Author's Notes: REDONE! Takes place early season 3, before the Robin x Kate kiss and the stabbing of the Sheriff...
Pairings at the moment: (may change) Robin/Marian, Will/Djaq, Allan/Kate, Much/Eve, Gisborne/Meg (Everyone is happy in my fic!)
Return of Scarlett Eyes
Scratching his chin contently, Robin looked up from the food that Much had prepared and smiled. Tuck, with his back against the rope mesh wall, was frowning, looking at the small portion of meat, stomach grumbling.
Much sulked, growling, "If you want more go find it yourself…"
Kate smiled and Allan snorted softly. Having already finished their meals, they both took enjoyment in prodding Robin and John's untouched food with twigs. A soft hoot sounded, making the cook scowl.
Even the birds laugh at me...
Suddenly Allan looked up and frowned. "I thought we sent Lardner out a few days ago with a message to the King…" he said softly, scratching his head in confusion. Robin jumped up and, grasping the suddenly struggling bird with a hand, untied the ring from it's scrawny leg. Scribbled across a charred surface was not the kings familiar English but a flowing text that was totally alien to the gathered outlaws.
All of the outlaws other than Robin, of course.
Smiling at the small piece of paper, he stuffed it into his belt pouch and raced into the forest, leaving a confused gaggle of outlaws behind to ponder what their leader was up to now.
Nothing good, Much thought sourly as he got to his feet and grudgingly followed his master.
Stuck in your own trap much, Robin thought as he reached the tall oak tree.
A body swung there, strung up by his scrawny ankle. He was cursing in many languages, none of which, Hood noted, were English. Dressed in fine clothing, the figure was masked, nothing covering his lower face. Black trousers, a black leather sword sheaf, sword on the forest floor, and a forest green tunic finished off his ensemble.
Smiling, Robin looked up at the man and scoffed softly.
The man stopped, looking down at the scruffy outlaw, eyes filled with annoyance.
"Get me down," the man's voice hissed madly, twisted with barely concealed fury at being strung up by his ankle, reaching towards Robin with one of his hands. Robin smiled and took a small step backwards, out of harm's way. "Damn it, Robin! Get me the fuck down!"
"Language…" Robin said wryly, happily annoying the young man. "Watch your language, my friend…"
"What are you--? Outlaws..." the suspended man said, growling slightly as a short, soft laugh emitted from behind a nearby tree.
As quite as a bear, Robin thought, rolling his eyes as Much trotted to his side, sword unsheathed.
"Robin?" A voice called, "Who is this?"
"Who is this? I don't know Kate," Hood replied almost irritably. "Let's ask him, shall we?"
The suspended man was smiling, white teeth flashing in the limited light. "Ask me anything..." he replied bluntly, a cackle emitting from Robin.
"Alright," the outlaw said, "Why are you here?"
"Why am I where? In a tree in the middle of Sherwood forest? Simple, someone forgot to disarm the trap right and someone else wrought it wrong..." the man said, looking pointedly at Much and John, both stock-still, gaping at the creature.
Hood grinned, rolling his eyes. "You do know how to get down, right?"
The suspended man shrugged, allowing both of his hands to fall limp, falling past his head and almost resting on Robin's shoulders. "I dunno... Might someone help me?"
"What are you going on about?" Kate growled angrily, flaunting her sword in his face. He snarled.
She looked to Robin and was surprised to find that the outlaw was smiling broadly, grasping the man's sword in his hands. The curve of the blade was strange, writing inscribed across the hilt and continuing onto the steel of the blade itself, an flowing Arabic text that was even strange to his eyes. He held it up to the man, eyes twinkling.
"From Cyprus?" He questioned.
"Indeed," The man replied, grasping the sword in one hand and his mask with the other, "Much, please get me down? All the blood is..."
"...Rushing to your head?"
"Funny..."
"I've been working on it," The cook said, swinging the sword towards the tree, catching the rope and slicing it in two.
"Not like--!" The man hissed, landing flat on his back, all of the air knocked out of him. "That..."
Much smiled happily. "Whoops, sorry..."
"Yeah," the man growled, "Sure."
Allan smiled broadly, "Not bein' funny but hat looked like it hurt."
Robin and John sniggered, Allan moving to get the man to his feet.
"So, life in the holy land not to your liking, Scarlett?" Hood asked.
"No it was quite nice, sandstorms and all," the man said, pulling off the mask, green eyes shining.
Allan whistled softly. "Your hair's longer!"
And it was, his normally short black hair fell easily past his eyes and covered his ears comfortably. His face was as pale as ever, save for a scar that made it's way down his cheek from the side of his eyes.
Robin raised an eyebrow, pointing to his face."An accident?"
"Oh, uh... An incident..." Scarlett replied, running a hand over the scar.
"Tell me," Hood pressed.
"It's nothing, really," Will said, apparently finding interest in a nearby tree.
Allan shook his head, moving to hug his friend. "Missed you," he whispered softly, pulling back quickly as color ran to both of their cheeks.
At this point, Kate was near breaking, jaw clenched madly and forcing herself to keep quite. "Who's he?"
"A friend," Robin said softly.
"A brother in arms," Allan added with a sly smile.
"A kid way in over his head," John put in, making Scarlett scowl.
"The one person who could see the good in all of us and knew our flaws better than we did," Much whispered, smiling when Will shot him a thankful smile.
Looking around, Much stopped dead. "Will?"
The younger man spun around, raising an eyebrow,"Hm?"
"Where's Djaq?"
By this time, Allan had noticed too
Eyes widening, Will swallowed hard and smiled shakily. "Oh, uh-- S-she, she couldn't make it..."
The Crusaders swarmed into the dark village, carrying torches and wielding swords. Some held bows in the gloved hands and their uniforms were splattered with blood. The blood of fallen enemies. This alone was a deterrent for the Saracens that still slept soundly in their beds, chilled by the cold night, pulling up their bedcovers and shivering. Very few had woken up to see the small dots of light in the distance grown closer and larger by the second until riders in white on dark, tall horses were lit by their own torch-light. For the ones that did, it was a good sign. The Crusaders never entered the village and when they did it was to bring a message to the old man living in the large house down one of the many twisting streets of the small village. Even then it was very few people, three or four at the most, all dressed in new clothing and riding pure white Arabian stallions that moved like the wind and looked like it too.
With swords drawn, the trained warriors raced down every street, setting fire to the straw and brick houses as they went, smirking at the screams of those trapped inside.
"Help us!" "Help us!" They screamed but the men that they had trusted did not listen, they moved on, throwing the once- docile, light-giving torches into windows and barns. Animals called into the night, children cried to their parents that would never answer, and the crusaders moved quickly, igniting the whole village in a matter of minutes. The only thing left was the old man's hose down the main road. They had heard that they would not touch the large house but the men could not resist. They had not seen battle for many days and were slowly losing their sanity. Also, they were aware of an Englishman living there and they were itching to teach a traitor a lesson.
The quickly surrounded the old man's house and used what was left of their torches to ignite the house made of mostly dried dirt bricks and straw, not the greatest move. From inside they heard the screaming of servants as they scrambled to wake their masters and get them out. One scream, more of a plea, caught a soldiers attention. It was a familiar call, one he grew up with, one he never wanted to hear again. He turned to the men and nodded, watching as they withdrew and following them quickly, a slow smirk slinking its way onto his battle-worn face.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Inside the old man's house, smoke quickly filled the lower quarters and was making its way towards the masters' rooms' and their guest's room. They struggled to put the fire out, using the chilled water from the cool night to douse the flames before they reached much farther into the house and to their masters'.
High above them, on the third floor of the building, smoke was beginning to file in through the windows and from the doors, leaving no way for the inhabitants to leave. One room in particular, had a significant amount of smoke and the fire was already spreading throughout the room.
Frantically trying to wake her up, the Englishman shook the girl with all of his might. But after many unsuccessful tries he was ready to give up, that is, until her eyes fluttered open and the girl whispered his name, audible even over the crackling of the flames as they ate away at the building.
"Help me…" "Help me…" she pleaded. And he did. The Englishman scooped her up into his arms and raced down the steps located not far from their room. He was coughing and she was coughing but they did not give up. The man raced down those steps until he saw no end to the smoke, until he was coughing so much he was on his knees, bent over to try to fight them as the coughs racked his smoke-filled body with pain. He wanted so much to give up but he didn't. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Not for as long as she breathed and not for as long as she still needed him. The servants' successful a getting out the rest of the house now lay on the brink of death as the smoke was quickly absorbed into their systems and slowly poisoned them. She was there too, laying in his arms, eyes rolled back and head lolling. Her body was limp and did not weigh a thing in his hands, feather-light. Slowly, her heartbeat slowed and her skin paled until everything stopped altogether.
He felt them coming, the tears that now raced down his face. He didn't try to stop them, no one tried to stop their tears as they looked down on the woman. The woman he loved, the woman he couldn't live without. The only thing that kept him going in the strange land. He burried his face into her charred clothing and wept. Everything happened so fast, noting was right anymore. He wasn't right anymore. This place wasn't right anymore. Not for him.
Suddenly, he looked up and a small shaky smile spread across his face. For a few moments he mouth worked soundlessly until finally the words came, "وانا ذاهب المنزل"
"Take care of her…" was his only request. The men smiled and looked at each other with understanding plain on their faces.
Their angelic presence was ever-comforting as they answered a firm, "We will…"
TBC
Author's Notes: وانا ذاهب المنزل - I am going home
So chapter one of 'Return of Scarlett eyes' Rewritten. Yay....