Persistence of Memory

Disclaimer: Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves belongs to Warner Brothers, and so on and so forth.

There were times when Robin didn’t remember the prison, where the world outside was present and real and the prison wasn’t.

But he never forgot, and oh, Will knew that well. It was always there – in how he paused sometimes to soak up the sunlight, in remaining resolutely clean-shaven when even Wulf was growing a scraggly beard, in the way he slept so very lightly, waking at the slightest noise.

Will had long since decided that there was a difference between not remembering and forgetting. Forgetting meant that the memory – however painful or joyful – had faded and lost its power and just drifted away. Not remembering was just that; for a short while, the memory wasn’t playing in his head, wasn’t taking up all of his attention.

Right now, Rob was not remembering. Every bit of him was focused on his son, playing chase and catch with him. Young Richard shrieked with laughter each time his father caught him and swung him up in the air, and from where he sat, Will could see Rob’s bright grin.

After a few more minutes of watching them run around the courtyard, Will pushed himself up, tossing away the remnants of his apple. He grabbed Richard as the child went squealing past him and tucked him under his arm. “Hey, Rob, is this yours?” he asked, wearing a grin that matched his brother’s even as Richard kicked and squirmed in his grasp.

Robin chuckled. “Yes, it is,” he replied, reaching out to ruffle Richard’s curls, sun-bleached until they were nearly as light as Robin’s own hair. “But I’m certain his nurse is looking for him,” he went on, lifting the boy away from Will to hold him for a moment. “Back inside with you,” he ordered fondly, “and don’t stop in the kitchen to beg for treats, or I’ll be the one to get the scolding from Old Peg.”

On his own feet once more, Richard stared up at Robin, eyes adoring and the same shade as Robin’s own. “Yes, Father,” he agreed, grinning impishly before dashing around the manor to the kitchen door.

Robin shook his head. “That boy delights in getting me into trouble,” he said, and because Will was watching him, he saw the very moment that he stopped not-remembering.

The thing of it was, Rob never talked about it. The most he ever spoke of it was when he recounted how he had met Azeem, and even so, all he said was “Peter and I were falsely accused of stealing bread, and were to be punished. Instead, we were able to overcome the guards and escape.” Perhaps Marian had been able to coax him into revealing more, but she had died the night Richard was born.

He studied Rob, the lines around his eyes and mouth growing deeper as he lost himself in some memory of prison or war or blood. I can’t know what it’s like, he thought, as he had so many times on seeing Rob like this.

He’d imagined it – the screams of men and horses as they were gored by spears, of the shrill grate of sword on armor, of the smell of rotting wounds or burning flesh – but he didn’t know what Rob lived with every day.

And knowing Rob like I do, he thought, he probably prefers it that way.

Swallowing hard to force down the lump that always rose in his throat when this happened, he clapped Rob on the shoulder, jerking him abruptly from whatever memory held him. “So, brother,” he said with a grin, “where is this wonder of a horse that… what was it you said about him? That the wind would envy his speed?”

Rob smiled back at him, and his eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth rather than memory. “With his dam in the field,” he replied. “You should see him run, Will. It’s like the wind itself took the form of a horse, the way he just skims over the field…”

Will laughed, and it didn’t sound forced at all. “Then show me, Rob, so the next time we race, I’ll know there’s more to this horse than just his hindquarters.”

Robin laughed and slung his arm around Will’s shoulders. Walking with his brother down to the fallow field currently being used for pasturage, Will wondered, would there ever come a day when I won’t have to distract Rob from those memories?

He hoped so, even as he dreaded that day’s coming.