Well, the presence of the plot, the fatal flaw in this intended one-shot smutfic, has finally run to a stop here. The last chapter has come, at last. I hope you enjoy reading it, as always.
Disclaimer: I don't own Robin Hood or any of the characters therein. Shame, isn't it?
0…0…0…0…0
o…o
Days gone. How many? She had absolutely no idea. She felt strangely disconnected from the whole world. They could have been in that house for two days, or they could very well have been there for two months. Or a year for all she could tell. She just didn't have any perception of time. Or much of anything else, really. None of them had.
She thought they might all sooner or later come out of this haze and regain some semblance of normalcy, but they were all just as horribly distracted by their grief and almost completely detached from each other and the whole world.
Will was sleeping with her in her bed now, but everybody politely looked away and pretended not to notice. There was no reason for anybody to look away, though, since all they were doing was sleeping in that bed—the last time they had done anything physical was several nights ago, the night she broke down in his arms and wept. They found that it was far more comforting to just be there next to each other, holding each other, than it was to take it any further than that.
But even with that physical closeness between them, they were still bizarrely disconnected from one another. Sometimes it was like the other was just a warm body, and not much else. She didn't mind it from him—they were all still in mourning for their friends and probably wouldn't be back on solid ground again for a while—and he didn't seem to mind it from her. She was mostly quiet and kept to herself, and she was more than happy to let him think that it was for the same reasons he did.
Except that it wasn't.
Over the last week since arriving in Acre and coming to Bassam's home, she'd been giving this a great deal of thought. She kept changing her mind, weighing the pros and cons and analyzing the possible decisions, and going back and forth on the issue so many times that she couldn't remember what her initial decision had been.
She called Bassam her 'uncle', even though he wasn't actually related to her. He was a friend of her mother's only brother, but he was close to their little broken family while she was growing up, so close that the lack of blood relation never even mattered. He loved her and her brother as his niece and nephew—almost as if they were his own children, the children he never had—and they both loved him back just as much. Even though it was disrespectful to her deceased father to say or even to think such a thing, she believed she even loved him more than she loved her own father. She had more fond memories of him than of her father.
Bassam and his wife had positively doted on the two of them, spoiled them at any opportunity, and were always glad to open their home and their hearts to them whenever they wanted or needed it. He was a kind and generous man.
And when her father died, leaving two young, motherless children orphaned in a war-torn country, the man took them in. He loved them and cared for them and provided for them as if they were his own flesh and blood. He took care of them—took care of her—even though he was under no obligation to do so.
She owed him… everything for his kindness. Her life.
And what had she done to repay him? She left. She selfishly ran away after her brother died and let Bassam and his wife and all of the people that had loved her and cared for her for so many years believe that she was dead. Finding her name on the ceiling in the hall had been a shock. Those names were all the names of people in the family who had died; her father's name was up there, as was Djaq's name. It meant he thought of them as family. But to see her own name up there meant that he truly believed her dead. How terrible must that have been for him? To live for so long without knowing where she was or what had happened to her, but knowing that she was probably dead?
She had never wished that on them, never in a thousand years. It had just… happened. She couldn't think of the actual reason for her flight from Acre so many years ago—she doubted she could have told anybody the reasons then. Half-mad with anger and grief at the death of her twin and at the world as a whole, it seemed the best idea at the time.
It was childish to run away, and selfish, and cruel. And where had it gotten her? Captured and sold like cattle, first forced to apply her skill in medicine to the injuries of the battlefield, and then sold as a work mule into England. The situation, entirely by chance, didn't end up being so terribly bad after that. But only for her. For Bassam and the people who loved her, it was hell, not knowing what had become of their beloved young Safiyyah—the spirited and clever girl with the long plaits and the big black eyes.
And then she'd turned up at his house, and Bassam's only outward reaction had been a surprised declaration of, "You're alive!" and a welcoming hug, but she knew that inside he was conflicted and shocked and relieved to find that Safiyyah was't dead like he had feared for so long. After all, for so many years he'd thought she was gone for good, and to see her here was akin to seeing a ghost. A small part of her was honestly surprised his old heart didn't give out right then and there. And, once again, he'd opened his home not only to her, but also to her and her motley crew of dirty, smelly, weary Englishmen without a second's hesitation. Perfect strangers.
He even agreed to show them where the King's encampment was.
The more she thought about it, the more Djaq realized that she knew what she had to do. She owed this man everything. She couldn't leave—not again. To abandon him a second time would be too cruel.
She had to stay here, she realized. Not forever, but certainly long enough to repay Bassam for the myriad kindnesses he'd showed her over the years and offer him some kind of explanation for her abandonment and to tell her story. She owed him that much, at the very least.
Her heart weighed heavily in her chest. She knew what had to be done, but that didn't make it any easier knowing that in a few days, the gang would be heading for the docks at Acre and boarding the first ship towards England and that she wouldn't be going with them.
That she wouldn't be going with Will.
She sniffled quietly to herself and rubbed a dirty shirtsleeve over her damp cheek. It probably left a streak of scum across her face, but she didn't care. She was agonizing over how to tell her friends of her rather abrupt and seemingly warrantless—warrantless to them—decision. It would probably put her on the same level of contempt among her friends as Allan for his betrayal. After all, that's what this was, wasn't it? A betrayal. The group needed each other and needed her more than ever now. Their little family needed to stay together and needed the mutual support.
But Bassam needed her, too, and she had to do the right thing by him. He was growing older and he had no heirs; he had suffered for such a long time, not knowing what had happened to her. At the very least, when she stayed here in Acre her friends would know where she was, and that she was alive and safe.
How could she explain this to them, though? Moreover, how would she explain this to Will? After her insistence only days before that this place and this house was not her home anymore and arguing with him that she didn't belong here any longer, he might be disinclined to believe her reasons for deciding to stay here.
No, Will was trusting. He would believe her and accept her reasons, she was sure, but she knew he wouldn't be happy about it. She could just imagine him there, standing before her and looking sadly and forlornly at her with those too-beautiful green eyes. That thought alone was enough to make her change her mind; but she knew she had to do this, and there was absolutely no backing out.
But how was she supposed to tell him? How was she supposed to tell all of them?
One day, she would return to England and be with them again; of that she was sure. But she had to stay here, at least for a while. How long that 'a while' would be, she had no idea. She also knew that her friends wouldn't take 'one day' as a viable answer to the question of her return.
Her best option, she decided, was simply to tell them; but she would tell Will first, in private and alone and away from the rest of the rest of their friends. He deserved to know first. Or second—after she told Bassam of her intention to stay with him.
It was going to be the hardest and most heart-wrenching thing that she had ever had to do, but she had to do it.
"Will?" She asked him gently, even the low and soft tone of her voice startling him out of his dazed trance. He slowly looked up at her from his sitting position on the low ledge. He looked at her blankly for several seconds, like he was trying to figure out who, exactly, he was staring at. She waited for the glimmer of recognition in his eyes before she spoke again. "Could I speak with you, please?"
"What's wrong?"
"I need…" she fidgeted uncertainly and looked down at her feet. "I need to tell you something. It is important."
"What is it?" He prodded again, his eyes suddenly worried.
"Come with me," she said, taking his hand and leading him into a dark and unoccupied corridor, where they could be alone and she could break the news to him. She wanted this to be as private as possible.
"You're starting to worry me," he said. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"
She could feel her heart beating wildly and feel the blood rush in her head; she felt dizzy all of a sudden, too. Her throat constricted, as if forbidding her from speaking those words.
"I do not… know how to say this," she whispered. Then she sniffled, the familiarly painful lump beginning to rise in her throat. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. He frowned, but said nothing. She continued. "I cannot come back to England with you. I am… I have decided to stay here."
His eyes went wide and his mouth opened ever so slightly in shock. For several long, long seconds, he said nothing. It was like he was trying to recover the ability to speak.
His voice cracked as he spoke. "W—what?"
She thought to repeat herself, but she knew that he didn't want to hear it again. The look of utter shock and sadness on his face was enough to break her heart.
"Will… oh, Will…" she breathed, feeling her chest fall and her heart break. "I am so sorry."
His cheeks were turning white. He continued to stare at her, wide-eyed, but his face was otherwise unreadable. She could feel the blood draining out of her own face and her heart pounded so ferociously that she feared it might burst from her chest; she stood there at arm's length from him, waiting for him to say something—anything—but he remained silent. That silence made her so nervous. They were usually so comfortable and at ease together with silence, but this was heavy, stifling, and unnatural. It made her feel uncomfortable. To busy her hands, she tugged at the hem of her shawl where it was starting to grow ragged from continual wear.
Silence. Deafening silence.
She was caught between wanting to recoil from his intense stare and wanting to run into his arms and cry. Of course, there was no guarantee that if she did run into his arms that he wouldn't push her away. She couldn't blame him if he did.
He turned away and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Are you going to say anything?" Her own voice was uncharacteristically timid.
"What's there to say?" He said flippantly. "You're a grown woman, and you've made your choice, haven't you? I know you—once you've made your mind up about something, there's no changing it. I know you wouldn't have taken a decision like this lightly."
"Will—"
"Could you at least tell me why?"
She sighed. "When I left here, I did not just leave. I ran away. I left Bassam and I left all of the people who had cared for me. I cannot do that to him, not again."
"What about us? Don't we matter? We're your friends, we care about you." He paused. "What about—what about me?"
"You will know where I am. Nobody here knew what had happened to me. He thought I was dead."
"That's why you're staying, then? Guilt?"
Another sigh. "Not only that. He brought me up, he took me in when my father died. He did not have to—my brother and I were not his real niece and nephew—but he took us in and took care of us. I owe Bassam so much—"
"You don't owe anybody anything," he said sternly.
"Call it a sense of honour."
"So this is it, then, is it?"
She didn't answer him. She couldn't. There was nothing she could possibly say to him to help set things right. That's what it sounded like, wasn't it? That she was leaving him.
"It will not be forever," she offered, hoping somehow it would help. "I will come back to England."
He perked up and his eyes brightened the tiniest bit. "Really?"
Nod. "I promise."
"When?"
"What?"
"When will you come back?"
"I do not… I do not know."
"Please, tell me—I have to know."
"Someday."
"'Someday'?" He repeated. "Is that all you can tell me?"
"Yes."
"You can't give me anything more specific than that?"
She swallowed the big lump in her throat and looked down, shaking her head. She couldn't look him in the eye.
"I don't care how long you're gone just as long as I know when you're coming back," he continued, a pleading tone coming into his voice. "Tell me, please. Anything. Six months? A year? Five years? Ten? I don't care how long I'd have to wait, as long as I knew when I could stop waiting."
"I do not know," she said. "The best I can offer is… someday. But I will come back to England. I will see you again—I swear it."
He was quiet again, looking at her with those impossibly sad eyes.
"Well then," he said. "I guess there's only one thing for me to do."
Pause.
She couldn't even begin to guess what he was thinking.
"I'm staying here with you."
It took a second or two for her brain to fully comprehend what he'd just said. "You what?"
"I'm staying, too."
She blinked. What on earth was he thinking? As much as she didn't belong in this place, certainly Will didn't belong here in Acre. His home was in England. He couldn't stay here—it just wouldn't be right. Did he realize what he was saying? That he would give up his home, his family, his friends, and the only life he'd ever known in England to stay in a strange house with a stranger in a foreign country, where he didn't even speak the language, for an indefinite period of time.
He was so young, she realized once again. She didn't know exactly how old he was—she doubted that even he knew exactly how old he was—but he was quite young and little more than a boy. He was hot-headed and inexperienced and he could be impulsive. That was what he was being now—impulsive. He probably didn't even realize what he was agreeing to do.
"You can't do that," she told him.
"Yes I can. Why not?"
"Because you do not belong here!"
"Neither do you—you said so yourself, you've changed since you left here. If both of us don't belong here, maybe it'll be a bit easier than if it was just you here all by yourself."
"Please, Will—be reasonable."
"Only if you will. Why can't I stay?"
"Because it just…" she trailed off, unable to come up with anything to follow. She wanted to try to convince him that this was a bad idea, that this was the wrong thing for him to do—even as there was a part of her that selfishly wanted to leap for joy that he wanted to stay with her in Acre. "What about England? The gang? What of Robin, and Allan? Or… or even Luke?"
She expected him to stop and think about it, but his immediate response was surprising.
"What about them?"
Her eyes widened. "Could you live without them?" She asked. "Could you go on, day after day, knowing how far away they are? That you cannot even see them or talk to them for an indefinite period of time?"
"I've gotten used to not seeing my brother since joining the gang," he said. "I know where he is, and I know he's safe. The rest of them, well… I'm sure they'll manage. Allan is tough, and Robin…" he trailed off here, like he was having second thoughts. "I think maybe it would be best if neither of us were about to pine and remind him of… you know."
"But they are your family—"
"Yours, too."
"Yes, but—"
"Djaq."
The sound of her name, so soft and sad and pleading, made her immediately shut her mouth and look at him.
"I love you," he told her, reaching out to place his hand on her cheek. "I couldn't live without you, so far from you, not knowing when I'll ever see you again."
She took a few shaky breaths. She wanted so badly to refuse him, to argue with him some more and try to persuade him not to stay here. She wanted to tell him how wrong it was for him, how hard it would be for him to live here; she wanted to tell him about the brutally hot summers and the constant news of fighting, the town changing hands from Saracen to European and back again, or about how he might not be accepted by her countrymen for being English, just to put him off the idea. It was all wrong for him—staying in Acre was barely the right thing for her.
But she couldn't make the words come. Her voice just didn't work.
"You said we'd come back to England someday. And 'someday' works fine for me, as long as I have you."
Her resolve began to falter. Her heart so badly wanted to stop the argument here and agree to let him stay here with her; her mind kept screaming at her that this was the wrong thing for him, no matter how much she wanted for him to stay by her side.
Her bottom lip quivered and her vision began to go blurry with tears that welled up in her eyes. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth, but again her voice failed her and she couldn't form any words.
"Besides," he gave a little lopsided half-smile as he spoke. "I asked you to marry me. That's sort of like a promise, isn't it?"
There was no way she could keep telling him he couldn't stay—not when he'd made his own mind up. She had to respect his decision like he'd respected hers. His words and that sweetly crooked smile melted her heart and her resolve crumbled; the rational part of her mind quieted and she allowed herself to feel almost overwhelmingly happy that he was going to stay and that she wouldn't have to separate from him. She stepped over to him and wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He hugged her back, folded his arms around her, held her close.
"Does this mean I can stay?"
All she could do was nod and sniffle and hug him even tighter.
"Good," he whispered.
The next person informed of her—of their—decision to stay in Acre was Bassam. They should probably have told their friends first, as a matter of respect to them, but they hadn't even told her adoptive uncle of their intention to stay, nor had they asked his permission to do so. It would be terrible to sadden their friends with the news that they were staying, only to take the decision to Bassam and have him, for whatever reason, refuse to let them stay. Telling him would have to come before telling their friends.
She decided that it was best if she did this alone; she found him in his study and approached him cautiously, and apologized profusely to him for everything she'd put him through over the years. Then she dropped to her knees in front of him and begged for his forgiveness for being selfish and childish and running away when he'd done so much for her, and for worrying him so and letting him and everybody else think that she had died. Then when she told him that she was going to do whatever it took to make up for her wrongdoing, he actually looked surprised.
"Safiyyah," he murmured, tilting her chin up and looking at her with those kind old eyes under greying eyebrows.
The name hardly sounded right—she had been 'Djaq' for so long that hearing her true name used to address her felt somehow wrong.
"Safiyyah, stop this nonsense. You don't need to 'make up for' anything. The past is the past—you did what you did a long time ago. There is no sense in upsetting yourself over wanting to fix something that can never be changed."
"But—"
"Stand up, Safiyyah," he said, pulling her up by the shoulders. "Don't kneel. Sit down."
Numbly, she obeyed, getting up off the floor and taking a chair to sit opposite him. Once she was seated, he continued.
"It is true that when you left I feared you had died. I didn't know what had happened to you—to be able to see you again is more than I ever could have hoped for. Allah sent you to me to show me that you were alive and well and safe and happy."
The smile he gave her was a weak and half-hearted one. She knew—and she suspected that he knew she knew—that her absence had hurt him. The years since she left had been hard on him and on his wife. At least if she had died, they could have had a funeral and buried her and let her go; but this way, they had no way of knowing whether she was alive or dead, and eventually they just gave her up for dead without the closure that came with having a body. She would feel guilty for the rest of her life over this, and she was surprised that he seemed not to feel even a hint of anger at her.
"You are not angry?" She asked cautiously.
He shook his head and smiled gently, this one full and more genuine. "I am too relieved to be angry. I love you as my own, my dear. Anger is useless, and would take away from whatever time there is left before you leave and go back to England."
She bit her lower lip and looked at her hands, clenching the fabric of her shawl in her lap. "That is what I wanted to talk to you about," she said softly.
"Oh?" He leaned back in his chair with his hands folded over his round belly, watching her carefully from his seat. Part of her wondered if he didn't already know what she was going to tell him.
"I have decided—I would like to stay here, to make up for what I have done, and for the grief you suffered. There is no excuse for what I did to you, but I think maybe it might help to stay here with you. It would… make me feel better about it."
"You wish to stay?"
"Yes. If you will have me."
Silence. He sat there, his hands still clasped together over his stomach and his expression unreadable.
She looked up cautiously and swallowed hard. "Please?" She whimpered. She felt so unlike herself, pleading like this. But it was up to him, and all she could do was to wait for his answer. Would he refuse? She hadn't expected he would, but if he did it wouldn't surprise her. He was well within his rights to do so; it was, after all, his house. She could hardly blame him after she'd all but abandoned him when she ran away, and then come back quite suddenly years later for apparently no other reason than to ask him to give shelter to a lot of strange, dirty Englishmen.
Regardless of his answer, she still loved him.
Bassam stared and stared. It was uncomfortable, and she fidgeted slightly in her seat under his gaze.
Suddenly, he leaped up from his chair and swept her up in a bone-crushing hug. She gasped, at first surprised, and then hugged him back.
"Safiyyah," he murmured. "This truly is a blessing. You are welcome to stay here—to come home. You needn't think you have to make anything up to us. That is not necessary. You are my niece, Safiyyah."
Djaq rubbed her head against his shoulder and tightened her arms around his barrel chest. She tried to squeak out the words 'thank you', but she couldn't manage the words. Even though she must have hurt him so by running away, he harboured no ill feelings toward her, still thought of her as family.
"But my dear… what of your Englishman? The lanky one?"
He meant Will.
"I thought—would you leave him behind?" He voiced the question with a certain seriousness. After just the week that they'd been here, he knew what Will meant to her—and Bassam knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't take such things lightly.
"He wants to stay, as well."
To her surprise, he smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling with mirth as the corners of his mouth curled right up into his cheeks.
"Then he, too, is welcome here. I should hate to think of you so heartbroken because you are away from him."
Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. She hadn't expected that he would accept this so readily. "Really? You do not object?"
He shook his head. "He means a great deal to you. What sort of family would I be if I would not accept him?"
Her lower lip quivered and she very nearly felt the urge to cry again. But that irritatingly analytical part of her mind—the part that watched people carefully and took in every word and action and change in tone and analyzed it to decipher the hidden subtext—knew what he was really thinking. He was willing to do just about anything to keep her happy, and thus keep her in Acre. It was most likely both her uncle's generosity and, to some degree, his desire for her to stay in Acre that made him agree to let Will live in his house.
A combination of relief and guilt washed over her. He might well have expected that she would return and stay here forever; the fact that she might wish to leave Acre again didn't occur to him. Why should it? A life of privilege and comfort awaited her here.
She hadn't the heart to tell him that this wasn't going to be permanent, and that she would, one day, leave again. Another time, perhaps. For now, she was just glad that he was, once again, opening his home to her.
"Thank you."
o…o
"You're doing what?"
Much's eyes were narrowed, his eyebrows knit, and his mouth screwed up into a thin, tight line as he glared at them. His balled fists were at his sides, his stance solid and menacing for all that he was a small man. He was looking at them as if they'd just announced their intention to join the Sherriff. The world to Much was black and white—good and bad, right and wrong, decent and evil. No shades of gray. What she intended on doing was treason in his eyes, pure and simple.
From the window seat across from them, Allan looked up with a shocked expression. Big blue eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. He was speechless at her announcement that she was staying in Acre. The news absolutely shocked him.
"What? Wh—why? What?" He repeated himself over and over again, stuttering as he tried to figure out what was going on.
John, in contrast, stood steady and quiet before them, his bulky arms crossed over his broad chest and his expression completely unreadable behind his bushy peppered beard and long hair. He was waiting for one of them to continue or explain, but would make no effort to coax an explanation from either of them.
Only Robin wasn't around to hear the news; she had wanted to tell everybody at once, but he'd gone off at dawn to visit Marian's grave, and he probably wouldn't come back until late tonight. They would have to tell him later.
Will stood at her back, silent support with a hand on her shoulder. He was watching Much warily from his position, as if he feared that he might lunge at them and attack them for their perceived betrayal of the group.
"I am staying here," she repeated herself firmly.
"But—but—but—" Much sputtered angrily, his face reddening.
"Why?" Allan finished for him.
She sighed. "I do not expect you will accept my reasons, but… I feel as though I owe Bassam for all that he has done for me. He did so much, and I repaid him by running away."
"That's just like you," Allan sighed. "So very honourable."
John only grunted in response, and said nothing.
"That's a stupid reason."
"You may think that you wish, but my mind is made up," she said. Behind her, Will's gentle hand squeezed her shoulder.
"No talkin' you out of it, eh?" Allan asked.
"No."
Much was still fuming. "I can't believe you!"
"I am sorry—"
He looked up at the young man standing behind her. "What about him? What about Will? Are you just going to leave him and stay here all alone?"
There was a brief silence—she didn't know whether or not he wanted to tell them himself, or if she should do it. He stroked his thumb back and forth on her clothed shoulder before he spoke.
"I'm staying, too, Much."
His face turned pale and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish out of water. Uncontrollable shock and rage passed over his face rapidly and he actually began to tremble. It was… scary.
The colour flooded back into his face quite suddenly, turning from white to enraged red quickly. "How could you do this to us?" He trilled. His voice was unnaturally high.
"It won't be forever," he tried to reassure. "We'll come back someday—"
"That doesn't make a difference! You're still leaving!"
"Hey, relax—" Allan began, concerned for all of their safety.
"You be quiet!" He shrieked. "Traitors have no business defending traitors!"
"It is not betrayal," she said gently. She remained calm, although she was beginning to wonder if she should put something between Much and herself, lest he become so enraged that he exploded into a thousand shards of bone.
"What do you call it, then? You're leaving us when we need you the most! When Robin needs you the most! I thought we were supposed to be a team—we are Robin Hood, remember? Or doesn't that matter to you anymore since you have each other now?"
He continued to rant, pacing back and forth and angrily hissing about their betrayal and their selfishness—the nerve they had, staying here to live in luxury and peace while they went back to England, three men short after their voyage to Acre, to fight the Sherriff and Gisbourne. And what of Robin? He needed all the support and family he could get! It was just pouring salt in his wounds for them to stay in Acre together!
He went through his grievances once and then began to repeat himself, still pacing and throwing his hands in the air. All they could do was stare at him in astonishment, not sure what to do or say, and so doing nothing.
Finally, John strode over to him and grabbed him by the collar of his doublet, heaving him to his side and effectively stopping him.
"Stop that!" He growled. "Be quiet, you."
"But—!"
"'But' nothing. They have made their decision and it's none of our business. You aren't making it any easier on them by yelling."
He struggled mightily against the larger man, to no avail. "It shouldn't be easy!"
John grabbed him roughly actually lifted him up a few inches off the ground, and rattled him soundly like a dog shaking a rat. The smaller man stilled, and he put him down. "Come with me," he said, turning to drag him out of the room. "We need to talk."
He must have waited until they were out of earshot before saying whatever it was he wanted to say to Much, because all three of them strained to hear the exchange, but there was nothing to hear. She was rather hoping to hear John talk—or beat—some sense into their friend. He was being absolutely ridiculous about the whole thing.
Allan slid off of the windowsill where he'd been sitting and walked over to them, fiddling with the edges of his ragged tunic. He looked the same as he always did, having long discarded the higher-quality black trousers and the padded leather jerkin he'd worn during his service with Gisbourne. He took them off at some point during their time on the ship and, for all they knew, threw the garments overboard.
"So…"
Pause.
"Yes?" She prodded.
"This mean you're getting married?" He asked.
"Eventually, yes."
"Well, it's a shame I won't be able to come to your wedding."
Another pause. He shuffled his feet on the ground, suddenly fascinated by the floor tiles. He lifted his head and looked at them, so piteously sad. Those eyes couldn't possibly get any bigger.
"I'm gonna miss you."
"We'll miss you, too," Will said.
"I don't—I don't know how to say this…" he said softly.
Djaq didn't even have the time to ask what before her friend had lunged forward and swept both of them up in a tight hug, one arm around either of them and his head between them against their shoulders. After a brief moment's shock, they both hugged him back.
"I dunno what I'll do without you," he sniffled. "I… I love you both. Really, I do. You two made it bearable—you're the only ones who still like me, even after what I did."
Sniffle.
"And now you're leaving."
"We're coming back," Will tried to assure him.
"D'you mean that?"
Nod. "Djaq promised me, and now I'm promising you. We'll be back, someday."
"Someday, eh? That's better than never." He gave a weak and half-hearted little smile, but the familiar roguish glint was still there behind his tearing blue eyes.
Djaq hugged him and patted his back gently. His grip was tight and he was starting to squash her, but she didn't wriggle away. Instead, she stroked his hair soothingly and murmured gently to him like a frightened child.
Finally, he stepped back and turned away from them, but not before she saw him bring a hand up to wipe his eyes. He turned back again with a wobbly, weak smile.
"Much said there's a ship leaving out of the port tomorrow for France," he said absently. "From there we're going over land to Normandy, then… home."
Pause. Sniffle.
"I guess this is goodbye, then."
"It is not forever, Allan," she said.
"I know. But that doesn't mean I won't miss you. A lot. It'll be hard living there again without you, after everything that's happened. 'Least if you were there, I'd have somebody to talk to who didn't hate me."
"They don't hate you."
"'Course they do." Sigh. "Can't say I blame 'em, though."
"Stop saying that," Will scolded. "They may be angry, but they don't hate you. They need you, you know, especially now."
While they argued back and forth, Djaq stood quietly to the side, chewing on her lower lip in deep thought. Maybe…
"Come with me," she interrupted their argument as a thought occurred to her. They stopped talking and looked up at her questioningly. "I have an idea," she said. She beckoned them with a hand as she walked to the curtained-off door at the end of the room.
Will and Allan looked at each other briefly with shared confusion, then shrugged and followed her obediently. They tried their best to keep up with her as she navigated her way through the labyrinthine halls and rooms of the grand house with the expert ease of practice. They wove back and forth around furniture and people standing in the way, excusing themselves when they barged past some rather surprised-looking servants.
"Pardon us—'scuze us!"
"Sorry about that. Sorry."
"Excuse us!"
Part of her was actually surprised that she still knew how to navigate this house as easily as she did. It had been so long—she thought she might have forgotten. But it all came back to her easily and she was operating almost on instinct to get around.
She was hardly paying attention as she led them to her intended destination in the big, wide-open end room that was her uncle's aviary, where she stopped on the stair in the wide doorway. Behind her, Will stopped short to avoid running into her; Allan walked right into him, making them both stumble forward. She heard them start to argue behind her.
"Watch where you're going!"
"I'm sorry, you stopped short!"
She ignored them and went for the little pigeon cubbies in the wall. She would have to pick a small bird, someone who could be quick. England to Acre was a long way—a smaller bird could make the journey much faster. She walked idly along the walls until she picked a pair that she liked and knelt to see them. The two pudgy gray birds inside stared at her over their little white beaks as she reached inside. They cooed softly at her.
"I am sorry," she whispered softly, barely audible, as she picked up the male bird and removed him. His mate squabbled in protest, fluttering her wings wildly and squawking and ramming her little body against the wire cage door in anger at being separated from her mate. She held the bird in her hands as gently as she could as he, too, struggled against her and tried to free himself to get back to the cage.
She'd done this countless times before—separating pigeons from their mates to send them somewhere far away, so that they could be used to send messages. And this was the usual reaction: a struggle to get away and get back to their mate. She never thought anything of it before now. But as she stood there holding the squalling bird in her hands and watching the other throw a fit over being separated, she felt a pang in her chest. It suddenly had far more meaning to her now than it ever did before. Separating mates felt so wrong. How would she feel, she wondered absently as the beak pecked feverishly at her hand in an effort to get her to let go, if the hand of something much bigger reached down and picked her up and took her away from Will?
It seemed so cruel, now that she thought of it.
After several moments, the bird in her hand stopped struggling as he tired himself out and realized that his fight was useless and resigned himself to his fate. She felt for them, enough that she contemplated putting him back and letting the birds be together again.
"I wish there was another way," she sighed, placing the pigeon into a little square basket-cage and closing the latch. "You will see her again someday. I promise."
"What're you doing?" Allan asked as the two men came up behind her.
She stood up and took the basket in her hands; she handed it to him and he hesitated before he reached out and took it from her.
"A bird?"
"In case you ever need to get word to us. It is the fastest way to do it." She knew her smile was weak and shaky.
He looked at her, and then down at the wicker cage, and then back at her again. "I, um… I can't read. Or write."
He sounded ashamed to admit this to her—Allan never sounded ashamed of anything.
"You can find somebody who does," she said. "You will find a way, I am sure. You are a clever man—you should not think you cannot get word to us if you need to."
Will was smiling behind him, his gaze gentle and warm, and nodded shortly in approval at her improvised plan.
"You really mean that?"
"Of course I do." She cuffed him playfully on the back of the head. "You cannot expect to be rid of us so easily."
o…o
They were gone.
They left that morning for the port where the ships would be leaving. Bassam sent them on their way with supplies and clean clothes and a few shiny trinkets and coins to use to barter with the captain for passage. They told Robin—who had been missing since then—of their intention. But he'd already guessed that they were staying behind. That didn't surprise her. Of course he would guess. And if anybody had noticed the pigeon cage that Allan carried off of one shoulder, they ignored it and said nothing about it.
For the first time since her arrival in Nottingham so long ago, she felt completely different from the group. The clothes she wore felt alien on her now, the long tunic restrictive when compared with the short shirt and trousers she had been wearing. Cuffed bracelet on her wrist and earrings in her newly re-pierced ears and sandals on her feet—it was the clothing of her homeland, and yet she'd never felt quite so awkward and unsure.
Will looked different, too. An Englishman in Saracen dress. He looked like he felt awkward in these clothes, but he would put up with it and do it, all for her. He'd been thoroughly—and reluctantly—washed andscrubbed at the orders of her uncle's household staff, the first bath he'd had in a very, very long time. He looked even paler than usual without his old protective layer of scum and he didn't even smell like himself anymore.
They'd bid their last sad farewells and hugged them for the last time.
And then their friends left then for the port. Neither she nor Will could bring themselves to go with them and watch them board the ship and leave for good; instead they stood at the covered end of the courtyard and watched as they retreated into the city beyond. They stayed where they were and kept their eyes on the crowds for a long, long time until the rest of the gang must have been halfway to the port by then.
She felt her lower lip quiver as she realized that they were gone—well and truly gone for good—and she sniffled quietly. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She reached up a hand to wipe the tears away and touched her cheek before she remembered the makeup she wore now. She shouldn't smudge it. She was Safiyyah again, and such things weren't ladylike. Another sniffle, and then she decided that she didn't care about it and lifted the edge of her tunic to wipe the paints from her eyes and the tears from her face, heedless of the quality or expense of the material.
"This is it then," he croaked.
"I suppose so."
They both sniffled quietly. Djaq was still using her tunic for a hanky and not caring who noticed. Will was hesitant to wipe his teary eyes.
"You can use your sleeve. Nobody cares. Or mine, if you would prefer."
A short laugh burst from his lips, but it was strangled and wet and it melted into a sob. He pulled his sleeve over his hand and wiped his eyes.
The day went on from there quite slowly. They felt at loose ends without the rest of the gang. How had they ever lived without them? What did they do before they joined Robin and his cause? Was there ever a time when they weren't on some mission or other with him, feeding the poor and making sure they had what they needed to make it through the winter, or working as a team with the rest of the gang on ever more improbable and risky schemes to thwart the Sherriff? What had life been like before all of this, before the days of plots and causes and liberating pompous wealthy travellers of their belongings? They couldn't remember. They'd been living that life for so long that they couldn't remember how not to live it. It was many, many hours into the day when Djaq realized that, as she absently went about the house and the courtyard and the gardens, she was half listening for orders to arm themselves.
It would be harder to readjust to her old life of leisure than it was to learn how to live without it to begin with.
Being here felt lonely without their friends, even though Will was with her. She could tell Will felt the same way, as well. They had lived for so long living in such close quarters with so many other people that living in this great big house in such relative privacy felt almost unnatural. They found themselves doing everything—walking, sitting, eating—in close proximity because they simply weren't used to not having people all around them. Bassam's house, her childhood refuge and later her home, was beginning to look and feel unfamiliar and foreign as she wandered aimlessly throughout it.
After she showed him how to get up to the roof of the house, Will took up a position there, leaning over the ledge and looking down on the city around them in awe. Here in the city they were up past the cliffs of the port and the docks and the land was flat, and from that high vantage point on the roof, anybody could look out and see the entire city—the hundreds and hundreds of flat roofs of the houses, the winding alleys and streets, public parks and gardens and baths, the agora where the streets were lined with vendors selling all sorts of wares, and the domed roof and spires of the mosque around which the city was built. And everywhere, there were people, people, people. He watched it all with a sort of awed shock. Coming from little Nottingham, he had never seen so many people all living in one place. The village surrounding the castle at Nottingham was the biggest town he'd probably ever seen before, and the bustle of the port city of Acre dwarfed it.
She stayed up there a while with him, pointing out places she remembered and the things she used to do in the city. She stood on the far corner of the roof near the back of the courtyard where they house backed up to one of the wide streets on which there would be markets—this was where, when she was younger, she and her brother and her friend Zahra would arm themselves with soft, wet, and smelly things and drop them on the shoppers below. He'd looked at her, as if trying to imagine it, and laughed.
"I was a horrible child," she admitted.
The mid-afternoon call to prayer startled both of them. It had been such a long time since she'd hard one that she almost forgot what it meant. The chants sounded from the highest towers of the mosque, loud and clear and musical as other calls joined them, echoing all over the city. The movement in the city stopped completely, as everybody stopped and knelt and turned to towards the Holy City to pray. She explained to him what it was, but she didn't do it herself. She probably should have, but over the last years she'd begun to doubt her faith. She hadn't prayed while she was a slave or when she was in England and Allah hadn't reduced her to a smouldering pile of ash yet, so she imagined He wasn't terribly offended by this.
And then she let him be up there on the roof as he quietly tried to absorb this new and completely alien place that would be his home for an indeterminate period of time. She tried to find something to occupy her time as the day dragged on and on. She flitted from the aviary to the library, to the now-empty room that had once been her apothecary lab, and the courtyard and the garden, and back again.
She was bored, she realized sometime in the evening after wandering about in a daze for most of the day. What was there to do now that they didn't have the group and their cause to occupy their days and thoughts and lives?
Supper was unappetizing. She had no appetite, particularly not for the heavily-spiced and high-quality foods that the cooks made; she didn't think she could stomach anything like that after getting used to eating the bare bones meals and 'chicken' that Much fed them. She tore off a piece of bread from the kitchens and picked at it as she made her way back into the aviary.
Will was there, kneeling on the dusty ground and holding a pigeon in his hands and talking softly to it. It was the bird whose mate she had sent back to England with Allan, she realized as she approached him quietly on the soft cloth shoes she wore indoors. She was practically standing right over him before he noticed she was there.
She offered him half of her bread.
"Thanks."
"When did you come in?" She asked.
"Not long ago. I thought it would be too dark to see after sunset, but there are torches everywhere. I've never seen so many lights at night before. How do these people know when to sleep?"
Djaq laughed softly.
"They sleep when they were tired. Sometimes there is so much to do in a day that they need a little more time to get things done."
She knelt down next to him. He offered a tiny piece of his bread to the bird, but she turned her head away and refused it.
"I feel sorry for her," he said. "It can't be easy being separated from the one you love."
She said nothing in response to this—it was exactly what she'd thought yesterday when she took the bird's mate away.
He sighed and put the pigeon back into her cage. They sat side-by-side in silence, absorbed in their own thoughts. He looked so sad, she thought. So unsure and so worried. He'd made his decision to stay with her and she knew he didn't regret it and wouldn't go back on it, but the fact remained that he'd chosen to stay in a foreign land where he neither spoke the language nor knew the customs.
"Are you all right?" She asked tentatively.
After a moment's pause, he nodded slowly.
"I just… I don't know. It's a different place and a different world. A whole new life."
She put a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't regret it—I'll never regret it. I want to stay with you," he said quickly. "But…"
"I understand. You do not have to explain."
They watched through the big screened windows of the aviary as the lights in the city slowly went out one by one, as people doused the outside torches and finally ended the day. The night would have been peacefully quiet but for the sounds of nighttime animals, except that the night guards were already on patrol, their boots clump-clump-ing on the stone streets and the light from their torches passing by the windows as they walked. They talked amongst themselves, telling rude jokes and bawdy stories that she was grateful that Will couldn't understand.
Soldiers were pigs.
The night cold settled over them. Their thin linen clothing did little to keep them warm and they unconsciously snuggled closer together to ward off the chill. She leaned her head on his shoulder, then turned her head into him and pressed a kiss there.
They didn't bother to go upstairs to their separate rooms and their separate beds. Neither of them could bear the thought of being apart tonight. Instead, they stayed all night curled up together on the dusty floor of the aviary.
Tomorrow their life together, by themselves, in Acre would begin, and there was much to be done.
o…o
0…0…0…0…0
The End. Thanks so much for reading, enjoying, favouring, recommending, and reviewing this story. I've grown pretty attached to this story in the time I've been writing it, so it's a little sad to end it. Le sigh. I hope this explanation of 'Why They Stayed' sheds a little light on the mystery that the end of the series left for us. I think the only reason Will would stay in Acre would be if he could be assured that they would, one day, return to England. If she could have given him an actual time that she'd come back—even if it was ten years—he probably would have gone back to England and waited for her. But she couldn't, so he stayed. That's my interpretation anyway.
Thanks for reading. Feedback of any kind is always, always welcome—but never demanded.