The Queen Of Arrows

Chapter 21 - Healing Hands

Dead bodies lay everywhere. On the walls and under ruins, on the streets in droves. Robin's senses spun like a top. As if in a trance, he reached for the arrows. Ready, aim, shoot. Ready, aim, shoot. When the city of Acre finally surrendered, shouts of jubilation echoed through the streets. There they stood, the men with the cross on their tabards, driving the prisoners through their ruined homeland like masterless cattle.

Robin staggered between the men through the streets. Everything passed him as if in slow motion, seeming distant yet so close that his heart shattered at the sight like glass blown too thin. Men were laughing. The wine flows in copious quantities. The sneering grimaces as they pounced on women, plundered chambers to the last crumb or clashed at fires.Wrong. It was all so incredibly wrong.

Suddenly, a sound reached his ear, pushing its way between everything else: screams, then oppressive silence. Robin paused in his stance, eyes widened and fixed in sheer horror on the image before him.

Arrows flew. Sword points pierced bodies that writhed and writhed. Full of spiteful laughter, ropes, and cables were tied to houses, and people were thrown down so that they hung en masse from the walls. Blood, so much blood everywhere.

"NO!"

He rushed forward to grab a man's bow - but too late. The arrow flew, along with those of the others. The buzzing droned in his ears like a beehive. Women, children, lads, old men - dead.

Robin screamed as hands reached for him. They tugged at him and pulled him down.

"Robin!"

Only slowly did his mind fight its way up from those bloody waves. The shadows of prisoners and soldiers fell away, and the image of Acre dissipated, giving way to wooden hut walls.

"Robin! Wake up. Calm down. It was only a nightmare."

His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. The first thing he noticed was the herbal smell instead of that of decay. Increasingly the image around him sharpened, and his wildly beating heart understood that he had been in the clutches of a dream. A dream. And a memory.

"Marian?" His voice was faint but determined. His gaze slid around, searching for a foothold in reality. Heaped bundles of some greenery, bowls, and mugs on the table. A blanket other than his own lay over him, and a resolute grip pushed him back into the bed. Confusion replaced the heaviness of memories. "Marian? What are you doing here?"

In the delicate face, one of the curved eyebrows moved higher in a hint of indignation. "What am I doing here?" repeated Marian, then gave a low snort as she placed a damp cloth on his forehead. Robin couldn't help sighing softly under the welcome cooling. "I've been here all the time the last few days. Don't you remember?"

"No," Robin had to admit meekly. Was he mistaken, or did he see a hint of disappointment in her features? But just as he had appeared, he was already disappearing. Marian handed him a cup of water, which he gratefully accepted and greedily emptied in a few gulps.

"You had a fever. The wound on your leg had become infected," Marian explained patiently, nodding her chin slightly in the direction of the leg. The cut inflicted on him by the guard in the castle's dungeons was still throbbing, but the pulling and burning pain had faded.

"Wait... you took care of me?" Robin stared at Marian in disbelief.

Again something like slightly offended pride showed in Marian's expression. She pursed her lips, and little sparks flew in her eyes as they had before when the boys teased her.

"You're unusually cheeky for whining a moment ago," she returned.

Now it was Robin's turn to make a face. One point for Marian.

"You are lucky I learned enough about healing from the Mother Superior at Welbeck Abbey to help you." A faint smile flew across the corners of her mouth, which could not hide the righteous pride behind it. "I had to reopen and clean the wound. But the healing pastes and poultices with plantain, chamomile, and honey helped quickly. The wound looks much better, and your fever has gone down. You will certainly be able to give me trouble again in a few days."

She rose and turned her back on him to leave the room through the sheet at the entrance, returning a little later with a wooden bowl.

Marian handed him those, along with some bread. "Robin. Whatever happened in the war," Marian searched for the right words and put a hand gently on his shoulder. Apparently, he had spoken in his sleep. Robin gritted his teeth quietly as his pride suffered from this revelation. "You're not there anymore. You're back here now. And you are not alone anymore."

Robin lifted his gaze and met such a gentle, compassionate expression in her eyes that every thought frayed. Robin thought he saw the reflection of his own pain in her eyes. But he lacked the strength and courage to ask where that understanding came from."Thank you," Robin said softly, meaning more than just the food.

Marian was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly. "It's all right." She straightened and stepped up to the table, now sitting there on the wobbly chair. She decided to change the subject to lighten the oppressive mood a little. "I couldn't let you end up falling asleep from blood poisoning or even losing your leg. After all, I still need you, Hood. But you'd better take a bath the first chance you get. Otherwise, the sheriff will soon be able to find you by the smell of you."

"Even in this state, I'm sure I could still put a stop to the sheriff." Robin laughed softly and harshly as he sat up a little. His leg really did feel much better. The stew in the bowl was steaming slightly, and little white curls were rising from it. He recognized carrots and even a little meat in it and felt his stomach growl as if trying to urge him to hurry.

"Pretty big words," Marian observed, and her expression grew slightly more serious. "I came to you for a reason, Robin."