A/N: I apologize for the slow updates. My internet has been especially difficult recently.
A big "thank you" to everyone who has read and reviewed. Your feedback always makes me smile. :)
Bound Home
Chapter 15
A lady of the palace these twenty years,
She has lived here a thousand miles from her home-
Yet ask her for this song and, with the first few words of it,
See how she tries to hold back her tears.
- Zhang Hu, She Sings an Old Song
Guy finds Aalim at the docks, sitting in the sun, fanning himself with a palm branch.
"You could move into the shade," Guy says by way of greeting.
Aalim waves off the suggestion. "I am basking."
"You are sweating."
"And who are you to scold an old man? Sit down. Tell me how things go with you." Aalim peers at him closely, as if looking for some sign of change on Guy's face or figure. "I have not seen you in many days."
"Things go well, thank you."
"You spoke with the men who rescued you from your drunken night in the desert?"
Guy cannot hold back a slightly peevish sigh. Aalim never treats stupidity gently. "I did. They insisted that my gratitude was payment enough, and we left it at that."
"Very good. That was honorable of them."
"And you, my friend? How goes it with you?"
Aalim shrugs, and fans himself with a bit more enthusiasm. "The same, the same."
This time, Guy is the one peering closely, studying, searching. "Will you ever tell me what it is that brings you here each day?"
Aalim frowns. "I do not come each day. Hardly that."
Guy sees the reply for what it is – pure deflection - and waits for a real answer, but his friend says no more. He looks away, turning his attention to the docks where men and sails and cargo and gulls crowd together in a flurry of sound and sun. "Very well. I will not ask again."
"You seem in good spirits."
"I am always in good spirits," Guy replies flatly.
That earns hearty laughter from Aalim, and Guy feels himself smiling broadly. The ability to laugh at himself has only been learned recently, through many afternoons sat with Aalim, his faithful companion in the struggle to make sense of what life has given them. Whatever tragedy has marred Aalim's past (for he sits many times with such distance in his eyes, such unmistakable sadness that Guy knows it is not a happy memory which brings him to the water) he does not fail to let his quiet moods give way to brilliant smiles. He sits at ease with his regrets - never overwhelmed by them and never ignoring them - and Guy feels his companion has taught him to do the same.
"My friend, I am glad to see you this way," Aalim says, eyes softened but still crinkled with amusement. "What has brought about this change?"
"You have," Guy replies with great earnestness, but Aalim shakes his head.
"No, there is something else. Something you could not have gotten from lazy hours sitting with an old man. What has happened, hm?"
Guy squints up at the sky. White birds circle above the water, never straying too far from the fishing nets being hauled in to shore. He contemplates, and lands on an answer. "I got what I came here for." He looks back at Aalim, who has stopped fanning and is staring at him with blatant curiosity. "I needed to see someone again. I needed to lay something to rest – well, as much as I could."
"And that someone is now reconciled with you?"
Guy lowers his head and drags a hand through the warm, golden sand. "That someone is long gone," he replies.
No more questions are asked. The gulls cry out as they flap in the salty gusts. The sun heads for its highest point in the sky. The temperature rises, and Aalim takes up his palm branch and begins to lazily fan himself again.
To her great surprise, an Englishman comes to her home one morning and says he has brought a message from the Earl of Huntingdon. She looks the man over, but he is unknown to her.
"Loxley and I fought together with the King's army," he explains. "He sent me a note, asked me to deliver a letter to you."
"Thank you," she says, and takes hold of the vellum. The man nods and walks away, but she hardly notices his leaving. She remains standing in the doorway as she breaks open the seal.
The vellum is covered with Robin's handwriting.
1196 March 21
Greetings and the warmest affection to my friend and fellow soldier. I thank God that he has kept you well and that your letter arrived with all possible haste. Your news was met with the deepest sadness and sympathy, which I convey to you from John; from Much, Earl of Bonchurch; and from the entire village of Scarborough. Your letter was forwarded to L. Scarlet as you requested. W. S. has been mourned, not only among the friends who claimed personal connection, but by the countless families who benefited from his courage, charity and self-sacrifice. My friend, I cannot tell you what grief I feel in your behalf, but you know how well I empathize, as I have been in that hell – indeed, in the days that followed, you helped me through it with understanding and unforgettable kindness. I wish to be there with you now to offer some repayment, but as duties and obligations keep me here in Nottingham, this letter must suffice.
Beyond this effort to wish you comfort and peace, it is necessary to inform you that we suffered another loss. Allan A'Dale, forever remembered for his bravery and yes, his loyalty, perished in the battle at Nottingham in the autumn of 1193, wherefore a reign of injustice and greed was ended. It pains me to think of how this news will be received, and it pains me further to add to your burden. He died fighting for England and her people – it is my sincerest hope that I, too, may meet such an honorable end whenever that fearsome time comes.
I also wish to inform you of the most peculiar circumstances regarding myself and Sir G. of Gisbourne. Having not the benefit of time or ability to explain in detail, I must summarize these circumstances with all brevity: he repented of his crimes, left the service of Sheriff V. (deceased at the battle at Nottingham), and joined in our righteous efforts to bring justice back to our villages. As much as it seems impossible, we have a brother in common. G. is now by incredible means my relative of sorts, and has completely turned his back on his treasonous ways. I tell you this because I suspect you may chance upon him, as he left for Acre some months ago, and if it not be too great a trial to you, I wish you to greet him with as much openness and trust as you might any other ally of mine.
I leave this letter now to tend to my estate (Loxley is rightfully in my possession once more, thanks be to God and his infinite mercies), and I wish that it go to you speedily, that my words may in some small way bring comfort to my missed and greatly saddened friend.
I pray for you with constancy. My home is always yours should you be in need of it. If it be God's will, we shall meet again some day.
R. of Loxley
A breeze blows through her doorway; the vellum flutters in her hands. She notices that her palms and the back of her neck are slick with sweat. She has been standing too long in the sun. The air is hot and dried out by summer's approach, and she realizes a sudden and desperate thirst.
Back inside the cool shade of her home, she gulps down a bowl of water and wipes the sweat from her hands and neck. Robin's letter lies furled on her table. She sits and stares at it, head resting in one palm, the other knotted in the cotton of her tunic. She and Robin had never been close – much of his time had been taken up with private concerns, with Marian, and much of her time had been taken up with Will - but now she misses him greatly. He always had a way about him that could make people feel safe, confident, and often all it took was a wink and a grin. In a strange way, she is homesick for England. She misses Sherwood forest. She misses hearing Much's sharp, joyful laughter. She misses Little John's brogue and the warmth in his eyes.
She misses Allan.
Most of all, she misses Will.
She reaches out a finger to trace the broken wax seal. Closes her eyes. And then the ache swells, and she clutches the letter fiercely to her breast, as though the vellum and the ink could bring her closer to them all.