Disclaimer: Robin Hood is owned by the BBC and Tiger Aspect. All the copyrights associated with Robin Hood belong to them. Only Anne, Emma, and my version of Tuck belong to moi... no profit is being earned...etc. etc. etc.
Chapter 1
Back from the Holy Land
Their journey back had been fast, and largely silent.
Allan had tried to break the awkwardness every once in a while with a quip about the weather or the scenery, but even Much had realised the need for silence, and the generally echoed "Shut up!" had been heard only once; he had been unable to contain himself, and had gone off on a rant about how he was dead sick of not being able to understand a word anyone was saying.
Once back in England the gang had found themselves drawn back to Sherwood and Nottingham. This despite the fact that Robin had told them all, repeatedly, that they shouldn't feel obligated to return with him, that they were free to go and do as they pleased.
He had half expected at least John and Allan to take him up on the offer. John to go and live somewhere nearer Alice and his son, which he knew he so longed to do, and Allan, well, to go somewhere other than Nottingham and be Allan. The only one he knew his silent pleading would have no effect on was Much, who eyed him worryingly every so often, always on the lookout for their next meal, making sure Robin ate what was offered to him.
"You know, I still do not understand how Djaq and Will could have stayed behind. It's not as though the Saracens don't have carpenters of their own. Plus, now who's going to stitch us up when we get into trouble with the Sher-"
He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed John glaring at him.
"I'll go and see about some horses, shall I?" Not waiting for an answer, Much lifted himself off the ground and disappeared round the bend of the road where they had collapsed, relieved to have finally made it to England.
Robin shot Allan a glance.
"Yeah. I'll go and make sure he doesn't get himself into any trouble."
"Coming from you?" John enquired, raising an eyebrow.
Allan shrugged, biting his lip as he kicked a loose piece of dirt with the toe of one of his boots. He turned on his heels and went off after Much.
Not knowing where to look, or how to keep his hands occupied, John started examining his staff in detail.
"We should be home by the end of the week. If Much manages to organise a pair of horses," Robin stated. Sensing the big man's discomfort.
"Hmmmm."
---
As they made their way towards Sherwood, Robin was grateful Much had been able to secure three horses.
John balanced atop his disproportionately small workhorse, as Much and Allan shared a rather tired-looking brown nag, to the common annoyance of both. Neither had the audacity to ask Robin whether they could ride with him.
At least the camp Will had so expertly constructed for them had not fallen victim to the Sheriff 's men. As John tackled up the gate, their belongings seemed to be in largely the same state as when they had left.
"I'll go and see if I can find something for dinner," Much offered, as he slid off the back of the horse he and Allan had been sharing since Portsmouth.
No response.
"Right," he mumbled, traipsing off into the forest.
John and Allan went about checking whether whatever few belongings they had were still scattered about their cots, while Robin stood at the entrance to the camp, clenching the reigns of his horse.
"Well, looks like pretty much everything's still 'ere," Allan announced, as he stepped out of the hiding-place. "I can take that," he gestured at the mare.
"Right."
Allan took the reigns from Robin, and went off to tie up the horse.
---
The four men settled into their new routine rather easily. Much would concern himself with supper. Allan or John went out hunting for him, while he reorganised everyone's belongings, making sure he gathered up Djaq and Will's possessions in bundles which would be easy enough to either throw out, or hand over, if the time came.
On one of his first days back, Allan had ventured into Locksley, at the request of Much, who wanted to be able to give Robin some good news about the villagers of his old estate.
He'd tried to be discreet about his visit, which hadn't prevented him from taking a mug of ale with the young woman who'd recognised him from one of his earlier visits, accompanying Robin on one his many food drops.
Emma.
When she'd asked him if there was any word of Master Robin, he'd been quick to answer; "We've just returned from the Holy Land. Saved King Richard we did."
The offered drink naturally progressed into a more discreetly offered bed for the night. Allan was quick to accept. As he gulped down his ale, he noticed a little boy playing with a wooden horse behind the curtain which separated this room from the next.
He looked at the woman seated across the table from him, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Yours?" He enquired, furrowing his brow as he tried to make out her age.
"Yes. Does that bother you?"
He looked down into his empty mug. "Nah."
He realised he had to ask the obvious.
"No husband though?"
She chuckled. "That's the kind of person you take me for?"
His quizzical stare must have made her feel the need to justify herself.
"He died two years ago. Cart accident. He was taking our grain to market, cart got stuck. He was trying to push it out of the ditch when it toppled over on him."
"I'm sorry." He felt strangely uncomfortable.
She got up and pulled him from his chair, leading him into the bedroom.
"It's not your fault."
---
With Allan away God knew where, Much poring over his stew and Robin perched on his cot, twirling the ring on his finger over and over again, John was beginning to feel like a third wheel.
He picked up his staff and lumbered off into the woods, not bothering to announce his departure, or when he'd be back.
Alone with his thoughts his mind automatically drifted to Alice and little John. Luke. He didn't like thinking about this other man living his life, teaching his son how to ride, sleeping beside his wife at night. He was grateful that at least there was someone…although this didn't take away the bitterness of having to live with the consequences of being outlawed.
He swung his staff at the nearest tree with all his might, hearing its wood splinter as the oak groaned.
He panted from the exertion. The journey to Palestine had taken more out of him than he'd expected. He was tired. Exhausted. Even the day-to-day routine of sleeping, eating, hunting and practising with his staff seemed to drain him. He wasn't sure whether the others felt the same.
They barely spoke.
---
Follow the King's orders. Fight for England, your country. You are surrounded by good men, they will follow you.
For every man there is a purpose which he sets up in his life. Let yours be the doing of all good deeds. The sentence from the Koran reverberated in his mind.
"Do those deeds in my name. You are my representatives in England. You are King Richard," the King had told him, as he'd left for home.
The thoughts whirling 'round in Robin's head painted a stark contrast with the turmoil in his heart.
Marian.
I love you, my husband.
Her words echoed.
She'd been so stubborn for so long after he had returned from the Holy Land the first time.
You keep fighting for me, Robin. You promise me you'll keep fighting.
His main thought on the gang's way back had been 'this time is different'; she will not be there.
Last time he had at least been able to entertain the hope that she would still be at Knighton Hall, waiting for him with open arms, ready to accept him back into her life.
With both Sir Edward and Marian gone, Knighton stood empty. Another prize loot for the Sheriff and Gisborne.
He tried as best he could to keep his thoughts of Gisborne and of Marian separate. He could not defile her memory with the hatred which coursed through his veins when he pictured Gisborne and Vaysey riding away from that gut-wrenching scene in the desert.
A village he would never know the name of.
So much pain it seemed impossible to bear.
He stared at his hands as he spun round the ring they had waited for the last possible moment to exchange.
If only she'd taken him back, straight away. They would have had so much more time together.
He stopped twisting the ring as a pang of guilt shot through him. How could he be blaming her for this?
"I have something I need to do," he mumbled.
Much looked up from his cooking, surprise written across his face.
"I…I…I'll make sure supper's ready by the time you're back." He turned his attention back to the pot over the fire.
Robin picked up his sword and swung it over his shoulder. He threw a last glance towards Much who stood with two pots of spices in his hand, apparently trying to decide which one would contribute most to the stew's edibility, and smiled.
---
Sir Edward's grave was well kept. It looked as though someone had been making sure the weeds were removed; a bunch of fresh snow-bells lay tied up on the black earth.
Robin stood next to the grave, unable to look at it for too long, and stared over the ridge where the Lord of Knighton Hall had been buried, towards Nottingham Castle. His hands trembled, as he clenched them into fists in an attempt to steady himself.
"I swear, Edward. I swear he will pay," he managed, through gritted teeth.
He fell to his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I could not protect her. I am sorry I made it impossible for her to just be... I…" He choked on his words.
He couldn't hold back his grief as his eyes pooled over and his vision blurred. Unclenching his fists, he dug his fingers deep into the ground.
---
Much had been surprised to hear Robin speak. More words than he'd managed all week; an entire sentence.
He'd discreetly tried avert his gaze, for fear his awkward stare would elicit some sort of justification on Robin's part.
Quickly turning back to his stew he'd pretended to busy himself with finding the right blend of spices in an attempt to make tonight's dish a little more palatable.
Once Robin had cleared out of sight he'd set the two pots back down. He barely dared to breathe; the forest was so quiet.
Somewhere far off he heard the faint creaking of wood as a cart made its way towards Nottingham. Travelers on the North road.
He'd begun to wonder when they'd be getting back to work. Allan had hinted a few times that he'd heard the townspeople of Locksley mention a delivery coming into Nottingham. Robin had mumbled something in acknowledgement, and had gotten back to whatever it was he had been doing. Nothing. Twirling that bloody ring.
"I help save the King. Twice. And I'm still stuck here making supper and cleaning up after everyone. Bloody den-mother." Much couldn't help but express his resentment towards his ever-constant duties.
"Twice!" He exclaimed.
"But no. No, no. Much will see to the cooking. Much'll make sure everyone's got a hot meal. Much'll worry about Robin, and Allan, and John. Much'll make sure nobody tries to off himself. Bloody…" he cut himself short.
"Shut up," he whispered. Wishing that someone would actually start saying that again. Wishing that he'd give them reason to. "Shut up, Much," he whispered.
Marian.
He could not get the image of her cold body, his master knelt over her, out of his mind. It was more vivid even than the horrible, mangled corpses they had encountered during their first trip to the Holy Land.
Will and Djaq. It wasn't so much that he missed them per se, he missed the gang. The way the group used to just be, natural, almost like a living breathing person in itself.
Whole.
That's the word!, he realised as it popped into his mind.
The gang resembled a vase which a careless child had dropped onto the kitchen floor, shattered into tiny pieces. No matter how many pieces you retrieve, there's always one or two missing. The child, in a desperate attempt to avoid its mother's scorn, will try to reshape the vase out of the bits that are left, twisting and turning the leftover pieces 'round in its hands, forcing them together.
It was an unsatisfactory metaphor, but he'd make do with it for now.
---
John returned about the same time Allan made his way into camp.
"You run into trouble, or what?" Allan asked, eyeing John's broken staff.
"No," He answered.
"Right then. Let me guess…stew for supper?" He turned to Much who'd stopped stirring as the two had jolted him out of his daydreaming.
"Fine. Tomorrow you cook! I spend all my time-,"
"Alright, alright. Just asking. I happen to like stew," Allan interrupted, not wanting to get stuck with cooking duty, as he was pretty sure they'd be going hungry if it were left to him. "It's not stew-surprise though, right? Like yesterday?"
Much shot him a glare.
"Where's Robin?" John interjected.
"He had to go do something," Much stated, as he ladled the food, which was actually pretty much yesterday's stew-surprise with a few extra herbs tossed in for good measure, onto the plates.
"You think we should wait?" Allan enquired, as Much handed him his supper.
"I think we can start without him," Much went on to hand John, who had gently leaned his staff against their improvised latrine, his food. "He sounded as though he might be a while."
"He's not gone off to do something stupid has he?" John managed between bites. He eyed the concoction suspiciously, as he picked a thready-piece of meat from between his teeth. Better than yesterday, at least.
"I don't know, do I? Does that seem like something I should've asked? Oh, master, I'm so glad you've told me you need to go and do something, you know how I worry," Much gestured with his hands, as he attempted the parody of himself which he knew had been a cause for great entertainment in the camp when he'd walked in on Allan performing his version for Djaq after they'd rescued her from a life of slave-labour in the mines.
"…Just to be sure, you're not going to go and do anything stupid, are you?!" He yelled the last sentence as the two looked up at him from their plates of food.
"Really John? Do you really think I should've asked?!"
"Maybe not."
"Asked what?" Robin queried, as he stepped in amongst the gang, startled by his sudden reappearance.
"Nothing!" Much managed in a shrill voice. "Nothing, master."
"Master? Still, Much?"
"Sorry. Old habits…" He ladled some more stew onto a plate and handed it to Robin, who eyed it with the same trepidation as Allan and John had.
"It's not stew-surprise," Allan stated. "It's actually pretty decent."
Robin looked from a bewildered Much to Allan, and then to John, who shrugged.
As the four of them looked at each other Robin broke into a grin, the smile finally reaching the corners of his eyes, Much noted. The grin turned into a chuckle, and a broad smile spread across Allan's face.
"What?" Much asked as he too was finding it difficult to contain a smile. It was John who broke the silence next with a huge bout of loud laughter as he set down his plate.
"Stew…sur…prise," he managed to huff out, as tears rolled down his cheeks.
"John?!" Much's eyes widened in feigned effrontery, while he was secretly finding it difficult not to join in with the big man's infectious laugh.
"Big Bear!" Robin laughed out in between breaths, which set both Much and John off again.
Allan spit out half the spoonful he had just stuck in his mouth. "Big Bear?"
John rolled over sideways, his huge body shaking as he gripped his stomach.
"Am I missing something…?"
"The…the…queen…mother…she…" He couldn't finish the sentence as another bout of laughter hit.
Allan, while not quite being able to reconcile ´big bear´ with ´queen mother´ found it impossible not to laugh as the ever-stoic Little John rolled on the ground in a fit, getting leaves and twigs stuck in his beard and lanky hair as he did so.
To be continued...Tuck will be making an appearance as of the next chapter, and the gang will be getting 'back to work', so to say.
Let me know what you think...:)