Disclaimer: Still wishing...
Some Notes: As always, I love every review! Dr. Nat- your story made me laugh so hard I think I may have damaged an ab muscle! Nicki- story isn't finished yet! I'm predicting... 5 more chapters maybe. Threll- believe me- your review was the exact opposite of earbashing- i think i've read it on the upwards of 10 times:) .. anyway- thank you all!
Injured
Chapter 11
Robin ate, trying to focus on the fact that Allan would live. The man would live. He told himself that firmly in a desperate attempt to drive all other thoughts out of his brain. He knew that if he thought about the question that lingered under the surface of his thoughts, he would lose his appetite and Much would kill him. Already, he felt the worried glances that Much threw his way. At times it was uncanny how well his servant truly knew him.
Much already knew that Robin's mind had already moved onto the next problem. Much probably even knew what the problem was: that Allan would go for over a week without telling anyone he was injured, almost dying in the process. Robin had to know why- was it something he had done? Had he made a mistake in treating Allan? Or any of them? Were the people he considered his friends afraid of him or something? Were they all afraid to tell him what was wrong? Glancing around the campsite, he somehow knew it was only Allan that would've done this. But that didn't explain it- it didn't tell him why. And he did have to know- it was his duty as the leader of this group to be able to handle all situations. He couldn't do that if his men were withholding vital information.
He found himself trying to go over every encounter he ever had with Allan, despite his best effort to stay focused on the happy fact that Allan would live. Without realizing it, he gradually stopped eating, and stared into the fire. He had first met Allan when the man's hand was almost removed for poaching. As he stumbled upon the scene, there was never a doubt that he would stop the madness before him. He hesitated just enough for Much to set up the string before making his presence known. However, that hesitation had given him the opportunity to watch the man's desperate attempt to keep all his body parts, followed by the man's heartbreaking lack of faith in the justice system by agreeing to lose the finger. As Allan quietly admitted- "I won't win a trial- take the finger." Robin realized that something was horribly wrong with England. Honestly, he hadn't thought about Allan personally all that much. The man vanished into the woods the second Robin "convinced" the guards to let him go. Robin was soon confronted with bigger problems, like the arrest of Benedict and the Scarletts. Allan was soon forgotten.
Their next meeting had been somewhat strained. Robin was stressed and angry, and the realization that Allan wasn't quite the innocent peasant had only increased his disgust with the whole situation. Allan had been another burden at that point, another person who was relying on him to save their life, another body Robin couldn't guarantee he could save. Allan was more blood on his hands, blood he didn't want. At the hanging, Allan had made a clumsy attempt to get away, shooting Robin a desperate glance. But, Allan lacked something that even Will's dark look contained. Luke, Will and Benedict all looked surprised, as if they couldn't believe that they were going to die very soon- from hanging. Allan didn't look so surprised. He looked upset that he was about to die, of course- but it wasn't the same shocked disbelief that the other members carried. Allan looked as if he knew he would die this way eventually- he just didn't want it to be that day.
After the escape, Allan had simply followed Much and Robin into the woods, as did Will. It simply seemed natural- not even Much had demanded to know what the two were doing. The first words that Allan had spoken to Robin, not as a man begging for his life, or lying about his wife, but simply as Allan were: "Well, took your time with shooting us down, didn't you?" A smile flashed so quickly across Will's face Robin almost thought it never happened. Much looked scandalized and Robin had grinned as Allan continued. "I mean, the speech- nice touch and all- but really, nice time- shoot and then give the dramatic speech!"
"Next time I'm going to leave you there." By then they arrived at their camp ground and Allan had thrown down his stuff and settled in as if they had done this for years. He had looked up and thrown what Robin now knew as his signature grin. "Then my wife would come after you and mind you she's very cranky, being pregnant and all."
Robin had laughed, ignoring Will's confusion and Much's eye roll. Thus the group had been formed, with Robin as its leader. Robin continued to think of his actions with Allan and continued to come up with no reason as to why Allan wouldn't tell him. He sighed and abruptly remembered he was supposed to be eating.
'He's alive,' he thought firmly, trying to regain his appetite once more. He shoved a spoonful in his mouth, almost gagging. No, the appetite was gone. He glanced down at his bowl- he had gotten halfway done. He quickly peered over at Much, briefly considering dumping some onto the ground to avoid the scolding he was about to get. But at the same time he knew he couldn't waste food, not when it was so precious. Maybe he could pour it back into the pot? Or if John would take it? No, John had already fallen asleep, as had Will- was it really that late?
The bowl was suddenly lifted from his hands and Robin snapped his head up to see Much scowling at him.
"I'm full!" he explained, helplessly shrugging his shoulders.
"No," Much said, digging his own spoon into Robin's bowl. "You started thinking again."
"Sorry," Robin said, secretly enjoying the light banter that so commonly passed between Much and himself. It was a sign that things were going back to normal. Much being angry with him helped him forget his current problems with Allan.
"Sorry," Much grumbled to himself, still eating Robin's food. "I knew this would happen- you didn't even eat fast when you did have your appetite. Now you're stuck thinking again- which you always do, even when you can't change anything. I mean, Allan is going to live- and you can't even stop worrying long enough to just eat once decent meal. Life doesn't have to be this complicated…You do this to spite me, don't you? I cook and you don't eat any of it!- really-"
Robin didn't try to defend himself during Much's rant. The man was absolutely right: Robin really should be more relaxed- everything can be explained later. Instead, he settled back down into his blankets and let his servant's angry mumbles drone him to sleep.
Much's rant about Robin's eating habits continued for another minute. Then as the man realized Robin had fallen asleep, the rant changed to complain about master's who simply ignored good advice and rudely fell asleep. This continued while Much's finished eating the bowl and cleaning up. It became broken up with yawns and Much finally settled down and then it ceased as Much drifted to sleep.
John smiled to himself, listening. It was always so clear that Much and Robin had some special bond that no one outside of it could truly understand. John had been confused by it at first- They acted like friends, but Much still called Robin "master" without fail. Yet Much seemed to boss Robin around without thought and Robin obeyed just as quickly. But then Robin would suddenly order Much in earnest, rarely- but still sometimes. Much would of course obey, sometimes complaining, other times without a word. John never quite understood how certain things were decided, how the two men blended the line of master and servant so completely as to become friends, and yet to still know that the line existed and to also never get angry about it. He shrugged, it was just one of those mysteries that he would never comprehend.
He waited until he was sure everyone was completely asleep before slowly standing up. A big man like himself wasn't used to moving silently, but luckily everyone was so exhausted no one woke. He stumbled into the woods, acutely aware that he never mastered the stealth and ease with which the other outlaws moved through the forest, even though he may have lived in it the longest. He let out a sigh of relief as he judged he was too far away to be heard and could find plow through the woods as he liked.
He arrived at his destination and reveled to find that it was unchanged. No one knew his secret, no one knew his complete lack of faith. He shut his eyes, almost imagining the scene that would take place at this spot if Allan had died. His mind shuttered away from it at the last instant and he was left looking at his cruel work. He was ashamed of it now, ashamed that, despite everything, he still hadn't believe that Allan would live, he still had been sure the man would die- his lack of faith in Allan, in Djaq, in God was there- staring up at him. He had given up, he had broken: he had dug the grave.
At first he had just wanted to get away from Allan, get away from the look that shone on Will's face as he begged his friend to live, get away from the terrible waiting. He had walked into the woods, intent on simply walking, perhaps smashing a few dead trees. But instead his imagination took him to that moment when Allan would die, a moment that back them seemed imminent. His imagination didn't take him to the precise moment when Allan's breath failed, but instead to later than that. It had pictured Will frantically digging the grave himself, and refusing anyone's help until the young man simply collapsed, maybe in a faint, maybe in tears held back too long- but it always ended in Will breaking while digging the grave.
That's when the idea had struck. He could dig it now- saving everyone from that horrible task, saving Will from that horrible fate. His thoughts had reigned in sharply- how could he think such a thing? Allan was not dead, Allan would not die. He struggled to find the hope that he once had. Where was his faith in Allan? It had deserted him and he was left only with the faith that Will should not have to dig the grave. Finally, he accepted it- he was going to dig the grave. He was going to admit that Allan was as good as dead.
He had picked a nice spot, one that they didn't pass often- but one that was not far from some of their more usual camping spots. There was a nice break in the trees, there were even some flowers growing around it. It was a perfect spot, even the soil seemed easy to dig. And so he had begun, finding a wide piece of bark and slowly and surely digging into the ground. With everyone scoop, he confirmed the fact that Allan would die. He had finished, feeling a flash of guilt as he looked at what he had made. It was good- but it suddenly seemed wrong to dig a grave when the person was still alive. He had the urge to fill it up, but he quenched it. He had done it, it was over.
Now as he stared, he hated himself for digging it. He hated the hopelessness it represented, he hated its testament to his lack of faith, he simply hated it. He found the piece of bark he had used to dig it and set to work filling it back in.
He worked hard, patting the dirt down hard so hopefully even someone who passed wouldn't notice it. Imagine if Allan ever saw it, if Allan knew that John believed he would die, that John had dug his grave. Imagine if Djaq saw it, or Will or Robin- he cringed at the thought. He pounded the dirt in harder, intent on making the grave disappear. He finished quickly, filling it up was much easier than digging it. He even scattered leaves over top it to conceal the darker dirt that proved someone had been digging.
He leaned back and looked at it, nodding to himself. Allan was alive, he had filled up the hole. No one would ever know. As he turned back to camp, he suddenly smiled. Allan wasn't doomed to use his grave: just because he dug it did not mean that Allan died. It was packed, no one would use it. He pictured it, concealed, filled, just another piece of ground. He grinned- he suddenly felt free.
End Chapter 11.
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