Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

AN: So I don't really write much fanfiction anymore (as seen from my lack of posts), but inspiration struck today and after writing this very quickly, I figured, why not put it up? So here it is- I hope you enjoy! Apologies if I am a little rusty.

Warning: Takes place after series 3 finale so SPOILERS! (Also, unabashedly will/allan themes)

Message

It was two weeks later and Much was surprised the stupid bird was still alive. Someone must've fed it at some point. Sometime in between the digging and the breaking down and the running, someone must've taken the time to throw some bread crumbs into the stupid cage and Much found he was angry at that. If the goddam bird had just died, he wouldn't have to deal with this. He could just forget about this. He glared around the empty camp, not even sure who he was mad at. He was glad no one was there.

Tuck had offered to do it. He was an educated man, he could write and Much had wanted to take him up on his offer, had wanted to so badly, but he had also almost punched the man in the face because the proposition was followed with "What are their names again?" and Much hated him for that moment.

The bird cooed up at him, coming closer before scrambling back. Then it seemed to deflate a little, its coo becoming sad and slow and questioning. It was looking for Allan. Allan was the one to feed it and talk to it and faithfully carry it to every different camp. Even this stupid bird could tell something was wrong. Much felt tears rise in his eyes and he swiped them away angrily. Damn bird should figure out Allan wasn't coming back. None of them were.

Much threw a handful of crumbs in the cage. In a few minutes, the pigeon would need enough strength to fly how ever many miles back to the Holy Land; the least he could do was start it off on a full stomach. He watched it for a few moments to make sure it was eating, then accepted that he was just putting this off and sat down. The ink and the quill came out, followed by a few tiny slips of paper that Djaq had showed them all how to slip onto the bird's foot. Much grasped the quill with shaking hands, fumbling slightly. Then he stopped because, God, he didn't want to do this.

He was pretty sure Tuck offered because he thought Much didn't know how to read or write. Not many people did. Certainly not lowly manservants. But Robin had taught him. On the long journey back from the Holy Land, still weak from his wound, Robin had painstakingly and patiently taught him first to read and then to write. Holding the quill, Much could almost feel Robin's hands correcting his hold, hear Robin's loud laugh as he first saw Much's huge, awful-looking letters, see the smile when he made a mistake that said "It's alright. Try again," even while Much was still waiting for the blow that had always followed mistakes made in the past. Much took a breath and forced the memories down. Forced himself to focus. Forced himself to dip his quill in the ink and write in small, boxed, still choppy letters:

"Battle with the sheriff. Allan and Robin dead. We won."

Much pulled back his hand as if burned when he finished and then stared at the note. It didn't make any sense. How could that be what had happened? How could that be what Tuck and Archer and even Kate were telling people? It didn't make any sense.

Much put the quill down. He would do this later. Maybe it would make sense later. In another few weeks or months or years- maybe one day that would make sense. And then he could send it. Then he could understand how they could have won while losing everything.

He couldn't send that to Djaq and Will. He could picture what would happen. Djaq would read it aloud because Robin wasn't around to teach Will how to read and their faces would crumple in confusion and Will would ask her to read it again but Djaq would already be crying and Will would get angry and tell her to read it again and Djaq would but it still wouldn't make sense. It wouldn't make sense and Will would repeat that point again and again and Djaq would still be crying. Crying for Robin and for Allan and crying most of all for Will because she was a smart girl and she would already know what that meant.

Will would come back. Will would not believe it otherwise, would need to hear the details, would say it was his duty to return even though that wouldn't be why he was coming back. He would come back for Allan. Come back to hear the details, to try and fix it, to hear Much say it was a mistake. Will would come back for Allan even though Allan wasn't here. Wasn't anywhere.

Much took a gulp, tried to focus. Will would come back. He would make Djaq stay because he couldn't let her be a part of his grieving. Not for Allan. And he would promise to return even though they both knew if Will left the Holy Land, he wouldn't go back. Not because he didn't love Djaq but because he loved Allan more.

Much knew that. Had watched as the two men talked and laughed and grew together. Had watched as Will crumpled under the weight of Allan's betrayal. Had seen the flashes of it return, only to be wiped out by Will's determination on the way to the Holy Land. He knew what that level of friendship meant, what it could lead to. Djaq knew- at least on some level, at least enough to realize that staying in the Holy Land, away from Allan, was the only way she could truly be with Will.

Much reached down and grabbed Allan's old dagger, which had been passed to him somehow. Allan hadn't known. Had never believed it would be possible. And Will didn't know. But he would. He would realize it the moment he heard that message. And he would leave Djaq and come back for Allan. He would leave his version of happiness and come back for nothing. Because Allan was dead.

Much reached for the scrap of paper and without hesitation, tore it in half. He couldn't send them that. He couldn't let Will come back to this. Back to running and new gang members and graves and nothing. He had to do the opposite. Had to write a note that would keep him away forever. He had to write something to make sure Will never came back to Sherwood Forest.

Not letting himself think, he pulled out a different scrap of paper and scribbled furiously. Then he blew on it softly, ignored the tears that were running down his face and, when it was dry, rolled it as Djaq had shown them.

He knew what would happen when Djaq read this letter. As he opened the cage and fumbled, trying to get the stupid paper on the bird's foot, he pictured it. She would read it aloud and smile with relief and Will would frown for a moment, feeling a twinge of something, something he couldn't name. And then Djaq would repeat it and ask Will what was wrong with him and he would bring up a smile and say "Nothing, nothing- I just-" And then he would laugh at himself, at his surprise, at that odd little twinge, and smile and laugh and he would never, never come back to Sherwood Forest.

Much smiled as he double and then triple checked that the note was securely in the bird's foot. Then he opened the cage and waited for the pigeon to realize what this meant. It looked up at him and then around one last time as if making sure it wasn't supposed to be Allan who sent him off.

"Go on," Much muttered, waving a hand, trying not to feel as if he were sending away the last piece of his friend. "Go home."

The bird's first few flaps were awkward and uncoordinated and Much worried that the blasted thing had forgotten how to fly. But, just like Djaq promised, it soon seem to remember what came naturally. He watched as it flew higher and higher and then spun unerringly to the south and Much knew his letter would arrive.

In a few weeks or months, that pigeon would make it and Djaq and Will would receive Much's lie. And it would keep Will away and keep them happy and he could only hope she was wearing something beautiful when she read:

"Allan married. Robin officiated. Son to be named Will."

End.

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