Thank you to everyone who's taking the time to review – it's always great to get feedback.
This is just a reminder that this story is AU. Even though it's happening *after* S3, I am not taking into account anything that might be happening on the show at the moment. (This is only partly because the show itself seems to be taking place in a parallel universe in which the events of S1 and S2 never actually happened. Weird.)
For those who haven't read my past fics:
This chapter references my short-story "The Silver Thread", which involved Allan and Djaq walking through the city streets at night.
Also, the character Khalid was an OC from "A Stranger from the East" who was once betrothed to Safiyah.
Finally, strawberries have particular significance to Allan/Djaq, as seen in "Four Seasons".
Chapter 6: The Woman Behind the Veil
Allan dreamed often, usually every night. Strange, nightmarish dreams that were barely remembered by the morning's light. Vague figures chased him through endless forests or lunged at him out of the darkness. Voices called out to him: the words indistinguishable, but their mocking tone unmistakable. Eyes watched him coldly no matter how fast he ran or how deeply he hid. Finally, spinning knives or speeding arrows - faster than he could ever hope to dodge - hurtled toward his face, the fright of it waking him the moment before he was struck.
But in all the time he'd been separated from them, he'd never once dreamt of Will or Djaq. Until that night.
He was at Locksley, and they were all together. Robin and Marian were tenderly bickering with each other in front of the house, Much was tucking flowers into Eve's thick blonde braid, and John and Alice were watching little John tumble about on the grass before them.
The sun was setting behind the rooftop of Locksley Hall. Everyone was lit with its red glow, and all around him was the sound of laughter and conversation. He didn't even mind that he was all alone, sitting at an outdoor table covered in food; it was enough that he was here among them.
Then a shout went up. Will and Djaq were coming down the blossom-covered hill toward Locksley, still shaking the sand of the desert from their clothes. They were met with hugs from the men and kisses from the women.
But Allan hung back, waiting for them to come to him, not sure that they would, but hoping it nonetheless. And they did, taking seats either side of him at the table and leaning toward him, eager for conversation. He found himself talking, not just about Guy and the sheriff, not just about his torture and betrayal, but before that even: about how Tom had abandoned him on the Great North Road and took all his possessions with him, about how his father's iron poker was kept in a place of menacing honour above the door, about how his mother had been so covered in bruises when she went into the ground that he almost didn't recognise her.
Anything and everything he was or could have been was poured out into their laps, and they listened. The sun was slow in its setting, wanting to give him enough time to finish, and as he went on, he was dimly aware of the others leaving. Little John had fallen asleep in his father's arms and been carried to bed, Much and Eve had snuck away, giggling to each other, Robin and Marian's argument was bourn away up the blossom-strewn hill.
When the sun had finally gone down and the stars covered the great expanse of sky, leaving the three of them in the pale light of the moon, Will stood up with a rather sad smile and looked down at the two that remained.
"Goodbye," he said, and walked away without another word.
Allan watched in confusion at his receding figure and turned to Djaq.
"Where's he going?"
"Away from here," she said serenely.
Behind them, the door to Locksley Manor opened of its own account.
"Where's Robin?" he asked. "This is his house."
Djaq gave him a quizzical look, as though he'd said something rather silly.
"This is your house."
He gazed at her for a long time, at the expression on her face, one that seemed strange because he'd never seen it look so soft before.
"Shouldn't you…be with…"
She laughed, the laugh he hadn't heard in years, the laugh that only he'd ever been able to stir in her.
"No silly, I'm staying here."
One of her dark hands gently covered his own.
"But why?"
She didn't even open her mouth; the words of her answer simply bloomed in his head like a flower:
You deserve this.
Allan opened his eyes and realised that he'd been awake for a while, having been dozing lightly on the small cot. The dream had been whisked away as swiftly as crumbs off a dirty countertop, and it was impossible to determine how long ago his subconscious had been sitting with Djaq in front of Locksley Hall. Had it only been a few minutes ago, or had several hours passed between then and now?
Either way, that moment belonged to the warm and darkened space of sleep, and he couldn't force it to return, even if sunlight hadn't been spilling through the window and noises drifting in from the streets.
The day passed in an agonising wait of pacing, picked-at food and the burning desire for wine, ale or something else that could ease his nerves. Finally though, the day ended, taking with it all the intensity of heat and colour that was so prevalent in these lands. There was a knock at his door. Without waiting for any sort of consent from his guest, the skinny little landlord shuffled in with a bundle of cloth in his hands, followed closely by a small but well-dressed boy. The landlord handed the bundle to Allan, spoke rapidly in Arabic and gestured from it to the boy, before leaving the way he'd come. The boy watched him expectantly from the door.
Allan blinked out his confusion, then shook out the material in his hands. It was a Saracen garb: a long billowy shirt that would reach almost down to his knees, with wide sleeves and high collar. It was dark blue, stitched with gold thread, and it smelt like limes and milk. For a while he just held it out in front of him, looking at it, wondering how much money it was worth. The last time he'd had clothes as fine as these, they'd cost him more than he'd been willing to pay. And now they were a gift. Presumably from Will, and presumably not for keeps, but given in order to grant him passage into Eastern nobility.
He pulled off his shirt and tugged the shirt over his head, straightening its hem down over his pants, feeling as though he was passing into some other world. Not even black leather had made him feel this far away from the forests of Sherwood. He ran one hand down the softness that now covered his torso, and nodded at the expectant boy. Together they descended the stairs and moved out into the winding streets.
By now his heart felt as though it had turned into Lardner, beating his wings frantically within his chest, wanting only to free himself and clatter off into the night. His instinct was straining against the darkness and unfamiliar surroundings, just as they had on the night long ago when he'd wandered in the same directionless way through strange streets. But that time, he'd been following Djaq, and it was harder to shake his natural distrust and fear of ambushes, muggings and traps when he was being led by a stranger.
Then Lardner seemed to convulse and die all over again when they reached their destination and the boy knocked at a small postern door in a high wall. On opening, the boy ushered Allan inside. It was obviously a servant's thoroughfare, and yet just as obviously the servant's door of a grand estate, judging from the width of the door and the steady stares of the armed guards standing either side.
Allan avoided their gaze as he passed between them, and emerged in a garden lit by lanterns, awash with the sounds of night-birds, and cooled by the presence of several large pools. Everything that grew was pungent and moist and he could feel the coolness of hidden greenery on his skin. But there was no time to soak in its presence, for the boy was hurrying up the path before him. He had only just enough time to glance at his reflection in a vast expanse of water that had a bubbling spring at its centre. The ripples of the spring did not reach the pool's edges, and his own face looked up at him as clearly as if he was looking in a mirror. It looked both awed and apprehensive.
Around another corner, and Allan nearly fled in the opposite direction. The lights of the palace before him spilled out onto the lawns, illuminating every blade of grass and trickle of water. An expansive flight of white stairs led up to the open doors of an even more expansive room and as he watched, couples and groups of people strolled out to taste the night air. Nothing seemed quite real – the strange yellow ambiance streaming from the palace reminded him of that ruddy sunset that had lit the interior of his dream. Was this still part of the dream?
He searched for the boy, only to see him scampering through a tiny servant door. Allan doubted he was meant to follow, but to his profound relief he recognised the tall figure and long stride of one of the party-goers descending the palace steps.
If indeed it was Will. Allan remembered him best as an all-but-silent youth in grubby clothes whose life revolved around only three things: feeding the poor, tinkering with wood, and pining over Djaq. But now, dressed in fine garb and with a newfound confidence to his gait, Allan felt the familiar pangs of uneasiness. This wasn't the Will he remembered, even as he smiled in welcome:
"I see Shawqi delivered you alright. How do you like the clothes?"
Will looked speculatively at the shirt, and Allan prayed he was wearing it correctly.
"Yeah nice. Haven't worn clothes this good since-"
He began to cough violently. What on earth had he said that for?
When he looked up again Will's face had stiffened. He took taken a deep breath, and Allan tried to ignore the fact that he was clearly bracing himself.
"Come on then – I'll show you around. There's a lot to get through his evening, but as soon as things settle down, Djaq and I can find us all a quiet place."
Djaq. He said her name. She was here. A high-pitched humming noise in Allan's mind suddenly sprang several octaves higher and it appeared that his inner-Lardner had several dramatic death-throes left to thrash in the region of his ribcage.
He fell into step beside Will. As they moved up the wide stairs, Will turned and smiled quickly back at him. He was excited now, Allan realised – excited to be sharing this with him, and eager to gauge his response to what would follow. He swallowed his fear, returned the smile and stepped into the Sultan's summer palace.
His eyes simply weren't big enough to take everything in. The high walls were of some warm peachy-coloured stone, giving the rooms the air of a lofty and luxurious cave, and the heat of the candles and bodies crushed him like a physical thing. More sweat began to prickle on his face, as if his nerves weren't doing a good enough job of drenching him already. Everything seemed to be shining: the polished floor, the glinting tableware, the sparkling jewels on the women, as well as the endless array of candles on every table and sideboard, all of which threw out their own trembling light and caught the gleam of everything else. For a moment he could only stand and look, though the sight of the silver cutlery lined up on the banquet table soon had his fingers itching. It wouldn't take much effort to slip some of it into the folds of his clothing…
But Will was beside him, pulling him into another room, one which seemed even more brilliant due to the large mirrors hung on the walls. They gave the impression that there were hundreds more rooms beyond this one, each one just as finely decorated, each one just as filled with people. And the people that filled such a room were like none that Allan had ever seen before, not even among the noble's court at Nottingham Castle. Every head of hair – man or woman's – was pomaded and extravagantly set, every suit or gown was as bright as a flower, every person seemed to float in a cloud of their own perfume. Gazing at all this splendour, Allan felt himself falter. Will seemed to be heading with a specific destination in mind, and Allan was acutely aware of the mood of the crowd as he passed. They turned their heads to watch his approach and parted slightly in order to ease his path. There were nods and smiles. Indulgent, wary, friendly or polite smiles, but Allan knew respect when he saw it. This glittering crowd was paying homage to a carpenter from Locksley, and they knew it.
What are you doing here? a nasty little voice in his head suddenly hissed. Get back to the ditch.
He shoved it aside as he began to search the sea of dark heads for Djaq.
"Look, there's Sir Percy Lean," Will said, nodding his head toward a portly-looking man who was laughing loudly at something the men around him were saying. Allan suddenly recognised the men as those who had bestowed on him the assorted bruises of the day before.
"He's signing the peace treaty on behalf of England," Will continued. "And look, over there – that's Alevi. He's Ameer's nephew, and he's signing on behalf of the Sultan."
Allan followed Will's gaze just long enough to catch sight of a surprisingly young Saracen who had just entered the room, and bore traces of his uncle's features in his own face. However, unlike Ameer, the cheerful and eager look on young Alevi's face looked sincere as he began to greet the flock of people who'd instantly surrounded him.
"Oh, and over there – that's Prince Malik. Remember him? He drew up the terms of the treaty."
Allan looked with interest, recognising the handsome, cat-like features, but doubting that the man he remembered best as He-Who-Stuck-Pins-Into-Heads would recall him.
Will exchanged a few words with him in Arabic, then turned to Allan, who managed to hear the name "Robin" in his address and so assumed that he was being introduced as one of his men.
"Ah!" exclaimed Malik, and gave Allan a gracious bow of his head, even though the blankness of his eyes clearly betrayed the fact that he had no idea who Allan was. Just as well really; their previous acquaintance had not been a particularly friendly one.
This is what happens when cousins marry, he recalled with a touch of resentment. Superstitious, ignorant outlaws.
Allan delved into the dregs of his memory and summoned up what little he remembered of the man.
"So, is your uncle still trying to kill you?"
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Will wince, but Malik was too regal to do anything but blink in the most refined way possible and reply:
"My uncle Sala-ad-Din is ruthless in the ways of both war and peace. Tonight, thankfully, we celebrate the onset of peace."
A few more words passed between himself and Will before he bowed and moved on, a line of serving women shadowing his footsteps. Allan was getting impatient now, especially with the surplus of veils being worn. What was the point of feminine beauty if they were all forced to hide it away? As he trailed after Will like a string-pulled toy he did manage to catch the eye of a young woman carefully pouring wine into a goblet on the banquet table along the side of the room.
She was dressed in flowing robes, with curtains of both hair and veil shrouding her face, but her arms were slim and graceful as she filled the goblet. She was too tall to be Djaq, he quickly decided, but she had the same sense of self-possession and carried herself with pride. He realised only much later that these were rather odd traits to be found in a serving girl.
She caught him looking at her, raised her eyebrows and gave a mocking little bow before departing out a side-door. Not sure how to feel about that Allan let his attention be claimed once again by Will, who was beckoning someone toward him.
Allan looked up into another Saracen face, though it was a few moments before he recognised who it was. He'd only ever seen him once, in Sherwood Forest, just before his departure. It was Khalid, and he was shaking Will's hand as though the two of them were the best of friends, speaking in fluent Arabic. Allan shuffled hesitantly, but thankfully Khalid seemed to be in a hurry: he gave him only a short nod before disappearing once more into the crowd.
Will looked after him, brow furrowed.
"That was odd," he muttered to himself.
"How come you two are-"
But before Allan managed to complete his question Will made a quick, jerking motion with his head. He had obviously spotted someone ahead. Allan followed his gaze, searching the crowd that swelled and receded like the tide, his eyes searching at approximately at the same pace as his heart was racing. She was close by. This was it.
"Wait here," Will said, then gently shouldered his way through the waves of party-goers, his voice calling out over their heads.
"Safiyah!"
Allan's heart instantly sank. Another delegate or nobleman that he didn't care two figs about. Maybe he should just leap onto the nearest chair and start yelling: "Djaq! Djaq!" till someone fetched her for him. Or until she herself appeared and ordered him to shut up and get down.
But here was Will again, holding a veiled woman by the elbow, and pulling her gently through the throng. Allan summoned up his smile, but allowed himself the pleasure of mentally thwacking the equally hesitant smile off Will's face. If he didn't want to introduce Allan to perfect strangers, then why was he doing it? Allan would have been happy to prowl about the banquet table whilst Will socialised.
Will manoeuvred the woman in front of Allan and looked at him with what was now an unfathomable expression on his face. Keeping up with the sweep of changing moods upon his friend's face was beginning to make him dizzy, so Allan simply gave a short nod to the tiny lady, and flickered his eyes into the crowd again as he waited for Will to make the introduction.
Then the woman spoke, and in his entire body seemed to turn to stone.
"Allan?"
Only his eyes were capable of moving as they followed the direction of the voice and settled on a pair of large brown eyes watching him from above the edge of a dark veil. Her raised eyebrows suggested shock. One hand slowly rose to her ear and unclasped the veil. It swung back across her face like a shadowy drape, and finally, there she was: the long sought-for Djaq.
Only it wasn't. The last time he'd seen her, the clearest memory he had, was a scruffy head of ragged curls, dirt-stained clothes and a determined jaw. But now this...
Her hair was glossy and smooth, falling past her ears to her shoulders. Her once-thick eyebrows had been shaped into elegant black strokes. She was dressed in a gown of her own people, hugging the curves that had always been unfairly concealed in Sherwood Forest. And her face…he tried to understand how it could contain the same dear features, and yet be so different – so much softer and delicate and feminine. That was it.
Whatever manly airs and mannerisms she's once worn about her were gone completely. This was Djaq as she had been, long before setting foot on English soil, long before becoming an outlaw.
It was probably only a few seconds he'd been staring at her – possibly more – but she seemed just as stunned as he, and so both were unable to do anything but gape for a while. Then one side of her mouth lifted in dazed wonderment, and words finally formed at the back of his throat.
"Still short," he told her.
She raised a challenging eyebrow.
"Still rude," she shot back.
"I see you took my advice about girl's clothes."
"I recall a deal in which I agreed to wear a dress on the condition that you did. Shall I call the palace wardrobe assistant to have you fitted?"
He couldn't help it. He beamed at her. The noise of the party fell away, and even Will's piercing gaze only bounced off Allan's obliviousness. There was nothing but Djaq, finally standing in front of him after a seemingly endless stretch of two years, hundreds of miles and more close encounters with death than he cared to count. He'd done it. He'd made it back to her.
"How did you…what are you doing here?" she cried in obvious delight. "Will told me that there was a surprise waiting, but I had no idea…where did you…how…"
"Well, peace was declared and I heard the best party was here. I mean, it wasn't too far away, and the Sultan told me it just wouldn't be the same without me. There were one or two people I wanted to catch up with. A chance to see the desert again. All that sand. Plus, I heard the food wasn't bad either."
"No strawberries though," she said in mock disappointment.
Lardner had burst back to life and was singing rapturously.
"You look…so...different," he said, reigning in his mouth just in time and flicking his eyes up and down her figure. She opened her mouth to reply, but in the space of a moment the smile fled her face. She gave a soft: "ouch!" and pulled her elbow out of Will's hand. As she turned to him quizzically, Allan ran his eyes down to where white finger marks had appeared on her dark arm – as though Will had suddenly tightened his grip on her.
Djaq recovered, though she still looked a little bewildered. "Silly," she muttered to Will affectionately and slipped her arm into the crook of his own, resting her head against his shoulder for a brief moment.
Allan watched this exchange in silence, but just then a servant chose that moment to hustle close to Will and whisper something in his ear. Will's shoulders sagged.
"Lord Alevi is looking for me," he explained, and then with a regretful look at Djaq and a hesitant step away, he realised he was dithering and stalked off after the manservant.
Allan waited till he was out of sight, then turned back to Djaq, feeling as though the width of his grin would break his face.
Allan: he can be so oblivious when he wants to be!
Next chapter concerns the rest of Allan/Djaq's reunion, and what other mischief he manages to make at the party...
