A/N:

Title: Douce Dame (Fom a title of the French medieval song "Douce Dame Jolie" - meaning "Sweet Lovely Lady")
Author: Trixter82
Rating: T, might be changed later on
Warning: some violence, lust, angst
Spoilers: S1
Disclaimer: Only the oc:s belong to me.
Summary: In the shadowside of love there is obsession, lust and sacrifice, possessiveness and jealousy. What if love isn't a sweet emotion but a beast which possesses you, haunts you, warps your mind until you do not know reality from your own fantasies? Yet this is also a story about friendship and tenderness as Robin, Marian and the outlaws struggle to stand against the forces which try to tear them apart. How far are you willing to go for love? To every mistake there is a consequence, and there is a long and winding road before we reach the story's, rather unorthodox, happily ever after.
Pairings: Robin/Marian, Marian/Guy (onesided), Robin/OC (onesided), Will/Djaq/Allan (hints), Brother Tuck/God (lol)

Note: This fic goes AU after the s1 finale. No s2.

Thanx to by darling beta Jas.

xxxTrixxx

Prelude: Fenix

His name was Toc.

The weight of a lifetime had pulled his body down towards the ground so that his sagging features looked tragic and bewildered, his back hunched and his shoulders slumping. He was the kind of man who considers himself normal but is odd from any other angle than from the inside looking out. The villager's of Locksley called him Toc from the sound of a finger tapping against a skull, an empty sound which had been linked to him like yapping to a dog. 'That is Toc,' they'd say in hushed voices, 'he's a bit—you know' followed by the tapping or a finger swirling around in circles as to show that he wasn't quite right up there. A bit of a mess in the old attic - if the wind blows into one ear it exits trough the other, if you catch my drift. Toc had heard it all and seen the winks and smiles behind his back, or even right in front of him if the people involved were of the less modest kind. Because he was ordinary only to himself, and peculiar to anyone else, he had long ago been appointed the village fool.

Toc's life had been spent in Locksley from the blushing dawn to this the autumn of his existence. He had been born there during a bleak January morning when Sir Robert of Locksley still ruled and was a force to be reckoned with. On the day Sir Robin the younger was born, Toc had been standing outside the manor with the crowd of waiting villagers. He had rejoiced over the newborn who would eventually grow to become Robin Hood, and grieved the last Lady Locksley who died in her bed while her son was still wrapped in his swaddling clothes. Back then Toc had been a gangly lad with too many freckles and a face shaped like a Roman amphora - oblong with a narrow chin and round, protruding ears.

When young Sir Robin had left for the war Toc stood on the side and watched the grim look in Lord Locksley's face and the stubborn blankness of Robin's beloved Lady Marian. He had seen the lady turn her face and miss the last kiss she ever expected Robin to give her. When the crowd dispersed and Robin had left, Toc was there so see Marian return cloaked by the dusk. Only he had seen her young pride give away to the tears of a broken heart.

Toc had been in Locksley when the era of Gisbourne started and he would still be there when it ended. Rumours had it that it would be soon, since King Richard was once again on English soil, but Toc cared little for politics. He was a good watcher but a poor thinker, a man of few words and no conclusions, but substituted it by observing and recording the events instead. Toc had watched young master Robin come back a jaded young man and seen him go into exile into the forest. He had been there when Robin Hood was born, had still been there when Gisbourne the married and renamed village to 'New Gisbourne' in honour of his reluctant Lady. Even later Toc had stood and watched as Locksley manor burned to the ground, and listened to the villagers mumble that the name 'Gisbourne' cursed whatever it touched.

Toc was there today as well, a sad day because it was the day that they buried the second mistress to have ruled over Locksley in his lifetime. She had loved in Locksley and lived, hated and died in New Gisbourne, but they never wished to associate her with the latter name. It had cursed her as well. Now the old house with the whitewashed walls was a black skeleton in the background of Lady Marian's funeral.

Lady Marian was dead and Locksley Manor had burned to the ground. In Nottingham the sheriff had fled and people said that King Richard would be marching in any day now. Rumours had it Robin Hood had fallen victim to the dreaded fever, snatched from them with the callousness of nature, although some claimed it was a broken heart that had taken his life. Toc had recorded all these happenings and never even left the village. He stood some paces away from the rest, always accepted but treated with indulgence rather than tenderness. A bit daft, the villagers whispered and shook their heads, but the poor sod just doesn't know any better.

Locksley's roses had burned with the fire which took both the house and its mistress' life, so Marian's memorial was covered in wild flowers. The entire village had gathered around the scene and in the midst stood the loathed master of the manor clothed in black. No one comforted Guy as they had the last widowed lord of Locksley. Instead there was an empty space around him, a circle of death as if he carried the plague in its every incarnation. You could be an outsider because your mind, like Toc's, was set in a different key, or you could be an outsider because you simply were unwelcome. Guy of Gisbourne was an outsider of the latter kind. The fact was that the clumsy fool with the hunch-back was one of the people much more than the tall lord of the manor ever could be.

The priest's voice rose and sunk in a torrent of monotone Latin phrases which was understood by only a handful people, and Toc was certainly not one of the chosen few. He had started to doze off when there was an unexpected sound of a twig breaking behind him and he turned around. He peered into the dense vegetation until his focus was shifted from the leaves to the dark void of Sherwood Forest which lay behind them. A mosaic of colours appeared to move restlessly in the shadows, tiny freckles of something that did not belong to the shrubbery. Toc turned his body to face the same way as his head had twisted, leaving his back to face the crowd at the funeral. Some of the villagers glanced over at the freckled man with the giant ears. The familiar hunch on his back - caused by a lifetime of dodging away from people's eyes – was straightened and his head which had been lifted in curiosity. Then the observers shrugged and decided that no one could know what a fool was up to, and turned back to the mysterious mass wishing that it had been the master who had perished rather than their beloved mistress. Thus no one else saw the stripes of colour between the leaves which had sparked Toc's curiosity. He may be an excellent observer but no one ever expected him to observe anything of general interest.

There was a cart and a group of people dressed as jesters in the bushes, watching the funeral from their hiding place. Like a puzzle Toc patiently put the spots of colour together until he could see the picture as clearly as if they had been standing in plain sight. It took him only a moment to recognise the entertainers who had come to Nottingham for the Feast of Fools, but he noted that the ones in the foreground had not initially been a part of the group. It was a young man and a woman, standing hand in hand in one of those natural acts of intimacy which was so foreign to Toc. Under the man's emerald hood there was a stubbly jaw line and a hint of two intense eyes, while the woman's chestnut mane draped down over shoulders clothed in a rust red cloak. She had big, expressive eyes, and for a moment they widened as they turned to meet Toc's gaze. There was a flash of mutual recognition, after which she nodded a short greeting to the fool and gave him a poignant smile. Then she tugged the hand of her companion and they vanished like an apparition melting back into the shadows, leaving only leaves and emptiness in their place.

Long after they were gone Toc remained standing, gazing into the greenery. The funeral ended behind his back but the event had already been forgotten to him, confused as he was by the testament of his eyes. Somehow he knew that this was the end. He would never see them again and nor had he expected to, but he had seen them one last time, he was sure of that. He had seen them even though it should have been impossible, as clear as he saw the leaves which remained in their place. Toc wondered if he should tell someone about it, but he didn't know what words to use. Even truth became false when he took it into his mouth, and there was not supposed to be such a thing as ghosts in daylight. Thus the only true witness shrugged and decided there and then that it was easier to forget all about it.

This is the very last story about Robin Hood, and this is how it ends.

---

This is how it begins.

Once again Allan-a-Dale had not returned to the outlaw camp until daybreak. When he came strolling lazily into the glen the rest of the outlaws were already up and gathered around a sparkling fireplace, leaping up the first rays of sun like lizards. Birds chattered loudly in the euphoria of spring as Allan stumbled into the domestic scene of lawless forest life with a yawn.

"Honey, I'm home," he grinned at them. "Bloody hell, I'm starving. Smells nice 'ere. Wha's for supper, Much?"

"Oh you are starving, are you?" Much responded with a scowl. "It's breakfast! And where exactly have you been?"

"Me?" Allan said innocently as he slumped down against a fallen tree, sprawling out comfortably on the bed of leaves. "I've just been to see a mate o' mine. A nice little lass called Bec. She works in the castle though, so you could say I've been up all night working, really. Gathering information or whatever."

Coming from anyone else those last sentences might have been meant as a joke, but being Allan, his concept of 'work' was notoriously vague and bendable. Will looked up to give him a tired smile while Djaq cocked her eyebrow indulgently, nudging Little John to share the amusement. John glared at her briefly, then grunted and rolled his eyes. He was not much of a morning person.

"And what did this work amount to Allan?" Robin asked softly with a knowing smirk on his lips.

"Well, y'know—stuff," Allan shrugged casually. "Like 'er telling me the sheriff's out of town. He's left Guy in charge. Left 'im with 'is ring. That's how she knew, my lass, see? Guy had Vaysey's signet ring. She's a clever little cookie, you 'ave to give her that." Allan leaned down to snatch a piece of bread from Much's 'kitchen', munching on it loudly. "Fancy wha' you could do with a ring like that, ey Robin?" he mused with his mouth full of bread crumbs. "All sorts of mishap."

"Yes," Robin murmured absently as an idea slowly started to sprout in his head. Vaysey's signet ring, the hawk, was a treasured possession for the vain sheriff as well as a precious tool, ensuring the validity of his documents and correspondences. "It could be useful."

"That's wha' I said," Allan grinned and shoved a piece of dried meat into his mouth before Much had time to stop him. "Look Much, I've been working, a'right?" he sighed. "A toiling man cannot very well live off porridge can 'e?"

"Toiling!" Much exclaimed indignantly, ignoring the muffled laughter from the other outlaws. "You have been gallivanting around, wooing the skirts off tavern wenches, all night, and now you'll be sleeping half the day while we do all the work planning the raid on the castle's grain supplies!"

"Stealing bread," Allan murmured with a yawn. "I could do that with my eyes tied while juggling a set on knives and walking backwards across a tightrope."

"Wouldn't that leave your hands otherwise occupied?" Will asked with a sardonic smile.

"I'd use my feet. Now will you shut up, this working lad needs 'is beauty sleep or there won't be any more nifty pieces of castle gossip." Allan yawned and covered his eyes with a piece of embroidered linen cloth which looked suspiciously like something a woman would be carrying around.

A comfortable silence fell around the circle of outlaws and Much resumed his cooking, stirring the porridge with a large wooden ladle. He had a sour look on his face and his eyes kept finding their way back to Robin, whose lips had been absently pulled into a mischievous smirk.

"I know that look," Much finally stated. "Whatever it is you are thinking, the answer is no."

"I am going to steal that ring," Robin stated with a smile and raised a playful eyebrow at his old friend.

"Nope, you are not doing that."

"Yes I am. While you raid the grain supplies."

"No, and definitely no! We need you and besides, you cannot do it on your own."

"Much! Don't think so little of yourself," Robin grinned flippantly. "You will do just fine without me. I will be swiftly in, swing around Vaysey's study and then take a quick escape through the window above the food storage. It will be over and done with within half an hour."

"'alf an hour," Allan snorted sluggishly. "Maybe if you're planning on taking the guided tour while you're at it."

"You heard Allan, Much," Robin smiled and clapped his hands together, stretching his morning-lazy limbs with a sigh. "It's a piece of cake!"

"I heard Allan," Much scoffed. "Doesn't mean I listened to him, and you shouldn't either. Besides, Marian won't like this one bit you know."

"Enough," Robin sighed and tossed over his wooden bowl to Much, who caught it clumsily and started to ladle porridge into it. "I'm doing it, end of discussion. What Marian does not know will not hurt her—or me for that matter," he added thoughtfully.

Much hesitated, unwilling to let go of his objections, then simply gave out a dejected sigh and dropped the bowl of porridge in Robin's knee, spilling a few lumps on the laced trousers. "Fine," he murmured bitterly. "It's not like anyone listens to me anyway."

Robin smiled and shoved a spoon of porridge into his mouth, gobbling it down hungrily. "Sure we do," he grinned between two bites. "We always listen when you call us to a meal."

Much shrugged and sunk into a sulking silence, leaving the camp to dig into the early breakfast meal which he had so lovingly prepared for them.

Just like a signet ring seals a treaty, the path of this story was determined in this moment - fates sealed and signed in the early morning hour. An idea, however impossible, refused to leave Robin alone once it had gained footing, and this fix idea with the ring was no different. His mind was working with more verve than the spoon which swiftly scooped up the porridge, randomly completing the details of the new plan. This coup would irk the sheriff, and he in return would lash out at Guy, thus serving to sweeten Robin's victory some more. It was ingenious, on the verge of inspired, and it made Robin giddy with excitement.

Sadly though, it was also doomed to fail.

Next: Robin gets a nasty surprise