“You—” William slapped the table in shock, replaying the event in his mind. Robin, his sword held high, commanding his men to hold … “I thought you were the bravest man I’d ever seen that day.”

“Nope,” Robin could barely contain himself, “I was talking to my horse.”

He was talking to his horse.

It was so damned easy to misread a situation, even amongst the closest of friends. William slapped the table again, overwhelmed with the ridiculousness of it all. When their laughter subsided, William reached out carefully and tapped the table by Robin’s untouched glass. He still had not taken any drink, parched as he must be, despite William’s assurances. What seeds of mistrust had been sown in him during his time away, it was abhorrent. Robin’s smile faded, but still he couldn’t trust in something as simple as a glass of wine. William stood and picked up the glass, stretching his arm out until Robin was forced to accept it.

“Thank you,” he said, sipping from its top, and all the tension between them was gone. William offered the gauze as well, but Robin waved his hand, ignoring the minor wound. “If I remember correctly,” he grinned whimsically, “I wasn’t even supposed to be in the crown that day.”

“That’s right!” William snapped his fingers. “It was my day. But you…” He thought on it, but couldn’t quite recall what had happened. “You had lost a bet the night before?”

“No, I didn’t lose a bet.” Robin picked up the wooden chair. “You tricked me.”

“That sounds like the sort of thing I would do,” he joked, though he couldn’t remember the details. “Well, you shouldn’t have made the bet if you knew I was up to something.”

“That’s true.” Robin smiled. “That’s true. But I didn’t care.”

“You were talking to your fucking horse,” William repeated it, bringing tears to his eyes. He moved from behind the desk and picked up Locksley’s sword, placing it on the desk as if it were not a weapon at all. Just some thing he didn’t want his friend to forget about. Robin didn’t even react that the sword had changed hands. “You know, the face you made notwithstanding, my first instinct was to laugh when you got hit with that arrow.”

“Oh.” Robin bobbed his head. “How nice of you!”

“But you didn’t scream. You can say you were talking to your horse, Robin, but that doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t scream.” He moved to his chair, sipping from his own glass. “What went through your head?”

Robin leaned back, trying to recall the moment, and his answer was slow and tender. “I remember that. I remember feeling it, and I looked down, and I thought, The King shouldn’t scream. So I didn’t.”