Another recent obsession of mine-BBC's Robin Hood! This popped into my head while rewatching the first series, enjoy! :)
To the inexperienced eye and ears, Sherwood forest during the day is deserted. Huge oaks stand tall and proud like still sentinels of the wood, neverending and varying in height and breadth, but most crucially still. Branches and the undergrowth may be disturbed by the path of the wind, but for the occasional rustle silence appears to blanket the entire forest. Weary travellers choosing a path through the wood were sure to think themselves alone. However a denizen of Sherwood, used to the rustles and snuffles and grunts of the local residents knows it to be brimming with life. Everywhere you look you are sure to find some sort of small creature; the scurrying of squirrels and rabbits, the buzz of insects, all hiding within the cadences of leaves brushing in the breeze. And most preciously, if you are truly silent, you may catch sight of a deer prancing between the trunks of the tall, powerful trees.
No, in Sherwood forest you can never consider yourself alone. Especially with all those outlaws running about.
Two can be spotted walking lightly along the edge of the north road, footfalls silent or blended in with the rustle of the undergrowth. They are clearly used to treading such paths as they don't make a sound. Perturbed, the first one notches an arrow to his bow and points it seemingly aimlessly into the trees; but when someone has been living in this forest for as long as he has, they are sure to become just as attuned as he into the ways of the wood. The other man watches carefully, fingering the sword at his side. Although when the disturbance fifty paces away turns out to only be a rabbit, the second man relaxes with a bored sigh. The first, set on his prize, stays where he is and continues to focus.
Robin draws the bowstring back slowly, deliberately, feeling the energy thrumming from the pull of his shoulder to the tip of his fingers at the powerful bend in the weapon. The feathers tipped at the end of the arrow feel soft in comparison to his calloused fingers, a feeling he is well used to, so he spares it little thought as he lines up the shot with the rabbit moving carelessly through the undergrowth. It is as easy as breathing; there is a reason he never misses. He is on the verge of letting the arrow fly when something close to his ear cuts across his concentration.
"Look, I'm not bein' funny," comes the voice of Allan A Dale, full of his usual dry humour, and Robin has a feeling he's about to roll his eyes, "but you're obviously the best shot out of all of us. Why d'you send Much runnin' off all around Sherwood chasing squirrels up trees when you could feed us for a week in a morning's work?"
Robin makes no move to suggest he heard the question, not letting his eyes drop from the rabbit and keeping his arms tense with the string drawn back as far as it can go, but when he answers it is with a playful lilt.
"And there was me thinking you and I shared a sense of humour."
Allan smirks, remaining silent for a moment. Robin resumes his focus but Allan soon speaks again.
"Well, yeah, it is funny—it just seems a little counter-productive that's all." Allan's voice is loud, and he startles the rabbit back into the undergrowth. Robin sighs and slowly lowers the bow, relaxing his arms, and the corner of Allan's mouth tugs upwards in a grin as a teasing idea springs to mind. "Unless you think you can't do it."
"What?" Robin's disbelieving reply is out quicker than Allan predicted and he resists the urge to laugh. Robin's vanity and arrogance made it easy to provoke him, his friends only had to make light of his skills with the bow before he would immediately become defensive; his reactions were outrageously predictable.
"I'm just saying," Allan shrugs innocently, "flingin' arrows to knock knives outta people's hands is one thing, but maybe shootin' a rabbit so it's safe to eat is another." They both know full well Robin could do that and more, but it makes for entertainment to poke fun at him.
Robin slings his bow over his shoulder and plays into the ploy. "Are you challenging me?" he laughs.
"I wouldn't dare, Robin," Allan chuckles, "Was just thinkin' aloud."
With lightening speed the bow is back up with an arrow notched, before being released into the bushes Robin had been pointing at moments before. A thump is heard as the rabbit they had observed previously slumps out of the undergrowth. Robin is smug as he walks over to collect it, raising his eyebrows at Allan. For his part Allan does his best to look unimpressed, shrugging nonchalantly.
Robin blinks for a moment at the lack of accolade and scowls. "You can't be serious."
Allan represses a smile. "I didn't say anythin'!"
His friend grimaces and clicks his tongue, bending to pick up the rabbit and pulling out the arrow as he does so.
"Oh, I've gone and wounded his pride now, haven't I?" Allan crows, "Maybe now we'll get some proper chicken for a change."
"You want chicken?" Robin replies determinedly, still a little annoyed. "I'll get you chicken. Come on."
Allan half-heartedly gestures back to where they'd come. "What about the north road?"
"It will still be there tomorrow, won't it?" Robin throws loudly over his shoulder, before turning around and spreading his hands. "I have a morning's work to shower my men with!"
His companion finally grins, before jumping down away from the path and following where Robin was leading; because he would, really. He'd follow Robin anywhere, even if sometimes they didn't agree or sometimes he felt like they should take their gang in another direction, the fact remained that Robin Hood saved his life; not once, but twice. His friendship and respect meant everything.
He'd follow him wherever he went if it meant he'd be able to continue teasing him, clapping him on the back and living side by side as guardians of the forest.
Proper chicken, as it turned out, could be found on the dining table at Locksley Manor, all succulent and tempting and ready to be robbed from right under the nose of Guy of Gisborne. Robin had led Allan on a rather outlandish adventure around his old estate, to the fury of the Sheriff's right hand man as he yelled for guards to pursue them in their retreat; a retreat which involved them running for the forest and nearly falling over with laughter as Robin held the roasted chicken pierced on one of his arrows aloft like a trophy. It was a little more dangerous—well, significantly more dangerous—than the adventure Allan had been trying to provoke Robin into when he'd teased him earlier, but he was glad of the distraction all the same. They returned to the camp tired and hungry, but proud and full of good humour ready to recount the morning's spoils to their friends.
Not an hour later they're sitting where the outlaws have chosen to set up camp, Allan lounging against a tree trunk with Djaq and Will, who are polishing steel and whittling wood respectively. Much prepares to serve up their dinner by the cooking pot while Robin entertains him.
"You should'a seen Gisborne's face," Allan says, shaking his head with glee, "it was like that chicken was a family heirloom or somethin'."
Djaq clicks her tongue in a way he knows to convey disapproval. "I still do not know why you went through all of that trouble. You could have got yourselves killed. It is not like chicken from Gisborne is worth more than chicken from a trader."
Allan looks up. "What?"
"Needless danger," she tuts. "Usually when Robin decides he would like chicken he trades with the man from Nettlestone."
"Sam Trent," Will adds helpfully, after blowing some of the shavings from the sharp point he was carving into the wood.
"I know who he is," Allan shrugs indifferently. "But he's not sellin' at the moment. That's what Robin said, that's why we went to Locksley."
"Do not be ridiculous," Djaq says with a laugh, "he is always selling. I was with Robin not three days ago in Nettlestone and he was selling then. I would wager he was selling today."
At this Allan doesn't reply, processing the information. He was under the impression that the only reason they'd paraded into Locksley Manor and emerged with their prize in such a way was because there had been no other way to obtain chicken at that moment—that was what Robin had led him to believe.
"Then," his confusion halts his speech, "why bother with the... what?"
Will and Djaq, who had each been observing Allan's reaction carefully, exchange knowing looks. Understanding passes between them and Will returns to his whittling, leaving it to Djaq.
"Allan," she starts hesitantly, "we have all noticed, you have been very... restless, for a few weeks now. Perhaps Robin just wanted to help you get it out of your system."
Allan frowns, turning to watch their leader and friend where he sits beside Much, oblivious to the fact that he is the subject of their conversation. "He... he would'a said, wouldn't he? He wouldn't be that careless just for me."
"Robin does us a lot of favours, a lot of the time when we don't realise." Will speaks up quietly, his expression pensive and his mind wandering to everything Robin has done for he and his family.
The three friends fall into silence, all their thoughts occupied and Allan's mind racing. It didn't seem to make sense though, Robin going through all that trouble to get hold of a chicken when he could just buy one from a trader in Nettlestone. Maybe he really was just looking for an adventure—and not for himself, either. For Allan. It was true he'd been feeling restless and itching to do something exciting, but he hadn't realised everyone else in the gang had noticed to; Robin included. Allan had thought he was the one provoking Robin into an adventure by poking fun at his archery skills; he hadn't considered his friend was the one of the pair manipulating the situation.
Their musings are only interrupted when Much's voice cuts loudly across them as he and Robin bring over plates of some mouth-watering looking chicken and bread.
"Here we are," he says loudly, "thank you Robin, Allan, although perhaps next time you could not get it so covered in soil on the way back. It was nearly unsalvageable, you know. And I for one have had enough of eating mud in my lifetime. No, sir, it would not be so much to ask to keep the chicken off the ground, if you should so insist on stealing it from under the nose of all the staff at Locksley Manor. It would go a long way in making my job easier, thank you very much." He sniffs indignantly as he hands Allan the last plate.
Robin's response as he sits down is genuine and warm. "Thank you, Much," he says earnestly, "I don't know what we'd do without you."
"Starve, I expect," Much answers matter-of-factly, "or survive on dirt and worms. This camp would fall to pieces without me." Robin laughs and voices assent, the others only joining in the laughter as they settle into companionable chatter over the hard-earned meal.
As for Allan, he is humbled into uncharacteristic quietness, because he has now realised why Robin leaves Much to chase squirrels up trees for days on end to try and feed the gang, when he could easily do it better himself and in far less time—and it has nothing to do with laughing at Much. Although he might grumble and complain for hours on end, it is obvious Much secretly delights in it because of how essential it makes him. It makes him feel useful and irreplaceable in an environment that does not suit him, which has always been one of Much's greatest insecurities. And it is because Robin is so in tune with the group and their needs, sometimes much more so than they are themselves, that he knows exactly how to lessen that insecurity; by delegating cooking duty to Much.
Robin becomes aware of Allan watching him and throws him a wide grin, raising his plate of food in toast. Allan returns the toast and is overwhelmed with affection and gratitude for his leader—yes, he'd follow Robin anywhere, and he was sure Robin would let him, all the while attempting to subtly cater to his needs.
The King of Thieves, the Hero of the Poor. The most considerate outlaw in all of Sherwood; titles aside, that's just the kind of man Robin Hood is. Allan then sits back, content, and begins to enjoy the best meal he's had in weeks.
Thanks for reading! Let me know what'cha thought. Reviews are like the prospect of a warm bath to Much.
MyWhitelighter~