Thank you so very much to all my readers, especially those who reviewed the last chapter – I received a record number of reviews, and have been happily rereading them all week. ^_^

ZeDancingHobbit: Sadly, certain characters need a figurative beating over the head before they can see what's so obvious to the rest of us. Robin doesn't do things the easy way, unfortunately for Much….

EternallyEC: Much is trying very hard to be brave, as you said. :( He knows that their escape depends on him keeping it together long enough for Robin to pull this rescue off. We'll have to see how well that goes….

LadyKate1: Several people pointed out the moment you mentioned, where Robin hides his anger so Much won't think he's in trouble or something. I added that detail almost as an afterthought, just an "Oh, better not let Robin do that", and moved on; it's always amazing to see what moments or details strike each reader. :)

Prats 'R' Us: I'm going to have to start writing some of these beautiful lines down: "There's only one thing that can break Much, and that's Robin." It's so sadly true.

Desi Jo: Aw, what an amazing compliment! I'm delighted that you're enjoying this story so much!

DoubleDaggered: Writing Robin's point of view is a challenge for me, so I'm glad you think it all came across well. And I know how busy life gets, trust me! No worries about not reviewing – real life takes priority! :P

In other news, I'm apparently unable to tell the days of the week apart anymore. I could have sworn my last update was a Friday, but since the very next day was undeniably Friday, you guys get another Thursday update! This might become a regular thing (assuming I don't forget when Thursday is, too).

Happy reading! ~Si

The tense set of Will's mouth as he turned back to Robin told Much they'd run into yet another snag in the plan. He must have groaned aloud, not just in his head, because Robin was suddenly easing Much down to sit on the ground against the wall, resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment. Raised voices, a lively conversation, filtered through the wood behind his head, and Much closed his eyes, trying to focus on his friends' murmured conversation above him.

"… time to wait for Allan to turn up?"

"We can't know for certain he will, now, and as soon as Gisborne realizes…"

No plan, then. Even with his eyes shut, Much could feel the tension radiating from his master, imagine the impatient expression, his eyes flashing about, collecting pieces of a new plan. Obviously bursting out in a blaze of glory, the way Robin loved so much, was out of the question. They needed some quiet way out, some story or disguise the guards would believe. Somebody started up a raucous song, a dozen intoxicated voices rising ungracefully to join in, and Much's head began to pound dismally.

"Drunken oafs…" he muttered. "Nobody wants to hear that…" Especially Much, just now. His entire body hurt unbearably, relentlessly, sharper pains splintering deeper where Gisborne had done the worst harm: his hand and his sides, the left side in particular, where he thought he could feel something shift when he walked.

"Much!" He forced his eyelids open in time for his master to press a fervent kiss to the top of his aching head, exclaiming, "You are a genius!" before darting around the corner of the inn and out of sight. Bewildered, he looked up at Will, who was staring after Robin as if doubting his sanity.

Half a minute or so later, Robin returned with a wooden mug in his hands, grinning.

"One of the guards left this out front when Gisborne arrived." He set the cup on the ground beside Much and proceeded to hand his swordbelt over to a confused Will, before tugging his cloak to hang at a haphazard angle.

"How am… How am I a genius, exactly?" Much said, compelled to ask despite the vice that closed on his chest whenever he drew breath to speak. Robin crouched and picked up the cup, replying, "The guards are all busy trying to keep Gisborne off their backs. They don't have time to deal with drunks and vagrants; they're just shoving them aside. If we're lucky, they'll send us right on our way. We can wait for Allan with the other beggars outside the gates." He flashed an apologetic look up at Will. "I don't think we can pull it off with more than two, Will. Can you find your way out, meet us?" The younger man nodded once confidently, eyes flicking up to check the alley. The mug appeared underneath Much's nose, and Robin was saying, "Take a sip or two, wash it around your mouth. We've got to smell the part as well as look it."

Much obeyed, realizing as he did so how desperately thirsty he was; he was parched, having gone without since the morning of their ill-fated raid, though he didn't know if Gisborne had ordered it so, or if they had simply forgotten him. It took all the self-control he could muster not to drain the mug dry, despite the strong flavor. Robin took the cup from his hand and gulped a quick mouthful, then deliberately dripped the ale down his shirt front, giving Much the same treatment. After using the dregs to rinse the most obvious bloodstains from Much's hand, Robin set the empty mug aside and helped Much to his feet. The world spun, the fog of ale giving it an extra push round, but finally Much's eyes cleared, and he saw Will with his sleeve to his face, pained expression and earnest nodding all the answer Robin needed.

"I'll do the talking," Robin murmured as they staggered out into the main street. Much's hood was low over his face, his cloak hung askew to hide his battered hand, and Robin's grip on his arm hid what bloodstains the makeshift bandage did not. To any observers, they were just a pair of drunks ambling home after wasting their pay on drink. Robin's steps began to waver, his entire posture and gait shifting, though his arm around Much was steady as ever. The change in pace knocked his bruised cheek against Robin's shoulder, startling a small moan from him, which Robin took as an immediate cue to start humming loudly. As they drew closer to the gates, he graduated to a mumbled line of song dissolving into giddy chuckles. Fewer people jostled them as they reached the gates, most everyone either returning to their business after the show Gisborne had put on, or possibly altering their route to avoid the two men; Much had to admit they certainly smelled the part.

Below the edge of his beggar's hood, Much watched the guards' boots come into view… and he also saw the abrupt step forward to bar their way, harsh voices rising. Robin was wrong. They'd been stopped. Any moment now they'd be calling for Gisborne… He shut his eyes, barely managing to swallow back a surge of panic.

"Ev'ning – wond'ful ev'ning!" Robin crowed, leaning in, swaying them both closer to the man. A disgusted sniff from the guard closest to them.

"Been at it a while, have you? Where are you two headed at this hour?" Another chuckle from Robin, who slurred, "Aww, we've been celebr- celebratin'." His careful enunciation of this word, imparted with all the earnestness of the truly intoxicated, drew a vaguely amused snort this time.

"Have you now?"

"Oh, yeah…" Robin's hand left the arm Much clung to his neck with, coming around to pat him exuberantly on the chest. "M'friend here's getting married to 'is sweet'art. Gotta get him back b'fore he drinks too much, y'know?" An alcohol-laden whisper that even Much could smell, drenched in the stuff though he was, "Gets a bit soused if you don't watch 'im."

A second chuckle joined the first guard's voice, his companion apparently catching Robin's words.

"Lor'… She that hard on the eyes?" This set both men laughing, Robin's unsteady chuckles intermingled as he took Much's arm again, swaying slightly. Between giggles, he choked out, "Gotta get going b'fore it gets too late… Jus' gotta nip over to Clun, get back or his mum'll…"

He staggered another step closer as he spoke, pulling Much with him, and the fumes finally overcame the guards' desire for entertainment. Robin swayed backward suddenly, and Much opened his eyes as the butt of the guard's spear returned to the dusty ground with a thud. Robin's voice held a touch of petulance as he drawled, "Steady on-"

"You've been swimming in it, both of you. You won't make it half a mile, let alone Clun; better off sleeping in the ditch over there with the rest of your lot. Get along now before you smell up our post."

Robin lingered a few moments longer until he gained a stifled oath and a clout to the back of his head to send him on. The guard gave Much a shove for good measure; he only kept his feet thanks to Robin's firm grip. They staggered on, boots clomping hollowly on the wooden planks, then muffled by dust and grass, swinging to the right in the direction of Clun. Just when Much feared his master would carry their charade all the way to the village itself, Robin changed direction, his steps steady and sure once more. Watching his own feet slip in and out of sight over the dusk-shadowed grass made his head spin again, and Robin might have already called his name once or twice when Much actually heard him and managed to raise his head.

They were well along the castle wall, on the edge of the little village of homeless poor who were perpetually begging at the gates. Robin lowered them both down to sit against the cooling stone, pulling his own hood low and looking around warily. Much tilted his head back and willed his abused body to relax, to be soothed by the chance to hold still. He was too tired to startle when an arm appeared around his shoulders again, drawing him closer, and he gratefully accepted the embrace, leaning into Robin's shoulder with a quiet groan that set the dagger in his side wrenching again.

There was a fine line, a slender barrier that marked the distinction between master and servant that they both still observed, despite Robin's insistence that Much was now a free man. Things had gotten muddled when they came home to England, when they found there was no Locksley, no Bonchurch to be had. They had fallen back into their old ways from years ago, a master and servant who were friends, instead of just being Robin and Much. But every now and then, Robin would remember and cross that line between them, and Much cherished those moments.

"All right, Much?" Robin asked quietly, voice vibrating under Much's ear, and he almost laughed, though the resulting pain would probably have sent him reeling into unconsciousness. He was so far from "all right" just now that he couldn't find the strength or breath to form a reply. Robin seemed to understand what his silence meant, though, and murmured, "Allan should be here soon", his arm tightening reassuringly. "We'll meet the others at the camp, let Djaq have a look at you." Exhausted though he was, something niggled at the back of Much's mind, and he worked up the energy to ask, "What's Allan doing?" His master's tone was natural enough on the surface, but something was definitely bothering him… and he'd said something to Will earlier, when Gisborne stormed back into Nottingham, something about Allan…

Robin shifted, drawing a breath before saying, "Well, he was pretending to be me for the exchange, but I guess that's over with now. Gisborne did look a bit fussed, didn't he?" Much could hear the grin in Robin's words, but he wasn't making sense.

"Exchange?" Smaller sentences were good. Single words were better, definitely; his chest was finally easing up just slightly.

"Gisborne wanted a trade: we give him the silver we took, and he releases you. He'd never keep his word, of course, so we split up. Allan took my sword and bow, just so Gisborne didn't bolt as soon as he arrived." A few moments of silence, broken only by the distant chaos in Nottingham's streets. "The exchange was actually Marian's idea. She talked to Gisborne, let him think he came up with it himself." A barely-audible rustle as Robin glanced down at him briefly. "Tried to distract him, she said." That must have been why it took Gisborne so long to return, Much realized, after that one brief glimpse of Marian in the doorway. She had been there for just an instant, a blurred rose-colored figure like the haunting mirages the other men talked about in the Holy Land. Much only nodded against Robin's shoulder in answer, throat too tight to respond. He thought he'd imagined it afterward, all the wishful thinking gone to his head, mixed up with the pain.

Robin drew a hesitant breath, probably to ask a question Much desperately didn't want to think about just now, but lifted his head suddenly instead, scanning their dusky surroundings. This time, Much heard the low whistle too, one of Sherwood's night birds. Robin repeated the whistle softly, and after a few seconds of silence, Will Scarlett emerged from the dark, illuminated by the faint torchlight from the walls above. He sat on Much's other side, a welcome buffer against the night breeze that had begun to pick up, and pulled his hood down as well, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Gisborne's forming a search party," he whispered past Much, who felt fear snake through his stomach. More like a hunting party. He couldn't take any more running. Simply standing would be a monumental task just now. "We've only got a couple of minutes at most: they're just changing horses. No sign of Allan?" Robin shook his head, again scanning the black line of trees across from Nottingham's walls. The sky above was barely lighter than that dark boundary, the setting sun having given up her last rays several minutes ago.

The three men sat in silence for a minute or so, time that stretched itself out into a year. Much could feel the tension wound tight through Robin's muscles, bound up in the statue-like shoulder against his cheek. Will was soundless as a shadow beside him.

Then a faint rumble, staccato and blurred, caught Much's ear. Will's head came up.

"Come on, Much!" Robin breathed, scrambling to his feet. Much ground his teeth to keep quiet as Robin pulled him upright, the sudden jolt shooting through him like fire. He tried to brace himself for the running they were about to do, a doomed, impossible thing.

"Wait–" Will stretched an arm out to stop Robin, peering out toward the forest. "Wait, Robin. I think it's…" The hoofbeats approached from the road, not the town, a single horse at a near-gallop, the figure on its back as shadowy as the mount itself. Robin's head whipped round as Will let out a short, sharp whistle; the horseman turned his mount's head abruptly, making for the trio.

Robin growled Will's name, but the younger man held his ground, saying, "No – Robin, it's all right!" The rider slowed as he reached the watery outer limit of the torchlight, and a small dark face peered around the stallion's neck, eyes wide. Will was already taking the horse's head, letting the petite rider slip to the ground, dwarfed by the snorting bay.

The shadows melted away to reveal Djaq, hurrying straight to Robin and Much, whose knees weakened dangerously with relief.

"Praise Allah!" she exclaimed, just barely stopping short of embracing the pair of them. "I did not know how quickly Gisborne would reach the city. I tried to come ahead of him, but he was already so far…. You are all right?"

"Felt better," Much croaked, almost wishing he hadn't spoken when Djaq got a better look at him, her face twisting in sympathy.

"There's no time, Djaq," Robin interjected, only a slender thread of regret coloring his stern words. He glanced sharply at the gates before continuing, "Where's Allan? He was supposed to meet us here."

"He is with John. One of Gisborne's men struck him in the leg with an arrow, and he was unable to ride." Seeing their expressions, she added, "He will be all right. He is in far better condition than Much is..." She stepped toward him again, but Will spoke up from behind her.

"They're gonna get caught if they stay any longer. Gisborne's riding out any minute." Robin was already pulling Much toward the horse before Will had finished speaking. It took Much a few seconds to realize there was no stirrup waiting in front of him, no saddle at all. Djaq appeared at his elbow, explaining, "The saddle was damaged. I had to leave it."

The stallion tossed its head uneasily. Robin only said, "We're both riding – it'll be easier without the saddle." A fistful of the horse's thick mane, Robin's hands for a stirrup, a blur of motion and sudden jolting pain… Then he was hunched over the stallion's neck with hands propping him up on either side, trying very hard to be still, to be quiet, to remember to breathe through the blackness threatening the edges of his vision. He felt Robin vault up behind him, taking the reins from Will and winding them once or twice around his hand to shorten them. The horse snorted vigorously, stamping a hoof in objection to the sudden doubled weight, but settled under Will's soothing hand.

"Here – take this, at least."

Djaq was reaching up, holding out a water-skin to Robin. Much had deliberately distracted himself from thoughts of water, realizing after the first few minutes of the rescue that neither of his friends had a water-skin. The sight of the leather container stole what little moisture he had left in his mouth.

Robin simply took the skin and nodded once to Will and Djaq before spurring the horse into motion with his heels. They wheeled round to face the forest and Robin snapped them into a canter toward the North Road, leaving the other two standing in the frail pool of torchlight.

Every beat of the horse's hooves against the ground sent a shock of breathtaking pain throbbing through Much's chest and arm, the rest of his bruised body crying out in chorus. This was worse than running, worse than creeping by painful degrees through the town. Something solid came up across his chest, pressing a moan from him, and he realized he had begun to tilt groundward, Robin's arm now hauling him back upright and holding him securely. The trees swallowed them, the darkness nearly complete as the canopy shut out the starlight.

The horse's coarse mane jounced from between Much's fingers and he fumbled for Robin's arm with his good hand, the shadowy world reeling past dizzily. Something was rasping softly nearby, out of time with the horse's hooves, and Much blearily realized it was his own breath; he almost wished he could stop breathing, just for a while, to ease the terrible pain in his side and the pulsing mess of agony that used to be his right hand.

"Easy, Much," came Robin's voice close by his ear. "Camp's not that far – you can make it." A low rumble, deeper than their horse's hooves, followed them down the road, and Much hoped dimly that it wasn't about to rain.

Robin swore, and dug his boots into their mount's ribs as the rumbling changed pitch, duller, but somehow closer. The stallion reluctantly stretched out into a ground-eating gallop, and Much's world flew away into sparkling agony.