"No Going Back"

Part 01

"C'mon Will, keep going" he gasped. "We're almost there."

He had one arm slung round his shoulders and he supported his friend as they made their way through the forest, gripping onto the wrist tightly, which was frighteningly limp. His other arm was clamped around his waist. They were slowing down as he found himself bearing more and more of the weight, while the young man's legs gave up the battle of strength.

"Can't." came the mumbled response, barely a whisper. Caught only because his lips were right at his ear. "Gwn 'thout me, warn th'thers"

"Over my dead body." He almost snarled back. "And dead it will be if I turn up at the camp without you. What would Djaq say eh? You think I could face her and tell her I left you in the forest? You don't want to do that to yer old mate do you? No, so you've no option Will, you stay awake and you keep going. You hear me?"

Allan a Dale kept the monologue up all the way through the tortuous journey towards the outlaw's camp. For a monologue it had become. His young companion now too focussed on simply placing one foot in front of the other to be able to engage in any form of conversation. Will's head hurt, and he was shivering with the cold. Yet he was hot and every limb ached. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep, let me sleep Allan, please just stop and let me rest.

But no words made it out of his mouth and Allan kept moving and would not stop and would not let him lie down.

"Nearly there Will, come on you can make it. Agh."

They stumbled together under Will's dead weight as his knees finally buckled and gave way beneath him.

"Will, no, keep moving, please!" he urged. "Don't give up now!"

"Slp" was all he heard in response.

He sighed and then took a deep breath, regarding his young companion for a minute weighing up his options. He looked towards the camp and then turned and gazed back towards where they had come from. Should he leave him hidden and come back with help? Could he make it? How far away were they? Was there time? He then glanced down at his friend again, and realised what would happen if the tables had been turned and he Allan a Dale was the one lying sick and wounded, depending on his friend Will Scarlett to help him. Decision made, he leant down and with mammoth effort hauled the young man over his shoulder, his own knees nearly giving way under the load.

"C'mon Allan, you can do it. Prove it to yourself, don't let him down. I won't let you die, I won't let you die"

And with that thought revolving through his head, he staggered towards their destination.

-oOo-

The journey was agonisingly slow. He barely made fifty yards before he needed to stop and shift the weight on his shoulders. He quickly realised that if he selected a tree in the distance and made for it, he could at least feel that he was charting progress, but would also be rewarded with a brief respite as he leaned against the trunk.

He turned it into a game where he would select a different tree each time, that way he could try and forget about the breath being gone from his body, the creaking of his knees as they struggled under the compressive forces they endured, the aching of his shoulders and neck and the ringing in his ears as his body screamed to stop.

Larch first. Mighty beech tree. Stout oak. Horse chestnut tree, with its cool shade. Rowan with its red berries just beginning to show. Each one provided a focus, until at last, drenched with sweat and breathing heavily with exhaustion, he made it to the small gully that hid the secret home of the outlaws.

He laid his burden down gently, collapsing to his hands and knees in the process. He did not even have enough wind in his lungs to signal their arrival.

He haltingly rose to his feet and wobbled over towards the niche that hid the lever for the door, and pulled. Finally having enough breath in his body he called out for the occupants to help him.

"Robin, John! Help!" he gasped out.

He went back to the supine figure and placed his hand on his head, frowning at the heat that he felt there. It had come on so suddenly, he couldn't explain it. The wound itself was minor, it had hardly even bled. He turned back to the open door.

Where were they?

"Robin? Djaq!"

Suffering bluebells, don't tell me they're not here.

He grunted as he lifted his burden again and staggered into the camp.

He lay Will Scarlett down on his bunk and fetched a skin of water.

"Drink this Will." He lifted his head and poured a small amount onto his fevered lips, worrying at the lack of response from him. He was fading fast. Where was Djaq? Or John even, he was good with fevers.

He made his way over to Djaq's area, and looked out her medicine chest, but really didn't know what he was looking for. He decided that his best option was to try and fight the fever by cooling it down and opted for some rags and water. He pressed a cool cloth on the fevered features and hoped for the best.

Sitting down beside his old friend he found himself thinking about the adventures they had had together. The battles fought, the comradeship, the fights, the declarations of love for the same woman. The weariness of the days events took their toll and he drifted off to an uneasy slumber.

He woke suddenly as the curved blade made its presence felt at his throat and looked up startled at the angry features of Robin of Locksley.

"What are you doing here Allan? And what have you done to Will?"

Behind him he made out the shocked features of the gang as they absorbed the scene.