Disclaimer: Not mine.

Rating: G

Summary: After Loxley burns, Matthew waits for Ailric to reclaim his son…

Notes: Written long ago but only just re-discovered in a house move so I thought I'd post it.

Family

By NorthernStar

"Hide the boy. I'll come for him by night."

Matthew shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him as he stared into the darkness. It was a clear, bitter night, with a chill east wind that whipped cruelly at his ragged clothing. The moon had begun to dip, brightening the stars above him. The air was still tainted with the scent of burning. Loxley would continue to smoulder for days until there was little left but ashes, and memories.

Far in the distance, a night jay called, its cry echoing through the trees. Matthew crossed himself, fearing the bad omen. Fearing, knowing in his heart, that Ailric would not come.

Matthew waited all the same.

The river that flowed by the mill roared in the darkness, crisp water flowing swiftly over the small weir, a strong tide to turn the heavy mill stones. Matthew was comforted by the sound. The mill and the river would provide for them in the long winter ahead but it would only just keep them from starving. There would not be enough for another mouth.

Ailric had to come soon.

So Matthew stayed, long after Sarah had closed the mill door and put out the tallow candle, long after Ailric's small son had given in to sleep. The night wore on and he watched the moonlight dance on the water as the crescent descended below the trees, listening all the while for the approach of horse hooves. But Ailric never came.

---

Matthew fed the sow as the first rays of dawn lit the sky. The pig grunted and snorted as she ate, gorging on the roots Sarah had collected the day before. She would farrow soon and that would pay the taxes. If they were lucky, there would be enough piglets to eat as well as sell. It had been too long since he'd had any meat that wasn't fish.

Another hungry cry joined the sows, coming from the mill, high pitched and squalling. Matthew raised his head at the sound of his baby son's cries. Little Much was awake. At least there was food waiting for him, in his mother's embrace.

Matthew left the sty and set the mill stones turning, beginning the long hard toil that filled his every day. His bones ached from the long hours standing in the cold night and his heart was heavy with the weight of Ailric's loss. The work would seem harder than ever today.

"Matthew?"

He turned at his wife voice and jolted with surprise as he bumped into a small figure. Robin was standing behind him, his dark eyes solemn, staring up at Matthew with a quiet stillness at odds with his tender years. How long had he been there? He hadn't heard the boy approach.

Sarah stood in the doorway, Much tucked on her hip. She too seemed surprised to see Robin.

Matthew put his hand on Robin's shoulder. "Take Much outside, Robin." He told him.

Robin nodded and walked over to Sarah, who gently set the toddler down and smiled at them both. Robin took the small hand and led the baby out. Much's steps were wobbly, but he didn't fall.

They both watched the children leave.

"Ailric didn't come." Sarah said at last. It wasn't a question.

"No." His voice was soft.

She bowed her head. "Is he dead?"

"Ailric would not abandon Robin." He told her and the significance of those words fell like stone between them.

They were both silent, grieving the loss of their friend. And mixed in with the loss was growing fear at having the Thane's son under their roof. The sheriff had wanted something more than just an end to Saxon rebellion from Ailric, Matthew was sure, and the people of Loxley had paid the price.

But De Rainault would not be searching for Robin. What would he want with a small boy? What threat could Robin pose to him?

Sarah met his eyes. "I will tell Robin."

Matthew remembered the sadness in the boy, the look in his eyes beyond his few years. "He knows."

---

Robin watched Much shaking a leaf in his chubby hand. The baby had a big four-toothed grin as he made fluttering noises in the air. His hair had grown since Robin had seen him last. It had sprouted into the reds of autumn and was curling at the ends. Robin reached out and stroked it. He liked the feel and the deep colour, so different from his own.

Robin looked back at the mill. He knew Matthew and Sarah were afraid; he could feel it. His father had been frightened too, as he'd handed Robin into Matthew's arms and rode off into the night never to return.

Ailric was dead. Robin could feel that too. It was like a big black cloak all around him, dragging him down. He was all alone. He was no-ones son now.

Much smiled at him. He couldn't smile back.

---

Sarah watched Robin play with her son through the doorway of the mill. Matthew came up behind her. He knew how fond she was of Robin. She had nursed him through sickness after his mother passed away. Her bond with him was almost as strong as it was with Much and to her it was clear what they should do.

But despite the ache in his heart, Matthew knew they couldn't keep another child.

"He's just a boy, Matthew."

Matthew shook his head sadly. "We have little enough already."

"He has nothing."

"He has his name and his life."

"They won't feed him."

"Nor will they feed us." Matthew touched her shoulder. "Sarah…I know the Abbott is looking for more bondsmen for his land."

"Make Robin a serf!"

"They will feed him, Sarah, teach him a trade."

"Ailric didn't fight the Normans so his son could grow up in serfdom!"

Matthew turned her to face him. "It's more than we could ever offer him."

"Love, Matthew." She pleaded. "We can offer him love. Ailric believed that." She looked back at Robin, realising with a terrible dread that Ailric had left the boy with them, knowing he wouldn't live to collect him. "He wouldn't have brought him here, if he didn't."

---

Matthew looked up from his work as he heard footsteps approach. He turned to the young sandy haired man making his way towards the mill through the soft, wet soil beside the weir.

"Edward." He greeted. Edward had lived in Loxley and Matthew had feared for his safety. So many of the villagers had died in the fires or fallen under a Norman sword.

Edward nodded in return. His eyes were dark and shadowed. "Have you been up to the Wheel?"

Matthew felt a cold chill. Rhiannon's Wheel, the Circle devoted to Herne. Ailric. "Not for years." Sarah had no faith in the old ways and he had stayed away from the blessings and the celebrations for her sake.

"I went to lay offerings for the dead." He said. "I found Ailric's body there."

Matthew bowed his head. "Aye." It was no more than he already knew and yet his heart ached anew at the confirmation.

"The Sheriff murdered him." His voice deepened with anger. "The Arrow's g-"

Edward stopped mid-word and stiffened, looking beyond Matthew.

The miller turned, knowing what he would see. Robin. The boy had crept up on him again.

"Robin…"

The boy looked up at Matthew with dark eyes. "I want to go home."

The statement took him by surprise.

"Loxley's gone, lad. There's nothing there but ashes." Edward told him. "You had best forget it."

Robin frowned. "Nothing's forgotten." He said softly, looking up at Edward. "Nothing is ever forgotten."

The adults looked at each other, uneasily.

"Aye, lad." Matthew said eventually. "Go find Sarah now, help her with Much."

Robin's eyes flickered to Edward then back at Matthew. "Am I going to stay with you?"

Matthew felt Edward's eyes on him as well. "Find Sarah, Robin. We will talk of this later."

The boy waited for a long moment, looking up at Matthew, and then he slowly walked off.

Edward watched Robin disappear into the mill. "I feared the boy dead as well."

"Ailric brought him here."

Edward smiled. "Then he will be safe."

Matthew looked down. "Where will you go?" He asked, avoiding Edward's statement.

"Wickham." The young man said. "It will be safer there."

---

Robin watched as Matthew wrapped a chuck of bread. It was for the journey, he told him. They were going to Abbott Hugo to make Robin a bondsman and there he would learn a trade and maybe even make a living.

He listened in silence, never uttering a word of protest.

Matthew glanced at the boy. Robin's eyes were unfocused and he was so still.

"Much." He whispered.

And just as his lips finished forming the name, Matthew heard his wife's cries. "Much! Much!"

Terror struck Matthew's heart and he broke into a run.

They both raced out of the mill and towards the frightened woman.

Sarah was frantic. "He's gone!" She cried. "Much is gone! I-I was stitching cloth, and when I looked..." Her eyes scanned the land, "Much! Much!"

Matthew stopped beside his wife, but Robin continued on, running unerringly. He didn't falter in his step.

---

Robin ran for the weirs edge, and Sarah's cries faded under the roar of the rushing water. At the bank, he didn't stop, but plunged in. The icy water gushed over him and the pull of the current forced him downwards. His knees bumped against something solid and he grabbed for it. He felt cloth and leather but he'd already known what it was; had known back there, in the mill.

Robin kicked against the strong currents, struggling upwards. His head broke the surface and he gasped. Then he felt himself pulled out and hauled free of the water.

Sarah was sobbing Much's name and Robin watched, shivering as Matthew shook his son, pleading for him to wake.

Much finally coughed and vomited up a gush of water. Then he began to cry.

Matthew and Sarah enclosed their boy, and each other, in their arms, rocking and crying.

Robin watched and continued to shiver.

Then Sarah broke from the huddle and grabbed him, "thank you, Robin!" She sobbed and drew him into the warmth of their arms. "Bless you!"

---

Sarah settled Robin into the pile of sheepskin and cloth beside her son. The boy had been quiet all evening. It bothered her. He hadn't cried once, not even after hearing Edward's words, or at Matthew's decision. He had not even shed a tear beside the river, in the safety of their hug.

"It will be a cold night, Robin." She told him as she tucked another sheepskin around him.

Much snuffled beside Robin and the boy shuffled over and curled about him. "I'll keep Much warm, Sarah."

She brushed his hair back and kissed them both.

Outside, Matthew was waiting. She looked at him for a long moment.

"I'll not send him away, Matthew."

"We have so little already." But there was no fervour in his voice. He knew his heart wasn't cold enough to send the boy away, but wished their burden wasn't so great. Another mouth to feed could mean the difference between merely going hungry and starving.

"I'll not send him away." She repeated.

And Matthew nodded.

---

Robin sat up in his bed, unable to sleep. The shadowy darkness didn't frighten him. It never had. His father would often take him walking in the forest long after the moon was gone, treading the deer paths into places as feared as Dark Mere.

He brushed at his cheek, wiping away a tear. He didn't want to cry. Another followed and he scraped that away too, only to have another traitorous dribble track down his face. A stifled sob hiccupped in his chest and more tears spilled out.

Movement caught his eye and he turned to see Much sitting up. The baby had his thumb in his mouth and gazed at him over his fist with big round eyes. Robin hid his face.

Much wriggled closer and laid his head against Robin's arm, then petted it with his other chubby hand, odd stokes and pats.

A choke burst from Robin's chest and then the tears wouldn't stop. Much continued to pat him as he sobbed, the small comfort following him into sleep.

---

Matthew woke in the night and sat up to look at the boy his friend had left him with. Robin lay with Much, lit by the watery rays of first sunlight that flittered through the cracks in the wood. He lay back down and was just about to fall into sleep again when he heard Much cry out. He sat up again to go to him, but heard faint shushing noises and saw Robin gently rocking the baby.

Sarah pulled him sleepily back down. He could feel the smile on her lips when she brushed them against his cheek.

His sons were fine.

---finis---