Title: Brother Hood
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The story of three brothers who survived… only to be annoyingly stuck with each other. Had fate been more kind, or perhaps more cruel, they would have gotten just this.
Alternate series ending wherein certain deaths are prevented but still carry lasting effects.
Rating: K+
One morning, when the sun was only just wheedling through fog and bare branches, Archer was awoken to the slight tickling sensation of a feather along the shell of his ear. He sprang up suddenly in his bed and grabbed the annoying, teasing thing. Attached to the other end was Robin, a cheeky grin on his face.
"Get dressed," he said, releasing his hold on the feather. Archer was of the opinion that there were very many ways he could have otherwise been woken up. He threw the feather and it fluttered daintily to the floor. Robin watched it and smiled wider. "We're going on patrol."
"I'd rather not, if it's all the same," Archer responded, throwing himself almost violently back into his sheets.
"It's not the same at all," Robin told him. He walked about the room and started picking up odds and ends: a shirt, his vest, his sword. "I'd like you to get to know the routes. Besides," he threw Archer's trousers at him, "what else could you spend the day doing?"
Archer grumbled and growled. "Sleeping, for starters." For all his many objections though, he did begin to roll out of bed and get dressed. At the very least, a day outside promised to be some mild entertainment, not like the mind numbing boredom the manor offered.
His mood was dampened quite noticeably when Robin told him that they would not be taking horses on their trip. It had something to do with their limited accessibility in certain areas or greeting the people on foot; he was still half-asleep and barely listening.
Tiredly, he followed behind his brother. Both had sword and bow equipped, but hopefully they would not be needed.
To Archer's surprise, they were not the only ones out and about. They encountered several people while walking through the village. Most were content to give no more than a wave, but one woman and her children stopped them.
"Robin," she called. "Robin Hood."
Robin stopped short, fingers twitching at his side. He looked tense, but when he turned, his face was all smiles. "Please," he said to the woman. "No more of this 'Hood' business. It's Robin now, just Robin. Or Robin of Locksley, if you feel like the whole mouthful." The woman apologized, but Archer's attention was focused on his brother, on the faltering smile he was trying to keep pinned in place. It was put-on and thus did not suit.
She gave them both a couple pieces of sausage from the family breakfast, which was better than the bit of bread they had run out the door with. Archer ate his greedily, but Robin only nibbled as they walked on and out of the village.
After a while of kicking up the dead brittle leaves beside the forest's tree line, Robin pulled from his pocket a cloth map of Sherwood. He showed Archer where they were and where each of the main villages rested. They followed a long path that led to Clun and reached the village a little before noon.
Again they were met with cheers and all the splendor a small gathering of serfs could muster. They praised Robin Hood, but as they were soon told, he was no more. Robin corrected each villager in how they addressed him, insisting on Robin of Locksley, or simply Robin. They didn't fully understand what he was playing at, but they granted his request. Simple as they were though, they would probably forget soon enough. They would slip and call him Robin Hood. Archer knew they meant nothing by it, but the title seemed to bother the man horribly.
The people told them of their happiness during the past month, how life had become some merry tale with no law regulating taxes. Robin said nothing of how that would not last. He did not want to ruin their joy.
When they left Clun, it was with a weighty parcel of food for their lunch. Archer made a joke over how the villagers seemed intent on fattening them up. Robin chuckled and led him back into the forest.
It was obvious they were heading for the former camp, but they were nowhere near it when Robin slowed down drastically. His feet stumbled and he took deep, wheezing breaths that said he had been pushing himself to continue for quite awhile. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he panted, leaning heavily against a tree. "I used to walk this everyday without tiring, several times a day, actually."
Archer said nothing but handed him a pouch of water. He took a long drink and then continued huffing insufficient breaths until he broke out into a coughing fit. It was a damp cough that produced nothing and tore at his insides, leaving his throat raw and his chest aching.
"I think you've pushed yourself too much too soon," Archer told him, beckoning him to sit and rest. "You almost died, remember."
Robin fell to the ground. He ran a hand through his hair that tightened painfully when the coughing returned. The sound came from deep in his chest and echoed through the forest like the loud wails of a dying dog. Archer gave him more water and some bread, not knowing what else to do.
The cough died down again after a moment, and when they were sure it had gone, Archer suggested they go ahead and have their lunch.
He was gnawing on a piece of pork when he passively said to the other, "No more Robin Hood then?"
"No," Robin answered. He threw a bone from his meal away, still a bit of meat left for some hungry animal to pick at. "No more Robin Hood. He died abroad a year ago and was brought back from the blackness of death by a monk, though he was never truly complete again. Last month a crumbling castle destroyed him once and for all, him and everything he ever was, everything he ever fought against." He took a deep breath and was relieved it didn't end in more of that barking cough. "Robin Hood rests at last."
Archer watched him carefully. He took notice of the distant look in his brother's eye, a weary expression that longed for true relief. It was no challenge in guessing his mind. "You wish the poison had killed you," he surmised.
"I am tired," Robin spoke, his voice embodying the sentiment. He held his hand out and curled his fingers as though he could crush the feeling in his fist and be rid of it. "I've given so much, lost even more— more than a man ever should. When will it stop? When do I get to put my fate in another's hands and let him shoulder the burdens and the misery? Where is my reward for good deeds? Where is…" His voice quit him. He clenched his fist tighter and let loose a sobbing cackle. "Where is my reprieve?"
Archer had no words of wisdom to offer him, no sagely advice to turn the man's perspective and make him see his life as kind and giving and full again. Slowly, he reached out and patted Robin's shoulder. He sighed. "You're as bad as him— Guy— aren't you? Just better at hiding it."
Robin laughed again, a quiet chuckle breathed out through his nose and accompanied by a half grin. "How does that make you feel," he asked, "knowing both your brothers are so exhausted from simply living?"
"It doesn't," Archer replied honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "Should it?"
"No," Robin told him, shaking his head gingerly. "No, you don't have to do anything you don't feel like."
Archer nodded, thankful for the response. Robin understood him, knew that his compassion was not easily won, and he was glad for that. "Come on," Archer said, rising to his feet and extending his hand. "No more patrolling for you today. You need more rest first." Robin looked at his hand, then to his face. He seemed to want to object, but he nodded his head in acquiescence, taking the offered hand.
When he was standing once more, he threw an arm around his younger brother's shoulder and yanked him over, placing a simple kiss in his matted hair. Archer knocked him away good-naturedly but let the arm remain for awhile as they walked home.
—
It was well into twilight one day— coming fast in its early winter hours— when Robin and Archer dismounted their horses and led them along the path outside the manor. Robin had needed a hunting trip, the last of the year, to supply him and his people with any fresh meat he could find. He had goaded Archer into going along with him by presenting the invitation in the form of a challenge: who could bring down the most game? Robin hadn't actually been keeping track, so he did not deny Archer's assertion that he had lost.
Their outing seemed to breathe restless life into the both of them, despite the tiring effort put forth and the all encompassing death that had surrounded them belonging to both plant and animal.
A young man took their horses from them, and Archer, looking forward to nothing more than getting inside by the fire, was grateful for the exemption from the duty.
The engaging hearth stood so marvelously in the great room that one could almost forget the stark figure that rested near it, that seemed to either absorb the light of the fire or create his own deep shadow that dispelled it.
Guy lay, as ever, on his cot. His head was turned to the side— towards the staircase— and the angle cast such shade upon his face one could barely see the thick stubble that had acquired there. Out of some inexplicable feeling of obligation, Archer had persuaded and helped him to shave occasionally, but that was only when he had the time and Guy was in the frame of mind for it. The two coinciding was rare.
"Gisborne," Robin greeted passively as he trudged across the room, shedding boot and cloak along the way. There came no word of reply. "And what did you do today?" Guy remained silent. There was some twinkle of mischief or frustration in Robin's eye that told Archer the man was in pursuit of something— somehow unsatisfied after a day of hunting, or perhaps spurred on by it. If a wish could have been granted, Archer would have asked only that the peaceful indifference the three of them had settled into could be left intact. But Robin did not share his want. "What did you do today?" Robin asked again, slowly. He stalked even closer to the quiet man, stood at the edge of his bed.
"Leave him be," Archer spoke, begged really. If Guy was content to waste away, he was content to let him. He couldn't make the man care about life. "Robin, come. Warm yourself up by the fire."
Robin turned— his head and his cold, angered eyes hesitantly following— and stepped towards the fireplace. He thrust his hands before the flames and rubbed the waving, crackling heat into his nearly numb fingers. Archer stood beside him doing the same for a minute or two, then they each sat back in the closest chair available.
"Care to come a little nearer, Gisborne?" Robin asked, trying to taunt Guy into speaking once more. In reply, the man simply pulled one of his many blankets further up around his neck. "Dinner should be ready soon." Robin continued to speak as though there was an actual, normal, humdrum conversation going on.
As if on cue, the sound of plates and silverware hitting the wooden table rang out. Archer stood in order to grab Guy's plate so that he may eat in his bed as usual, but Robin grabbed his arm roughly, bidding him to stop.
"Join us at the table, Guy?" The man gave a dissenting grunt, the first legitimate response of the evening. Robin stood all at once, nearly knocking his chair over, and approached the cot. "I think I've allowed your egotistical self-pity long enough."
"You 'allow' me nothing," Guy bit back, finally speaking. "And I owe you even less."
That seemed low on the list of responses that Robin wanted to hear. His lips drew together in a harsh line. His eyebrows sunk angrily. "I'd say that if you don't eat at the table, you don't eat at all, but you'd probably prefer that, wouldn't you?" His words were short and clipped. "Come on then."
Robin bent down, and before any onlookers could really comprehend his intent, he had thrown back the blankets covering the bedridden man and tossed them away. "What are you doing?" Guy growled, but his question went unanswered. Robin grabbed one of his arms and pulled it over his shoulder. "Robin!" He heaved Guy up to the best of his ability, fingers and shoulder digging into his stomach and chest, and Robin was relieved that enough time had passed that he need not worry over aggravating any wounds. "Get off me!" Guy yelled indignantly. "Put me down!" He hit angrily at Robin, and that combined with his weight almost brought them down on top of one another.
Robin was determined. He dragged the man across the room— arms beating, useless legs dragging— and nothing would dissuade him, not Guy's hollering, not Archer's pleas for a normal evening of relaxation. He threw the tall man into a chair at the table and breathed deeply several times, feeling oddly winded from the exertion of it. There was a loud, grating screech when he pushed the chair forward.
Then he leaned in, his face inches from Guy as the man stared straight ahead, a turbulent storm raging in the eyes of his otherwise stoic face. "Eat," Robin ordered. "Read, write, set fire to the manor. I don't care!" His anger was a palpable thing, a demon hovering wrathfully behind him, urging him on, encouraging him to save and validate the life that had saved his. "Just do… something!" he yelled.
"Take me back to my bed," Guy snarled through teeth shut tight.
"No," Robin told him defiantly.
"Robin!" he shouted. His fist slapped the table with a loud and angry bang. "Take me back!" It might have sounded like begging if the words hadn't harbored such unrestrained ire.
Robin straightened and eyed Guy up and down. He was furious and exasperated. His goodwill was being callously denied in its want to simply help a man who did not desire it, to save a man who wished only for deathly condemnation. "You want back in your bed?" he asked slowly, ominously. "Here." He pulled back and fixed his foot to the seat of the chair, kicking out roughly and knocking it and the man to the floor. Guy lay, an unmoving heap. "Crawl back. At least you'll have accomplished something."
Archer was quick to step out of the way when Robin rushed past him and up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed shut, and Archer recognized the evening as unsalvageable.
The servants had fled at the first harsh word, not wanting to see Robin's cruelty or step in on Guy's behalf. Archer was alone in the room. He watched the man sprawled wretchedly on the floor and waited in half-hope that he would move. He did not necessarily agree with Robin's 'tough love' tactic, but a strong and known presence in his mind wanted Guy to get up, to crawl and make an effort. He wanted Guy to at least try for his bed.
He didn't.
Guy lay silent and still for several long moments until Archer finally bent down and helped him up. His brother wrapped arms quickly around his neck, as though he had been waiting all that time and readily accepted the assistance he knew was coming.
Archer dragged Guy back towards his bed and deposited him upon its still warm frame. He handed him back his blankets and Guy covered himself, looking sad and frail once more. "Thank you," he uttered quietly.
An emotion sparked to life in Archer, a tightly wrapped coil of disappointment and disgust. These were his brothers? A feeble shadow of a man and another who hypocritically berated the first in between meekly serving peasants?
Pathetic.
—
Archer walked the halls and rooms of the manor on quiet, bare feet with only moonlight to guide him. He had been through most of the house by that time and found its offerings to be severely lacking in worthwhile goods. He held his breath as he stood just outside of Robin's door. If there was anything worth having, it would be in the master's room. A great apprehension filled him though. He knew Robin had been living in the woods for years, that his hearing must be as well honed as Archer's own stealth. He weighed the risks against the possible gains. There was only a brief dispute between the two choices. If he wanted to leave, he would need the resources to support himself.
The door was heavy, but its hinges were strong enough to bear it without sound as it swung upon them. Archer poked his head in and looked around. Robin lay on his bed, face down and sideways as though he had fallen into it and sleep hadn't really been planned at all; he had simply dropped down and passed out. Archer knew his argument with Guy's stubbornness earlier that evening would have taken its toll on his conscience. Robin had probably walked the length of his room again and again, troubled by the matter, until finally falling heavily into his bed, deep in sleep. It only served Archer's purpose as he was able to dart about the room as unnoticed as a ghost.
There were a couple of chests, which he went right to, but their contents were far from bountiful. If they were not empty, they held only papers or clothes. No doubt any gold or silver they had once housed was long gone, flittering into the hands of some undeserving peasant. He approached a smaller chest upon a shelf. When he opened it, the hinges made a faint creak. Quickly he checked Robin. The man had not moved. He had not heard.
Archer opened the lid again and was rewarded with the sight he saw: jewelry. The box was full of it. Silver caught the moonlight and gems glittered in it brightly. Gold sparkled and tempted him with its beauty. He pulled out a purse and started transferring his find. Though he hadn't the time, Archer could not refrain from inspecting most of the pieces, holding them up to the light. Most of them were so new, so untarnished they looked as if they might still be hot from forging.
Idly, Archer wondered which of his brothers had the penchant for collecting women's jewelry: the necklaces, earrings, bracelets, rings, and hair pins. He no longer worried about supporting himself on the road. They were all quite lovely and expensive. Surely such well crafted works of art were meant for some beauty of a woman. He wondered why they had never made it to the intended.
When he had taken the lot of them, Archer closed the chest and placed it back silently upon its shelf. He took a cursory glance around the room and found several other trinkets that only the wealthy had a need for, small enough to fit into his bag and valuable enough to be worth the effort.
The door was kind enough to close just as quietly as it had opened. He descended the stairs all the way to the bottom one, which he sat upon as he slipped into his boots. When he stood, he grabbed his sword from where it had been propped against a step, equipping it and throwing his pack over his shoulder as well.
Archer made his way across the room and towards the outer door, headed for the freedom that had been denied to him for so long. This door, however, was not as considerate as the one to Robin's bedroom. It opened with a loud screech. Despite its noise, Archer arrogantly thought he might still have been in the clear. He had one foot out when a call stopped him.
"Where are you off to this late at night?" The voice was so alert, Archer might have sworn Guy had been awake the whole time.
"Casual stroll to clear my head," he lied. "What's it to you?"
The light was dim, but Archer could tell that Guy's eyes had narrowed in suspicion, that they were studying him. The moonlight behind him, filtering through the door, must have betrayed the outline of the sword at his side, the bag he wore. Guy sighed heavily. "I had hoped," he said quietly, "when we found you that your imprisonment might have been a mistake, that you were an innocent. I wanted to believe that maybe you'd be more like him," he nodded in the direction of the stairs, "annoyance and all, and less like me."
Archer turned from the door angrily and walked half the paces to Guy's bed. "Let's get one thing straight: I am not you. I'm not Robin!" Had it been daylight hours, when loud booming voices were allowed to prevail, he was sure he might have yelled the fact. "I am Archer, son of who gives a care. I'm my own man."
"But at what price?" Guy asked him, an ambiguous question.
"Pardon?" Archer stepped a little closer.
"You seem a slave to the desire to be some one of a kind rogue," Guy sneered, but with his prone, vulnerable position on the bed, the words carried no bite. "As though you would sever any ties in service to it, and for only a pocket full of coins."
"And if I am?" Archer countered, not bothering to deny that he was leaving, that he was betraying. "The members of this so called… 'family' can't control their own pathetic lives. Why should I throw myself in with you?" Guy had no answer for him, and it only spurred on the feeling that Archer was right and justified in his talk. "You want me to stay?" He scoffed. "And what does that entail, hmm? Guard duty with Robin, protecting people who have never done a thing for me? Or do I continue picking you up off the floor? Which is it?" Guy remained silent, and Archer was sure he had won the argument. For some reason, that angered him further. "I'm out of here." He turned away from the wretched man. "So long, brother," he spat.
He had almost reached the door when Guy finally did speak, strong even words. "Leave the jewelry."
"What?" Archer asked, attempting to feign ignorance on the matter.
"I said leave it," Guy repeated. "There's no way you would go without one last prosperous betrayal. In this entire house, there is little else worth taking that you could fit in that bag. Leave," he ordered yet again, "the jewelry."
"Why?"
"It isn't yours," the man said.
Archer snorted. "And I suppose you've got a nice dress it goes with. Is that it?"
"Shut it!" Guy hissed at him. He sat up in his bed at last, but the changed position did little to dispel the weak, unintimidating image he made. "That jewelry belonged to…"
"Who?" Archer asked, mocking his silence. "The fabled Marian?" Guy flinched at the mention, but Archer didn't care. "Ignoring the fact that you have jewelry belonging to Robin's dead wife, I'll move right on to the part where I say she won't miss it."
Archer turned again to leave, angry and uncaring for anymore words of goodbye. He did not see Guy lean down and grab a small knife from under his bed. He threw the weapon expertly, and it dug a hole deep into Archer's bag. The younger man released a sigh, more of a humorless chuckle really, and pulled the pack from his shoulder. He yanked the knife out, but that only seemed to rip the tear wider, leaving a hole just big enough to be a nuisance.
"Congratulations," he called. "You have delayed me. Now I must go and find another bag."
"You are not leaving with that jewelry," Guy said sternly.
"What will you do, eh?" asked Archer, barely paying the other any attention as he threw his pack upon the table. "Scream for Robin?"
Guy paused, then nodded. "If I must."
"I'll wait," Archer said, pausing in his action to call the bluff. Guy sat, predictably quiet. Feeling no threat from his brother at all, Archer went about, silently looking through chests and cupboards until he found a nice enough bag. He was standing at the table and transferring his belongings when Guy finally did speak again.
"They were for Marian." Archer hummed in acknowledgement, not really caring. "Some I gave her, only for my gift to be refused. Others I bought with only the intention to give to her; I never got the chance. There are a few…" He paused. When he continued, his voice was a quiet whisper. "I've bought since my return from the Holy Land."
"That when you killed her?" Archer asked heartlessly, no emotion one way or the other. Guy nodded in answer, slow and listlessly.
"I don't know if it's simply habit by now, but… I can't stop. I see things in shops and they remind me of her." His eyes dropped to the blankets pooled around his waist and the hands that gripped them harshly.
"You really did love her." He may have posed it as a question, had he any doubt left in the matter. Guy nodded again as if he had asked it, and Archer regarded his brother for a long minute, appraising him. "Here," he said at last, walking towards him with the bundle of jewelry. He untied the string and loosened it until the opening was big enough to see most of the contents, even in the darkened room. "I suppose I could at least let you keep your favorite."
"You're too kind," Guy drawled sarcastically, "giving me back what is already mine." Despite his words and their sardonic tone, he still groped through the bag with his hand, seeming to know what he was looking for. "This one." He held up a ring with a thin band, green and purple jewels sunk into its faux vines of silver.
"Good," said Archer, drawing the string tight and closing the purse once more. "In return, I only ask that you keep Robin off my tail as long as you can."
Guy shook his head. "He'll not pursue you."
"No?"
"He didn't before, did he?"
"Fair enough," Archer agreed. He threw the jewelry into his newly pilfered bag and slid the whole thing onto his shoulders. "Farewell, brother. Keep yourself alive and we may meet again."
"You are the one more likely to die," Guy told him, "especially considering your record."
Archer nodded his head in concession as the claim definitely held water. "Well, if I do make it back one day and you happen to still be in the same spot I left you, I shall be severely disappointed."
Guy rolled his shoulders and laid back down. It was obvious Archer's opinion of him held little sway over his actions or drive. He merely held the small ring between his thumb and index finger, examining it, and wished Archer safe travels.
—
Robin ate his breakfast alone at the table. Guy took his at his bed, as was his wont. He had finished his plate when Robin sauntered over, idly popping bites of potato into his mouth. "Archer's sleeping in late," he said, making casual conversation. Guy had not forgiven the indignation Robin had caused him the previous night, so he felt he owed the man no explanation regarding their brother's late departure. Let him figure it out on his own.
Eight o' clock became nine and then ten. Robin threatened to wake their missing brother, but a threat was as far as it got. He stayed downstairs, sitting in a chair near Guy and the fire as he went over accounts written down. It would pain him greatly, but he knew the best way to ready the people for Prince John's inevitable reclamation of the land would be if he implemented taxation soon. It would be lenient, no more than they could spare, but after so many years of giving, it felt wrong for him to take.
He had just finished the math regarding the smallest amount his territory could get by on, when the door opened widely. Robin and Guy looked up, cursing the cold wind that blew in. They both called for the immediate closing of the door, and the intruding figure obliged. When he turned back around, there stood Archer, in all the regal fanfare he thought he deserved but was alone in giving himself. Guy would never admit it, but a warm sense of relief and contentment flowed through him at the sight of his brother. He was surprised to see Archer, but it was the good sort of surprise. It had been a long time since he'd had one of those.
Archer shivered, brushing stray flakes of snow from his shoulders, and stared at Guy with playful scrutiny. "What did I say about you being in that same spot when I returned?"
"What?" Guy scoffed. "Have I 'disappointed' you?"
"In so very many ways," Archer replied. He shed his cloak and threw it and his pack on the floor. "But forget that. I'm starving."
"And just where have you been?" Robin demanded. He stood and looked between Archer and Guy, knowing he was missing something very important.
"For a walk," Archer told him. Robin turned to Guy for a better answer, but the man only shrugged his shoulders. Technically, it was the correct answer.
"Oh, forget the two of you," he grumbled irritably. "You and your little secrets. Annie," he shouted, walking towards the kitchen, "get our young Master Archer a plate of lunch, would you?"
When he had left, Guy looked intently at his brother. Archer seemed of the mindset to pretend nothing had happened, but Guy did not share that want. "Why did you come back?" he questioned.
"I thought about it," Archer told him. He poked his head around a column to make sure Robin wasn't listening, then stepped closer to the other, just in case. "Realized that I want to explore the world, yeah, but I've got my whole life for that. In the meantime, I'd be a fool to pass up food and a bed and protection, even if the price is dealing with you two."
"Are you really so cheaply bought?" Guy asked with a humorless chuckle.
"From my understanding," Archer said, face suddenly harsh, "you've only recently gone around with a big target on your back. Spend your whole life poor and looking over your shoulder. Then we'll talk about the 'cheap' price of a secure home."
Guy said nothing more and would not fight Archer on the matter. If that feeling of victory would inspire his brother to stay, then he would let him have it. He was actually much more distracted with Archer calling Locksley 'home.' He personally had been living there for seven long years. Even with the house's return to Robin, Guy still considered it his home. An unwanted, ignored, minuscule part of him may have even been grateful that Robin let him stay there. But to hear Archer call it a home, his home, bestowed in Guy an odd feeling of family and belonging. Not for twenty years had he felt it. After Marian's death, he was sure he never would again. It was not entirely unwelcome.
That night, Guy sat at the table to eat his supper. Not a word was said about it. Maybe the others sensed that if they made a comment, it would scare him off back to his bed. They were probably right.
With not much else to say, it was a quiet meal. Robin even held his tongue when he noticed a familiar ring resting on the smallest finger of Guy's left hand. He knew that ring. He had once taken it from the neighboring finger on Marian's hand. A strong desire filled him, wanting nothing more than to take the thing and throw it as far as he could into the snow outside. Somehow he refrained.
