching me.

And I know the look he's wearing. I know it too well.

It's *your* look. The one that used to make me come alive.

Hell! The one that just used to make me *come*!

An' it scares the life out of me, seeing that look on *his* face.


He's nothing like you.

Spoilt Norman baby. Earl's son. Poor little rich boy.

Bet he never went hungry. No, not him.

Never knew what it was like to be beaten, cursed by his 'betters'.

Never knew what it was like to see all he'd worked for, all he'd loved, trampled into the ground.

Never shivered at night, unable to sleep 'cos the clothes he wore were too thin and full of holes.

Never had to steal just to stay alive.

Never had to want for anything.

Robert of Huntingdon, born of noble stock, related to kings.


Outlaw. Wolfshead. Herne's Son.


Like you.


And *nothing* like you.


It took me a while to accept you were really dead, Robin. I didn't believe them.

Robin Hood couldn't be dead.

Some part of me felt, like a little kid, that if I refused to admit it then it wasn't so.

When I finally did accept that you were dead it was like my whole world had ended.


Because *you* were my world.


There was no way could I stay with the others. Too many reminders. Too much pain.

Too many lost dreams.

You taught me *how* to dream.


Then you went and shattered the dream into a million pieces, leaving me adrift in a sea of regrets and tears.


And beer. Let's not forget the beer.


If Robert hadn't come when he did I'd have probably died within the year. Of too much drink, or just plain carelessness. I didn't want to die. I'm too much of a coward for that. But I didn't want to live, either.


But Robert did come.


I hated him at first. High-and-bloody-mighty Norman, trying to take your place.

How the hell did he expect to take *your* place? You were Robin Hood. Herne's Son.

I would have walked to hell and beyond for you 'cos I knew you'd do the same for me.

I knew nothing about this Robert of Huntingdon.


Except that he was the enemy I'd fought against for so long.




The others seemed to fall under his spell.

This poncy little Norman lordling was telling *Little John* what to do. And John was doing it! And Much and Tuck.

But I wasn't such an idiot to trust him. Will Scarlet wasn't going to be anybody's fool ever again.


Except, he said those words to me.

'Nothing's forgotten. Nothing's ever forgotten.'


*Your* words.


And I *knew*.


I saw it in his eyes, that same look that you sometimes got.

As if you saw things that others never could.

That you knew things that they never would. I saw Robin Hood looking out of Norman eyes.


I saw *you*.


Herne's Son.


I remember the first time between us. I'd gone off on my own, angry over something or other. Probably nothing important.

You came after me. We argued, we talked. Then you stopped, put a hand on my shoulder, and looked at me.

That look, it was like a lightning bolt striking me from the heavens.

And suddenly we were in each others' arms. Lips and tongues exploring each other.

Hands pulling at clothing. A mad, frantic struggle ending in an explosion so devastating, so *right*, it shocked the hell out of me.


Afterwards, you lay in my arms.

I felt guilty, because of Marion, and I said as much.

But you said that Herne's Son couldn't belong to just one person. He went where he had to. Did all he could. "I look after my own." you said. And this was your way of looking after me. It tied me to you, to your bloody 'cause'. Part of me knew I was being used, but I've been used by one bastard or another all my life. At least you loved me.


And you *did* love me. I've never doubted that.


I remember the times when we used to sit around the campsite with nothing to do.

Being a hero isn't all 'excitement'.

Sometimes I'd get so *bored* I'd want to scream, or break something.


Or someone.


Then you'd give me 'that look'. The one that always sent lightning through my body.

And you'd say "Let's go scout around, Will."

Then the two of us would disappear deep into the forest and go at it like bleedin' rabbits for hours.


And then I'd feel *much* better.


I still don't know if Marion knew about the two of us. As far as I'm aware, John and Much never did. Tuck, I'm not so sure about. Nothing much gets past him, eyes an' ears everywhere, that one. That fat lazy friar act of his didn't fool me for long.


Nasir knew. Once, held a breath away from heaven by your hands and tongue, I opened my eyes to see Nasir watching from the branch of a tree. At the time the Sheriff of Nottingham could have been watching for all I cared. Later I turned to you to tell you. But before I could even open my mouth you said "Nasir won't say anything." And I wondered how you held *him* here. Was it the same way you held me? Not that it mattered. You couldn't belong to anyone except Herne. I was just glad of the time you could give me. I won't say I didn't want more. I did. But I'm not one to run after rainbows or 'might-be's.


Now you're gone.


Except you're not. Not really. Every now and again I see *you* looking out of *his* eyes. It gives me the creeps.

I don't want to go through this again. I'm not sure I could survive. So I pretend I don't see him looking at me when I get in a temper. I pretend I can't see the invitation in his eyes.

But my stomach churns and my body tenses, waiting for the lightning bolt.

Waiting for him to say the words that will seal my fate.

He hasn't yet.


But he's still watching me.


And I'm still waiting.



The End