(A/N: This is for my dad

(A/N: This is for my dad. It has connections with my situation at home, at the moment. It's also dedicated to Michael Warnock.

My only request is that you read and review. But this is extremely personal, so I'm going to have to ask you to keep the flames to yourself. Thank you!)

Robin's father had been his hero. As a boy, he had followed the tall, muscular figure of his father, Robert of Locksley, around everywhere, pestering and admiring him. Of course, the Earl of Huntingdon had found it father annoying, but the lad had no mother. It was his duty, he supposed, to be a father. And so, life went on. Young Robin would follow his father to the hunting grounds; sit perched on a tiny chair beside his father at the important meetings, and would watch with strange, green eyes. Almost as if he understood.

That had all changed when he had met Marian Fitzwalter. Maz. They had been instantly best friends. She had been a tomboy—she would always rather climb trees in the forbidden Sherwood Forest than sew, as she was expected to, in her chambers. She could never be happy, cooped up all day long. She loved running free, and Robin loved her.

He hadn't realised at first—it had gradually crept up on him. She had never been pretty—not until later on. But he had found himself spending more and more time with her. He loved being with her. She was his best friend.

Marian's appearance had driven a wedge between Robert of Locksley and his son. Robin spent no time with his father, any more, and Robert found himself feeling strangely lonely, more often than not. Neither made any time for each other.

When Robert of Locksley was killed in a hunting accident, just months later, Robin was heartbroken. He hadn't meant to forget his father. He began to ignore his new friend—he would wander the forest alone for hours and hours at a time, appreciating the silence. With his father's death brought great maturity—Robin had almost been forced to grow up overnight. Despite the fact that he still held her in his heart, he could not bring himself to face Marian. She—her father's daughter. It was painful, he thought. He could have been like that.

It was the sudden absence of his father that finally made him realise how much he had relied and depended on him—even after the appearance of Marian. He had been stupid. He could not deny it, and he would not. He blamed himself. He hated himself

So he went away. Far away, to the Holy Lands. He needed to prove himself, to his father. He owed him that much, at least

He returned, finding England in its terrible state. He was outlawed. He did it all for his father.

The King returned, and suddenly, Robin had no further purpose. He married Marian, after years of courtship, and they were happy.

Robin became a father himself. His son looked like his beautiful wife—and was just as rebellious and headstrong. He loved him.

Robert, he called him. Robert the second of Locksley.