"What happened to you? Not bein' funny, but you look like you just lost your best friend."

Allan a Dale couldn't help but comment on the sorrowful look on Robin's face.

"The King is dead," Robin said sadly, once Tuck's information about Richard had sunk in.

"What? Softsword's dead? Alleluia! I'll stand free drinks for all the men in Nottingham! We'll be celebratin' all day and night!"

Robin turned his unhappy gaze on the man Friar Tuck insisted was his good friend, and clarified, "I'm sorry...no. John lives. It's King Richard who has died."

Allan looked at Robin with a confused smirk.

"Still grievin' over Lionheart? I swear, Robin, even after he slung our wrists and ankles to poles and left us to rot in the desert sun, you'd lay down your life for him! Get over it, will you? Come on. Come inside and have a tankard on me. Your holy friend's already there, tuckin' into my wife's meat pies like they was communion bread."

Robin followed Allan into the Trip, but declined his offer of ale. As Allan had mentioned, Friar Tuck was already seated at a table, digging into a trencher of food, and washing it down with ale.

"Forgive me," Robin said to Allan. "I've lost my memory, and I only now learned of King Richard's passing."

He sighed, looking woebegone.

"Lost your memory?" Allan couldn't believe it. "You're joking!"

"I do not joke. Only ths morning, I began to recall my youth and childhood. Yesterday, I could remember practically nothing, except for a few images of my wife."

"Naked, I hope," Allan jested.

He was unprepared for what followed. Robin was on him in a flash, shoving him against a wall, pinning back his arms, and gripping him in a headlock so tight, Allan could scarcely breathe.

"Say another disrespectful word against my wife, knave, and I'll yank your tongue out and tie it around your head!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Allan cried, nearly choking. "I was only joking!"

"Unhand him, Robin!" Tuck exclaimed, leaving his food to waddle toward the two men. Tuck used all his strength to try to pry them apart, but could not budge Robin's bulging biceps.

"Allan is your friend, and Marian's!" the holy friar insisted. "Release him! He saved both your lives in the past. Don't threaten his now!"

Slowly, Robin released the tavern keeper, but continued glaring at him through angry, suspicious eyes.

"Should you ever speak lewdly of my wife again, in my presence or out of it, make no mistake, I will find you and make you pay."

Allan rubbed his throat, wondering what had gotten into Robin. He thought he'd never see that side of Robin facing him again, that same threatening opponent who had nearly killed him when he'd worked for Gisbourne.

"Not bein' funny," he said, "but if Marian had heard me, she would'a rolled her eyes and brushed aside my comment, thinkin', 'Boys'll be boys,' or some such rot."

"You will refer to my wife as 'Her Ladyship,' " Robin ordered him coldly.

"Whadju do with the real Robin, Tuck? Bring him back, and chuck out this high and mighty impostor."

Tuck merely shook his head and returned to his food.

Allan and Robin traded glares. At last, Allan ventured, "So, you lost your memory, did you? You don't remember much a anything, oi? Not even Vaisey?"

"What is that?" Robin asked, suspiciously.

Allan smirked. "You don't even remember Giz, I take it?"

"I have no memory of Vaisey or Giz or anything that happened after I set sail for the Holy Land. Perhaps you wouldn't mind enlightening me?"

Allan rubbed his throat again. It hurt badly from Robin having shoved his arm into Allan's Adam's apple.

"Oh, I'd be glad to fill you in. For instance, you need to learn all about Guy of Gisbourne, and how he stole away your woman while you fought alongside your glorious Lionhearted hero! It's a story what'll have you sittin' on the edge of your seat!"